Maybe I need to reflect on the very real possibility that I'm just a bit salty about this whole thing because, when I was playing sports in school, our wound care consisted of an old toolbox full of glorified duct tape, an ice machine that might have a few cubes but only if the Pepsi wasn't selling well that night, and no shortage of dads who would loiter around the bench laughing at your grotesquely swollen ankle telling you to "walk it off".
It's like walking into a men's clothing store, asking the clerk if he can help you find a suit, and having him say, "Sure, but first I need to deal this gentleman a few games of craps."
Passwords are officially out of hand. I don't recall this level of nonsense when I was building forts with my buddies back in grade school.
I love being a dad, but sometimes it would be nice to have some similar way to communicate my current state with my children at home.