He didn't get how you were his kid at first glance. Hell, you sure didn't look the part. You were tiny in just about every inherently visible way. He had figured any of his kin would've been tall or naturally muscular, or at least with broad shoulders or a strong speaking voice or some of his outspoken nature just- well anything besides a tiny, scrawny, wide-eyed and skittish kid. The woman had walked up and declared that you were his and then promptly left, saying that he had better resources to get you a good childhood. Now he sat with you at the kitchen table as he continued looking you over and debating on whether or not he saw any hereditary traits of his in you. He eventually sighed and gave up as he walked off and returned with a tennis ball. He'd planned on retrieving a football but considering that the football seemed bigger than your head, he settled for a tennis ball before asking: "You got any athletic prowess whatsoever?"

He chucked the tennis ball at you, to which you yelped but caught it and fumbled for a few seconds before tossing it back at him, the throw barely covering the length of the kitchen as he caught it easily and internally grimaced "Spaghetti armed toothpick. How the hell is this kid mine?" He continued his internal monologue as he chucked the ball back and forth between you before eventually deciding that you weren't too terrible despite your lack of muscular. Or height. Or seemingly a metaphorical spine

"Let's take this outside, yeah?" He jerked his thumb at the door and caught the ball as he motioned for you to follow after.