October 10. Return flight. I must have taken a double dose accidentally, because I sleep the entire extended day on the plane.

October 9. Third day. Brought kids home. My son dropped the Cheops pyramid on a planet and made Mars habitable by raising the temperature of the sun. This made Earth uninhabitable, but with a little more practice that should be manageable. Also installed our first own geocache and submitted it for review. Searched and found another geocache. Played Sorry!, but I needed twenty minutes for a power nap before that.

October 8. Another day as a jet lag father. Made it through the hours with difficulty. J made a deal with the kids not to wake us until nine. I lie awake from about two until half past five. When the kids kick in the door at nine sharp and blast YMCA from their phone, I jolt up from a deep sleep and don’t know what’s going on for several seconds.

October 7. To Sweden. Jetlag.

October 6. The only real race between me and my son. Four and a half miles. I run as fast as I did before our trip, he is much much faster, far faster than anything I have ever seen from him. It takes me a good two minutes longer than him. But when we calculate the age-corrected performane, it turns out he’s at 59% and I’m at 64%.

October 5. Smoked weed with the two of them. Nasty experience, slid straight into acute depression. In addition to the specific things that depressed me, I was saddened that what is a great experience for others only leads to a dead end of the opposite for me. A question of dosage perhaps, or perhaps my brain structure, in which essential parts seem to be missing. In everyday life, this is hardly noticeable, only in certain critical situations, similar to someone who is color- or face-blind.

October 4. Back to New York.

October 3, Las Vegas. I booked us a room at the Tropicana because of the promise of a large pool where we could have continued to practice our crawl. But the Tropicana is a bust. Even the twenty-two-story facade shows widespread signs of decay. The pool is only open from 11-5. There is no room service, although it is indicated in the description. In general, everything except the casino is closed at ten in the evening. There is a bar in the casino, but of all the drinks on the menu, the bartender can only offer a pina colada with mango, frozen in large plastic cups, seven dollars for an extra shot. No coffee in our de-luxe room. We booked Vegas, and we get the usual: the disappointment of a gambler who has made nothing but losses.

October 2. Taught my son crawl swimming in Lake Tahoe. It was so much fun, we forgot how cold the water was. (And the low sun was shining so intensely that I once stood up after a few strokes – because it was very shallow where we were practicing – and couldn’t see my son anywhere because he was standing directly in the sun).

I have to acknowledge that my son is better than me in almost every area. We used an app to measure how fast we can type: He’s almost twice as fast as I am. Of course, he plays chess better. He speaks more languages. He can do more pull-ups. And one-handed push-ups. None of this is actually surprising. It’s a simple, just reversal. In his early years, I was better at everything; now it’s reversed. What else do we have?

October 1. Drove all the way across Nevada, now Lake Tahoe. What I expected from Nevada, it delivered: abstract, quiet, no demands. Listened to music, listened to podcasts, discussed.

I had not expected Lake Tahoe. A village of hotel huts, all party-lit, happy people everywhere sitting around fires that are gas-powered and therefore conveniently smokeless and odorless. Live music. Electric rental scooters on every corner. Although it’s already ten o'clock, we go out for a bite to eat. On the terrace of the restaurant, a few students sit down at the same fireplace, and I have rarely experienced such a strong reaction of antipathy: privileged, arrogant, stupid. I don’t believe any of my own words, but I’m shaking with disgust.