Eileen Robinson

Your dad is going to ask you the same question about a thousand times. "Wanna throw the ball around?" At 6, you'll grab your glove before he finishes the sentence. At 9, you'll keep him out there until the streetlights come on. At 13, you'll say "maybe later." At 16, you'll say "Dad. Seriously?" One evening he'll ask, you'll say no, and he'll just nod and set his glove back on the shelf in the garage. He won't ask again. Neither of you will notice that was the last time. A writer named Tim Urban once did the math on his own life. By the time he finished high school, he had already used up 93% of all the in-person time he would ever get with his parents. Most of us land somewhere close to that. What's left is a few Thanksgivings. Some Christmases. Maybe a hospital waiting room. Then one day you're 40, cleaning out that garage, and the glove is still on the shelf. Leather gone stiff. A ball still tucked in the pocket. He kept it ready all those years. Just in case you said yes. If he's still here, you still have some of that last 7%. Go find two gloves. He'll pretend his arm is fine.