Epiphany

We live on a quiet suburban road. You'd be tempted to play street hockey on it, shouting "Car!" and then "Game on!" every hour or so.

A kid across the street is trying to fly a kite as I type this. It's a serious kite, too, like a bi-plane with three wings, so I guess a tri-plane. His sister's on one of those Razor scooters that serve as yet another reminder that toys are better now than when I was a kid.

I'm tempted to shout out my window at her that she should be wearing a helmet. And I'm also tempted to run out there and explain to her brother the dangers of power lines and the overall unlikelihood that he'll get this kite up just by running up and down the street. He should jog over to the middle school, where they have enough open space for a kite festival--in fact they have one there every summer.

Oops, I wasn't looking closely. The little girl is wearing a helmet. Now I'd like to go compliment her parents. But then of course remind them of kite-flying best practices.

In other words, I think I'm starting to think like a dad.