So we are at the beach, my immediate family, my parents, and I; there is a screened in porch attached to the side of the beach house my parents have rented for all of us. In this screened in porch this evening an impromptu game of Dodgeball develops where I am pitted against my wife and my oldest daughter Elizabeth.
It's 2 against 1, close quarters, good old fashioned Dodgeball, played with 4 lightweight rubber playground balls. I am holding two balls and keeping my family at bay; Elizabeth attacks to my left, my wife to the right. I take a shot my oldest daughter and miss, and I turn my attention to my wife to try to ward off her attack with the remaining ball. This is the moment when my daughter unleashes a sharp throw and she connects ever so well.
She hits me right in the groonies.
Like I said, lightweight playground balls so it doesn't hurt TOO bad, but it's still enough to drop me to me knees for a moment, and as I am falling my wife fires and hits me right in the side head with force. BLAM! That is the sound of a hollow playground ball a bouncin' off my noggin.
In a moment, I have gone from tall Dodgeball warrior to a man curled up in a fetal position on the ground, trying to ward off the continuing blows, a mere shell of who he once was. Meanwhile in the distance I hear my youngest daughter, merely 17 months old, laughing with the simple glee of a young child.
That is love, no?
Yeah, I suppose that it is.
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