On Making Good Choices

It was funny / not funny the way she said it. The researcher giving us the tour of the Sunflower Star Laboratory in Moss Landing shared how a warming Pacific Ocean decimated the Sunflower Star and other species starting in 2013. 

She talked about how their research is helping to repopulate the sea stars, and how one of the Sunflower Stars they raised ended up dying because of "bad choices", and not because of the warm blob of ocean as they've called it. Bad choices because the Sunflower Star ate some bad shellfish (the bad being the bacteria in it). That was the funny / not funny. The shellfish contained bacteria that made it sick and die. Same thing that can happen in humans, too, but the way she said it was almost like saying it was a teen making a bad choice. 

The rest of the tour was fascinating, and our youngest Bryce and I asked many questions of the researcher. Bryce had wanted to go on this tour because marine biology has fast become their passion and a future career. They currently volunteer at the Seymour Marine Discovery Center, teaching young kids (and adults) about Swell Sharks and how to touch them in the touch pool, among many other responsibilities. It's special for my wife Amy and I because that's where we were married way before having kids. 

Amy had a company meeting that day, so I took Bryce to Moss Landing to do the Sunflower Star Laboratory tour, and to check out the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute (MBARI) open house that was going on. That was also very cool to learn more about the research they do, the submersibles they use, and Bryce asked about internships, something they could apply for in college. 

Before Bryce and I went to Moss Landing, that same morning I took our oldest Beatrice driving near the DMV where she'll be taking her driving test soon to get her license. She's been banking the practice hours to be ready to pass the test. Both Amy and I have let her drive with her permit to incrementally add to her experience. Never in a rush to get her license when she turned 16, Beatrice has because a solidly cautious driver, which we're grateful for. 

Driving is stressful enough for experienced drivers like Amy and me, but for a new driver ready practicing to get her license, it's super stressful. What adds to that stress is Mom and Dad giving feedback to their child. While it can sound like we're judging her driving, we're just trying to give constructive feedback. That doesn't always translate, though, especially when we know there are inexperienced decisions she'll need to make every time she gets behind the wheel.

This practice drive was no different. I've told her time and again that I can get fussy, which she knows all too well, but I'm not yelling at her. However, she perceives it as yelling. That perception gets amplified because I am telling her what she did wrong and what she should do instead. Then combine that with trying to remember hundreds of things at once when driving amplifies it even further. We don't blame her for getting defensive, just as long as she continues to develop her defensive driving skills overall. 

We always want our children to make good choices in whatever they're learning or doing in life. Good choices to us anyway. Who would've thought that phrase -- "make good choices" -- would become as iconic as it did. Thank you Disney and the 2003 Freaky Friday movie. According to Jamie Lee Curtis, who played Dr. Tess Coleman in the 2003 Freaky Friday film, "Make good choices!" is the only line she has ever improvised in her entire career.

What's funny about that is sometimes our improvisations are the only choices to make in the moment, where the magic can come from. And sometimes they're not. "Listening to your heart" as the expression goes is only as good as prefrontal cortex executive functioning, which ain't great in teens (and unfortunately a lot of adults I've known over the years). 

Whether it's following a career passion or learning something complicated and new like driving, we're grateful our kids mostly make good choices. Until they don't, and then we're there for them to coach them through all the bad choices we've already learned from (I think). 

We know it's not always that clear cut, and sometimes a bad choice can become a happy accident (no driving pun intended). You just gotta get the heart and mind to align either way. And probably best to skip the shellfish. 

The Declaration

(a poem in progress for America and our children)

250 years a union

Still here

Still imperfect 

Still built on the backs

Of the Others without

And the Others of color

Of sexual preference

Of huddled masses

Wishing to become

More in today’s America

Yet the vanquished

Cry out for justice

And prosperity 

Again and again

Fleeced

Forlorn

Forgotten

That privileged 

Liberty longed for

Fought for

Died for

Since before 

The reason

The Declaration

Was born

250 years a union

Still here

Still imperfect 

Still driven by wealthy

Tyrannical cannibals

Devouring our trust

Our sovereignty

Our livelihoods 

While backing the

Grifter King

The farcical despot

Who cares nothing 

For our country or us

Volatile

Vindictive

Vapid

Like those we’ve 

Staved off before

To prevent 

The treason

The Declaration 

Had warned

250 years a union

Still here

Still imperfect 

Still populated

And differentiated

By class and status

Let us break

The caste of

That privileged

Liberty longed for

Well lit with hope for

Justice and prosperity

Of the people 

For the people

By the people

No Others but all 

Noting that hope

Without action  

Is impotent sage

So let’s find our 

Founders’ footing

Of all people 

Created equal

And becoming more

In today’s America

Let’s revive

The reason

The Declaration 

Was born

We Make Our Magic

"...You have to believe we are magic
Nothin' can stand in our way
You have to believe we are magic
Don't let your aim ever stray
And if all your hopes survive, destiny will arrive
I'll bring all your dreams alive for you..."

–Olivia Newton-John, Magic

My legs and lungs burned, and I was drenched in sweat. For the last mile, nearly every 50 feet was a switchback in the trail that wound its way steeply up the mountainside. Along the way I took frequent breaks, realizing as I caught my breath that there had been a fire here in the past. I leaned against the scorched bark of old-growth redwoods, oaks, and maples, all of which were lush with renewal. 

Hiking with me was my wife, Amy. Her legs and lungs burned, too, but she doesn't sweat like I do, so her tell is that her cheeks glow red. Hiking is something we enjoy together -- for the exercise yes, but more for the ambiance of being in nature and the great outdoors. Amy and I like to say "let's get some redwood action"; hiking can be physically strenuous, but it's a meditative and mindful exercise that reinvigorates our bodies, minds, and souls. We're grateful to live in the Monterey Bay area with many hiking options near us as well as throughout the greater Bay Area. Each week we rotate parks where we usually hike, and occasionally we get to parks we haven't frequented as much. 

Like Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park. We'd only hiked the 3-mile Buzzards Roost Trail once before with friends and our kids, who did not like it at all. I must've been focused on them then because I didn't remember the vertical pain we experienced the second time. But unlike the first time we did the hike when the coastal fog was thick and we couldn't see the ocean from the summit, this time the view was magnificent: blue sky, green mountains, blue ocean, and a distant blue-gray fog bank in the distance. 

When we had descended that last brutal mile, which was easier using a different set of leg muscles with a gravity assist, a couple asked us how much farther. We told them about a mile and emphasized it was an intense vertical climb. They thanked us, feigned a smile, and continued on. Few minutes later I joked with Amy: "It's only five more cries away."

We laughed, because it was true; those people would know soon enough. That became another catch-phrase joke in our catalog of shared memories of nearly 30 years together. We used it multiple times for the reminder of our hiking day, hiking another four miles to see waterfalls and other pretty pockets of Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park.

This was another trip without our kids. Ones we're doing more of since our kids are in high school with the oldest Beatrice heading to her senior year and then off to college. Beatrice is working nearly full-time again this summer as a camp counselor and her sibling Bryce is taking an ASL class and volunteering at a nearby marine discovery center. It doesn't mean we don't do things together as a family. We do and love to. But they have their friends they hang out with, school, choir, theater, work, and more. 

So, we're not empty nesters quite yet. We've still got a few years, but it's been fun doing more things together again, just us. We're not worried about being empty nesters someday, though. For us, everything new and old thing we do together (without or with the kids) is a chance to rediscover each other. To take inventory, review, and reinvest in our lives together, our children's lives, our futures and theirs. Like hiking, we embrace meditative and mindful activities that reinvigorate our bodies, minds, and souls. 

The last part of the trip included a restaurant stop just a bit south of where we hiked. It's one that Amy's always wanted to go to, so we went. First, we had to wait for a parking spot because the place was packed. Then, the wait to be seated was going to be up to an hour. We put our names in and went to the gift shop, but after waiting only 10 minutes, we were seated facing the water with another magnificent view of the ocean and the rugged California coastline. And although the food was fair, it was a magical setting and worth the price of admission for where we sat.

On the way home from our Big Sur day hiking, we sang along to old favorites, including one of our favorite Olivia Newton-John songs called "Magic". Even though we're six years apart, we enjoy much of the same music from the 1970's and 1980's, and that song epitomized the moment of the magic we made that day, even when it was five cries away like the peak of Buzzards Roost.

We make our magic, always have, bringing all our dreams alive, for us.

You Can't Out-Fuss Dad

It's genetically impossible for me to not be fussy. At least initially depending on the situation and what's being asked of me by my family. Thankfully there have been more times in the past decade where I can just go with it, whatever the "it" is, and not get so easily upset. 

But there are many more times still when my initial reaction is "no, we can't do that because" or "no, I won't do that because". It's not an "angry" upset per se; it's a frustrated upset due to my binary operating system of "yes" and "no", with the "no's" usually winning. My wife Amy says it's because I don't like being inconvenienced. She's not wrong. Especially if I've got my mind set on doing something my way, and I'm asked to think about and do something another way, especially when it's a better way. 

For example, I bought a new drum kit (Happy Father's Day to me!) and needed to make more room in the garage so I could set it up. The footprint for my last drum kit wasn't going to be enough to accommodate this one. That meant getting rid of stuff that we've wanted to get rid of and moving stuff around that we've wanted to move around. I envisioned a way of doing some of that, but my vision version can be myopic; I just want it done even if it's not the most efficient way. My time is my money, honey. Like when I go shopping: I look, I buy, I'm done -- usually at the first place I look.

Amy's the planning and puzzle master, though. She has a holistic awareness about space, the things in that space, and how they might be organized and reorganized. She had great ideas, I fussed about them and then acquiesced to the fact that we could free up a lot more space with her recommendations, including taking a big load of stuff to Goodwill. At least 2-3 times per year we're donating "stuff" to Goodwill, because then we're buying new stuff (thank you, George Carlin). 

When I do think more holistically, which I can mind you, I do triangulate on various helpful options. I just channel my lovely wife -- and voilà! -- it's magic time. Or, magic drum time in this instance.

I've written about how our car is almost fussier than me. Almost. My fussy has become comedic fodder for me and my family. Both our kids, Beatrice and Bryce, love saying "so fussy" to me when I'm expounding frustrations about whatever. In fact, it's part of our love language; they want me to be fussy because they know I'm not reacting out of spite. Never. Instead, it's fussy-safe and they know how much I love them. 

Now, it's important to note that Amy, Beatrice, and Bryce can all be fussy with each other and me, but as Bryce so eloquently put it recently, "You can’t out-fuss Dad."

You cannot. Ever. Happy Father's Day to me. 

The Full Oliver Friendships

"Bryce, you didn't ask me if get to see all my boyfriends this week," I said with a smirk. 

Our youngest child, Bryce, processed that statement and then smiled. 

"Dad, do you get to see all your boyfriends this week?"

"Yes, Bryce. Yes I do."

That's become a running joke with our family, especially with our kids, Beatrice and Bryce. The fact that I've had close male friends for 40+ years. Three from junior high to high school, one from post high school, and one from college. Sadly, my best friend from junior high passed away in 2025. 

I consider it a term of endearment because I've always loved these men. They've been the dearest of friends even though we only see each other a few times a year. We've traversed the chasm of decades together, through darkness and light, continuously building bridges of friendship, love, and empathy, and a whole lotta laughter along the way. 

There's a current societal narrative that says men are lonelier than ever. That they feel left out of bridge-building when compared to women. The percentage of men with six or more close friends dropped from 55% in 1990 to just 27% in 2021. Men account for nearly 80% of all suicide deaths and are over three times more likely to die by suicide than women.

The resurgence of toxic masculinity is an unfortunate direct response to feeling left out of the life equation. For the first time, there are more women employed than men, and there's a misinformed visceral backlash to this, movements like #MeToo, and more.

I'm grateful that there's hope in male friendships like ours. Men can have strong, positive connections and loving male friendships. Friendships that mentor and support each other. Those friendships reciprocally can and do make other relationships stronger, like those with our significant others and our children and grandchildren. 

So, Bryce and Beatrice, this was a good week with my boyfriends. First, my best friend from college, Troy, traveled with his oldest son and me to Los Angeles to see our favorite band Rush on their new aptly titled "50 Something Tour". A band we've seen many times together over the years, and one we never thought we'd see play live again after the beloved drummer, Neil Peart, passed away in January of 2020. (And speaking of friendships, the members of Rush were also friends for decades, and the two remaining members, Alex Lifeson and Geddy Lee, have been best friends since junior high. We can gratefully relate.) 

Second, my dear friend from high school, Greg, invited us to his and his wife's 60th birthday party. My other two mutual friends, Rob and Craig (and Craig's wife), attended as well. We always know how to "bust each other's chops", laugh until we cry, and unabashedly hug each other tight.

After we returned home from Rush, my friend Troy texted me: The whole trip was a full Oliver. That's our new Rush "inside baseball" term for "it was everything". The same was true for Greg's birthday party and everything we've done together for decades. Our friendships are the "Full Oliver", forever building transcendent bridges.

More Full Oliver:

All the Friendship in Between, with Love

A Spirit Breaking Free

Because There's Always A Promise

A Longing for Loving Connection

What Happens Next

Superman's Love Letter

Men of An Influencer Age

Making a Dent

A Long-Term Well-Being Win

Men of a Stand-up Age

Men of a Vulnerable Age

Able-Bodied Grateful

Men of Our Present Age

The #MeToo Guys

Men of a Women's Age

Men of a Consequential Age

Like Men Knowingly Bound to Their Future

Because That's How It Works With The Guys That Work

Big Heart Love to My Class of 1984

Men of An Unremarkable Age

Being What Happens Next

Retro K: A treasure trove of golden memories friendship has forged

The Rainbow Parade

"You guys look like corporate Pride," our youngest Bryce said with a half-smile.

We all laughed. My wife Amy and I proudly wore our rainbow colors as straight allies.

"Corporate Pride?" I said with my own half-smile. And then I thought, That's quite the oxymoron today since DEI and inclusivity have been on the corporate rocks. Thankfully that's not true for all companies -- thank you Disney and many others. 

Still, it was funny coming from Bryce, who is proudly queer, has a quick sardonic wit, and loves to tease their parents (both our kids do). We were all at our local Pride parade in downtown Santa Cruz with thousands of others from our community. It was a wonderful celebration of joy and love. The first same-sex couple to be officially married in Santa Cruz County in June 2008 were the grand marshals, alongside California Assemblymember Gail Pellerin, who officiated their wedding.

Pride celebrations are annual global events honoring the culture, history, and resilience of the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQIA+) community. It's primarily celebrated in June to commemorate the 1969 Stonewall Riots in New York City. During a routine police raid at the Stonewall Inn, patrons and local residents fought back against harassment, sparking days of protests that galvanized the modern gay liberation movement. Thank goodness you can still find this information on the Library of Congress website. 

When our kids were younger, we called it "The Rainbow Parade". Not because we didn't want to talk about the LGBTQIA+ community, but because it was such a sweet way to explain why "love is love" no matter who you are or how you identify, and why tolerance, acceptance, and inclusivity make for healthy and vibrant communities. 

Love is love. When Bryce told us they identify as they/them and were queer, we were grateful they felt safe enough to tell us. There was no shame or judgement; we've always wanted our children to be who they are. The same teen coming-of-age parenting happens whether straight or gay, and we engage in both with our kids. Bryce and I were on a local radio show back in January talking about these very things, from their perspective as a young person and from my perspective as their parent. 

"Beatrice, please take a picture of me and Mom," I said to our oldest. 

Beatrice took our picture and then both kids took off with their friends. Amy and I watched the parade and cheered for every organization that passed. Thousands of smiles surrounded us as "The Rainbow Parade" filled us with hope and love for this country and the world. 

Love is love. Straight Corporate Pride allies and all. 

Safe and Sound

Bryce's dot on the map app hadn't moved for 23 minutes. 

That usually wouldn't have worried us, knowing exactly where they were, but they weren't responding to our texts, which they usually did.

The day neared dusk and Bryce wasn't responding. They said they wanted to go take pictures in the "canyon" as we call it: a trail that cuts through the mountainside near where we live. They had a new vintage film camera purchased at a garage sale and wanted to put it to the nature test. 

The "canyon" is a weekly hike that Amy and I take and is only a few minutes from our house. There are homes that run along either side of the mountain about 100 feet above the trail. It starts off as a dirt trail that quickly turns into a paved trail weaving its way up the small canyon to a city park. It's lined with eucalyptus trees, wild blackberry brambles, and overgrown brush along the way. There's also a tree swing at the bottom of the canyon we constructed after the last one was cut down. Both our kids (and us) used to swing away on it when they were younger. On our hikes we've seen other hikers, runners, dog walkers, and sometimes deer, rabbits, squirrels, and coyotes. 

The coyotes have never been an issue, but we've never hiked at dusk or at night. It can also feel a little creepy sometimes in the canyon, where in the past there have been homeless camps hidden in the brush and trees, and who knows what else. 

"Stranger danger" is extremely rare, accounting for less than 1% of all reported missing children cases in the US. The vast majority of missing children and teens are runaways, or those taken by family members in custody disputes, or taken and/or hurt by other people they know (intimate partner violence). We live in a relatively safe and supportive community, but for those like Bryce who identify as LGBTQ+, they can be and are targeted with harassment, bullying, and worse. 

Bryce still didn't answer our texts. We called multiple times. No answer. Their dot on the map didn't move.

"Should we go look for them?" I asked my wife Amy. 

"Yes, I'll drive around," she said. "You walk up there."

Both our kids are teenagers, Bryce and their sibling Beatrice, and have been immersed in Kidpower safety skills since they were children. They understand to always be calm, confident, and award of their surroundings, to always move away from danger, and to defend themselves and fight back only if there is no other recourse. 

I took our dog Jenny and headed to the canyon. Still no response from Bryce. Amy drove around the neighborhood, parked near the canyon trail, and walked in ahead of me. Nightfall was coming fast. Walking along the trail at dusk creeped me out. Jenny was all too happy to go for another walk, oblivious to her owners' trepidation. 

Amy was maybe five minutes ahead of me on the trail. I checked in twice, but both times she hadn't found Bryce yet. It's a horrible feeling thinking that something happened to your child. Your heart rate speeds up. Your gut cramps. Disturbing images you don't want to imagine swarm your sanity and you move faster towards where you'd hoped they'd be -- to that static dot on the map app. I pulled Jenny along by her leash and she reluctantly sped up unable to stop at prime sniffing spots.

Amy called me, relieved. "They're fine. They're up here at the first small pond taking pictures and trying to catch frogs."

"Good God," I said. "Frogs? At least they're safe."

Amy and Bryce walked back to me and Jenny and then to the car, and I drove us all home in the early darkness. Bryce apologized that they didn't check their phone, but we still reiterated our safety rules and the fact that they should've checked in when it started getting dark. 

We're light years from the days when Amy and I grew up staying out until dusk. No cell phones. No GPS. No way to check in. Just showing up on our doorsteps before it was completely dark. 

We trust our kids to follow our safety rules, most of the time, and they're grateful we have them, most of the time. Your heart rate returns to normal. Your gut relaxes. And the disturbing images are banished by the sanity of being safe and sound.