Like father, like son

Charlie and I play a game in the shallow water of the lake where we take turns trying to keep a stone away from each other. We hold out our hand and dare the other person to try to snatch the stone away.

We can play this game for 45 minutes without ever losing interest or getting tired.

Probably says something not-so-good about us, but we laugh the entire time, so it can’t be so bad.

Yesterday I found our best stone yet. It was clear, flat, almost translucent with hints of pink and yellow. Legitimately beautiful. Charlie fought like hell for this stone, trying to take it from my taunting, open hand.

I would not let him have it.

After an endless struggle, Charlie sighed and said, “Dad, I don’t want to play his anymore, but can I please have the stone?”

Charlie likes to collect stones from the beach. Happily, he rarely keeps track of them, so we almost always leave them behind. Otherwise our home would be filled with rocks. It made sense that he wanted the stone.

“Okay,” I said. “But be careful with this one. It’s the best ever.”

I will,” he promised.

I placed the stone in his hand. He looked at it, smiled, then turned and threw it into the lake as far as he could.

“Ha!”

I couldn’t believe it.

Sometimes, I wonder how much of me there is in Charlie. He screams in terror over the sight of a dead moth or scolds me for inventing a parking spot on a grassy knoll. He prefers cooperation over competition. He shakes his head in disgust at some of my more colorful childhood stories.

But the enormous smile on his face as our precious stone disappeared beneath the waters of the lake said it all.

He’s my boy. Through and through.