Tennis and Other SmackThe smart talk goes in both directions when we play tennis.
I stand at the service line, waving my arms.
"Dad, what are you doing?" Eli 13.11 asks.
"Sorry," I say. "I can't see with all the smoke that came off my last shot."
I hit a nice passing shot.
"Hey, do you want some ointment for that burn?" I ask.
I hold my serve.
"Good grief, I just gave you that game," Eli says, as we change ends of the court.
"No respect for the serve," I say.
"Dad, come on, it's not like your serve is good," he says. "It's like coach pitch."
That's my boy.
I've also gotten him into RISK, a game I played on many weekends in high school (with incredibly fond memories). Kamchatka. That's all I'm saying.
One of his best friends comes over and we play a three-player game. Diplomatic negotiations are intense, and Eli keeps trying to get his friend not to trust me. I keep a large edge, though, by simply telling the truth, which is the last thing they expect. Then they start attacking each other.
His friend goes to the bathroom near the end of the game. I have a dominating position on the board. "Lies," Eli says. "You lie."
"What?" I say. "I haven't lied once."
"The WHOLE THING is a lie," he says.
Remarkably perceptive, I think.