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Thanks to Shea, now that my wife has had our 2nd son, I can’t help but thinking of them as Boy A and Boy B. Boy A is now 6 and realizes that he’s pretty athletic, which he luckily inherited from both parents. He’s recently developed a love for baseball (which is my ultimate delight as I played all the way through college) and basketball.

I recently taught him how to play HORSE, and he always wants to play. He’s finally extended his range past 5–6 feet, and has become quite lethal. I always let him win, because god forbid he runs in the house and tells his mother that I smoked him, but I make sure to get in some soul crushing shots each game. I’ll never be prouder than the day I sunk a behind-the-back, over-the-backboard, one-handed shot. The look on his face will always be seared into my brain, as will his response, “I guess I’ll just take an H.” Random tomahawk dunks are a nice little exclamation mark as well. For some reason, there is no better feeling than your child staring at you in awe when you do something that he knows he can’t replicate. Sometimes you just have to remind them that Dad still has a little bit left in the tank.

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