My Son Told Me Not to Come on the Trip I Paid For

this. Or maybe he was, and I just built a version of him in my head that could hold weight. Fathers do that. We take the kid who cried at his first Little League strikeout and we project forty years of character onto that one moment of vulnerability. We think: he’s sensitive. He’s good.

Trevor was good at math. That much was real. Got a finance degree continue reading …