The joys of Fatherhood

It was a cool Sunday morning, the wind rustling the leaves of the budding trees. I was just returning from an early morning errand I had to run. I pulled into the driveway and got out of my car. As I walked towards the garage, I saw my little three year-old brother come out of the garage. He was wearing his plaid pants and striped shirt and his two left-footed crocs.

I smiled at him, figuring he was coming to greet me. But instead, Eli brushed by me, and continued his jaunt down the driveway. I stood there slightly confused at this strange behavior. I watched the little boy grab the newspaper, and without losing stride, return towards the garage as fast as his little crocs could take him. Now I was severely confused. No children in the Kriwiel house have ever enjoyed reading the newspaper, let alone reading. What was Eli doing?

I looked back at the little boy to see him dragging the newspaper behind him. He had slowed slightly, the Sunday morning newspaper only slightly smaller than him. Eli glanced at the house and smiled, and in mid-stride raised the newspaper above his head in celebration, and then continued towards the garage.

From the garage I glanced through our dining room windows to see a man, arms crossed, sipping his coffee, with a face of satisfied approval. His hair was awry and his checkered pajama bottoms told a story all their own. As Eli entered into the garage, the man, who I strongly suspect to be my father, turned quietly away from the window, coffee still on his breath, a smile now exuding from his face, ready to greet his morning news. I smiled and wondered what game Dad tricked Eli into playing this time. Probably one of the same games he once used on me.