Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
My 15-year-old twin sons are currently taking turns at target practice with their .22 semi-automatic rifle.
A few minutes ago, I was on the phone talking business with a friend, and had to ask him to hold on while I told the boys to hold their fire until I finished my conversation.
"That's the good stuff," my friend said, referring to the pleasure of watching one's children grow up.
He's right, of course.
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
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