Cal was on dinner duty with Lewis. The thirteen year old was at the sink, peeling the potatoes for mash, while Cal prepared little rump steaks to make schnitzel. Owen had just been instructed to unpack his school bag, which meant getting out his lunch box and homework and hopefully anything else that had taken up residence in the dark depths of the bag that did not belong there. This was the night Gillian worked late and so this was the night that Cal was on duty. He had finished up work in the afternoon and come home, then walked down to where the bus dropped the boys off and brought them home. They'd had an after school snack and watched TV, talking about their days, and now that they'd had a small break, it was time to get back into duties. Which meant dinner and homework.

Owen slammed his lunchbox down on the bench. "Careful," Cal warned him.

"I have this thing you have to sign," Owen told him.

"What is it?" Cal turned for the pantry to get the flour and breadcrumbs.

Owen followed him across the room, the slip of paper in his hand. "It's a thing that means I can play baseball."

Cal turned with a container in each hand. "You want to play baseball?"

"Yeah," Owen gave an enthusiastic nod.

Cal headed back for the bench where he was working and Owen followed him. "All right. Tell me about it."

"You have this bat."

"Not the game," Cal cut him off, not sure if he was answering seriously or taking the piss. "Are you playin' for school?" He put the containers down and turned to the eight-year-old.

"It's a minor league team," Lewis spoke up. "The school organises for kids to sign up."

"What days do you play?"

"Saturday morning," Owen answered. "And you have to get a uniform. Can I play?"

"Uh yeah if you want to," Cal decided. That shouldn't be a problem. He shouldn't have to run that by Gillian first.

"You sign this that says I can," Owen pushed the slip towards him again.

"I'll sign if afta dinna all right? Remind me." Which meant if he did need to run it by Gillian he wouldn't have over committed.

"Ok," Owen agreed.

"Put it right there on the breakfast bar. With your homework," Cal directed. "What about you Lew? Are you gonna play a sport this year?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

Lewis gave a shrug. He finished the last potato and put the peeler down on the bench so he could gather up all the skins. "I never play sport Dad." He stopped what he was doing to sign 'sport'.

"Yeah I know," Cal noted pouring smaller amounts of flour into one container and breadcrumbs into another. "Maybe you should." He went to the fridge to get eggs and milk. "What sports do you like to play at school?" He used 'sport', 'like' and 'school'.

Lewis gave a shrug.

"Come on Lew," Cal gave him a nudge. "You must play somethin'." Lewis started washing the potatoes under the tap and placed them on the chopping board to cut before they went into the big pot on the stove. Cal broke the eggs into their own container, poured a little milk and beat the eggs with a fork.

"The big kids do soccer and basketball," Owen piped up from where he was sitting at the breakfast bar, making a start on his homework.

"What do you enjoy playin'?" Cal turned his head towards his eldest son again. He signed 'like' again and waited for an answer.

"Nothing," Lewis mumbled, giving a shake of his head. He turned away to retrieve the large pot from under the bench.

Cal frowned to himself. It wasn't like Lewis to be difficult about a topic of conversation. When he had problems at school he came to one of his parents for help. But that was school work related. Maybe this wasn't school work related. Maybe this was something else. Cal worked silently for a moment while Lewis cut the potatoes and put them in the pot. He filled it with water and carried it carefully to the stove. "What's next?" He asked when he got back, moving his right flat hand from behind his left to the front, like shuffling forward a card in a deck.

"Carrots," Cal directed him, moving his hand to beside his mouth and turning it slightly, a similar movement to mock crying. It was getting warmer already and soon they would do away with cooked vegetables and move to salads. He crumbed the pieces of beef, flour, eggs then bread, and set them aside to shallow fry just before the potatoes were ready to be served up. Lewis came back to his work area with a handful of carrots from the fridge and put them the sink. Cal nudged his son out of the way to be able to wash his hands.

"Dad I'm stuck," Owen announced, jamming two fingers into the side of his throat for 'stuck'.

"All right," Cal dried his hands and headed around the bench to where his youngest sat. It was a maths problem that Cal could identify easily. He reminded Owen how to multiply two large numbers using the 'bow tie' method, then headed back to the kitchen. Lewis had finished with the carrots and was cutting them into smaller sections. "Lew. I want you to play a sport this season. You can pick one, but you will play this summer," Cal told him firmly, placing a hand on his son's shoulder to make sure he had his attention.

Lewis looked up at him surprised. "Why?" He made a 'wh' question gesture.

"Because bein' physically active is good for you." He used 'healthy'.

Lewis pouted but he didn't argue and looked away again.

"You could play baseball like Owen," Cal tried to encourage, sensing the teenager wasn't very happy with him right now, taking Lewis's arm again to try and get the kid to look at him. But Lewis shook his head. Cal suppressed a sigh. Maybe he needed a moment to think about it. "Do you not like sports?" He made two 'S' hand shapes and sort of rubbed them together, back and forth.

Lewis shrugged. Cal bit back more frustration. Lewis was not normally like this at all. Cal tipped the breadcrumbs into the egg to mix it all up and made little stuffing balls. He added some herbs and powdered chilli, salt and pepper, then shaped them. The left over flour he binned. When he was finished that he washed his hands again, checked Owen was absorbed with his work and took Lewis by the elbow gently, to once again, get his attention. "What is it?" He asked softly when Lewis had turned full body towards him. "That botha's you. You don't like team sports?" He used 'group' because he didn't know 'team'.

Lewis shook his head, avoiding his father's eye.

"How come?" Cal pressed. "It's not like you to avoid somethin'. What's botherin' you?" He used 'upset'.

"I can't hear," Lewis muttered. He looked up and met his father's eye. He gestured to his ear with his left hand. "The other kids. I can't hear them very well. They... they get mad at me if we lose." He used 'angry'.

"All right," Cal backed down quickly, surprised a little, that kids were like that, that he hadn't thought of that difficulty (like in the swimming pool or on the field with wind and noise and large distances), and that Lewis hadn't mentioned it before. "Do you want me to?" He started.

"No," Lewis quickly responded with a shake of his head. "Don't go talk to my teachers." He moved his hands to near his head, his fingers pressed against his thumbs and moved them towards Cal slightly, like he was taking off a hat.

"Ok," Cal agreed. "I'm sorry," he apologised. "I wouldn't have... harassed you if I'd known." He used 'pressure' by pressing his right palm down on top of his left fist firmly and letting them both drop down.

"I know," Lewis sighed. "It's not a big deal," he signed 'important' and shook his head to mean 'unimportant' but his right shoulder rose and dropped and Cal felt that urge to go and kick some kids asses.

"An individual sport then," Cal countered, using 'single'. "Your school have those?"

"Sure yeah there's tennis."

"How about tennis then?"

"Sure," Lewis turned back to the bench again.

Cal stepped up and wrapped his arms around his son, giving him a squeeze, planting a kiss on top of his head, then let him go again. "Good man."