4. When I watched my younger son walk out on the porch, pick up a plastic whiffle bat, look at it, look at his older brother sitting on the porch steps, look back at the bat, and then haul back and crack his brother’s head like Babe Ruth popping one out of the park.
I could watch his thought process in 5 seconds time: Bat. . .Brother. . .Bat. . .Hit. No hesitation.
5. I have three sons. 8, 23 and 26.
The middle one, Andrew, boasted to me that he had sex with “over 30 chicks” on Tinder. And with some of them in my bed.
Yeah, Andrew, you’re a dick. Congrats.