Yesterday I raced my son for 200 meters. He beat me, 27.6 to 27.7. Immediately after the race I bent over, my hands on my knees, gasping for breath. He walked up behind me, and, in front of his uncle and sister, put his hands on my hips and made a pumping motion, to symbolically express what he felt he had done to me in the race.
When I told him that I hadn't had time to get in shape for the race, and that with another couple weeks' training I could have gone a second faster, he just shrugged and said, "Dad, if you had gone a 26.7 I would have just gone a 26.6."
This morning I finished the NY Times crossword in under five minutes, a good time for me for the Monday puzzle. Afterwards I jokingly exulted to my son, "I'm a freaking genius!"
His immediate response: "Dad, just 'cause you run like Stephen Hawking, that doesn't make you a genius."