Colt

"Dad, where are my cleats?" Jake hollers from his bedroom. His voice cracks mid-sentence, a reminder that my baby boy is growing up faster than I'm ready for.

"Check under your bed." I shout back, knowing full well he won't find them there. I spotted them in the hallway last night and tucked them into the shoe rack by the front door. "Actually, I put them away. Front door."

The frantic sounds of Jake's rummaging stop. At eleven years old, my son is the ...