A Dad’s POV, Now with Extra Delusion and Chlorine

Dan tightened his cleats like he was suiting up for war.
Black under-eye stripes. Helmet gleaming.
He looked like a man preparing for battle—or possibly a very intense adult rec league game where the average age was 42 and the post-game snack was orange slices and ibuprofen.

Beside him stood Jack. Seven years old.
Three feet of pure potential.
Holding a lacrosse stick like it was either Excalibur or a very long spoon.

Dan knelt for the photo, arm around his boy, heart swelling with pride.
“This is it,” he thought. “The moment Jack falls in love with the game.”

He imagined Jack whispering, “Dad, I want to be just like you.”
He imagined the photo framed in Jack’s future dorm room, captioned: Where it all began.
He imagined ESPN calling for a father-son feature titled “Stick & Legacy.”

Jack, meanwhile, was just thrilled to be out of daycare.
His weekend goals were crystal clear:

• See Nana (who let him eat whipped cream straight from the can and called him “Captain Cuddles”)
• Swim in the hotel pool (goggles mandatory, floaties optional, cannonballs encouraged)
• Eat pancakes shaped like dinosaurs
• Avoid all forms of yelling, drills, and laminated materials

When Dan scored a goal, Jack clapped politely.
When Dan yelled “Let’s go boys!” Jack asked if they were going to the pool now.
Dan didn’t notice. He was too busy mentally designing Jack’s future jersey and wondering if “LAX PRODIGY” was too subtle for a license plate.

Later, at the pool, Jack was mid–“dolphin tornado” when Dan arrived with a suspiciously large duffel bag.
“Wanna play water lacrosse?” Dan asked, unveiling:

• Two mini sticks
• A floating goal
• A laminated playbook titled Hydro Offense: Building Champions in Chlorine

Jack swam to the edge, arms crossed like a tiny CEO evaluating a startup pitch.
“You promised no drills,” he said. “You yelled ‘MOVE YOUR FEET’ at a guy tying his shoe.”
Dan blinked. “He was on defense.”
Jack sighed, climbed out, and wrapped himself in a towel like a robe of justice.

Back in the hotel room, Jack called an emergency family meeting.
Nana was co-chair. Dan was still damp and confused.

“Dad violated the Pool Time Treaty of 2022,” Jack declared.
Nana nodded. “Ratified after the Great Cannonball Incident.”
Jack continued: “Unauthorized sports infiltration. Gateway goal deployment. Excessive motivational yelling.”

Dan tried to defend himself. “It was just a floating goal!”
Jack didn’t flinch. “Next thing you know, I’m in cleats doing wind sprints while Nana times me with a meat thermometer.”

Resolution passed:

• No lacrosse in pool
• Goggles and floaties required
• No laminated materials
• Helmet allowed only if cleaned (it smelled like feet)

Meeting adjourned.
Jack returned to the pool.
Dan stared at the photo again, wondering if greatness could wear floaties.