Finally, food! The kids had their slices. I had a break in my own conversation. And I was hungry after coaching and refereeing eight periods of second-grade basketball. I took the opportunity to grab the greasiest slice of Margherita pizza on the tray and folded it like a proper East Coast refugee. And paused. “Coach Brett?” “Yeah buddy,” I replied to one of my players, slice still in hand. “Do you have 40 cents?” “No, sorry buddy.” I shrugged. And attempted to eat once again. Then my daughter approached. “Dad. Do you have 40 cents?” Forty cents. That was pretty specific .… Read more