A boy, no older than twelve, sits beside his father at his town’s baseball team’s game, and wonders out loud to himself the possibility that he is in a place that he isn’t supposed to be.  He is wearing a blue baseball cap, blue shoes, blue jeans, and a blue t-shirt that is much too small for him. 
He says, “Why do you guys keep me around?”
“Who?  Your mom and me?”
“Yeah, you and mom.  Who am I to you guys, exactly?”
“Well, you’re our son.  We keep you around because we love you.”
“Because you love me.”
“That’s right.”
The boy stared off in no particular direction.  His forehead glistened with sweat under the heat of the afternoon sun and he furrowed his brow in frustrated concentration.  A foul ball cracked off the bat and soared into the crowd.  The dull roar was a blanket.
“When did I choose to be here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we chose to come here, to the game, right?”
“Yeah, I suppose we did.”
“Well, I’m here now, too.  I don’t mean at the game.  I mean here…really here, with you, with mom, and everyone.  When did I decide to get where I am?”
“I guess you didn’t.  Your mother and I brought you along for the ride, I guess.”  The father chuckled, smiled a hearty smile, and sipped his beer. 
“But, surely when you and mom picked me up and brought me along for the ride, so to speak, I must have decided to get in the car and come with, right?”
“I have no idea, kid.”
“It’s hard for me to think about those kinds of things.”
“Me too.”