I was walking on the treadmill at home one day, when my 8-year-old son called out from his bedroom.
“Daddy, how do you spell Christmas?”
My family waits until I’m breathless to interrogate me. I turned down the volume on my iPhone, which was replaying a 2-year-old episode of “The Big Bang Theory.”
“C-H-R,” I said, shouting over the hum of the treadmill motor, “I-S-T.” Pause. “M-A-S.”
“OK,” he said, pecking on his iPad Mini. “C … Now, what’s after that?”