That I had a misspent youth, no one ever doubted. Way too many hours spent in seedy South Dakota pool halls, for one thing. But I’m starting to wonder about my adulthood. Tonight I’d planned to drag my wife to a high school football game; the school my kids go to was in the quarter-finals of the state tournament. They weren’t expected to be especially good this year, but have had a great season, thanks in part to a very fast running back who gained over three hundred yards last week.
But we never made it to the game, because I was busy finalizing a column, via email, that Paul and I have written for Sunday’s Washington Post. The Post’s editors had their own ideas, some good, others less so. Suffice it to say that we missed the game, which our team came from behind to win, 35-28. My daughters were there, and were thrilled. I have, instead, the rather hollow pleasure of a column in the Post’s Outlook section.
Oh, well. The semifinals are next week.
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