Most days I get home from work around 6:30. Near our house is a field--and around that time of day it's usually occupied by shouting middle aged Armenian men chasing a polka-dot ball into a net. Today there was a girl on the field, and she kicked the ball into a dude's face.
This seemed noteworthy to me, even though the ball did not leave a polka-dot pattern on the recipient's face, as it would have in a more ideal world.
After watching a few rounds of chase-a-ball, my son, Sawyer, and I like to have a little pick-up match in our yard before dinner. It helps us prime our appetites for pancakes.