I would say our family has been running in circles a lot lately, but it’s really more of an oval.

Jakey will walk up to me and say, “Daddy, will you scare me?”

The invitation is tough to turn down even if I’m tired. Most evenings Heather and I spend at least some minutes running laps around our downstairs, one of us with a paper bag over our head and the other jogging along behind Jakey or serving as a safe haven when the monster gets too scary.

Heather made a paper bag into a mask when this all began. She cut holes and drew a scary face. Jakey’s imagination does all the work after that. I have only to drop the bag over my head to send him shrieking and giggling from the room. There is just something about being chased. I remember the feeling.

This has been good exercise for Heather and I. For Jakey, he never stops moving anyway, so it’s just different exercise.

Sometimes Jakey chases us. Heather made him his own bag mask where he can slip his arms through the paper handles to keep it in place. Otherwise it bounces and jostles about with each stride and he has even more difficulty running straight than the typical toddler.

The charade has broadened. Sometimes one of us holds his stuffed lamb or dog inside the paper bag—a little furry muzzle poking out the mouth hole—and chases him around saying, “Lamby monster!” or “Doggie monster!”.

This is less terrifying to him, but only by small degrees.

The thing is, sometimes you don’t feel like racing around and around your living room, kitchen, and dining room after a long day.

And you do it anyway.

His giggles pour into my heart and every time I find it hard to believe something this simple brings him so much joy. Sometimes we go clockwise lap after lap. Sometimes I switch directions and meet him halfway back around. When it gets too real up in here, he will run headlong into his mother’s legs—or to mine if Heather is playing the part of the monster and I am unmasked. He hides behind our legs, buries his face, laughs, and peeks out cautiously, happy terror rippling his body with energy.

I taught him to stand up for himself last week. I thought he needed a better out than shrieking in abject horror and being let off the hook.

If the monster is too much, if he dare not flee any longer, he has only to hold up a hand with his arm outstretched and declare, “Away monster. Away monster!”

The monster will cock its brown paper bag head to one side and slink away dejected.

Within seconds of my removing the mask, Jakey usually runs up to me, grabs my pant leg, and looks up with bright blue eyes.

“Daddy, will you scare me?”