I am an only child, always and forever safe from fingernails and comforted by memories of childhood fights that pitted me against only the warm, soft fur of stuffed animals. But my children are not only children. There are three of them, and they share their mother’s zest for domestic abuse.
They didn't have the softball pancake. This should not have mattered. But of course it mattered. Because taking children to eat in public places is a sickening cocktail of stress, threats and humiliation.
The fourth quarter meant nothing to those of us who did not have relatives on the field. It was cold enough to shiver. Rarely when teams from Jasper and Mount Vernon engage in an athletic competition does anyone percolate with exhilaration. Yet my 7-year-old daughter would not budge.