A weird conclusion to my son’s final day of summer camp.
Over the past two days, I had five or six counselors ask my about my job … my books … tell me they’ve read this blog. I asked how they knew, and they all said “Liz”—my boy’s co-head counselor. Over the course of the summer, Liz and I had exchanged, oh, maybe 60 words. Maybe. So today, upon thanking her for the summer, I said, “How did you know I’m a sports writer?”
“Well, I Googled you,” she said.
“You Googled me?”
“Yes.”
“Uh … why?”
“Because I thought you might be an athlete.”
And that was that.
I must admit, my life has always been quite difficult, looking like an athlete and such. The rippling muscles, the body-builder’s physique, the Jeter-esque cool. I try and try and try to survive, but, alas, it’s a struggle.
