My children took advantage of one of my fatal discipline flaws. Should their behavior cross the line and require discipline, activating my funny bone rendered me useless. The pastor in our small Methodist Church offered healing by laying on of hands at the end of the regular Sunday Service. I suspect that was one of the few times John, age ten, had ever listened. He made a move as though he was heading to the front. I was totally surprised, and caught his arm, thinking he’d misunderstood.
”What’s going on?” I asked.
”I’ve got a heat rash!” He giggled.
”Sit down.” He got me.