The door to the boys' bedroom is closed, which is unusual for late evening. I knock gently.
"Come in," politely calls a distinctly unhappy voice.
I poke my head in, and see The Brawn lying sideways on his bed, an arm sticking up straight in the air, an extremely disgruntled expression on his dirty face.
"What's wrong, buddy?" I ask. "Everything okay?"
He sits up and frowns. He grumbles something I don't quite catch.
"You can't what?"
"I can't snap."
"Oh," I say, relieved that for only the third time in my fathering career, here's something I can maybe help with.
I have him show me his technique, and I correct it. Soon he's...well, not snapping, since there's no sound accompanying his movements, but his form is very nearly correct. All that's now required is some patience and some practice, two things for which six year old boys are widely renowned.
Then I have an idea. You can find out how to do anything online. I google "how to snap" and bingo. The ftop hit lays out the exact steps—all of which merely confirmed I'd advised him correctly—and the fourth or fifth hit is a video that looks like just the thing.
We click through. The Brawn mimics the motions, looking down at himself to make sure he's doing it right. So he misses when the video really takes off.
He looks up for the final few seconds. "Wait," he says. "What was that?"
I play it again. He watches silently. When it's over he just keeps staring at the screen, then turns towards me. He doesn't say anything.
"It was a joke," I explain.
"Oh," he says. He thinks. "Can we watch it again?"
We do. This time he smiles. When it's over, he laughs. Then again, harder.
"Can I have an egg?" he asks excitedly.