On Fathers, Sons and Foosball


One of my fondest memories was playing games with my dad in the evenings after work. Many summer nights, we’d play catch in the backyard, but if the weather didn’t cooperate, we’d often head to the basement and play ping pong. Now, nobody wins in a game of catch. Ping pong, on the other hand is a different story. My dad taught me how to lose graciously for many years. When I finally did beat him it was the best feeling in the world.

Last month, I had the opportunity to pick up a used foosball table from a friend who was about to move. My dad came over and helped me put it together and we played a few games for old times sake. I’m still working on teaching Benjamin good sportsmanship — right now he just cries like a baby when I demolish him 10-0. But more than anything, I’m looking forward to the time when he beats me at my own game.

I just hope it isn’t too soon.

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