Last Saturday I’m  hangin’ at Bill’s memorial service groovin’ on the water view. J keeps telling me seals are popping up when I’m not looking and I’m teasing her about being delusional. It’s noon and the morning’s 10 miler is taking full effect. I say to my gal pal, “I wish someone would hurry up and start in on the buffet.” To which she replies, “Why?” “Because I’m going to be the second in line.” With the utmost earnestness she replies, “Good for you! Good for you!” What the “h” “e” double hockey stick? “You’ve been the first on more than one occasion.” So who knew the GP had been keeping score all these years.

In other family news, someone is spreading a vicious rumor that A. lowered my 500 free time of 6:17. Something about a 6:16.8 at last Thursday’s meet. Okay, I was the timer in the next lane over and this is all I remember. I remember my gal pal timing partner chatting up the timer next to us, the same one who “timed” A’s race. I recall the GP slipping next door neighbor timer a 5-spot right before the 500 free. Me thinketh he started the clock a tad bit late and stopped it a tad bit early. I’d like to review the film if there was some. A’s reaction was hilarious (new Mastercard commercial, shutting Dad up, priceless). She didn’t know or care what place she finished (2nd). She just looked at the electronic timing board like an Olympic athlete and then erupted with joy. Ever the gentleman, I was the first to give her a congratulatory hug even though I got soaked in the process. A great moment, partially because I know I could still kick her ass in open water.

J’s in that stage where in private dad is okay half the time, and in public, not so much. Driving to church Sunday with J and G who slept over. Much to J’s dismay probably, I’m drilling G about last weekend’s regatta in Seattle. “Well you didn’t drown, that’s good. What place did you get?” “About third, but there were tons of other teams.” “Tons, that’s two thousand, 3rd out of 2,000 awesome. J’s trying to conceal it, but she’s smiling so I press metal to pedal. “Wait a minute, tons is plural, so 3rd out of at least 4,000! Wowza!” Full-on smile. Of course is she discovers this story made it into the blog, I’m big in trouble.