Choosing sides

On thanksgiving, after the turkey, homemade fruit salad, mango salsa, cheesecake, and blackberry pie, about fourteen of us, two families, head to an indoor volleyball court.  The young ones, from 12 to 20 something, take off early to buy a volley ball, which turns out to be a little difficult.  The older ones, the two dads (me and my friend), join them a little later. 

On the court, after a couple of hours of fun where teams are randomly put together, we come to the final game, where the two dads pick their teams.  Your competitive nature takes over your brain, and you pick the best player among the ones waiting to be called, not thinking that these are your kids, and you are choosing sides.  

On game point, my friend’s daughter, who is on my team, serves a good ball, but they return it strong, and our back center puts it in the net.  We all think that the point is over, but my son digs it out of the net, and another of my friend’s daughters puts it over for a win. 

Explosion of laughter and cheering.                                                                                  

My friend’s daughter yells out to him: "you should have picked me dad!"