Page 59 of The Single Dad's Guide to Recreation

Scanning the field, it seems that jocks are well represented, but if I were to categorize the members of my team into high school categories, we’re limited to geeks and artsy types. Only one of us looks the least bit athletic, and she can’t be more than five feet tall.

The petite dance and yoga teacher groans as she gathers her locs into a ponytail. “This isn’t fai?—”

Her complaint is interrupted by the blowing of a whistle. “Before we begin, I want to clarify a few points,” the staff member says through a bullhorn. “One, we are well aware that the team makeup may not seem fair, but we’ve found that in the end, random groups serve the learning process.”

The art teacher snorts. “Learning process, my ass.”

“Two,” the guy with the bullhorn continues, “each member of the winning team earns a one-on-one consultation with Dr. O’Leary and gets to be first in line at dinner tonight.”

“Great,” Tisha, the dance teacher, mutters. “My community center could really use that consult. But we have no hope of winning.”

“Three,” Bullhorn man says, “we will provide gloves for tug-of-war.”

“Thank goodness.” An IT guy on my team pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You can get serious rope burns from those things.”

“Fourth and final point.” The bullhorn squawks. “The winning team will be the team that has the most fun, no matter the actual outcome of the challenges.”

IT guy snorts. “Sorry, kids, but none of this is fun for me.”

“What would be fun for you?” I ask.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Taking a nap. My cabinmate snores like you wouldn’t believe and I got no rest last night.”

I scan the area and notice a few chairs set up along the sidelines. “Why don’t you take a load off? Maybe you can catch a catnap.”

He frowns. “But then you’ll be short a player.”

“It’s not like we’re going to win the tug-of-war,” the tattooed art teacher called Atlas says. “You may as well sit it out.”

“But I want to win this,” Tisha insists.

“Did you not hear what the man said?” the librarian asks. “The winners are the ones who have fun. So if it’s more fun for him to sit on the sideline, that’s what he should do.”

“They didn’t really mean that, though,” Atlas scoffs.

“It’s what they said,” the IT guy says with a shrug. “I’m taking them at their word.”

“Who gives a shiitake mushroom, anyway?” I say. “It’s a beautiful day, and we’re away from it all in this gorgeous place. If we have fun, that’s a win anyway.”

“So we just give up?” Tisha asks. “Let ourselves be pulled across the line?”

“Actually,” I say. “I have an idea.”

ChapterTwenty

JOSH

When Avery’s team, aptly named The Toddlers, wins the tug-of-war by making their opponents laugh so hard that they can’t breathe, I’m pretty sure I know whose idea it was to sing “If You’re Happy and You Know It” at the top of their lungs the entire time they pulled on the rope. If I didn’t already know it was her favorite song to lead in Playgroup, I can tell by the triumphant grin on her face.

Her ingenuity and natural leadership work for her team for the rest of the activities too. And it even seems to set the tone for the rest of the participants. Sure, the staff told us that the team having the most fun would win, but no one in my group, uncreatively named Team Green, took that seriously. Until we took on The Toddlers in life-size checkers. The combination of having to leapfrog over our opponents while listening to Avery’s trash talk—made funnier by her creative non-swear words—had us all laughing our asses off.

The relaxed atmosphere lends itself well to paddleboat races too, especially when Team WTF—taking a page from Avery’s book—speeds to the win by chanting “Ee-oh-ee-oh” ala the guards inThe Wizard of Oz.

But the pièce de résistance is Paint Twister. When I go splat in the gooey finger paint, instead of feeling defeat, I roll off the mat until my clothes look like some kind of deranged Rorschach test and then launch at my teammates, hugging them until they’re covered too.

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