The ball arced gently through the air, a perfect spiral, aimed precisely at Coop’s open arms. But as the ball approached, a light of recognition went on, and Coop quickly turned around and the pass plonked him in the back. He then happily turned around to fetch the ball. Then he ran away with it.

The beautiful pass came not from me, but from a boy exactly Coop’s age.

That’s when it dawned on me that I ought to play catch with the boy more often.

It is the most archetypical dad-child activity, the game of catch, and I’ve always had a strict Always Say ‘Yes’ When Asked to Play Catch policy. But my youngest doesn’t ask much. And I’ve become less likely to initiate sports activities as the kids have gotten older and more independent.

As the visiting friend and his dad (a varsity coach at a major Div 1 university) threw perfect Father’s Day poster-worthy passes to each other, I spiraled down into parental guilt. When did I stop playing catch with the kids? When was the last time I built a fort? Or led an activity? Am I that old? That fat?

I work on a parenting website! This cannot stand! I must research activities on the internet. I need to pull out all the kits in the shelves and do them all at once; build the Eiffel Tower out of K’nex; take them all own to the soup kitchen and hand out ladles. I am going to create an intramural badmitton league complete with round robin playoff. I will be active!

Wii does not count! Wii does not count!

I come out of my guiltfog as Coop looks up at me. I buckle the strap on his helmet. He tells me he loves me and pedals off.

There is something to be said for just being present (I’m good at that). But I’m not letting myself off the hook that easily. I need that one extra thing a week. More than just snuggling. More than reading before bed. More than driving to games and events. More than sitting down to dinner. One moment of full engagement around a shared activity.

Seems like my New Year’s resolution showed up a month early.