After three hours of watching other kids play football, my son came up to me and said, “I’m bored.”
I was having a coffee between matches, several of them played by a friend’s son who we’d come to watch at a club in Buenos Aires. I motioned to my 10-year-old son to sit down at the table in the cafe and listen to a bit of my wisdom about taking advantage of life.
He slumped down in the chair opposite me.
“Life is good,” I told him. “It’s for living.”
He looked at me despondently and said, with an uncanny swiftness, “Life is food. Life is for eating.”
He didn’t, and without smiling, he stretched out his palm to me.
I gave up on laughing, reached into my pocket and forked over some cash for him to buy candies at the kiosk.
He smiled and ran off.