The USA is playing Paraguay in their first 2026 World Cup match, so my American family has decided this is finally the time to learn soccer. I’ve been a fan of the game since high school, so I am left to explain the rules during the game in real time.

Seven minutes in, Paraguay scores an own goal.

Dad: “Wait. Did they just score for us?”

Me: “Yes.”

Dad: “Okay, that part I like. In football, we make the other team work harder before handing us points.”

Later, Balogun scores.

Mom: “That’s only one point?”

Dad: “He got past the whole defense and beat the goalie for one point? In American football, that’s at least six!”

Balogun scores again before halftime.

Dad: “See? That guy understands offense.”

Brother: “Can they just keep giving it to him?”

Me: “That’s… sort of the idea.”

Paraguay scores in the 73rd minute.

Dad: “Now it’s 3-1. So, they need… what, one touchdown?”

Me: “No.”

Dad: “Two field goals?”

Me: “Still no.”

Dad: “This sport has no respect for comeback math.”

The referee adds seven minutes of stoppage time.

Mom: “I thought the game was ninety minutes.”

Me: “It is, but they add time for delays.”

Dad: “So the clock is fake?”

Me: “Not fake.”

Dad: “Honey, in American football, the clock stops every nine seconds like God intended.”

The final whistle blows. USA wins 4-1.

Dad: “I’ll admit it. That was exciting.”

Me: “So you liked soccer?”

Dad: “Let’s not get emotional. I liked America scoring four times in a sport that refuses to reward them properly.”

My half-sister is twenty years younger than me. She must have been two or three years old when this happened. She is at that age when they can run, but only leaning forward and about to fall over at any minute.

We were walking down the road with our dad, just out shopping in the local neighborhood, when she went running at full speed down the road in excitement, shouting:

Half Sister: “Look! Look!”

She was looking at, well, nothing we could work out. She came to a stop, staring in amazement, eyes like saucers,

Half Sister: “A man shaving a window!”

The window cleaner with a squeegee managed not to laugh at her, but he was grinning.

As we walked past:

Half Sister: “Bye-bye, window shaver!”

The window cleaner burst into laughter at that point and waved goodbye.

Half Sister: *To us.* “Why was he shaving windows?”

Me: “To clean them.”

She thinks more, then asks her dad:

Half Sister: “Why you never shave our windows? They dirty!”

We all laughed this time, except dad, who ran back to get that ‘window shaver’s’ number!

It’s a hot day, and I’m having a stroll along the seafront. Nearby is a family with two young sons, probably aged around six and three. The younger son is having a full meltdown about something. Tears, tantrums, stomping feet, the whole works. His parents are trying to calm him down.

His brother has clearly had enough.

Older Brother: “Oh, just leave him there! He’s too noisy, and we don’t like him anyway!”

The parents did not find this funny. I, on the other hand, had to turn away to stop myself from laughing hysterically.

I’m thirteen years old, and my younger sister is four. Last night, my uncle came over for dinner, and he stayed up late talking with my parents while my sister and I went to bed when we got tired.

My sister wakes me up early the next day so that I can turn on the TV in the living room for her Saturday morning cartoons. She sits down, criss-cross applesauce in front of the TV, and I turn on Cartoon Network. Then I notice that every single pillow in the living room, from every seat and both sofas, has been piled into the corner of one sofa. It looks like a mini mountain. 

I shake it off and go back to bed to sleep in a little more. 

I get up an hour later and meet my parents in the kitchen. They’re having coffee, and I pour some cereal for myself.

Mom: “Morning, [My Name].”

Me: “Morning. Hey, why are all the living room pillows piled up on the TV sofa?”

Mom: “Your uncle drank too much last night, so he slept on the couch instead of driving home.”

Me: “Oh. What time did he leave?”

Dad: “Leave? He didn’t. He’s still under the pillows.”

Me: “Wait. He’s under those? [Sister] and I were in there this morning, and we didn’t see him.”

Dad: “Yeah, he’s dug himself deep under there.”

Me: “Ha. [Sister] has no idea she’s in there with [Uncle].”

Suddenly, we hear a blood-curdling scream of shock and horror coming from my sister in the living room.

Dad: “Huh, I guess he just woke up.”

My dad is an enthusiastic runner, so when my sister and I are all suddenly part of a charity ‘fun run’ organized by our High School, he wants to train us with no mercy.

It’s an early Saturday morning, and he’s woken both of us up.

Dad: “Come on, girls!”

Me: “Dad, it’s 6 AM.”

Dad: “Perfect time to run to the park and back, before it gets too hot.”

Sister: “Dad, you’re being insane.”

Dad: “It’s only two weeks until your run! Don’t you want to win?”

Sister: “It’s not a race! It’s a fun run for charity.”

Dad: “Five kilometres is no joke.”

Sister: “I do 5Ks all the time as part of P.E. I even came second in my class.”

Dad: “Coming second just means you’re the first to fail.”

Me: “So that means you’re still the first at something. Good going, sis!”

Sister: “Yeah, you’re right. And if you think about it, if you come third, that means you’re the first to fail after the person who is first to fail.”

Me: “And if you come fourth, then you’re—”

Dad: “—I get it! You could just say you’re not coming on the run.”

Sister: “Have an amazing time failing, Dad! We’re rooting for you.”

Me: “I’m gonna go back to bed and fail at staying awake.”

Sister: “I love our family of failures.”

Dad went on his run, we went back to sleep, and Mom was very confused at breakfast when we all kept enthusiastically asking each other how we all planned to fail spectacularly today.