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. 

Let's take it from the top

The first and only time we watched the musical Hamilton was when it streamed through the Disney+ app on Apple TV in July of 2020. That was during the heart of the pandemic summer. The only one in our family at the time who liked watching it was me. Hamilton was created by Lin-Manuel Miranda and it blends hip-hop, jazz, R&B, and traditional show tunes to tell the story of America's first Secretary of the Treasury, Alexander Hamilton. 

It was fascinating to watch and the music catchy, but it was difficult to understand at times when the fast-paced music and scenes blurred by across the screen. Thank goodness for closed captioning. Now, both our kids love the music from Hamilton, especially our youngest Bryce, literally singing the lyrics for every song (and Hamilton was all songs).

My wife Amy and I haven't been the big musical fans throughout our lives, though, at least not until our kids became interested in the theater, so that's changing now. Otherwise, the movie Grease with John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John was always our only go-to musical. Because John and Olivia. C'mon. But we did take the kids to see a Broadway production of Wicked a few years ago in New York and that blew us all away.

Pre-pandemic both our kids participated in a sweet theater troupe called Musical Mondays. They got to play a variety of roles, which was so much fun to watch their fun. Bryce participated in another private theater program after that, and then Beatrice got involved in the student-run high school theater. Bryce joined the high school theater as well their freshman year. There is a teacher-advisor for theater who helps guide each production, but it's still mostly student run. 

The high school productions that both our kids have been in to date were fantastic. Such talented kids (including our own!). The last musical they were in was Little Shop of Horrors, which was something neither of us had ever seen. Not even the 1986 movie with Rick Moranis, Steve Martin, and many others. I've known what it was about since the movie came out back then, but it wasn't until we saw it in its entirety that we realized what we'd been missing. The doo-wap 1950's music kept our feet tapping and dark comedy kept us laughing. 

We did end up watching the movie the day after we saw the high school production, and while it had its moments (Bill Murray's character was hilarious), we preferred watching the kids sing, dance, and act. Beatrice even got to be one of three puppeteers, working the smaller plant puppet during the "Grow for Me" song. 

Bryce has three years of high school theater left and Beatrice has one year left. Both kids have had minor roles and been in all the ensemble scenes, and the more confident they get, the more they'd love a bigger part. They'll keep working at their craft and keep auditioning.

After every high school production, there's a tradition where the kids give a "theater robe" to a student who they feel went above and beyond during the show. The robe has memorabilia from past productions sewn onto it, and the student they pick then sews something onto the robe from the last production they did. After Little Shop of Horrors, the kids gave Beatrice the robe. 

Not only that, Beatrice is also on the theater committee for her senior year and gets to help decide the next play and musical. And the murder mystery play she recommended was picked for the fall! And she's going to be the director, too! We're so proud!

Both our kids have found their people in theater (and choir), as the saying goes, and we're so grateful. And next semester, Beatrice gets to call out, "Let's take it from the top".

We can't wait!

All of You

It was a trick question not in the form of a question. I knew I couldn't answer "all of you" because our youngest Bryce would scold me like they always do. 

"You can't say all of us, Dad," Bryce would say to me. "You have to pick one."

What led to the trick question not a question was playing a fun game friends of ours had shared a few years ago. Fun in its simplicity. Fun because it tested how well we knew each other. I don't remember exactly what the game's called, but it goes something like this.

One person starts and picks a number from 1 to 10 in their head and doesn't share it with the others. Then, the other players -- in this case me, my wife Amy, our oldest Beatrice, and Bryce -- proceed to offer categories like food, clothes, music, and more. The person with the number in their head gives an answer for every category asked of them (question not a question). Lastly, the other players try to guess the number.

Again, fun in its simplicity. Which was great, because Bryce wanted to play when we were out to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants on the wharf. At first our kids didn't want to go with us; the plan was to go out to dinner and then watch the drone show at the Beach Boardwalk. But then they changed their minds. We were glad, although we told them no "whining after dining" since we'd be sitting on the beach to watch the show. 

"Dad's getting fussy," Beatrice said. 

"Dad always gets fussy," Bryce said.

"I just don't want you both whining after dinner wanting to go home," I said.

"So fussy."

Yep, Dad always gets fussy. With our teens, it's become regular comedic banter about Dad's fussies. It's fire, dude.

At dinner we played the "number" game, or the "favorites or not" game. Whatever the name, the game brought joy to all of us as we sat and waited for our dinner. During the last round when it was my turn to pick a number (in my head), I picked "10", which meant my favorites.

The categories were then presented to me one by one. Amy's was "favorite family member". 

Both kids sighed aloud. "You know who he's going to pick."

All of you, I thought. I imagined the kids' response, You can't say all of us, Dad.

"Mom," I said.

"See, we knew it!"

I smiled and gave Amy a kiss. 

"Ew, stop!"

"I thought he'd say Jenny," Beatrice said. (That's our dog and another long-time family joke that Jenny's my favorite.)

After dinner, which we all agreed wasn't as tasty as it had been previously, the sun was setting and it was cold and windy. Bryce decided they were too cold and wanted to wait in the car for us. Beatrice, Amy, and I walked from the wharf where we were parked, to the main beach in front of the Boardwalk. Ten minutes later the drone show started. Ten minutes later the drone show ended. I took a few pictures, one of which came out artsy due to the night exposure and the drone light trailing off. I showed Amy and she agreed.

"That was it?" Beatrice said.

"I guess so," I said. "It was still fun, don't you think, Mom?"

"Yes," Amy said. "It was short but cool."

I don't think Beatrice was convinced. We packed our chairs and blankets away and made the trek back to our car. That's when we saw the line of cars exiting the wharf was long and slow. Thirty minutes later we finally exited the wharf and headed home. 

It didn't matter that the food at one of favorite places wasn't that flavorful this time. It didn't matter that Bryce wanted to wait in the car. It didn't matter that it was cold and windy. It didn't matter that the drone show was shorter than what we expected. 

All that mattered was that my favorite family members were with me and we enjoyed each other's company. Because the answer to who's my favorite will always be "all of you".