The Invisible
One lovely tradition my son and I share is watching a bit of soccer on Saturday mornings.
I don’t want to overstate this “tradition”. After all, my son is a mere two years of age and has the attention span of a napping beagle. However, he knows what he wants and on Saturday mornings, he insists the TV be tuned to soccer. What’s a proud, soccer-obsessed dad going to do, but politely oblige?
This past weekend, though, in place of our usual match, we found a canned infomercial. A let down to be sure. My son immediately scampered off to a world of imagination. But before I could follow, I was trapped. Trapped in the clutches of the infomercial tractor beam. 15 minutes later, I had watched the remainder of the presentation.
Let me start off by saying that I didn’t buy anything: product or hype. However, that’s not to say my world wasn’t rocked by those few moments in the glow of the tube.
One lovely tradition my son and I share is watching a bit of soccer on Saturday mornings.
I don’t want to overstate this “tradition”. After all, my son is a mere two years of age and has the attention span of a napping beagle. However, he knows what he wants and on Saturday mornings, he insists the TV be tuned to soccer. What’s a proud, soccer-obsessed dad going to do, but politely oblige?
This past weekend, though, in place of our usual match, we found a canned infomercial. A let down to be sure. My son immediately scampered off to a world of imagination. But before I could follow, I was trapped. Trapped in the clutches of the infomercial tractor beam. 15 minutes later, I had watched the remainder of the presentation.
Let me start off by saying that I didn’t buy anything: product or hype. However, that’s not to say my world wasn’t rocked by those few moments in the glow of the tube.
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