Father of the year. The year is 40,000 BC

When I went to the park with Natalie, I was standing around. I was doing little more than just standing around, killing time, doodling with my phone, waiting to go back in.

Natalie came up to me with a stick between her teeth.

"Grrr," she said.

I checked my voice mail.

"Woof, woof," she said.

"Uh-huh," I said, scrolling through messages.

"Woof woof," she said again.

I looked at her. She stretched her neck out and thrust the stick forward with her jaw.

"You want me to throw it for you?"

"Woof, woof," she nodded.

So I threw it, and Natalie chased after it, then brought it back.

"Woof, woof," she said, and thrust the stick at me again.

So I threw it again, and for the rest of the afternoon, there I was, at a dog park, scrolling through my emails, playing fetch with my autistic daughter.

Father of the year.

No comments:

Post a Comment