Finally, food! The kids had their slices. I had a break in my own conversation. And I was hungry after coaching and refereeing eight periods of second-grade basketball.
I took the opportunity to grab the greasiest slice of Margherita pizza on the tray and folded it like a proper East Coast refugee. And paused.
“Yeah buddy,” I replied to one of my players, slice still in hand.
“Do you have 40 cents?”
“No, sorry buddy.” I shrugged. And attempted to eat once again.
Then my daughter approached.
“Dad. Do you have 40 cents?”
Forty cents. That was pretty specific.… Read more