A hot summer afternoon. The air conditioning is out – again – so we retreat to the yard. The three of us get comfortable on the back deck. An occasional breeze makes it bearable.
Our boy is young. Too young to be absorbed in electronics. That time will come, I’m certain. Until then, we stick to the classics.
“Rock beats scissors,” I say.
He smiles at me.
“Scissors beats paper,” she says.
He giggles.
A simple game to teach, but he doesn’t understand the rules yet. We smile. We’re just happy he’s here.
Besides, there’s time.
All the time in the world.
The Weekday One Hundred 