Celebrate the Best of Us

Am I forever unredeemable?
Can I ever overcome all the wrongs I'm running from?
Can my worst be left behind
And do I deserve to find
There's a soul who could see any good in me?
Or will I only ever be
Unredeemable?

–Unredeemable, from Spirited

Spirited is one of my favorite Christmas movies today. Only two years old, it stars Will Ferrell and Ryan Reynolds and is an over-the-top A Christmas Carol twist of a musical comedy. I love it. Our kids like it. My wife Amy does not. At least, not all the singing and dancing parts. Actually, none of the singing and dancing parts. 

She's not a musical fan, but she kind of likes the story. That one along with many other holiday movies we watch this time of year: predictable campy comedies and melodramatic classics and heartfelt uplifters. For us anyway. The Holiday, Elf, Christmas Vacation, Just Friends, Four Christmases, Noelle, When Harry Met Sally, The Family Man (still my favorite), and It's a Wonderful Life (always a favorite). There are others as well, but these are the mainstays. And yes, Die Hard is a Christmas movie.

However, A Christmas Carol isn't one of my favorites, whether the Charles Dickens' novel or any of the movie adaptations over the years. I get the story. I like the story. Just not a favorite.

But the theme of it -- that even the worst human is redeemable and can be inspired to find the good inside others and inspire others to do the same -- has always resonated with me. 

Too bad the worst humans today get the most media visibility and inspire too many others to do their worst as well, including our children and grandchildren. Our own children ask us all the time now why so many people celebrate and support those who embrace the worst qualities of humanity. That's always a super-tough one to answer, and it gets harder to answer as our kids get older. 

Because we're all a little unredeemable, aren't we? That's what makes us human (and why we watch all those campy holiday movies each year). No matter what religious or spiritual belief system and/or societal norms we choose to live by, or try to live by, or pretend to live by, most of us have made poor choices and done bad things we're not proud of. 

Some of those have seen the light of day and hopefully we've repented, while others are secrets buried deep inside the dark wells of our hearts. Mercy me, that seems to be the plot of nearly every contemporary dark novel and movie adaptation in recent memory. 

Our kids want to know about our poor choices and bad things we're not proud of; they want to understand who we were, those choices we've made in our lives, and why we became who we are today as they're becoming who they are tomorrow. Of course, we don't tell them everything, but we do want them to understand the why of our choices and what those repercussions were, and what they could be today or tomorrow if they made them.

When they ask, we also talk openly about the worst of humanity with our kids now that they're older, while emphasizing the best of humanity when they don't. We know we shouldn't be defined by the worst things we've done, as long as we've worked hard to be good people and do good things for ourselves and others. 

Are we ever unconditionally selfless, empathetic, and loving with others throughout our lifetimes, no matter what they've done? For most of us, no. It's more complicated and nuanced for most humans, and the worst-of-us recidivism is unfortunately up these days. But instead of wallowing in all that, something I struggled with in my youth, I only need to look at my wife and children to know that we work hard to celebrate the best of us. It's not a Dickens' novel, or a spirited modern day musical (of which Amy is thankful), but it is a story of redemption I continue to write with gratitude. 

Wiring the Right Way

I remember jumping off our roof into the swimming pool when my sister and I were in high school. Super fun and super dangerous, our dad would get so mad at us when he caught us.

According to psychologist David Yeager, something that looks like risky and crazy to us, may be a new way to solve a problem. Well, maybe not jumping off the house roof into the pool, but other things could apply, based on a podcast my wife Amy listened to: Dr. Maya Shankar -- A Slight Change of Plans: What We Get Wrong About The Teen Brain.

This was something Amy talked to me about on our mountain hike this morning. Yes, the teen brain doesn't finish developing and maturing until the mid-to-late 20's. The prefrontal cortex is one of the last parts to mature and it's the area that's responsible for skills like planning, prioritizing, and making good decisions. Something many adults struggle to believe at times that teens can do. That teens are "all gas, no brakes". Which is true, again at times, but again, they are capable of planning ahead. 

From the podcast above, the psychologist used the example of planning to sneak out of the house. Now, as we discussed this fact on our hike, we were not advocating it, but my Amy did sneak out when she was a teen. I, however, did not. Really, I didn't. My sister did, including taking my El Camino for a joy ride, but I never snuck out. Nope, I did not. Don't look at me like that. 

Here's a much less risky brain-powered example: How many competitive Olympic heroes are teens who train and develop their bodies and brains for the future? Quite a few actually. Of the 2024 Paris Olympic Great Britain and Northern Ireland team, 14 were teenagers out of 327. There were many others from around the world. 

Our teens are teens, yes, and they've had mental trials already, but they do continue to amaze us with their creative brain power (without sneaking out or jumping off the roof). Our oldest Beatrice constantly develops her artistic abilities and fine motor skills, and one of her recent projects was a meticulous model of a cute alleyway with a coffee shop and a bookshop. I helped with the wiring but she did all the rest. Bryce has also been back at the guitar working their brain overtime to learn some sweet tunes. 

Bryce also surprised us at the joint middle school and high school holiday choir performance when they joined 4 other classmates in singing and performing Fleet Foxes - White Winter Hymnal, which they practiced secretly for weeks. Their version was fantastic and tears definitely came streaming down this dad's face. Plus, there's the fact that both our teens can and do talk thoughtfully about current social issues, ethics, and how they are empathic allies for marginalized groups. 

Sure, they may forget to take out the trash when we ask, or close the freezer all the way after I reminder them, or feed the pets when they're supposed to, but their brains are wiring the right way, and for that we're grateful. 

Loudly, Proudly, and with Much Love

On the way to my sister's house for Thanksgiving, our kids turned us on to some great new music. Artists we never would've heard otherwise -- beabadoobee, Alex G, Will Wood, The Volunteers, The Wallows, Glass Animals, and many others. Stuff that's not played on what's left of mainstream radio. Some of it sounding like shades of our music pasts from the 70's, 80's, and 90's. 

My wife Amy and I smiled in the front seat as we drove on and our kids excitedly took turns sharing their favorite artists, bands, and songs. Not all the music was our "cup of tea" as the expression goes, but much of it we really liked. It was also great insight into their teenage sensibilities.

Our kids have grown up hearing our music over and over again -- pop, rock, soul, rhythm and blues, and even some contemporary indie folk and country. Amy and I are also big fans of what's now called Yacht Rock -- smooth but surprisingly complex early "emo" (emotional) pop-rock from the 70's and 80's (think Steely Dan, Toto, Christopher Cross, Michael McDonald, Kenny Loggins, Ambrosia). We just finished watching a great documentary called Yacht Rock: A DOCKumentary from HBO Documentary Films that we highly recommend for those who love that music.

Early on in my life my mom turned me on to that music and more -- rhythm and blues, soul, pop, and of course my favorite, rock (and roll). Everything from Janis Joplin to the Ohio Players to Michael Jackson to Earth Wind & Fire to Pablo Cruise to The Doobie Brothers. 

Billy Joel's hit "Only the Good Die Young" was the first 45 record I bought with my allowance. My sister and I walked to the local mall and went to the Woolworth's record section where we would check out all the records for what seemed like hours. Every time we had enough money to buy a new single, we made the trek to Woolworth's. 

A few years later when I was 13, I joined the Columbia Record Club and bought 13 records for 1 cent, which really turned out to be more in shipping and handling. But my parents weren't happy when they found out I still had to buy three more albums over two years at full overpriced Columbia Record Club prices. However, those first 13 albums were my coming of age -- Kiss, Kansas, Journey, Boston, Queen, Aerosmith, AC/DC, and others (becoming the Rush fan I am today would come a few years later). 

Between then and now there's been so much amazing music I've experienced, and I must credit my nephew Nick for turning me onto to some of it during the 2010's. His mother (my sister) and father were also grounded in
tons of great music and both my nephew and niece love it all, too. Again, thank you, Nana (Mom). 

One of many shared loves of Amy and I that's fueled our love for nearly three decades is this very music we grew up with, our coming-of-age music, and the music we've grown together with ever since we met. Our kids don't necessarily like all these past musical artists and bands as much as we do, but our music has influenced them more than they've realized, just like my mom's music influenced my sister and me. 

Our kids grew up loving pop music (Taylor Swift and many others), but today along with pop, Beatrice also loves alt-rock from the 90's to today (thank you grunge), and Bryce loves edgy new punkish-rock and amazing new singer-songwriter music. Now the coming-of-age circle is complete because they're turning us on to a lot of great new music. 

But the greatest tribute for me, even though they don't listen to the band (yet -- ha!), is the fact that my daughters wear my Rush t-shirts and sweatshirts. That most certainly rocks, because what they don't know is that to me (and millions of fans), Rush has always represented individualism, critical thinking, learning, levity, and empathy -- all the things and more we want for them -- loudly, proudly, and with much love.

What’s Left

What’s left is a turkey leg
Attached to its bony carcass
On a dirty dish-piled counter 
Wondering whether it ends up
In soup stock or the trash can
It overhears laughter 
Some frothy debate 
A fight breaking out
New people broken in
Children running
Children crying 
Drunken singing
Zingers flying
Kisses stolen
Bodies swollen
Someone smokes outside
Games are played inside
And the turkey leg longs
To be a part of the throng
But it knows it won’t be
As its time is numbered
Maybe lasting till morning 
While largely ignored until 
The deep sighs of woeful
Cleaning have begun
But that’s hours away
And it really wants to stay
While the humans beyond 
Are purposefully loud 
Loving and painfully aware
Of limitations and aspirations
Until they all drift slowly away 
What’s left is a turkey leg
Grateful for the memories 
They forever become

–KWG

Our Children Are Counting On Us

"Half the world hates

What half the world does every day
Half the world waits
While half gets on with it anyway..."

––Rush, Half the World 

The hopeful yet trite saying that most people are good must still be somewhat true, otherwise half of us would always be hating the other half. 

[Pause] 

Maybe that's not fair, to think that half of America, or half the world, hates the other half. That's an over-simplified view of the human experience, even in the realities of today. However, the history of humankind has shown us again and again how easily others are marginalized and trampled underfoot, usually by those in power and the way the wind blows. Plus, our biological human history has been a continuous struggle between the want of experiencing immediate and irrational gratification and self-preservation, and the painful emotional dissonance of rational evolution. 

In other words, we're mostly feeling beings who sometimes think, no matter the amazing human accomplishments throughout history. I certainly raise my hand in full admittance here. 

As a species, we have evolved rationally, ethically, and spiritually, and every generation tests this progress by demanding evidence and pointing out how fallible we are. My wife Amy and I are experiencing that right now with both our teen daughters. Two questioning kids on their own paths to independence and their own identities who grapple with the human-condition realities of today. 

Our oldest Beatrice currently has an honors World History course that we help quiz her on and we always get the tough ethical questions of why. They're studying World War II now, the Holocaust, and development of the atomic bombs the U.S. dropped on Japan to attempt to end the war. Why were over six million Jewish people exterminated? Why did we kill over 200,000 people with the atomic bombs?

And the list of questions goes on and on. Just like I remember doing when I was a teenager. All the hard questions, all the time, and never feeling satisfied with the answers I received. "Most people are good, and sometimes we do bad things, and God forgives us all." 

In my lifetime since, I've always wanted to believe that we've evolved ethically and spiritually, but over time, especially today, I don't think I've ever seen so many poor male and female role models in government leadership, business leadership, and everyday personal leadership who fully embrace, justify, and normalize misogyny, harassment, sexual assault, racism, xenophobia, homophobia, corruption, grift, hate, and violence. 

And I go back many decades now. These detrimental ideals are embraced, then denied, and then forgiven. But they never go away. The fragmented and biased media coverage hasn't helped. The constant misinformation hasn't helped (artificial intelligence and automation has fueled this, too). Finding God hasn't helped either and has perpetuated more hate than love. And the questions from our children pile up. 

Author James Baldwin wrote, "I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain." That's why I recommend more study of inclusive empathy, understanding, and love, to be empathic allies, but that would mean folks would have to deal with their pain, the pain of why we hate and what we have to give up and give in to do that, and again, human biology fights that tooth and nail. 

Amy and I agree we've been judgmental about others and about current events we've discussed in front of our children, about how we see the world and the poor role models around us (and the good ones too), but 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. In other words, what it's like to have empathy and understanding where others are at, and why they are where they're at. Something our teens remind us of every single day with their adult commentaries. 

Blessings to all those poor role models out there in the world today. I hope some of them can turn it around, for the sake of all our children and grandchildren, and especially for the sake of their own children and grandchildren. 

Because think about what all the children and grandchildren see and hear and what it does to them, how it taints their perception of others and the world. We can choose to love and understand, or we can choose to hate and minimize. Of course it's not a simple dichotomy; human experience is definitely more complex than we acknowledge and the gradations of good and bad are gray at best sometimes. Again, we're mostly feeling beings who sometimes think, so let's "get on with it anyway" and think more about how we're feeling, why we're feeling, and what to do about it that's inclusive for everyone. 

Amy and I believe we can be better, and we can do better. All our children and grandchildren are counting on us. 

To Be Empathic Allies

“Truly amazing, what people can get used to, as long as there are a few compensations.”

―Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale

“We must accept finite disappointment but never lose infinite hope." 

―Martin Luther King, Jr

My wife Amy and I have always loved "end of the world" stories. When we first met, we discovered we had both read Lucifer's Hammer, a 1977 novel about a comet breaking apart and striking earth and the survival story afterwards, and still talk about it to this day. Then there was The Stand by Stephen King and The Road by Cormac McCarthy, and television shows like The Walking Dead (based on graphic novels), Station Eleven (based on a novel), The Last of Us (based on a video game), and The Handmaid's Tale (based on Margaret Atwood's novel, and now a little too close to home). Plus, many more novels, movies, and TV shows in between. 

Ultimately for us both it was less about the why of the end, no matter how horrible the aftermath, and more about the how of human perseverance and survival laced with empathy and love. As long as there was a thread of hope and love in the story with empathic protagonists, then it reaffirmed our own hopefulness and love for humankind. Of course, that was just as true for us in everyday nonfiction stories, too. 

Including reelecting a convicted authoritarian president (and a congress majority) who only leads with misogyny, racism, anger, and fear, reaffirmed again and again by constant misinformation and lies for the past decade. Over half the U.S. who supported him may disagree with that, and/or overlook it, and/or not care.

The world may or may not end with a cataclysmic bang because of this; maybe it'll only end in a whimper and we'll survive this real-life dystopian future that's coming. In the meantime, it's still soul-crushing to believe that so many of us are driven by that much grievance, anger, and fear. Because ultimately it was never about the price of eggs. That was simply an unfortunate by-product of supply-and-demand economics that most of us don't even understand or care to. 

We're all fallible, feeling beings who sometimes think, not the other way around. It's always been easier to have scapegoats, others to blame for our misgivings and misfortunes, but history has shown again and again how this all ends. That's what worries me the most. Not the end of America or World War III, but the more immediate danger of a newly empowered harassment and violence escalation against women, the LGBTQ+ community, people of color, immigrants, neurodivergent people, people of different religions, and empathic allies like my wife, our children, and me (and many of you). The targets on our backs have never been bigger. And it's not just coming -- it's already here. 

Thankfully a dear friend reminded me that we do need to continue to fight the good fight on the ground in the communities where we live. To be empathic allies who lead with love, hope, and understanding and help ensure basic human rights and safety equity for all. And that's exactly what we're going to do. Blessings to us all. 

Listening with Empathy and Love

40 years ago I was a mental mess. I had finished high school and graduated, but had trashed my stellar GPA the last semester. I remember barely keeping it together as I pushed my best friend into the stadium for our graduation ceremony. He had broken his neck our senior year; I had broken my spirit. It was still a special moment, but a painfully bittersweet one.

Thankfully I was only just beginning to talk about how I felt, even if I didn't fully understand what was going on with my mental health. I was over a decade away from the grateful and mindful path I'm still on today, but at least it was a start. Childhood trauma combine continuous self-imposed pressure to succeed in school led to crippling social anxiety and panic attacks for me my last year and a half of high school. Once I could finally talk about it with friends, my family, a caring high school counselor -- it helped, but the damage at the time had been done. Suicidal thoughts crept their way in at times, but I knew in my heart life would be different someday. 

And it is. Us Gen X kids may have been tougher and survivors growing up (at least it makes a great social media meme), but some of us had our share of mental and emotional train wrecks along the way. Now, with Gen Z teens, my wife Amy and I have been riding the parental roller coaster, again, of teen anxiety. Anyone with teens today knows what I'm taking about. 

Depression, anxiety and behavioural disorders are among the leading causes of illness and disability among adolescents. Ugh.

Teen anxiety may be a common crappy rite of passage, but one difference for our kids than for me at that age was earlier self-awareness, more accessible empathy (from within and from others), and the ability to articulate how they feel. Listening to your kids without judgement, and/or without trying to always solve their problems or telling them to toughen up and deal with whatever it is they're dealing with, is super critical. Encouraging hobbies, sports, theater, music, and physical activities can help, too. 

Sure, I grew up riding in the back of pickup trucks with nothing strapping me in (literally and figuratively). I also literally fell out of the back of one of those trucks when I was 16. Good times. 

Our kids will go through what they go through, have their own bittersweet journeys just like we did. But there should never be any stigma in listening with empathy and love and giving them the resources and support they need to learn how to adapt and thrive in life. And parents need a lot of that empathy and love, too. 

Making a Dent

Watching the wedding was wonderful. We listened to the bride and groom read their vows to each other and held hands the entire time. It was the daughter of a dear old friend getting married and I'm so grateful my wife Amy and I attended. Two other old friends were there with their wives as well, friends that go back over 40 years. As always, it was great to catch up on our lives, since we only get together a couple of times each year. We continue to invest in our relationships and reap the benefits of friendship, and I'd argue, more loving relationships with our spouses and significant others. 

However, research has always shown that men struggle more than women with sound friendships, love, and intimacy. And now they're lonelier than ever. An article I found referenced a recent study showing nearly one in five Americans reported having no close social connections. And men are faring the worst: More than one in four men (28 percent) under age 30 reported having no close social connections. The percentage worsens as men age.

The pandemic didn't help us here either – women, children, and especially men – all struggled with social interactions and relationships. We're grateful that we had a "pod" group of families that helped with each other's children and still ensured multiple opportunities to socialize. 

But for men in general, it's gotten more and more difficult to maintain long-term intimate relationships and/or friendships. It's gotten worse because for decades, toxic masculinity has defaulted to giving up on these relationships and has fueled a larger global antidemocracy movement that's an unhealthy and destructive reaction to changes in society that make many men feel lost, marginalized and searching for meaning and community in their lives.

Women have always been more of the connective tissue in the social and relationship fabric of today and past generations. Plus, more women are going to college than men today, and more women today are the primary financial breadwinners (even though women still make less than men on average). Unfortunately, it's been easier for disenfranchised men to aggregate to social and political movements that encourage patriarchal dominance through violence, celebrating misogyny, sexism, and racism, while severely discounting and diminishing inclusivity, love, and empathy. 

I've tried to understand the why of this, but I continue to struggle with it, and this is why I'm scared. Scared because of the willingness of so many men to bond indiscriminately in this rage and hate to feel empowered to be in power, jeopardizing the health and safety of women, children, those who are in the LGBTQIA+ community, immigrants, and people of color (except those who are part of the bro bonding above). Jeopardizing the health and safety of families of all flavors who continue to invest in loving empathic relationships across genders and generations. 

Thank God my friends of 40+ years don't think this way, because if they did, we wouldn't really be friends. It's up to those of us who don't think this way in making a dent in this growing gender divide, starting with inclusive joy and love for all. And on that note, please make sure you vote. 

Let Them See Us Love

She took a bite of the limp waffle fry and threw the remaining piece back into the bowl. It was so natural, as if that's what you do when you don't like something you've eaten, you toss it back to the table. That and spitting out the piece you bit off, which thankfully she didn't do. 

"Did you just throw it back in the bowl?" I asked my wife Amy.

Amy thought about it for a few seconds and then started to laugh. I laughed as well. Soon we were both laughing hard, the kind of laughing that brings tears and makes you pee a little. 

"It wasn't crispy enough," Amy managed to say between her crying laughter. 

"Oh my goodness," I said, laughing just as hard. "You just threw it back in the bowl."

Our laughter continues for a few minutes, with our two teens Beatrice and Bryce seemingly oblivious to our funny experience. Seemingly being the operative word, because we know they pay attention to more than they let on. Because they're always analyzing every single thing we do and calling out our mistakes. All. The. Time. 

I rarely take it personally anymore, though. Even when I hear, "Dad, you always do [this] all the time." This being a variety of Dad and guy behavior that I'm judged on daily. Even Mom isn't immune from the call-outs. This is normal development for teens and the beginning of them finding themselves and their own voices.

And now that they're finding themselves they're asking us all sorts of questions about our past -- before we met, when we met, after we met and before they were born. We answer most of them, but not all of them, especially the ones about when we were teens. Our teens are good kids. Amy and I, weren't so much. 

Since we've had our kids, they've watched us and absorbed much of what we do and say. Yes, they've seen us laugh until we cry and nearly pee our pants, like with the recent waffle fry incident. They've also seen us kiss and hug too long for their own good and cry, "Ewwww, get a room!" (Yes, they do know what that means now. Ugh.)

But they've also seen us upset. They've seen us cry. They've seen us mad at them and at each other. They've seen us fight. They've seen many of our high and low moments over the years. A lot of modeling moments, most of which were always grounded in love.

In fact, over 14,207,040 minutes have passed since Amy and I first met one day at the beach. Every minute with Amy and now our children adds to my heart’s coral reef.

And if I've learned anything during those millions of minutes, I've learned to let them see us love. 

One Picture Imperfect

"We are young
Wandering the face of the Earth

Wondering what our dreams might be worth
Learning that we're only immortal
For a limited time..."

—Rush, Dreamline

There's one picture from my past that crystallizes our fragile mortality and constant change. It was a one from our sophomore year in high school when six of us dressed up as cheerleaders to cheer on the girls' "powderpuff football" team. It was goofy and fun and we really enjoyed it. 

Decades later, two of the six have died (one had been my best friend in junior high), one vanished from social media shortly after the 2016 election (which I don't blame him), one had parents who were concerned about his life choices that very same sophomore year and had him taken away to one of those "therapy" camps in the wilderness (but he ended up doing well with a family of his own), and one who used to be one of my best friends (another story for another time) who didn't take care of himself, losing both his feet. 

And then there was me. I was telling our kids about the picture and what happened to all the guys and they both said that it was sad. But that was all. Beatrice is at the age that we were at in that picture and Bryce isn't far behind. They have their own friends, their own fun, and their own teen angst, and to them, life is boundless and seemingly endless.

But for only a limited time. Because then the decades go by, and the reality of immortality slips away, even when you'd be willing to do it all again, as I would. As I stare into the face of turning 60 next year, I have no regrets after hitting 59. I'm grateful for all joy and sadness, for all the failure and success, and for all the grace throughout the journey. 

When I think about those friends from that sophomore picture dressed as cheerleaders, I'm grateful to be alive and healthy and wish blessings upon those who aren't. When I think about the friends I have today, friends from high school, college, and friends whose kids have gone to school with ours for years, I'm grateful I actually have them, especially being a man in a super-polarized and very lonely male world today. It doesn't have to be that way and I've ensured it's not for me. 

The picture of me today after turning 59 in one of my favorite places in the world is one picture imperfect. A mere mortal who still dreams big for himself, his wife, and his children. And I'd do it all again to be here today. 

Because I'm Proud to be an American

When I look at our children, our daughters, our teens, I finally see who they'll be as young adults. Really see them. Never in a million years could my wife Amy and I imagined who they'd become. We do the best job we can of parenting them, and the rest, well, it's all them. 

It's enlightening and it's scary simultaneously. Literally to the bone. Enlightening because I couldn't be prouder of the strong, independent, no-nonsense, and empathetic humans they're becoming. Scary because of the world they're becoming all of this in. 

We live in a country that's always held the promise of equality, equity, liberty, and freedom for all, to live and be who we want, within the bounds of our constitution and bill of rights, regardless of our gender, our age, or our race and ethnicity. 

In practice, our history reveals again and again how beaten and bruised that promise has been. But we keep trying to get there, and there are those who keep trying to hold us back. I believe the majority is in the getting there, otherwise this grand democratic republic experiment would be over.

There have been those moments when the experiment teeters on the edge of authoritarianism, where ultimately unchecked power costs us our personal freedoms and works to require strict obedience to those in charge. I'm grateful to have been around the world with my wife and my children and not once have I thought, I do not want to live in a place without inclusive freedom. So, here we are today with our children/teenagers/soon-to-be adults (in a few years -- because time flies) in the middle of another divisive national election. 

What I've always loved about being an American is that, within our Constitution and Bill of Rights boundaries, we can all believe what we want and live the way we want. We may vehemently disagree on the current issues in front of us, but we still have the freedom to disagree, debate, and again, believe what we we want and live the way we want. Maybe along the way we learn to compromise and fully appreciate our shared experiences. At least that's always the aspirational goal and one we impart on our children. 

However, when the ultimate goal is to limit and even eliminate my family's personal freedoms and rights so that we must believe and live the way others want to us to, and compromise all that's afforded to us in the promise of America, then it's no longer an inclusive democratic republic. And here we are again, teetering on that razor's edge.

I have to believe that the majority of us, with or without children, will work together to keep our grand ol' democracy, with all its continuous contradictions, flaws, and historical scars, alive and well. I know my wife and I will. I hope our children will, too. 

Our youngest child, Bryce, a fiercely independent teen who's a little too cynical at this age, always asks why I keep our American flag out on our front porch. 

My response is aways the same (as was my parents), "Because I'm proud to be an American."

Bea's Sweet 16 Beach Party

She loved Teen Beach and Teen Beach 2 when she first watched them years ago. So much so that she still watches them today and sings all the songs verbatim. Fun old school rock and roll musicals with silly plot lines, puppy love, and teen friendship and fun, light and sweet. 

So it was no surprise that our oldest child, Beatrice, wanted her Sweet 16 birthday to be on the beach with her friends. With a fire to gather around and cook hot dogs and s'mores. And to watch a movie on the beach using a projector and a big screen. 

We're grateful that we her parents could do it. And we did, but it didn't quite go as planned. Nothing too bad, just different, the way things can change even with the best of plans in place. My wife Amy is an amazing planner and packer, so we had everything we needed on the beach. Beatrice also helped her mom pack and also put together her big lit up "16" numbers. One of Beatrice's best friends' father, Andrew, also came early with me to set up. 

We've never done anything like this, having a gathering on a beach with a fire pit. Most of the beaches where we live don't allow fires and we had to drive across town to get to one that does. When Andrew and I arrived early to set up, the beach was more populated that I would have anticipated, especially on a cool foggy day such as this one. Plus, all the fire pits were taken. 

The good news was that where we ended up setting up our party "camp" was near another teen party being set up and the family offered to share their fire pit with us. That was great news, and we had the best of both worlds, because we also brought our propane fire pit, so now we had two. We set up the rest of our party area and were ready to go.

Bea's friends arrived and all went well until 45 minutes into the movie when the projector battery ran out. It was supposed to last up to three hours on a charge. Nope. Didn't happen. Luckily the 25 teens who came to celebrate with Beatrice were just fine talking, laughing, running around, listening to music, and snacking on hot dogs, chips, candy, soda, and cookies -- perfect teen grub. 

Originally, the chairs we brought and the propane fire pit were supposed to be for Amy and I and our two pod families of old (friends and their kids we hung out together with during the pandemic), but the teens claimed them immediately after they got there. We could've kicked them out, but we were just the caterers, and this was for Beatrice and her friends. We all survived and did get a couple of chairs back later in the night. Our friends brought their own fun "air" bean bags to sit and lay on. 

Even though not everything went as planned, Bea's Sweet 16 beach party was still a hit. Her friends had a blast and thanked Amy and I over and over again. Like Bea's favorite old Teen Beach movies, she made her own memories of teen friendship and fun, light and sweet. That's all we wanted for her and we're grateful the universe obliged. 

I'm the Luckiest

I flung my paper airplane over the balcony and watched as it made a two-foot circle and landed near my feet. The people in the seats near me laughed and clapped their hands. Someone said, "Go on, try again -- you can get the trajectory right." 

I smiled, shook my head, and returned to my seat next to my wife Amy. I asked her if she saw my epic fail, and she laughed and nodded. To be fair to me, I knew my paper airplane didn't have a chance to make to make it to the stage. Not because it was too far away; there were others throwing from the balcony who made it. I just forgot how to make my paper airplane more streamlined. Mine was riddled with mis-folds and a mistrust from the beginning that it wouldn't fly very far. And it didn't.

It was a fun date night for Amy and I, though. We went to see the Ben Folds, a singer-songwriter, amazing pianist, and alt-rock legend from the 1990's. He's one of my favorites and we were not disappointed. It was just him and a piano, no band. This was his Paper Airplane Request Tour, meaning, during the second half of the show, you could write requests on a piece of paper, fold it into a paper airplane, and try to get it to fly onto the stage. He would then pick them up randomly and decide to play the request or not. 

But through all the great music, something bothered me. Something that had happened earlier in the week. There was a teenage boy who attended our daughter Beatrice's high school who had committed suicide. He was a junior and a football player, but other than that, we didn't know him or his family. It was still so sad. We talked about it at dinner with both our kids, of course reminding them that they could always talk with us about anything. 

The next day at school Beatrice told us that the boy's suicide impacted many of the students and the teachers alike. She said it was a somber day and was glad to be home for the weekend. I told both Beatrice and her sister Bryce that I had a good friend take his own life the year after I finished high school. It was the first funeral I had ever attended and I was one of the pallbearers, too. That part I didn't tell them, only because it was sad enough discussing suicide with our teens. 

One in five high school students seriously considered attempting suicide in 2023, according to data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). We feel like we have open and solid relationships with our teens, but it's something we think about when our kids struggle with anxiety and stress. Something I didn't tell my kids yet is that I was that junior high school student once who was dealing with a lot of anxiety and overwhelming existential darkness that I didn't understand at the time. Suicide was an alternative that crossed my mind.

Luckily, I didn't end my life, even though luck didn't have much to do with it. Deep down I knew I wanted to live, but it would take a lot more anxiety, flailing introspection, poor choices, help from others, and over a decade later to get it all together. By my early 30's the trajectory of my life had already changed dramatically, and after I met Amy, I continued to heal mentally and spiritually. There were still up and downs, but finally more ups than downs. Ups I manifested and were grateful for.

Which brings me back to seeing Ben Folds with Amy. One of the songs he played is called "Still Fighting It" and it's about having children and all the things you go through again with them that you experienced growing up. That one always makes me tear up about our own children now, and my heart ached again for the family whose high school son committed suicide last week. Blessings to him and to them. 

The song I wrote down on the paper that I turned into an ill-fated paper airplane was "The Luckiest" -- one of my favorite songs from Ben Folds and one that reminds me of my relationship with Amy. My paper airplane didn't make it to the stage, but luckily that was the next song he played. I was grateful to be there in that moment with my wife, just as I'm grateful to be present in every moment possible with our children, going through all the things with them that we went through when we were their age. 

I'm not sure I've ever believed in luck, but I do know that I'm the luckiest. 

"...And where was I before the day
That I first saw your lovely face?
Now I see it everyday
And I know..."

Blessings to Our Teachers Everywhere

"Who's your favorite teacher?" our youngest Bryce asked me.

"I don't have a favorite," I answered. "I like them all."

"This guy," Bryce said. This is their new humorous response equivalent to saying, "C'mon, you can do better than that."

Bryce pressed further. "How would you rate them all on a scale of 1 to 10?"

"I wouldn't," I said. "Again, I like them all."

"What about my teachers?" our oldest Beatrice asked. "How would you rate them?"

"Again, I wouldn't."

"This guy."

This was the conversation with our teens after my wife Amy and I went to both their back-to-school open houses, with Bryce now in middle school and Beatrice in high school. I did ultimately acquiesce to Bryce's demand and rate each of her teachers (they all got high marks, by the way), but Beatrice didn't want any specific number ratings, just a nod that we liked her teachers. 

Which we did. Both open house visits were great. In fact, one of Beatrice's teachers felt like this was one of the best parental turnouts since before COVID-19. Distance learning was difficult to manage for everyone and many kids fell behind. We were fortunate to be able to work from home and support our kids while they learned from home, and today we've thankfully been back in the classroom for a few years now. 

We've gone to our teens' open houses every year, virtually and in person, and are always excited to hear when their teachers have in store and what they'll be learning throughout the year. From preschool to now, our children have had a quality education and the enduring support of teachers and staff. Besides the preschool that we paid for, from kindergarten onward, the public education system continues to be foundational to our republic. 

Our third president, Thomas Jefferson, believed that educated citizens made the American experiment of self-government a success. He advocated for free and public education for all that was radical in his day, even if it took a lot longer for enslaved black people and women to experience it for themselves. There are educational options for families today, but not all are accessible or affordable for all like the public education system.

As we sat in each of our kids' classes during their middle and high school open houses, we heard more than just what was in the teachers' syllabuses. We heard their teachers' hopeful enthusiasm that every child will have the opportunity to learn and grow in their classes, and that they will do everything they can to ensure every child will have the support and resources they need. Not always easy for teachers and the public education system to do, but it's still the cornerstone of our democracy, enabling education for all regardless of social status, gender, race, ethnicity, or sexual orientation. 

Beatrice and Bryce may not like school every day, but they do appreciate their teachers. When I reflect on them wanting to know how we'd rate their teachers this year, I give them all 10's. Yes, we're still making up for learning deficits and our teachers are working hard to close those gaps. This Labor Day, blessings to our teachers everywhere. 

The Greatest Return on Fatherhood and the Future

It was one of those moments that perfectly represented family love, pride, empathy, and vulnerability in a very public way. It was also yet another polarizing moment that the haters immediately hated because it was from the other side, about the other side, glorifying the other side. Of course, I'm talking about the moment when Gus Walz, the Democratic VP nominee Tim Walz's son, stood and cheered on his dad, crying with pride and love, at the Democratic National Convention. "That's my dad!" he said.

Never mind the fact that Gus has a learning disorder, which does make the hate even more disgusting. Here is a moment representing a healthy love between a son and his father, and while seemingly celebrated by most, it's denigrated by too many others.

But it's not simply a Democrat versus Republican thing. It's a pervasive toxic masculinity thing. A powerful patriarchy kept in business for thousands of years (men in charge). One that continues to prevent empathy, respect, and unconditional love from blossoming between sons and daughters and their fathers and mothers. One that continues to marginalize and endanger women, people of color, and LGBTQIA+ communities. 

God, I'm tired of being outraged by extremist outrage of any ideology, especially those who embrace the diminishing hate of "men in power" that has turned people against each other and their own best interests for millennia. Unfortunately, I had two horrible male role models as "fathers" when I was younger. Two men who had been socialized in the above hate. They were my birth father and my first stepfather. Both were abusive, and one was an alcoholic, and the other mentally ill. It wasn't until my second stepfather, the one whose name my sister and I eventually took, did I experience an empathic and loving father. One who wasn't afraid to cry. He was clear about rules and boundaries when needed, especially with my sister and I in our teens, but he always led with love and empathy. These qualities are also what made him a respected police officer for 32 years.

When I was sworn in as a local school board member nearly two years ago, I was filled with pride and love when my daughters and wife cheered me on in the front row. Later, they all asked me if I cried, because they all know that Dad is a crier. An unabashed and unapologetic crier. However, I am clear about rules and boundaries when I need to be, especially now with teens in tow. I'm the gruff "no" and "don't do that" dad, and I'm constantly reminded of that.

But I'm also the empathic, loving, willing to be vulnerable dad. One who only cares about teaching and empowering our children to be healthy, resilient, empathetic, respectful, and grateful human beings. This is the greatest return on fatherhood and the future. It's not easy to sustain, though. Sometimes I still fall prey to judging others and the haters gonna hate trap, which both our kids call me out on. 

I've learned a lot over the years about being a "man", a husband, and a father -- not always getting it right, but always working on it -- and I hope our children will always be willing to proudly call out, "That's my dad!" 

That Safe Space

They were not looking forward to it, their first day back to school. That's not unusual for any teen pre- or post-covid, although there's been more collective angst since. Social anxiety, peer pressure, success stress, homework, and more are all pile-ons for teens, and our youngest Bryce is now an 8th grader and our oldest Beatrice a sophomore in high school. 

It was an internal emotional hurricane for both our kids those first two days of school, but then came the eye of the storm in the first full week of school, and both settled in nicely. Ultimately they both do enjoy learning, and seeing their friends, and getting back into the atmospheric rivers of adolescent rhythms, always with storm-fronts in view. They got themselves organized, though, and are ready to go. Plus, we're super happy they're back in school!

Bryce attended a marine science camp and took guitar lessons over the summer and is ready to get back into choir and theater again. Beatrice had her first paid job as a camp counselor over the summer and volunteered as what's called Link Leader, sophomore, junior, and senior students willing to help incoming freshmen get acclimated to the big high school sea change prior to day one. She's also going to try out theater this fall for the high school production. 

Oh my goodness, they're both about to have birthdays, too! Bryce will turn 14 and Beatrice 16. Mercy me, the time does fly as we were told from the very beginning of this parenting journey. I told my wife Amy on our hike today that, while it does go fast, we are so grateful to have been mindfully present for most of the moments our children have spent on this earth since birth. Entrenched in our hearts and minds have been the moments of every physical action and reaction, and every multi-faceted emotional interaction. Some have more loving clarity than others, and there are those we would prefer not to recall, but we are grateful for them all.

Sigh. Lots more moments to come to be present for, and now they're back to school again, amen. And the homework, especially in high school, is already piling on, just like all the social anxiety, peer pressure, success stress, and more in teenage-land today. As parents, we do our best to help them balance all these stressors, but we can't do it for them, or go through it for them, no matter how much our empathy magnets polarize to pull them in to calm them, keep them safe, and to tell them everything's going to be okay. 

All we can do is give them the growing up strategies and tactics that we learned to adopt and implement over time. Some of that came from our own parents, but in the end we had to go through it all to make mistakes, learn, grow, and ultimately thrive. Just like our teens will have to do today, and the next day, and the next. As my mom always told me, you have to go through it, not around it. As parents, we can be that safe space for them when then do.

We Can Do It

The 2024 Wharf to Wharf 10K race had started and our group number finally was able to move. As we got closer to the Beach Boardwalk arcade building, I noticed two police officers on the roof. One of them had what looked like a high-powered sniper rifle (never in America; now in America). Both were scanning the diverse 16,000 participants from the Santa Cruz area and beyond, serious racers to friends and family enjoying this annual community event, all of whom would run and walk from the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk to the Capitola Wharf. My wife Amy and I, and many others, saw the rifle clearly on its stand right above the roofline.

I scanned the roof of the restaurants across the street from the arcade, and there were two more officers, one with another sniper rifle on its stand. After all the Wharf to Wharf's we've done over the years, I don't remember ever seeing officers on the roofs above us. They might've been there and I just never looked up, but I don't think so. I mean, every year there is plenty of police presence along the over six miles of race route to ensure safety since we're walking and running along city streets. But it felt different this year. 

If there were other snipers along the race route, we didn't see them, and frankly, didn't want to see them. This was a depressing sign of the times, where the threat of potentially random violence feels like it's everywhere, even though violent crime is actually down. We live in a moderate-to-liberal community ideologically and politically, but there are still vocal extremes everywhere. 

So, whether or not local law enforcement had received threats to the race, we may never know, but it was unsettling nonetheless. The ideological and political extremists today thrive on divisiveness and hate that threatens to crater the middle of the road for us all. In fact, fringe violence has left more and more pot holes of fear faster than we can fill them, but fill them we must. What compounds this is that too many of us are too quick to fuel the fear and hate when we judge and tear each other down for being different, and when we don't see eye to eye on issues that affect us all. In front of our own children, God, and everyone. We revel in it, actually. Amy and I have been guilty of that ourselves, and our children called us out on it every time. 

Amy and I finished the race without incident and headed home, exhausted but exhilarated that we finished another Wharf to Wharf. Throughout the race I kept thinking about the police snipers keeping watch, and the majority of us walking and running in the race in the middle of the road, celebrating community and enjoying the live bands playing along the route. The race promotes the health and fitness of the youth of Santa Cruz (our schools). For those physically able to participate, it's also all about the joy of feeling alive and active, a vibrant mindfulness of empathy and love for oneself, and for the thousands of others across generations with a variety of backgrounds and beliefs. And along the entire route, locals cheered us on with "you can do it" signs.

That's a more relevant theme that extends beyond this fun annual race. Our family, and I'd argue the majority of families in communities big and small across ideologies, do not want to live in fear and loathing, or continue to enable the hateful disabling rhetoric, and will do everything we can to be stable, safe, and thrive. And to empower our children to do the same. 

We can do it. And we will do it. We have to do it. Our children are counting on us. 

The ROI Of Family Bonding And Love

"...Sometimes the light's all shinin' on me
Other times I can barely see
Lately it occurs to me
What a long, strange trip it's been..."

Grateful Dead, Truckin'

And just like that, our travel trailer was gone. Not stolen or in an accident. Simply sold to a wonderful retired couple with grandchildren, four years after we had bought it. 

We didn't sell it because we had to. We just weren't using it as much as we thought we would. It was a pandemic buy and it opened up a lot of travel options we had during the summer of 2020 and beyond. And we had no friggin' idea what we were doing. My parents had a truck camper, then a boat, then a motorhome, but I never had to take care of them and/or tow and/or drive them. 

In July of 2020, we wrapped up the paperwork at the dealer, hooked up the rig, and towed our new travel trailer for the first time. Again, no friggin' idea what we were doing. I was scared to death. My wife Amy was nervous, too, but as always, assured me we could do it. 

And we did. I could also back that thing up like a champ, too. It wasn't without a big learning curve and almost breaking lots of things, though. Thankfully we never really broke anything exactly, only slightly damaged some things. I backed our SUV into the trailer hitch that left a dent, one that remains today. Early on with the travel trailer we used it as a safe haven at a campground out of town when the CZU August Lightning Complex fires came within three miles of where we live and the smoke and ash were horrible. We then had to deal with our home security alarm going off when we were gone with me thinking that we were being looted (which we weren't after I drove all the way back to our house in the early morning to check). 

We connected the batteries incorrectly on one trip and nearly fried them. We woke up on another trip with a flat tire on the travel trailer that turned into a bit of a fiasco, although we got home okay. And on that same trip, my kids and I dealt with bullies in a McDonald's. On another trip, we thought our SUV was on fire that began a cascading stress-mess with an anti-climatic ending. 

Even with all of that, in a short period of time we had many great adventures, including an amazing two-week Southwest road trip, a couple of trips Oregon where one of Amy's uncles lives (and who helped us a lot with our travel trailer learning curve!), a trip to Joshua Tree, trips to the Columbia in Sonora, trips down the central coast to Paso Robles and Avila Beach, trips to see my family in the Central Valley (KOA campgrounds are great especially when there's a pool!), and a few others. And through it all I took care of my family's poop.

Our kids are now teens, and the last few times we went on a trip in the trailer camper, they didn't like it. Hated it, actually. Not the parts we did outside of the travel trailer, just the staying in the camper and the sleeping parts. Our dog Jenny always disliked going with us in the travel trailer, too. It always stressed her out and we had to crate her in the camper when we went places that didn't allow dogs. 

Amy and I had aspirational ideas about what we'd do with our travel trailer in the years after we bought it. When we first got it, we were ready to go, and we had plans to travel in it together when the kids were old enough to stay by themselves, and eventually when they were out of the house. I think that, like in the beginning as a pandemic buy, we romanticized what it would be like to travel in our camper. 

But in the past year it's not how we've traveled, and won't be in the foreseeable future. We hated the camper sitting in storage and not being used. Because what happens when things sit and aren't being used? They breakdown and fall apart. And we didn't want that to happen, so we sold it to some very nice people who will take good care of it. 

We did have amazing adventures, though, and we made miles of special memories. We saw so many beautiful landscapes and met some wonderful people. We also learned a lot about travel trailers, towing, how your mileage sucks when you're towing, and how easy it is to almost break stuff. However, the biggest lesson of all was also the greatest return on our investment. The ROI of family bonding and love.

 

Across The Middle Spectrum

Ironically our family was at the amusement park called Great America when the assassination attempt happened. Someone had shot former President Trump in the ear at a campaign rally in Pennsylvania. Multiple rounds were fired, and the shooter also killed another bystander and critically wounded two others. 

We discussed briefly as a family about why violence like this is never okay, whether you support the candidate or not. Afterwards I worried about what might happen now. Just like when I watched the violent protests after George Floyd's murder and the January 6 insurrection unfold.

Will there be more violence after this assassination attempt? If so, when and where? I thought about all this as I watched the diverse group of families pass back and forth. Groups of teens also walked past us, laughing and teasing each other, not thinking about the adult world breaking down. If any of them had heard the news, no one seemed to be worried about it. 

I remember when I was a teen President Reagan was shot. I also remember how upset my parents got, too. But what I don't recall was the polarizing political hatred we have today. I mean, there's always been a liberal-conservative divide, but I wasn't paying as much attention back then because I was only 15 years old. Our teens are the same age now, and although I'd argue they're more aware than Amy and I were, they're still teens whose attention spans move on quickly. 

Letting our fear of extremism dictate our lives and where we go and what we do isn't the answer, because that's not living; that's not freedom. But I also can't imagine living in a country where my family must be wary about what we believe and who we support and what we share publicly for fear of being targeted, attacked verbally and/or physically, or even jailed or killed. Although, it does feel like we're on the messy fringe of that now in America. After the assassination attempt, we keep hearing from other leaders that there's no place for this kind of violence in America, and yet, here it is.

So, in today's America, we live in a polarized ideological nightmare. You're either with us or against us. Of God or against. Republican or Democrat. Independent or apathetic. Too conservative or too liberal. Too old or too young. Too black or too white. Too straight or too gay. Too rich or too poor. Very right or very wrong.

And it all feels very wrong when we have to worry about the safety for all of us, adults and kids, across the middle spectrum. Instead of blaming the other side, are we willing talk with one another and work together to figure out how to empathize, compromise, co-exist, and ultimately govern in a way that underscores how our very nation was established on the premise that all of us are created equal? That as American citizens we can all celebrate the rights of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness"? Can we convince the polarized extremes to do the same after discounting others deemed not worthy?

Can we? That's an aspirational wish I wish we all could reengage and reinvest in, because for me, that was always the idea for the great United States of America experiment, and one we try to impart on our children. That "we hold these truths to be self-evident," which evidently, many do not. Blessings to us all anyway. 

A Long-Term Well-Being Win

My best friend Robby of 45 years always likes to tell the story of how he almost wasn't part of our long-term friend group. The one that keeps getting together year after year, decades after high school. We first met in 7th grade, and while we became best friends later on in high school, my best friend in 7th grade at the time, Brad, saved Robby from being bullied in wood shop class. Back then I was a skinny, asthmatic, shy, and fearful kid, not a hero, and was relieved and grateful with Brad's intervention. I was also grateful that Robby and I befriended each other through goofy humor and the music of Cheap Trick, Kiss, and many other rock groups at that time.

Our long-time friend-group origin story birthed sometime between our sophomore and junior years in high school. That's when, Robby jokes, he was "included" in our group of friends. It wasn't like one day he got a pass, or any of us for that matter. We had already been amalgamating into this cohort for a few years, based on mutual affection, trust, support, shared interests, communication, respect, humor, and more. 

The thing with me was, I struggled to exclude others. Even when I probably should have. Beyond Robby, my other close friends back in high school, and family, I've had many acquaintances and friends from many differing backgrounds. From college to work to other parents of kids ours go to school with. What I know now, but did quite understand then, was that there was always something to learn from others, friends or not. Sharing knowledge and experiences with one another was how I grew as a person and how it's shaped my life awareness and belief systems over the years. Still is.

The hard part was and is the adulting. My nature was always to be liked, and to exclude others was to not be liked. That can get you in trouble when you're in middle and high school, always trying to please, with it only to backfire on you when you do and say the wrong thing to people about other people. Mercy me I had some failures there.  

But as I failed, grew,  and evolved, there were some difficult adulting decisions to make -- getting a divorce and ending an old friendship from our long-time friend group, just to name a couple. I had to learn boundary-setting and how to exclude others when it came to my own happiness and well-being, sanity and safety, and unfortunately not always empathically either. Conversely, I had to learn that I wouldn't always be included with others and their activities, even when hubris shoved my empathy and understanding to the ground like a bully and said, "What the hell?"

And now our teens are learning about inclusion and exclusion with their own friend groups, and like most normal teens, they want to be liked and included. They need their own space, too, and boundary-setting is new to them and a struggle, but we listen and provide parental and our own experiential feedback. We tell them they don't always have to include, and they will be excluded, and that's okay. 

Boundary-setting and exclusion for well-being and safety is one thing, but exclusion based on fear, ignorance, prejudice, and to purposely hurt can lead only to painful isolation, loneliness, or worse, for both perpetrator and victim. That's a lesson for us all. 

But if they have enduring friendships based on mutual affection, trust, support, shared interests, communication, respect, humor, and more, then it's a long-term well-being win for sure. As I've written before, I'm grateful for the dear inclusive and loving friendships I've had over 40 years now. Blessings to them. I wish the same for our teens as adults. 

Sweet And Sour Nothings

No spoilers, but mercy me I cried, and I laughed, and I cried some more. That's not unusual or hard for me; I'm certainly a crier (and I like to laugh). For Father's Day weekend last week, we all went to see Inside Out 2. Perfect movie to see with your teens, by the way. It's not a dark snarky mess like most shows and movies targeting teens today. If you and your kids liked the first one, you should like this one, too. Especially if your kids are teens now. 

Again, I won't give anything away that hasn't already been in the previews. New emotions are introduced including Anxiety. Once Anxiety takes over, then all bets are off for the main character Riley and all her other emotions. 

That's what got me the most. That once we hit adolescence and our pre-frontal cortex, hormones, and more enhanced levels of awareness come online, anxiety is right behind them whispering sweet and sour nothings into our ears. I had more than enough of that when I was a teenager (into young adulthood) and don't wish it on anyone. Our children have had their share of adolescent angst as well and that's always hard to see. 

With all the love and support we've given our children since they were born, it's hard to watch them struggle with their own anxieties at times. My wife Amy and I remind each other that they are teens; it's normal developmentally. As I wrote a few weeks ago after attending some local graduation as a school board member, I remember how our kids (and many others) struggled with isolation throughout the pandemic. In fact, every student speaker at the graduations, from elementary to middle school to high school, shared that same sentiment. That even though our kids have healthy friendships, their brains and bodies are developing rapidly, and the stress of feeling liked and included is excruciating at times. That they are more aware than ever of the world's volatility around us and how social media scrolling demons can haunt them day after day. 

Yep, anxiety knows how to throw us off with those sweet and sour nothings it whispers in our ears. Or, screams in them, prompting a panic attack. Whether you see Inside Out 2 or not, anxiety's sweet and sour nothings are with us for life. All we can do as parents is be there for our teens and offer our grounded guidance, love, and support. We can help them understand that they can learn to live with and manage anxiety their entire lives. I know I need that reminder from time to time. 

A Grateful Dad

My dad was always so kind to everyone. Even after 32 years as a police officer and dealing with criminals and the dark side of life, he was always still a very kind person. We lost him and my mom in 2012, and we miss them both. Our kids were very young when they passed.

When I was a sophomore in high school, we were all watching the varsity football game. Me with my friends, and my parents were watching elsewhere in the stands. They had been there since the junior varsity game to watch me play. 

At some point my parents left the game. Fifteen minutes later, one of my friends rushed to where we sat in the stands to tell me my dad had been stabbed. A high and troubled teenager had been taunting one of the high school administrators working the football game and my dad had tried to talk the teen down. The teen wasn't having it, though, and he lunged at my dad with a knife, stabbing him in the upper thigh. Soon after that, my mom, sister, and I were at the hospital with him. Thankfully he was going to be okay. 

What I didn't know until years later is that my dad kept checking in on the teen and visit him to see how he was doing. First the teen was in juvenile hall for a while, and then after other arrests as an adult, went to prison. My dad had wanted to help him, but sadly, he was killed in prison.

Not only was my dad kind, he was empathic and forgiving. So many of his "clients" as he called them, the people he arrested throughout his police career, really liked my dad. And my dad tried to help people turn their lives around, although he knew first hand in his job just how hard it was for people to do that. 

At home, he was such a great father for my sister and me. He didn't come into our lives until we were 10 and 12, when he and our mom married, but it was as if he was always "dad" to us, which is why just a few years later we took his name. He listened to us, he cared for us, and he loved us no matter what we did or said (and we did and said some wowzers, that's for sure). He was always fair, even when we weren't. And when I was going through some of the most difficult years of my life, he did his best to understand, counsel, and console. He was also a goofball and a master of levity, effortlessly injecting humor and silliness into our daily lives. His infectious laughter brought perpetual smiles to us all. 

Dad, you helped me become a grateful dad. A kind, empathic, loving, and grateful dad. Thank you and blessings to you. You are missed.

The First Job Win

My first job was a paper route when I was 12 and it was only for one summer. Folding the papers and delivering them wasn't too bad, but having to collect the payments from the people I delivered to was horrible. Excruciating at times. Most people on my route were nice about it, whether they had the money to pay me then or not. But there were those who were just downright mean at times. Ridiculing me because they said I threw their paper in the bushes or barely on their driveway. 

A few years later when I hit 15 and a half, my true first job enfolded. I applied for and was hired to work in the produce department of a local grocery store. While my boss was a jerk most of the time, one of my co-workers warmed up to me and became a good work friend. It didn't start that way, but thankfully it ended that way throughout the three years I worked there. I had no idea what I was doing at first, but over that first summer between training and just doing the job, I learned fast. I worked a split shift -- from 6 am in the morning to 10 am, and then I'd come back at 3 pm and close the produce department at 7 pm. It was tough to get up that early, but I did it, and by the end of the second summer working there, I had enough for a down payment on my first car.

And now it's time to live that all over again with our own kids. Our oldest, Beatrice, had volunteered the past two years as a junior leader at a summer day camp for Parks and Recreation. This year was her opportunity to apply to be a paid camp counselor -- and she got the job! She was one of the best junior leaders they had the past two years, so her experience definitely paid off for her. 

She's completed her week of paid training and next is the actual camp. She'll be working about 30+ hours per week, which is a lot when you haven't worked before. Both her and her sister Bryce earn their allowance each week for the chores they do, but that's maybe a couple of hours per week, if that. 

This is different than doing weekly chores for an allowance. Real paying jobs always are. Beatrice is going to be one tired teen by the end of the summer wrangling all those campers every day, but she loves the work, and she also knows that she'll be saving some "bank". She's already making a list of what she may want to buy at the end of the summer. Not a car like I bought when I was 16 (with a co-signed loan from my mom and dad), because she's not ready to drive yet anyway. It'll be fun for her to decide either way. 

And she'll be saving money, too. We want her to contribute to her mutual funds account we set up for her and contribute to -- get her in the habit of saving (something that my wife Amy and I didn't do enough of when we were their age!). The same with Bryce (both have their own account), although Bryce doesn't have a real job yet. Bryce is picking up extra chores for more money, though, which helps for spending and saving. 

It's the first job win for Bea and we couldn't be prouder. I keep telling her she's going to have to buy us all dinner at the end of the summer, but all I get is a big "no". That's all right. At least she'll be saving, too.