Abbot & Hardy

I was standing next to one of the other player's mothers. We were waiting for the end of the middle school basketball team's scrimmage. Shirts versus skins.

"I've hardly seen you since last spring," she said. Her oldest plays basketball year round, my youngest plays baseball in the summer. They're friends, but the different schedules keep us apart sometimes.

"I know," I said. "We need to get the families together for dinner one of these days."

"Every time that happens, my husband ends up drunk," she said.

"He's funny when he's drunk," I pointed out.

"Even so," she said. "You're a bad influence."

"I hear that a lot," I said.

The scrimmage ended and our sons walked over, pulling on their shirts.

"Whoa," she teased my kid. "Good thing the girls are practicing on the other side of the wall. You're ripped."

"Yeah," he shrugged. "That 500 hours of TV I watched this summer really paid off."

She laughed. I grimaced. "Let's go," I told him. "No need to brag about your horrible upbringing."

In the car on the way home, he said, "I've never been as bored as I was last night."

"Why?" I asked.

"There wasn't anything on TV."

"You could have read something," I suggested.

He rolled his eyes. "We have to read at school. Why would I read at home?"

Silly me. "What did you do instead?" I asked.

"Watched TV."

"Not even trying anymore, are you?" I said.

"You admitted you're a horrible parent," he reminded me.

"I should have followed Roger Daltrey on tour," I said.

"Who?" he asked.

"Exactly," I said.