First Place Loser

There's this thing Abby and I do, before every soccer game. She's usually sitting on the wooden bench by our door, in her too-big uniform, and even though she's in third grade, I'm enabling...I mean, tying her cleats. When I'm done, I give her a pat on the knee and look into her eyes.

"You ready?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says. The affect couldn't be more flat…