The 2022 Top 10 Most Read from GOTG

Here we are again; another year flew past. Mercy me. I wrote 50 articles this year on Get Off The Ground (GOTG), and I've written 843 in total since I started writing in 2007. I went from silly posts in early fatherhood to more serious pieces over the years. 

Thank you for stopping by and reading. We're all works in progress, and my wife Amy and I continue to work at being better spouses, parents, and community members. which is the whole point of what I share here -- and to be the positive spread of growth, empathy, and love. 

Speaking of stopping by and reading, here were this year's top 10 most read from GOTG:

1. Coronavirus Sucks, But We Don't Have To
2. From the Loss and the Pride 
3. The Ultimate Quits
4. Not How They Will Wind Up 
5. Never Too Old 
6. Almost Gridless 
7. Those That Just Might Reconnect 
8. The Teen Brain Two-Step 
9. Thanks to Mom (and me) 
10. Stuck in the Middle with Me

Thank you again for reading, and now it's time for a Christmas break for me and my family. No matter how you celebrate this time of the year, and whatever your holiday traditions are, blessings to you all. Be safe and well. 

"You're all I need

Underneath the tree…”

Our Biggest Cheerleaders

We cheered them on when they performed in plays and musicals. We cheered them on when they played sports. We cheered them on when they graduated from elementary school. We cheer them on every day just hearing about their days. We celebrate their wins and empathize their struggles. 

Our children's biggest cheerleaders are Mom and Dad. Always have been. Always will be. 

Our oldest Beatrice was a junior leader for summer day camp this year and we cheered her on all the way through it. She was so grateful every day she was at camp working with the kids. This was something she wanted to do all year since being a camper at last summer's day camp. Back in early May of this year, I remember the video interview she did to become a junior leader. She was stressed prior to the interview, but she was so confident and calm during it. 

Just like her younger sister Bryce was when she spoke to her 5th graduating class at the end of May. She was one of three students from her 5th grade class who volunteered to speak. She shared how disappointing it was to get covid and miss some of the fun end-of-year events, but that no matter what, she was grateful to be back in the end for graduation to be with all her friends and her teachers. And she wrote the whole thing herself. 

We cheer our children on, we parent them, we take care of them, and we love them. As their parents, we don't expect them to cheer us on, just listen to us and love us back. And of course, deal with all our unabashed supportive cheering. That gets more emotionally and socially complicated now that they're teens when we have to deal with new and improved levels of overdramatic back-talk independence. 

However, they are our biggest cheerleaders, even when they try to act like they're not. Nearly every day when we tell them we hope they have a great day school, they reciprocate about our work days. Occasionally they tell me how good I'm getting at drumming. They cheer on Mom about all her yummy baking and cooking, and everything else that Mom does, which is a lot. 

Their cheering on was especially poignant when I was sworn in as a new school board member recently. Super-cheered on actually. They all sat in front, and Bryce whooped it up on my behalf while Mom and Beatrice clapped along when we walked up to be sworn in, and then again afterwards. Everyone in the room laughed, including past teachers both girls had in grade school. It was all so sweet. I smiled and laughed, thinking that this was the greatest Christmas present of all, the unabashed supportive love of our children. 

The Ride Home

As soon as they get into the car, both girls shout, "I'm going to talk about my day first!"

"No, I'm going first!"

"No, I am!"

"Dad, who gets to go first?"

Sometimes I tell them it's whoever said it first. Other times one of them will concede and let the other go first. The other day I actually had them pick a number between 1 and 10, and whoever was the closest got to go first. Haven't done that in years.

Our daughters have always felt safe and comfortable sharing their experiences with us, something we've fostered and have been quite grateful for. But now that they're both in middle school together, 6th and 8th grade, it's become a race to tell us about their "work" days. Good, bad, or indifferent. Sometimes in mind-numbing descriptive teen detail. About lunch drama with friends, that to me didn't seem all that dramatic, but to them was. Or, classroom drama about group projects where others in the group didn't do very much of the work. Or, more classroom drama about teachers who stress them out. More of these dramas from our oldest Beatrice than her younger sister Bryce, but both of their days are shared with us, drama or not.

My wife Amy takes them to school in the mornings, and unless I'm traveling for work, I pick them up most of the time after school (if they're not riding their bikes or walking, which they're doing sometimes). I love that time with our kids, just listening to them, asking further explanatory questions. That can lead to either further clarifications, or sassy retorts, depending on the context and their mood. It's only a 10-minute ride home, but for me it feels like hours listening to my children grow up. 

The fact that our teens are comfortable talking with us is so important. They tell their mother more than they tell me, but they're still comfortable sharing with me. One of the things that's made a difference is that we listen and let them talk. That doesn't take the parenting out of the equation, because there are situations that call for parental oversight and insight, and for me, judgmental interjections. I try to not to do that, but still do. And both girls call me out on that -- "Dad, I'm not done talking, so please don't interrupt."

The loving bonds of trust are there with our daughters because we listen to them without judgment (again, Mom more than Dad) and without directly trying to solve any of their problems they may have (school, friends, etc.). We help them, of course, but we also want them to learn how to figure things out, how to help themselves, work with others, and self-advocate. 

If there are issues that involve emotional, social, or physical safety, including things that we weren't aware of because they didn't want us to be aware, then there are definitely parental interventions and controls. Hiding things from us are rare, and when it happens, we deal with them immediately.

So, after arguing who tells Dad about their day first when I pick up our girls from school, they tell me about their days, and then argue who's going to tell Mom first when they get home. It's a gift of grace that they both are willing to share their days with us, every day. That's why the ride home is a highlight of my day, every day. 

Listen and Love First

In a sea of thousands, I felt seen. Again. I listened to his story, and although I knew it was nothing like mine, in a way, it actually was. The moment he finally felt seen and heard was pivotal for him, and it reminded me of mine.

Here I was at my first school board conference with nearly 5,000 school board members from across the state preparing to be a new board member next year, something I never thought I'd be. The first keynote speaker was Brandon P. Fleming, author of MISEDUCATED: A Memoir, an at-risk youth and college dropout turned award-winning educator. 

I felt that feeling of being seen and heard again because of a very specific part of his story. He was a failing black college student whose only role models were drug dealers and athletes. An English professor took the time "see" him, to meet him where he was in his life, to lead with love and help him turn his learning and his life around. She introduced him to black writers that he never knew existed and it changed his life forever. 

Brandon went on to finish college and launch a debate residency program that recruits under-served youth with no prior debate experience who he trains to compete against hundreds of elite debaters from over 25 different countries around the world. For five consecutive years, since the program’s inception in 2017, every cohort trained by Fleming has won the international competition.

My story was nothing like his. I was a privileged white high school student who got straight A's, took all the college-level AP classes, sang in choir, played football, and participated in student government. However, the pressure to constantly excel and the ghosts of my childhood growing up in domestic violence and sexual abuse became too much for me and I began to have severe anxiety and panic attacks. 

However, I didn't know what they were at the time. I began skipping classes, my grades suffered, and no one, not even my closest friends and immediate family, understood what was happening to me. It wasn't that they didn't love or care about me, but because I couldn't express what was happening to me, most took an arms-length approach with me. Everyone felt bad for me that I was breaking down, but no one could reach me. 

It wasn't until another high school counselor reached out to me when my perspective changed. Mr. Ash wasn't my primary academic counselor, but he connected with me in a way that others didn't. I told him as best I could what I was feeling and why, and he could relate; he had experienced that kind of stress when he was my age as well. He listened to my story without judgment, and shared his own story, and recommended that I take the time to heal and figure things out, that I should check out the field of psychology (which I ended up majoring in) but that I didn't necessarily need to go to college right away, if I needed more time. He took the time to "see" me, to meet me where I was in my life, to lead with love and help me turn my learning and my life around. 

Fully turning things around after high school would still take over a decade, but I got there. As a new school board member, I listened to Brandon P. Fleming speak and tears welled in my eyes. He said "stories are the gateway to empathy" and that as school administrators, educators, support staff, board members, and parents, we should "listen and love first, and then teach and lead second." Today, too many young people need mental health services, including elementary school kids, and we can do better to ensure they are emotionally, socially, and physically safe. We should meet each child where they're at, listen and love without judgement, and strive to provide the resources and support they need to thrive. 

A Gift of Grace

The four of us sat around the campfire -- me, my wife Amy, and our two daughters, Beatrice and Bryce. We talked about anything and everything. We talked about the nice Thanksgiving we had at my sister's, the first time in three years. We talked about Christmas being our favorite time of the year, especially for Beatrice (who already had me listening to Christmas music before Thanksgiving, again). We talked about going to Disneyland again after the holidays and what we looked forward to. We talked about school and what they looked forward to and not looked forward to. Like Monday after a holiday.

As we sat around the campfire, I watched our kids' animated faces in the firelight, and again witnessed the years that had already rushed by since they were babies. A joyful journey of multi-dimensional universes: from holding their tiny bodies close, to  toddler-ville, to childhood, and now to today's sassy teen world. I looked at my wife, the firelight highlighting her beauty as if she hadn't aged a day since we met.

But I knew our faces were older, softer, with deeper lines etched along our foreheads, eyes, and mouths where there none years ago. I smiled at her as I listened to our daughters share. I imagined us sitting there together 20 years from now, always comfortable sharing our lives with each other. Our girls all grown up with lives of their own sharing the adventures they've had. Their ups and downs. Their hopes and fears. Their passions and dislikes. Their loves and heartbreaks. Maybe they had spouses of their own, and children of their own, and we now all sat around the campfire together (God, let that be a long time from now). 

Back to our campfire moment at hand, though. The flames danced below us and the stars shone brightly above. Our girls were teens again and we talked and laughed and the smiles kept coming. I'm grateful every day for my family, but there was something more magical this time about that campfire time. A closeness that transcended the bounds of time as I traveled from the past to present to future to present again. Being everywhere all at once would usually be overwhelming for me, resulting in tears, but this time I embraced it all with a joyful smile, living lifetimes in moments, and moments that felt like lifetimes. 

No matter where I went in time, I felt tethered to the love that surrounded me, one that kept reminding me that every moment I experience with my family is a gift of grace. 

Reciprocal Ripples

"You guys judge too much," Bryce said to us at our latest family meeting.

"I don't think we do," my wife Amy said. "We try not to."

"Yes, you do," Beatrice said. "Like about Trump for example." 

Fair enough, I thought. But c'mon.

"Your dad and I talk about current affairs and things that affect our family, yes, but that doesn't always mean we're judging," Amy said. "Sometimes maybe, but not always."

"What about other people we know," Bryce said. "Like family or friends."

Ouch. Not fair.

"There's a difference between talking about someone we know and care about, than simply dumping on them because we wish them misery," I said.

"Still judging," Bryce said.

"No, it's not."

"Well, what about The Masked Singer?" Beatrice said. 

Funny. And true. But in a entertaining way. The Masked Singer being the singing competition show where famous contestants dress up in elaborate costumes and sing and a celebrity panel (and the audience) try to guess who they are. It's a family favorite of ours. 

"That's different," Amy said. "That's fun judging -- and a fun show!"

"Still judging."

Sigh.

When the girls were little, we knew they didn't pick up much of what we discussed out loud near them or in front of them. But over the past few years, they definitely pick it all up. If they do overhear, and ask us questions about what we're talking about, we do our best to give them context and clarity about why we're saying what we're saying. 

And while we don't deny we've been judgy at times about what we've discussed in front of our children, it's never done out of malice. Anger and frustration sometimes, but never malice. This is why we've worked on as adults and parents is finding joy in the success of others, of those overcoming obstacles and improving their lives and mental health, and more, and how we can help or support their success (you might have heard the German word Freudenfreude that means this). In other words, what it's like to have empathy. Something our girls remind us of every single day with their own actions (their sassy words are another story). 

As opposed to deriving pleasure and joy from someone else’s suffering or misfortune (you might have heard the German word Schadenfreude that means this). Why do so many long to see others fail? Get thoroughly excited by it even? Especially when political leaders, sports figures, actors and musicians, and others closer to home like family and friends, fail. Why? Because it can make someone feel better about themselves, about their own situation? Yes, it can. I know, because we've been there. 

But not anymore. (Mostly, we mean. We are human after all.) No matter what happens, we'd rather celebrate the personal wins of others and how we can all pay it forward in kind to others. Reciprocal ripples that buoy our interconnected souls. 

Yes, I just wrote that. No judging. 

Our Family Safety Zen

The last thing I should've done was to get in their faces, but that's exactly the first thing I did. The reaction was swift and effortless, as if my hand was already ready to flip the switch when provoked.

"Dad, that boy just poked me and laughed at me," our oldest daughter Beatrice said to me. "He's bullying me and I'm not comfortable and want to go."

She definitely looked uncomfortable and that was all the provoking I needed. I turned and faced the two teen boys and took a step toward them. Both wore baseball caps and one wore sunglasses.

"Leave my daughters alone," I said.

They instantly read my look and tone and both of them tensed. The one without sunglasses took a half step back. They were big kids, but I was a bigger adult.

"What do you mean?" the one without sunglasses said defensively.

"Your daughters?" the one wearing sunglasses said. "We didn't do anything."

I wasn't sure if he was making fun of us or me, but it didn't matter. Thankfully, they didn't say another word. 

"Leave them alone," I simply said again. I could feel my anger seething. 

I turned around to check on Beatrice and her sister Bryce. Beatrice was uncomfortable but Bryce seemed fine.

"We're going to go back to the car," Beatrice said. 

"That's fine," I said. "Or, you can wait here with me until I get our food and we can go back together."

"I'm fine, Dad," Bryce said. Beatrice didn't say anything. "I saw him bug Beatrice but he didn't bug me."

The two teen boys at this point were ordering some food of their own and then they sat at a table away from us. I don't remember them looking our way again or saying another word.

We had been on our way to go camping for the weekend and stopped to get food and gas. My wife stayed with our car and camper, and dog Jenny, and me and the girls went to McDonald's. As soon as we walked in the door I saw the two teen boys teasing each other and screwing around with the touch screen ordering system. A mountain bike lay on the floor near the bathrooms and I assumed it was theirs. The girls and I went ahead and ordered on the other side of the touchscreen system from where the teens were.

I was already on edge because of what had happened just prior to going to McDonald's, I was the one watching the car, camper, and our dog. Amy and the girls had gone to cookie store to get some treats. We were parked in a shopping center parking lot parallel to the main road, and coming up the sidewalk was a man pushing a shopping cart full of what I assumed where his belongings. In front of where we were parked was the shopping center security guard sitting in his car. As soon as the shopping cart man got close, he immediately pulled out his phone and start filming and cursing at the security guard. The security guard got out of his vehicle and confronted the filming man, which just made him angrier and he cursed continuously accusing the security guard of following him. 

I definitely felt like mental illness was in play here, and these days you just don't know who may pull out a knife or a gun, so I readied myself to roll up the windows and lock the doors. I had no where to go otherwise. The shopping cart man continued his way up the sidewalk past where we were parked. I told myself not to look him in the eyes, but I did, and thankfully he just glanced at me and then kept pushing his cart down the sidewalk. 

After the confrontation with the teen boys in McDonald's, we got our food and walked back to where we parked. Beatrice felt better because we left and Bryce kept saying the boys hadn't bothered her. I told Amy about what had happened and that I knew that I overreacted. Of course there's nothing wrong with protecting our children if they feel unsafe, but I did get too verbally aggressive with the teen boys. And, I didn't give Beatrice a chance to use her own Kidpower and tell the boys to stop herself.  

Again, nothing else happened and we went on our way down the highway to the campground. But from the shopping cart man to the teen boys, I felt rattled and angry, and instead, needed to channel our family safety Zen. The camping eventually did the trick. 

Then came the flat tire, which is another story for another time...

Tending to the Teamwork

It felt like my brain lurched forward and then ground to a halt. It reminded me of when I was in high school and my El Camino's timing chain broke and I threw a rod. Literally meaning the engine no longer worked and I most likely would have to replace the entire thing, which I did. 

Fortunately that wasn't the case with my brain. However, as I continued to deliver my organization's annual candidate experience award ceremony that evening after completing our conference, already exhausted from the months of preparation and handwringing, I put myself on automatic pilot. The suit and tie I hadn't worn for three years squeezed me a little tighter than the last time due to extra covid pounds. The stage spotlights bore down on me and I could no longer feel the cool conference room air on my face. 

But I kept handing out awards, and smiling, and wiping my brow, and smiling, and all the cameras kept on taking pictures and videos. While on autopilot, I could only think of two things: missing my daughter's first soccer game of the season earlier that day, and I the fact that I wouldn't even be standing there on the stage giving these awards away if it wasn't for my amazing work team. 

The first thing was a no-brainer because I always miss my family when I'm traveling for work, and they miss me. We also work well together as a team, with my wife Amy of course leading the way. When I'm not there, she still architects it all and keeps things running. When I am home, I'm an integral part of our finely tuned engine. A loving one that purrs like a kitten with the power of a 350 horses under the hood (just like my old El Camino, before I threw a rod). 

We've instilled teamwork with our two daughters and it shows wherever they are -- at home, in the classroom, on the soccer field -- wherever. And when one isn't feeling the greatest, the others step up to do whatever needs to get done. Well, most of the time that is. Our girls are teens now, you know. 

When I played football in high school, we had a banner up in the locker room that read "T.E.A.M. -- Together Everyone Achieves More." Ain't that the truth. Besides living that tagline at home, my work team embodies the same spirit. Mercy me did they ever at our first in-person conference in three years. We all wanted it to succeed, needed it to succeed, and it did. The execution and teamwork was impeccable. Not only with my team, but also with the many volunteers who helped us this year. 

Yes, my brain locked up at the end of our event, and thankfully my team had my back. Now I'm home again, exhausted and sick, and my family's taking care of me. Tending to the teamwork is a win for all. 

Hug Your Kids

The text floored me. 

"MHMS is in lockdown. There is no immediate threat to the school. All children are accounted for and safe."

It was from our daughters' middle school and that's all it said. I had just gotten off of a work call and immediately went inside our house.

"Did you see the text?" I asked my wife Amy.

"Yes," was all she said. She was texting herself.

"Who are you texting?" I asked.

"Beatrice. She's working in the office right now. She says they may be someone nearby the campus with a gun, so they're barricading the door."

Our oldest Beatrice, now in 8th grade, is an office aid in the morning and was able to get to her phone and text her mom. She was scolded for that by one of the adults in the office, but another had already told her she could use her phone. Most of the time the students with phones have to keep them in their backpacks in their lockers. She texted Amy that she heard they were in a code red lockdown.

Another text came through on my phone: "Police are investigating an anonymous tip of a threat to Santa Cruz High. There has been no violence and no evidence of an active threat."

That didn't make us feel any better; the high school wasn't far from our middle school. Beatrice texted Amy that they were fine, but many of the adults were scared. She wasn't panicking and that was a good thing.

I paced back and forth in our living room, not sure what to do, if anything. We didn't know how our youngest Bryce was doing, only that she was in her core 6th grade classroom on the first floor. The were reports from local media that someone had called the police to report multiple shots had been fired at the nearby high school. That was all we knew.

Amy texted Beatrice to stay away from the windows. Beatrice said they closed all the shades, but we both knew that still wouldn't stop any bullets from outside. There's been too much violence on school grounds this year; there have been at least 141 real incidents of gunfire on school grounds, resulting in 48 deaths and 115 injuries nationally. Statistically it's at an all-time high. 

It was heart-wrenching to have to wait for more information in light of what's been happening more and more in this country. I knew if we tried to go down there, we wouldn't be let inside the school during a lockdown. Beatrice would tell us later that a parent pounded on the school doors shortly after the lockdown started, which scared everyone in the office. 

Imagining both our children trapped inside the school with someone roaming the halls with guns ready to kill filled me with angry dread. Amy and I kept it under control, though. We've repeatedly discussed what to do in case of this kind of emergency and counted on the fact our girls would do their best to stay safe. Until we knew more, there wasn't much we could do and that we had to be ready for action if and when necessary. Then there were reports that the active shooter incident was a hoax. An hour later that's what the text from school indicated as a possibility as well. 

Thirty minutes later I went to pick up our daughters. There had already been many parents picking up their kids once the lockdown was lifted, and while I waited for ours, I watched every other middle schooler come out of the front doors looking shaken, even crying. It was unbearable. 

I hugged both daughters when they came outside. Hearing them describe the anxiety they experienced as well as their classmates and teachers, having to push desks and chairs to barricade doors and hide under their desks, kids crying and shaking and even throwing up, everyone waiting for God knows what, was heart-wrenching. Bryce said she had a panic attack but she was better now; I hugged her again. The rest of the day we talked through it all with them, reviewed our safety plans and our Kidpower, and were grateful to have our family safe at home.

Thank you to our local law enforcement, the teachers, and the administrators for following safety protocols and keeping our children safe. Sadly this is part of a growing trend nationally where callers disguise their number and identity through and deceives emergency responders into sending services to create fear and disruption. This combined with the real violence on the rise is no joke and the trauma is devastating. 

Hug your kids and have a safety plan. Blessings to those who have lost their lives to this violence. We have to do more to prevent it.

Clap Along

"It might seem crazy what I am 'bout to say

Sunshine, she's here, you can take a break

I'm a hot air balloon that could go to space

With the air, like I don't care, baby by the way..."

—Pharrell Williams, Happy

We need more gentle, loving, and empathic souls in this world. If the past few years have shown us anything, it was how easy it's become to call each names, to demean and ridicule one another because of differences, beliefs, and perspectives. It's become cool to be toxic and tough again, for men and women alike. 

I've been guilty of that myself, which is why it became so important to meet people where they are without judgement. My wife Amy and I have really been working on that one, and our daughters help to keep us honest as well. They're old enough now to understand what we say and why we say it and have no problem calling us judgers. They may not always get the context of our intention right, but we've taught them well to be more empathic and inclusive, without ever compromising their health and safety. 

Yes, we need more gentle, empathic souls today. Sadly, we lost one recently to cancer -- our dear Aunt Julie. Married to Amy's Uncle Brian, she's was such a sweet presence in our lives for nearly 20 years. Brian and Julie had met around the time when Amy and I were married, although she didn't come to our wedding with him. We also didn't live near one another, but we've had many opportunities to be together starting with their wedding back in 2006. In 2007 we traveled to Boston together with them and had a wonderful time, which was when we decided to have a family (Beatrice arrived in 2008). 

Over the years they would visit us in California, or we'd visit them, whether in Illinois where they were from along with many of Amy's family, or in Oregon where they eventually settled. They were hopeful romantics like we are and had many adventures together, just like we've had. In fact, we just celebrated our anniversary and theirs was coming up. She was also a wonderful artist who inspired our girls and their artistic abilities. In recent years, Brian and Julie were on the similar spiritual path as us to become better loving and nurturing souls. But her illness overcame her and she recently left this world, finally free of her cancer and her pain. 

Sadly there's one less gentle and loving person in the world. One special memory we have of Julie was a visit from her and Brian and other family members years ago when our girls were only three and five years old. We had a dance party in the living room with the lights out and our disco ball swirling that filled the darkness with happy, vibrants colors. One of the songs we played was "Happy" by Pharrell Williams, which was new at the time, and quite appropriate for that visit. Julie loved it, having not heard it before then, and we all danced away to the "happy" song.

One of the song's lines is, "Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth," and we all definitely clapped along. Julie will be missed and our hearts go out to Brian. The only solace from the grief and pain of losing someone we love is that their happy and joyful soul remains in our hearts forever. With God's grace we can continue to clap along to this truth. 

Time For Them To Go Make

Thank goodness my parents never chaperoned my junior high dances. Not that there was out-of-control make-out sessions going on; most of the time kids just stood around. Girls on one side of the gym, and boys on the other, all giggling and talking among themselves. Sometimes there was shrieking and running around like crazy kids, but most of the time there was just a lot of standing around. 

However, at my 8th grade dances, there was a little making out and close dancing, and I definitely didn't want my parents seeing that. The teacher, administrators, and other parents who were supervising the dances did their best to keep us all in line. 

Being 12, 13, and 14 are awkward and exciting years. Changes abound, physically and emotionally, and having two daughters means they are exponential. Our girls are amazing and we're so proud of them, no matter how much "sass" we get now. And we're getting it, that's for sure. Especially me. 

We're all very close and feel safe with each other, are comfortable being vulnerable, and can poke fun at each other without being mean. Mostly. We're still their parents, and they are our children, and while we want to ensure they're safe and making good choices, we're very grateful that they share their days with us, how they feel (up or down), and ask for help when they need it. 

They're both in middle school now and participating in more activities on their own with their friends. We review our safety plans every week with them, of what they need to do when they're on their own, like checking in with us, especially if the original plan changes. 

Now there are the middle school dances for our kids. Our oldest Beatrice went to her first last year after pandemic restrictions were lifted. Our youngest Bryce gets to go to her first with her sister and friends this year. Amy volunteered to help with the dance, but not chaperone it. 

The other night when we were all playing a game before dinner, Amy and I joked with them that we were going to both chaperone their next dance. 

"No!" they both exclaimed.

All of us being big fans of the sitcom The Goldbergs, about a family growing up in the 1980's, a coming-of-age decade for Amy and me, Amy pulled out the catch phrases from the mom character Beverly Goldberg. 

"We're going to go to your dance and I'm going to dad dance like this," I said. I shared my funky hitchhiker hand swing.

"No, Dad, you can't do that," Beatrice said. Bryce just laughed.

Amy smiled. "And I'm going to tell everyone how I 'baked my schmoopies in my mom oven' and how much I love you," she said, channeling Beverly Goldberg. 

Both girls laughed and said, "No!"

"And then I'm going to ask you both if you 'need to go make,'" said Amy, dropping her hand into her other one and giggling herself. That reference meaning having to go number 2 in the bathroom. 

Again they both shouted, "No!"

We all laughed. What they don't know is that we just may chaperone a dance before the end of the school year. So we can watch our kids with their friends all stand around giggling and talking, while they periodically shriek and run around like crazies, just like our olden days. Whether we chaperone or not, these are the their formative years when it's time for them to go make. Special memories, that is. Because nobody likes to talk potty time, especially teens.

To Keep The Heart Lights On

"If ever a man had it all
It would have to be me
And, oooh, I love you..."

–Climax Blues Band, I Love You

I listened to Roger Love speak about speaking. About voice and volume. About melody. About how all the things he shared with the audience, being a famous voice coach, can make us better communicators. 

Unfortunately I was tired from work travel, so I nodded off here and there. I heard most of what he said, though. About how important melody is and why we should pretend we are singing while you are speaking. We should move it around, shake it up, swoop, dive, soar, and let our voice be as interesting as we are.

Man, I needed melody in that moment. Feeling burnt out at work, unsure of the future as recession fears grow, and being far from home at a work conference called HR Inspire, I felt very uninspired and alone. After Roger was done speaking, another attendee struck up a conversation with me. Our spouses came up, and I said it was almost our 25th anniversary. Twenty-five years from the day we met, and 19 years from when we were married, on the same date. I also talked proudly of my daughters. He smiled and asked me what was so special about my wife, I said, "She's open and empathic and has such a loving heart. Our children have such a great role model." Then he asked, "What about you?" I smiled and winked, then said, "She's taught me well."

And while that was nice sharing about my wife and daughters, it also made me more miserable and homesick. After that, I wandered alone as the attendees left, many headed to the conference reception. The conference venue was Music City Center in Nashville, and music of all flavors was piped over the event center PA system. 

A familiar melody started to play, an old song I've always loved. One that reminded me of my wife. Lyrically it wasn't literal to our relationship, but it was close. The song was "I Love You" by Climax Blues Band, and it floored me. I sat alone in the lower lobby and tears welled in my eyes. 

I thought about that one day at the beach nearly 25 years ago, and more tears welled in my eyes. I've always been a hopeless romantic my whole life, although romanticizing our love hasn't needed much help; our melody has always been there. However, we've had relationship problems and painful moments of angst and anger, but we've learned to prioritize honesty, growth, intimacy, and love. And even after 25 years of love and growth, we're going through this book called The Love Prescription: Seven Days to More Intimacy, Connection, and Joy together.

I sat there and wiped the tears away. No matter how fried and uncertain I felt about my business and my work life, and how fearful I was about the future, all I had to do was think about these melodies: the love of my life and our children. That's more than enough love to keep the heart lights on. 

"Since then I never looked back

It's almost like living a dream

And, oooh, I love you..."

A Renaissance of Pure Potentiality

We've always told our kids that it's not about the school grades, it's about doing their personal best and learning. Our oldest Beatrice would argue that we do care about grades, especially now that she's been in middle school for the past two-plus years. She's not completely wrong nor is she completely right on that one. For me, someone who grew up constantly striving to excel in school with the payoff being the grades, and the parental and peer recognition and social acceptance that came from that. What I didn't consciously realize then was that it wasn't so much about the learning; it was about being esteemed, even envied. 

It's different now. I'm different now. My wife Amy has definitely been more about pure potential and willingness to do our best, whatever the outcome, and I'm there now, too. Because the outcomes literally should be learning and growth as humans trying to traverse a lifetime of inevitable challenges and failures. Some self-imposed and many others brought on by others as well as circumstance. 

Our youngest Bryce has an easier time with her schoolwork overall than her big sister does. Don't get me wrong, even with Beatrice who struggles with math and reading, they both are thriving in school (Bea has an A+ in English -- and there's the grade pride thing again). Their grades reflect that, yes, but their entire daily exercise of living has translated to else their abilities to learn, adapt, and apply new insights to how they approach life as teens and beyond.

However, a lifetime of inevitable challenges and failures, whether self-imposed or not, isn't how life should be viewed exclusively. Yes, they will make decisions that won't be in their best interest. Yes, there may also come a time when they are discriminated against and opportunities withdrawn because of their gender, of who they are, of what they do.

But we want them to believe and breathe the Law of Pure Potentiality, that they can create anything, anytime, anywhere. This was one of our latest meditations and one that really resonated with me. It's based on the fact that we are, in our essential state, pure consciousness. Pure consciousness is pure potentiality; it is the field of all possibilities and infinite creativity. Pure consciousness is our spiritual essence.

Maybe we're not so far off when we tell our children they can be whoever they want to be and do whatever they want to do -- their spiritual essence is pure potential. The fact is that the challenges, limitations, and discrimination that can and will happen to them are all transitory -- they will still be able to create anything, anytime, anywhere. That includes creating love, empathy, happiness, and peace. 'Cause every little thing gonna be all right. Although I grew up a Christian, only now do I understand why others react so negatively when someone talks about their spirituality, their faith, and how God (our pure consciousness) provides. 

Our family's faith today is a renaissance of pure potentiality. Already both of our girls have started developing the ability to adapt, overcome, and to keep creating a positive vision of what's next. The latter being the biggest life differentiator of all. Grades may measure academic progress, while what we manifest measures the rest. 

Being More Emo

"Oh I get so emotional baby
Every time I think of you
I get so emotional baby
Ain't it shocking what love can do..."

–Whitney Houston, So Emotional

"You know, Bryce, he's so emo," Beatrice said to her sister.

"I know, so emo," Bryce echoed. 

"Who are you talking about and what does that mean?" I asked. "What's the context? Does it mean that the person is too emotional?"

"I don't know," Bryce said. Beatrice didn't answer.

"What do you mean you don't know? You say it all the time."

"Not all the time," Bea said.

Well, maybe not all the time, I thought. But many times a week I hear our girls, now 12 and 14, use that expression.

Most of the time they're using it in a light, self-deprecating way. At least, that's what Bryce ended up telling me. When I told my wife Amy, her Kidpower training popped open and she said we need to talk with them about minimizing other people's emotions using that term. Then she laughed at herself, although still serious.

The term emo literally means "a person who is overly sensitive or emotional." And the term is used to make fun of people who do show their emotions more than others. It can also mean someone who is shy, brooding, and dark and who listens to Emo music, which is a rock music genre, post-hardcore and hardcore punk, characterized by emotional, often confessional lyrics. Not quite Whitney Houston, that's for sure. God, I'm getting old. I had no idea what all this meant when I started looking for answers online. 

Based on what I learned, I've always been emo. Never the toughest guy in the toolshed, I was always sensitive and emotional, although I struggled early on with managing my feelings, expressing myself, asking for help when I needed it. I learned over time that it's empowering being vulnerable, to be able to express my feelings and relate to other's feelings.

When I think about the broader implications of living in a society that does not embrace sharing one's feelings, especially for boys and men, I agree with my wife. We shouldn't minimize other's emotions when they're vulnerable enough to share them, because they most likely need support; we have to meet people where they are. It's much healthier to express how we feel and to be given empathic understanding in kind. Unfortunately, misogynistic societies have always denigrated others for being emotional and caring and why women are the weaker gender and are less than effective leaders than men. 

Of course, that's not true. I've got a household of effective female leaders and am proud that we talk about how we feel, how we manage our emotions, and how we provide love and support to one another and to others. So proud of our BhivePower! Our teen girls know that being more emo is the way to go and to not minimize others who are, or who aren't. 

A Renewal of Faith

"'Cause I'm never gonna stop the rain by complaining
Because I'm free
Nothing's worrying me..."

–B. J. Thomas, Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head

"Jenny," I said to our dog. "It's raining."

Jenny yawned and did a downward dog stretch. I thought her eyes said, I hear it, Dad. Ugh, that means I'm going to get wet.

While I waited outside for her to do her morning business, towel at the ready to dry her and wipe off her feet, I celebrated the rain. The rest of the family was still fast asleep on this dark and wet early fall Sunday morning. Our rabbit was safely snuggled away in his hutch. 

I reached my hand out to let the raindrops fall onto my open palm. Cool, wet, and soft. Soothing. No other sounds or smells but the rain. Like a therapy session for the soul. All the adulting things we have to deal with and worry about day after day washed away temporarily. The unstable world around us – the drought where we live, fires, the pandemic and other diseases, the economy, inflation, making a living, cultural and societal divides, crime, mental health issues, dangerous misinformation, and of course raising our children in the middle of it all – restabilizes into refreshing and nurturing raindrops for a world longing to heal. I placed my wet palm to my face and smiled.

Rain has always had this effect on me; God's way of inspiring a renewal of my faith in humanity and my place in it. We all want to be loved, to be safe, to be healthy, to be ourselves without fear of shame or discrimination. 

As I dried off our dog Jenny, "Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head" played inside my head. That was followed by a a line from "Three Little Birds":

"...don't worry about a thing, 'cause every little thing gonna be all right..."

Jenny and I sat next to each other on the coach. Everyone else was still asleep. I love my family, I thought. Jenny sighed a doggy sigh. I sighed a hopeful sigh.

Yes, a renewal of faith. Because I'm free, nothing's worrying me. 

Day One All Over Again

Our girls were excited for us to see their classrooms and meet their teachers. It would be the first in-person open house since before the pandemic and we were all looking forward to attend. I was already to go for more than our children because earlier that day I had met with the presidents of the teacher and administrative/support staff unions to talk about their priorities. I'll be on the school board starting next year so the timing was good before our open house. 

But I have to admit, I was a little apprehensive for this middle school open house. The ghosts of decades past school anxieties always bubble up for me before these current in-person school events. 

Onward I went. It was great to see old friends and parents of kids we've been going to school with since preschool and kindergarten. Our youngest Bryce is in beginning choir this year, so before the class tours started we watched her perform with the rest of the kids and the school band performed as well. 

Our oldest Beatrice had looked forward to showing us around the school and wanted to make sure we knew where we were going. Again, it had been nearly three years since our last open house, prior to Bea starting 6th grade. The girls have been back in school for the past year, but more of the parent events have been virtual until now.

Our plan was to divide and conquer and then switch. Meaning, my wife Amy and I would go to each girl's first three period classes, then we'd switch for the last three periods. We'd been having a heatwave and the first few classes were really hot and stuffy, which triggered my anxiety. I pushed through though and kept my focus on what the teachers shared with the parents in the room. 

But then I misread Bryce's third period room number on the schedule she wrote out for us and went to the wrong room. The teacher was one that Bea had in 6th grade, one of her favorites in middle school so far, and I knew Bryce didn't have him. I felt bad, but a few minutes into his intro I knew I had to go find the right room. I apologetically got up to leave and he was gracious with my exit, giving me a fist bump on the way out. 

When it was time to go to Bea's physical education period, I asked another teacher where to go. She pointed to the field where a group of parents gathered, so that's where I went. Later Beatrice would point out that was the 6th grade PE period, not the 8th grade one. Hers was in the gym, so I missed out on that one. 

The last class of open house was Beatrice's history class. By then the outside air was much cooler and flowed into the open classroom windows. We all sat down and the teacher started her overview. I heard music playing in the distance and it sounded like it was coming in from the outside windows where all the kids played waiting for their parents to be done. But then it sounded like it was inside the room somewhere. I thought, who's playing music right now? 

The music persisted and now I could tell is was Abacab by Genesis. Great song, I thought. And then it hit me -- the music was coming from me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone that was playing the music. Somehow I had started playing iTunes as we entered the classroom. I apologized and everyone laughed. The teacher didn't look too happy about it and I actually worried she would take my phone away. A dad in front of me said, "I love that song." 

That's how our girls' open house went for me. Just like that, it felt like my first day of junior high all over again. Anxious, sweaty, going to the wrong classes, feeling shy and withdrawn, accidentally playing music in class (which I never did way back when because I didn't have a phone then), and generally feeling out of sorts. And it wasn't just a coming-back-from-summer-break out of sorts. It was a coming-back-from-a-crazy-pandemic one.

I'm sure others felt the same way. Students, parents, teachers, and administrators alike. It's like day one all over again; the first time in a long time. But day one leads to another year of learning and out of sorts becomes in the zone. I thought about my meeting earlier in the day with the teacher and support staff union presidents. As long as we can recruit and retain quality teachers and support staff (not easy without enough affordable housing where we live); meet our children individually where they're at academically and provide the learning support they need; and provide them the social, emotional, and physical safety skills needed throughout life, we'll be okay. No easy task for sure, but a mission we're all signing up for. 

Keep All of Our Students Safe

The email from our middle school principal read:

I am writing to inform you of an incident that happened this morning.  Everyone is fine, but we want to share this information with our families.  A student was approached today on the way to school by a bright blue four door sedan occupied by a few people.  The people tried to coax the student into the car.  We are bringing this to your attention for two reasons.  First, to remind you to talk to your child/children about safety and being approached by strangers.  Second, if you see a car that matches this description, please reach out to the police.  We will have additional police presence today at dismissal.  We want to help keep all of our students safe. 

Yes, we want to help keep all of our students safe. I immediately texted my wife Amy since she was out running errands. As soon as she returned home, she contacted our school principal and the other school principal (where it happened) to thank them for notifying us all and to remind them about Kidpower. Kidpower is the nonprofit organization my wife works for that includes social, emotional, and physical safety programs for children, teens, and adults, including parents. 

Our kids have been raised with Kidpower and we wouldn't have it any other way. Although "stranger danger" as it's called isn't as common as running into safety issues with people you may know, safety first is always our way every day no matter who is involved. Even when our tween and teen daughters give us eye rolls when we discuss safety issues, which they do, they still listen, and they still know what to do. 

So, after school the day the incident happened, Amy again reviewed our safety plans:

"You move away from danger. If anyone stops in a car and tries to get you inside, or is walking and just tries to get you to do something, you run away and find help and safety. You don't have to acknowledge or stop or talk with anyone trying to talk to you who you don't know, no matter what they say. 

"Because they may say, 'Hey, your mom and dad have been in an accident and I need to take you to them.' But if you don't know them, you do not go with them. Since you have phones, you get to safety, get help, and call us. 

"And even if you do know them, you know there are only a few people you're allowed to go with in an emergency. The only exceptions are if you can't get a hold of us and you need to get to safety and you do know the people who can help, and they know us, even if they're not those designated you can go with. 

"We cannot emphasize this enough -- you never have to go with someone or even acknowledge or talk to someone you don't know no matter how convincing they may be. You always move away and get to safety and to your adult in charge, whomever that is."

Eye rolls aside, our girls echoed these lessons back to us and confirmed our safety rules. Since school is back in again and now they'll ride their bikes to school sometimes, we want to help keep all of our students safe.

Be Here Now

As we walked to our local farmers’ market, I told my father-in-law about how I think I hurt my right leg recently. “Well, as the expression goes,” I said, “I’m no spring chicken anymore.”

“No, we’re not,” he said.

“It’s the same when Amy pulled her hamstring,” I said. “We just can’t do the same things we used to do. Moving furniture, running, the list goes on.”

He nodded and added, “But I still want to do the things I can do and be here now.”

“Amen,” I said.

Be here now. That rang the old gong in my aged head for the rest of the day. He’s had his own health issues including partial knee replacements. But I still want to do the things I can, he had said. That also rang the gong for some time afterward.

I definitely still want to do the things that I can, but he reality of age and body parts deteriorating is here. Has already been here for years. In August 2014, I had knee surgery due to a torn meniscus and disintegrated cartilage in my right knee. Ugh. This after actually hitting a personal best of a 8.5-minute mile at age 48. Not bad for a big old ex-smoker with two young children. 

Ah, yes. Two young children. The two children we didn't want to have until we did that we're so grateful for. I was 42 when we had our oldest Beatrice. 44 when we had Bryce. My wife Amy is six years younger than me, so she was still in her 30's when she had our daughters. I read that the average age of first-time mothers in America today is now up from 21 to 26, while for fathers, it's increased from 27 to 31, so we both skewed that average. But there are a growing number of people waiting longer to have kids for whatever reason (finances, jobs, changing minds like us, etc.). 

Knowing that I'd be a much older father of two children didn't really bother me until now. Only because of what I outlined above -- my body can't do what it used to do. Even after coaching both girls in soccer for six years that included me running around with the the teams, changing directions quickly, and kicking the soccer balls back and forth. I felt good. I could do it then. Not so much now. 

We have family and friends dealing with debilitating illnesses, paralysis, and more, and so Amy and I are very grateful that we're relatively healthy and are able to keep ourselves in good shape with regular exercise. However, we are more easily injured these days and it takes a lot longer to recuperate. It doesn't change the fact that we live our lives fully, but it does mean we have to be more realistic with what we choose to do and how we do it. 

Which is why we want to remain relatively healthy (as much as we can control) and keep ourselves in good shape for us and our children, now 12 and almost 14 years old. Not just physically healthy, but also mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Those latter two things can break as well and I'll be way north of 60 when they're in their 20's. Which is why we exercise them all regularly. Why we're always pushing ourselves to learn and grow. Why I started drumming at age 56. Why Amy is an avid puzzle person. Why we meditate every day. 

I heard a great quote from Florida Scott-Maxwell, a playwright, author, and psychologist who said:

"You need only claim the events of your life to make yourself yours. When you truly possess all you have been and done, which may take some time, you are fierce with reality."

It took some time for me, but that's how Amy and I live our lives; we embrace all the things that we've been and done; all the ups and downs and aches and strains and pleasures and pains; we are fierce with reality. Our daughters have benefited from that, will benefit from that, and we hope will live their lives that way in their 20's and beyond, especially after we're both long gone. 

Again, my father-in-law's words keep banging the gong in my head: I still want to do the things I can do and be here now.

Be here now, fierce with reality. Always. 

With My Own Two Hands

I took woodshop in 7th grade. I don't remember exactly why I took woodshop in 7th grade, but maybe it was because my dad worked with wood and built furniture, toys, and other gifts. He was definitely inspiring over the years with all the things he built. Our home garage was full of table saws, and circular saws, and jigsaws, and so many other saws and routers and so many other woodworking tools. 

So, I took woodshop. And I made a cabinet. An actual working cabinet with shelves and hinged doors. I stained it, too. I used that cabinet for decades. Painted over it more than once. I wanted to refinish it at some point but haven't got to it yet. May never get to it, but I still have it and use it in our garage. And I made it with my own hands. 

I never really did any woodworking after 7th grade, and over the years I never really picked up anything else like it, meaning another trade of similar sorts. Drum playing more recently, yes, but that's not the same thing. I've built things and put things together and tried to fix broken things. We originally did the backyard ourselves when we bought the house. We replaced a garbage disposal, too, so there's that, but anything else above my pay grade as I like to joke, well, was above my pay grade. Somebody else had to help no matter how much Amy thought we could figure it out and do it ourselves (and many times she was right, I'll give her that). 

Recently we started doing home improvement projects. After living here for 16 years, it was time to do some things. Stuff we've talked about for a few years and we finally started doing them. New flooring to replace tired carpet for starters and the list goes on. We also hired a renovation professional who's installing a window and doing some other projects for us, and who knows what the hell he's doing for sure. 

I on the other hand, do not. I really wanted to paint a few walls with a new color in our living space, and convinced Amy we should do it, something we've never done before. I've never really painted much in my lifetime, maybe touch-ups here and there, but never full walls, trim, etc. My wife Amy and I, and our kids, checked out many different color swatches and went back and forth between lighter and darker. Our oldest Beatrice liked the darker colors, but our youngest Bryce wanted a lighter one. Amy and I settled on darker one in the end, kind of a terra cotta, orangy-reddish-brownish color. 

At first, I was confident I could do it, that I could paint just the designated four walls we picked out over one weekend. I taped off the ceiling and the baseboards and laid drop cloths down where I'd be painting. Then I started to paint. I had to paint up high and in awkward places, too, and it went smoothly for the most part. But once I removed the painter tape, I realized painting clean lines on textured walls ain't easy. The much harder part was trying to fix all the places that looked off, and that was a pain in the butt for sure. No matter how much I tried to clean up the lines, when you look closely, they're still off. 

My attempt at painting only four walls in our house got me thinking about people who have actual trade skills -- carpenters, electricians, plumbers, heating and air conditioning technicians, and so many others. And painters, of course. 

I've always respected those who trained in a trade, learned specialized skills, and made a profession out of it, and a living as well (and for some, a pretty good one with so many trade skills in demand today). We've had family and friends who have helped us out because of the trade skills they know. Even those hobbyists like my dad and his woodworking. Sometimes I wonder if I missed out on not learning a hands-on trade for a career. I'll tell you this, if our daughters ever wanted to learn a trade, I am all for it. 

For now, I'm exhausted from painting only four walls in our house, and if you don't look too closely, it doesn't look too bad. Amy and our daughters said they liked it, even though Bryce still thinks it's too dark. 

Sigh. That still made me smile, though, because I did it with my own two hands, and they watched me do it and encouraged me the entire way. 

The First Day Every Day

The first day of school was always awesome for me. Fresh off a hot summer break, wearing new clothes that our mom scrimped and saved for (put on law-away for many years early on), sporting a new hair cut, catching up with old friends, meeting new ones, seeing old favorite teachers, meeting new ones, and all the learning.

Yes, all the learning. I always loved the learning. Still love the learning. 

And the obligatory first-day-of-school picture. My sister and I took them out front of our house every year before we braved day one, and we've done the same with our children since nearly day one. 

No matter how exciting it was, apprehension never failed to arrive. Being nervous for day one was normal and the night before brought little sleep. But after the first week of back to school, I always settled into it, even after the bigger transitions of going into junior high and then high school. 

And now after a #BhivePower summer of camps and leadership, our kids are together in middle school. This is one of those transitions that our oldest Beatrice had a much different experience with, since her first year in middle school was all distance learning during COVID-19. It sucked and was a blessing at the same time, but then came 7th grade, and one of the biggest stressors for Bea was remembering her locker combination (which she did).

Now Bryce transitions into middle school and has her big sister there to help her if needed. Bryce was definitely nervous the night before, and Bea was anxious too (just like I was back in the day). The week before they couldn't wait to get their schedules and to know the teachers they'd get. In fact, once their schedules started to come out online, that's all we kept hearing about -- the good, the disappointing, and the unknown. After the first few days of school, both kids are settling in nicely. Bryce was stressed like her sister about remembering the locker combination, which she didn't have a problem with either, but poor Bea was the one who had a jammed locker on day one and had to get a new one. Bummer.

The first day of school is always awesome for our kids and we wouldn't want it any other way. We're grateful for the public education they’ve had over the years and for what's to come. They've had caring teachers, empathic friendships, and no bullying to date. If only it could be like the first day every day in life today. No worries except for locker combinations and class schedules, and looking forward to seeing old friends and meeting new ones. Blessings for all the first days. 

The Leader in Bea

As Bryce and I approached Beatrice's camp, I could hear the accolades from the camp staff and the remaining campers. It was the last day of summer day camp for the season and Beatrice received high-fives and hugs from everyone. I could feel a proud smile grow big on my face. She had been a junior leader volunteer for the summer working with younger kids seven to eight years old and she loved every minute of it. And they loved every minute of her. 

This was something she wanted to do all year since being a camper at last summer's day camp. Back in early May of this year, I remember the video interview she did to become a junior leader. She was stressed prior to the interview, but she was so confident and calm during it. Just like her younger sister was when she spoke to her 5th graduating class at the end of May. 

Beatrice will definitely be a junior leader again and wants to be part of the staff in a couple of years. We're proud to be raising such confident and empathic leaders. Kids who have been part of a public school system that has served them well. That's not always the case in other places throughout America, and the system buckled and broken further during the pandemic, which has led to frustrated and angry parents, teachers, and administrators. 

Parents of varying socioeconomic backgrounds who have looked for alternatives like home schooling or school voucher programs that gives parents a choice of possible private school programs (if they can afford to supplement the cost not covered by their current public funding). Teachers and administrators who have looked for alternate professionals, completely burnt out by the constant harassment from frustrated and angry parents, and especially from the fringe political perspectives fueled by misinformation and outright lies. 

I can't and won't speak for the parents who've struggled with their children's education elsewhere because we haven't had those same experiences, but I will say we're so grateful for all the wonderful and caring teachers, support staff, and administrators we've had over the past 10+ years of public school to date, especially during the pandemic. Distance learning sucked on some level for everyone, and yet our children always had the academic and social support that have helped them thrive. Both my wife Amy and I have also been very involved in their schools and in their education, volunteering in and out of the classroom, running the PTA, and being on the school site council. 

Beatrice's summer camp leadership journey has definitely inspired me to stay involved in our community. At the beginning of summer, when she started her junior leader journey, I was contacted school district friends asking if I'd be interested running for school board in our area. At first, I wasn't sure I could make that kind of commitment with my current work-life balance; wasn't sure my lack of education background would be liability; wasn't sure if I had recovered fully from the fringe fallout I experienced when I was on the city commission for the prevention of violence against women. 

What I am sure of today is that I want the children in our public school district get the same level of individualized academic and social support they need that our children have received. They'll both be in middle school this year and still have 5+ years to go to finish high school. The superintendent of our city schools told me that public education is one of the cornerstones of democracy, and with our republic continuing to fray in the fringe, I wholeheartedly agree. So, I actually think I may run, all thanks to the leader in Bea. 

This Renovation Adventure

I took last week off of writing because my wife Amy and I ran (mostly walked and stopped for free tacos) the 50th annual Wharf to Wharf race. First time since 2019 that it was in person and over 14,000 people participated. It was a fantastic community event that again raised money for local youth running programs.

But that's not what this piece is about. Because it was right after that when we had to finish prepping the house for new floors, which began a renovation adventure. We're grateful to have this house we've lived in for over 16 years, and up until this week, still had the original carpeting.

That was a few years longer than I would've liked, but we've always taken care of our house as it was "out of the box" as they say. It was in a new housing development when we bought, at a time when we weren't going to have children, and soon enough that changed. And then there was a lot of history in our original carpeting -- from our daughters and their friends crawling, playing on it, and falling down; to a variety of spills and splatters; to allergy-driving dirt and dog hair. 

The carpet was everywhere in our house, except for the entryway and the kitchen and our bathrooms. We kept it pretty clean over the years, steam cleaning periodically, but after the 10th year it began to look tired, especially in the high-traffic areas, and even being a shoes-off-in-the-house family. That's when I started to work on Amy. But at that time, she wasn't having it and reminded me how good it still looked compared to other neighbors with kids over the years, where their carpets looked like zombie kill zones from The Walking Dead. 

But ours just kept getting more tired, and the steam cleaning didn't really help anymore. And after 16 years of living, it was time. Not only did I get Amy onboard with new flooring, we're doing a few other projects as well (thank you home equity, when only 12 years earlier we almost walked away from the house after the Great Recession). 

We started the process of looking at new flooring, faux hardwood vinyl that's durable and easy to keep clean. We made it a family affair as well, bringing home flooring samples for our kids to help us pick what might look the best. We picked out our style and scheduled the project. 

The day after the Wharf to Wharf, the flooring crew came and in the first day, the old carpet was completely removed and our furniture askew. I thought, that was quick. This should go faster than what the salesperson told us. 

Not exactly. I mean, I knew it was going to be a lot of work, putting in an entirely new floor into most of the house, but it was a lot, lot more work. As I always like to joke, this work was way above my pay grade; renovation and construction are nowhere near my vocational wheelhouse. After the carpet was gone, there was a lot of floor prepping that had to be done. There was an entirely new secondary floor they had to lay prior to installing the hardwood vinyl. 

We had to adapt to keep our dog and rabbit safe and sound during the construction, to keep working from home as Amy and I do, and to keep living from home as best we could. Compared to the dumpster fire the world around us can be, this new flooring project wasn't so bad, but the sawing, vacuuming, sanding, hammering, nail gunning, and more got a little mind-bending at times. Thankfully the girls were at summer camp all week during the day. What was supposed to take 3-4 days slipped to 6, but it got done. And if wasn't for a plumbing emergency elsewhere, the downstairs bathroom would've been reassembled, so that part we have a few more days to wait for. 

For the most part, this renovation adventure is done, and we love it!

Except our tween Bryce. "Bryce, how do you like it?"

"I don't."

"What do you mean? You helped us pick it out."

"Well, it's okay, but I'll hurt myself if I fall."

Sigh. It's not like the old carpet was a bouncy house, I thought. Or maybe it was.

Well, at least our dog Jenny approves. I think.