I stand at the door and watch you. Sporting Hello Kitty rain boots and a black tutu, you’re not the average football player.
But that doesn’t seem to stop you.
You hold the football close to your chest and run, more intent on escaping your brother than on reaching any goal line. Your pink, winter hat covers one eye, making your stride lurching and myopic.
Like a good brother should, Will carefully paces himself so that he is always a few steps behind, putting you just out his reach. This spurs you on, making you run harder, faster as you yell over your shoulder at him.
After circling the backyard half a dozen times, you collapse on the ground because you’re laughing far too much to continue. The ball is still securely clutched in your arms.
Panting, you look up at your brother and ask, “Where was I supposed to go again?”
And with that one question, the dark, dreary day feels just a little brighter.