Father
Dad Gym
8
Scene: Dads Group
The bright, slightly harsh lights of an indoor basketball gym cast long shadows across the polished court on a quiet Thursday afternoon. The rhythmic thud of bouncing balls echoed through the cavernous space, a constant, low hum beneath the excited chirps of children darting between folded-up bleachers, dribbling half-deflated basketballs. Near a cluster of gym bags and discarded coffee cups, three men had gathered, their low voices a counterpoint to the youthful energy.
One of them, a man with a somewhat uneven beard and a faded hoodie bearing the logo of a local HVAC company, adjusted a pack-n-play near the sidelines. He looked up, a half-smile gracing his lips as his infant daughter, clad in a tiny onesie covered in cartoon bears, flailed happily within its confines. "Hey there—must be our flyer guy," he said, rising to offer a handshake. "This circus is my idea. Welcome to Dad Gym."
Folding chairs were arranged in a loose circle, a cooler offered Gatorade and a few sad-looking granola bars, and a whiteboard still bore the half-erased doodles of a previous group. The atmosphere was undeniably informal, yet there was a clear, quiet intention to it. This wasn't a venting circle or a therapy session. It was simply a meeting place, a space where no one felt the need to pretend they had it all figured out.
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