After several days of deadline pressure, I returned to Ricochet this evening intending to write a post. What did I discover? That everything I wanted to say had already been said. (Troy Senik: Mitt Romney still strikes a lot of conservatives as "someone who sees this as a game to be won, rather than a cause to be advanced." If there were a Pulitzer Prize for individual sentences, Troy would just have clinched it.)
Instead of opining, then, may I simply offer a word on behalf of fatherhood? My youngest daughter, who turned 10 just yesterday, dragged me away from my work just now to force me onto my knees for a game of marbles. Just marbles. Thirteen mibs inside a string circle, the blue shooter for her, the orange shooter for me. When I missed an easy shot by about two feet, she erupted into such pure, unforced peals of laughter, collapsing onto her side and rolling on the carpet, that I decided right then that I had never experienced a more completely delightful moment. Then, the game tied at six apiece, I missed again, leaving her to make a long, tricky shot--and knock the last mib out of the circle, winning. Oh, the look on her face! Surprise and joy--sheer joy. For an instant, the very universe had to a ten-year old in pajamas.
"Dad," she said, laughing once again after saying her prayers, "I still don't see how you could have missed that one shot."
Until tomorrow, Ricochet.