Story Sent in by Cleta:
My first date with Brad was at a children's soap box derby with a decent crowd. He had a son from a prior relationship, and his son was racing that day. Brad had to give me a one-armed hug when he met me, as he had a beer in his other hand. In fact, Brad was never without a beer in that hand for the entire time, like an action figure who came with a hard-wired accessory.
Brad's son was supposed to have raced in the second race of the day, but there was a problem with his racer and the organizers kept pushing him back into subsequent races. Brad hadn't built his son's car: Brad's ex and her boyfriend had done it, and they were the ones in the pit, opening the car and seeing what was wrong.
Brad himself, to help his son, drank beer and pointed out middle-aged women in the crowd that his eight-year-old son ought to go up to and ask out.
I distanced myself more and more from Brad, and I don't even think he noticed that I ended up sitting in a further-away section. I suppose I might have left, but I was there to see this kid race, and I guess I wanted to cheer for him, once he made it onto the road. I felt bad for him.
Brad's son's car was finally repaired, it lined up with other racers, pop went the starting gun, and off they all went.
Brad's son's car veered immediately off into the tire wall that bounded the course. Brad screamed, "Aw, come on!" then leaped onto the course, dragged his son's racer so that it pointed in the right direction, and jumped back.
His son flew forward again, and again, it veered into the side of the course.
This time, in front of everyone, Brad screamed a mighty roar of disappointment, drank down some beer, pointed to the crowd, yelled, "You suck!" to no one in particular (although if his son had overheard, he probably thought that it was meant for him) and tottered off, away from the course, the crowd, and me. He didn't come back, or if he did, then I didn't see, as I left shortly thereafter.