I Don’t Know How Old You Are

Yeah, I’m talking about you — the reader.

I had this strangely intense moment while getting my family set up for a weekend at the lake last Friday. It felt part déjà vu, part imposter syndrome.

In my mind’s eye, when I picture my dad handling something like this, he’s got it completely under control. Fun. Easy.

Me? Forty-one-year-old me — also a dad — was wrestling an overpacked cooler that felt impossibly heavy, wondering if the milk had been at a questionable temperature for too long, and watching the kids dance, yell, cry, and invent new ways to put their bodies in harm’s way.