My nine-year-old beat me in a running race.
We’ve raced before. The last time, when he was about six, I ran just slightly ahead of him, close enough so he felt like he was in the race and also close enough so he could pull on my shirt. But I never let him win. That felt dishonest.
Today when he said, “I’ll beat your butt,” I said, “No way.” I was confident even though he’s now almost five feet tall and I’ve been watching him bolt down the basketball court faster than all his teammates. But still, he’s a little kid. No upper lip fuzz yet. And every night when I tuck him into bed, he still hugs me way too long. (READ FULL ESSAY HERE…)