It was raining when we came out of basket ball the other week. My boy asked for the car keys. "Why?" I asked.
"Because I'm going to be at the car before you are," he said.
"Bull," I replied and we both raced the 200 metres to the car. He thrashed me. He beat me by thirty yards. I can still beat him in an arm wrestle, and I can lift more and walk further before I blow out. But he is catching up. It's a great trick to lift Dad up and stagger round the kitchen, going slowly purple. Dad gets his own back by wrapping on tight and refusing to be put down! It's wonderful. When he beat me I had this great feeling of delight. My boy is growing up, and it's grand!
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