This is my brother-in-law, David, but he’s more like a full-on bro, he’s really and truly family. That little 1/8th cup of a dude with him is my nephew, Ethan. Here they are on their way to Ethan’s first soccer practice (ever), which is enough in itself to give me lastima for months (or forever), but the real clencher is that David signed up (voluntarily) to be one of the coaches for the 4-year-old-boys soccer team.
And he got himself a whistle.
A whistle?!?! A whistle to be official. A whistle to manage the drills and the tantrums and the doling out of goldfishies during snack time. A whistle to blow in between silly grins, watching his son and pint-sized friends run up and down the mini field with their mini legs and the smallest shin guards you’ve ever seen.
This whistle kills me, hanging on his neck like a sign of a true coach and of fatherhood and of pride. Watching a brother go from “guy” to “dad” can be a painfully beautiful thing.
p.s. Did you notice they’re doppelgängers?