How the Fun Won

I watched the little kids of all backgrounds run and walk past the 1K finish line with parents and friends running along with them and cheering them on. Most of the children's faces, boys and girls alike, had smiles beaming equally in between gulping breaths. It looked like they were having fun, which was the point of the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk Fun Run, and why we wanted to do the 5K fun run at the same event. 

This was the culmination of both our daughters' physical fitness testing going on at their respective grade and middle schools. The culmination of repeated outcries of how tired they were having to practice running a mile, and having to do pushups and sit ups and more. 

Even though our girls may complain about having to do the physical fitness tests, they do enjoy being active and the challenges these tests bring. My wife Amy and I are very active and exercise nearly every day, and the girls see that and model it. They may not want to go on a 2-hour hike with us, but they are always blown away when we remind them of walking 8+ miles a day when we're at Disneyland. That's a mind-bender for them. And us. Plus, both Bea and Bryce have played recreational soccer for years and loved it. Bea got her first taste of competitive soccer in middle school, and while it stressed her out more than she liked, she did well and enjoyed playing. Bryce will try out once she starts middle school in the fall. 

Back to physical fitness, our oldest Beatrice always likes to beat her 1-mile personal best, and if she doesn't, she's bummed about it. The pushups are tough for both girls; they've always been tough for Amy and me, too. Maybe some of you can do 20+ pushups at any one time, but it ain't easy for the rest of us.

But what I loved hearing was when Bea and some of her friends protested that they had to do fewer exercises than the boys did, like pushups. Implying of course that girls can't do the same number of exercises due to being weaker and less adept than the boys. Yes, she still struggled to do them during the testing, but I've seen boys and men who couldn't do one with the knees on the ground, which by the way is called a girl pushup, a long-time stereotypical offensive term. Same differential with running the mile too, and when many boys couldn't even finish the mile, our girls did. 

There's biological truth to the genetic chains each sex has been shackled by for millions of years, but today, women really can do anything a man can do. They're just not given their due, and they get paid less. Still. We hope that gender equity normalizes for our daughters, but it's going to be awhile most likely. They did pass their physical fitness tests, though, so that's a win. 

In the meantime, we'll work and play hard as a family and support each other along the way. We finished the fun run together, running a little and walking a lot along the way. There were other families of all backgrounds who ran the entire way, and a few others, boys and girls alike, who were really in it to win it. Competitive living between the sexes is here to stay, but we'll celebrate how the fun won every day. 

Reliving Teen Brain

They were everywhere. Blurring up and down the stairs, back and forth through the hallway, screaming and laughing at the top of their lungs. Throwing things at each other. Shooting Nerf guns at each other. There was even a bow and blunt arrow that my wife Amy put a stop to that led to a frown then a shrug then a search for another user-friendly weapon. All while the adults in the room, the parents, were trying to have a so-called civilized conversation with each other. 

And all the while we remembered when we were 13ish. Those dang teenagers. Some of our kids were a little younger, some were a little older, but all had one thing in common -- tween to teen brain. Boys and girls alike starting their awkward developmental journeys to adulthood. 

I kept waiting for one of them to cry out in real pain, but fortunately they all simply just had a blast. Our own daughters were in the thick of the battle cries, shrieking with laughter and unadulterated joy as they bounded to and fro. 

Actually, the adults also shrieked with laughter and unadulterated joy, and considering the state of the world, that was a nice thing to witness across the board. As us parents continued to talk about adult things, our children played and played, more like kids than teens. 

Hold onto that, I thought. Hold onto that as long as you can. When Amy and I were that age, we were doing things we probably shouldn't have been doing. Pretending to know things we didn't know. We longed to adult quickly and more frequently without knowing really what the hell we were doing. But dang was teen brain fun. And exciting. And passionate. And adventurous. And heartbreaking as all hell. 

Hold onto that as long as you can, I thought again. It goes both way, too. While we long for them to be the kids we raised the first 10 years of their lives, there will be exciting and heartbreaking things our girls will experience with teen brain that they'll never forget. Bodies are changing, hormones are raging, and we want to be there every step of the way to love and support them through the good, the bad, and the uglies. To have a level of transparent trust without judgement, more than we had growing up. We want them to share their lives with us, not hide them from us. 

That doesn't mean we won't parent the heck out of teen brain, though. Of course we will, because teen brain brings forgetfulness, emotional boomerangs, drama, lies, rebellion, broken rules, chore resistance, hidden trash, awkward romance, and so much more. Because reliving teen brain gives adulting and parenting an entirely new prescient perspective. 

Hold onto that, I thought. Mercy me.

That's The Air That I Breathe

"Peace came upon me
And it leaves me weak
So sleep, silent angel
Go to sleep..."

—The Hollies, The Air That I Breathe

In the end, he befriended Godzilla, and then Kong got to go home again to the center of the earth. The song “The Air That I Breathe” by the Hollies played while the credits kicked in. 

And I cried a little. Yep, that’s me. 

I was flying home from a work event. My initial flight was canceled due to weather, and thankfully they rebooked me straight through to San Jose, but not without zig-zag stops along the way. At least I didn’t have to change planes. 

So, I decided to watch something light. Being a Saturday, I reviewed the flight movies and decided to on a little Saturday afternoon monster movie matinee. Just like I used to do a home as a kid. I chose the recent Godzilla vs. Kong for some mindless fun, after already seeing the preceding series of movies that led to this ultimate monster battle.

I actually cried two times during the movie. Once when Kong had learned sign language and signed that he wanted to go home, and again at the end when he finally got to go home and be at peace. 

For those who know me, I’m a crier. I cry about anything that moves me, no matter how cheesy the movie. In fact, anytime we watch a show or movie at home together, my oldest Beatrice looks over at me and asks, “Are you crying, Dad?”

And most of the time, I am.

But this time it was more about The Hollies' song than the movie. The song became a rushing river that dislodged old memories from my memory banks and moved them quickly along frothing eddies and treacherous currents. It’s one of many songs that have haunted me since I was little. And although the song is literally about romantic love, I didn't understand that as a child, and so I associated it with everything going on around me—any love and lack thereof. How it made me feel growing up with domestic violence and abuse—simultaneously scared, sad, lonely, hopeful, and longing to be happy. Of other life events over the years that kept me bobbing in and out of the emotional rushing river. Of how I feel sometimes today missing my family when I travel. 

Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe and to love you…

The rushing river slows and smooths out to still glass, and all the memories resettle. Again, I’m on my way home from another work trip, only one of a few since the pandemic started. I’m grateful for the work I do, and the work Amy does, and the fact that we can provide for our family. I like the travel and that I can get out there again, to see industry friends, to learn new things and grow professionally and personally. 

After mindlessly watching Kong and Godzilla fight and destroy cities on my plane ride home, I caught up with one of my news shows. The depressing stream of news, like The Hollies' song, got me thinking again about when I was little, and other times throughout my life, and the fact that we don't always choose the air that we breathe—deadly viruses, pollution, toxic relationships, violence, war. 

More than 2.5 million Ukrainian refugees have fled their country looking for safety. I can't imagine, do not want to imagine, what that's been like for those families. Especially those who have to separate for who knows how long, or worse, for those who've been injured or killed. 

I just cannot imagine it, and yet, we continue to watch it in real time. I miss Amy and our daughters terribly when I’m away, even if it’s for only a couple of nights, especially after being together so much during the pandemic. But to be separated because of a war? No way. That thought brought even more tears than Kong (and me) wanting to go home did.

The night before I came home from this trip, I had a video call with my family, and our youngest Bryce kept messing with the FaceTime filters, which I didn’t even know you could do. 

“You goofs. I love you,” I said.

Then I thought, That’s the air that I breathe. That’s all that I need.

"So sleep, silent angel, go to sleep..."

How you can help the people of Ukraine

Reusing the Usable

As I approached the tipped over chair, now covered in broken Cheez-Its, I realized that there was something else in it. Something wrapped in a blanket. Something small, like an animal. Or a child. Something I thought was dead.

That was my first thought because it didn't move. I touched the chair to shake it a bit, and that's when the wrapped up thing breathed. 

I jumped away and backed into the street. I thought to myself, What the hell is this? A child sleeping in our old chair?

Then it breathed again. I didn't know if I should try to wake up whoever it was or not; it could be a safety problem for me. So, I walked back across our street and into our house. I also had a work call in only a few minutes and wasn't sure what to do, but I knew we needed to call the police. I asked my wife Amy to call and she did. She'd also be leaving soon to take our daughters to school and we had know idea who was sleeping outside in our old chair that was scheduled to be picked up by our city's garbage service. 

I went into my office and had my call. Once Amy returned from dropping off the girls, she told me that she'd gone back outside after calling the police and talked to one of our neighbors about the whoever it was sleeping in our old chair. 

That's when the woman woke up and uncovered herself. She got up and brushed the Cheez-Its off herself and the chair. She then told my wife something about wanting our old chair for her apartment, and then she got tired, curled up in it, and fell asleep. Amy had seen her before around town; she was most likely experiencing homelessness. Maybe there was addiction and/or mental health issues; we just don't know. She took off down the street not wanting to deal with the cops, though. A few minutes later the police drove by our house slowly and our old chair but didn't stop. 

The Day Before

We had put our old burgundy cuddle chair across the street the night before like the city asked us to do. But because we placed it on the property in front of us, and not directly on the street, they would take it. It's one of those situations where you think, But it's still right there. Why didn't you just take it? 

Ugh. It would have to stay outside on the street one more night. Which was a bummer because we'd have to look at it again outside for one more night. Although the recliner part of the cuddle chair had been broken for years, we still used it in our living room, in no rush to replace it. We loved that chair and had purchased it about five years before we had our oldest daughter. It went from our apartment to our first home together, with lots of family pictures in it over the years.

But it was time to go because Amy found a free street loveseat. Amy loves finding free stuff on the street. If there's stuff on the street with a free sign on it, Amy wants to check it out. And if she doesn't check it out the first time she sees it, she'll double back to check it all out. The girls and I always tease her about it, and the girls also plead for her not to take free street stuff. There are bowls and plates she's found and the girls won't use no matter how many times we've washed them. Amy's motto is reduce, reuse, recycle. I know my grandpa would've been proud. He always prided himself in reusing the usable. 

That's why when the girls got home at the end of the day to find a new (used) recliner loveseat showered in Febreze freshener siting in the place where our cuddle chair used to be, and after they heard the story, they looked at me and said, "Dad, why did you let Mom get a street couch?"

"It's in great shape, girls. It really is," I said.

"But it smells," they said.

"No, it's just a little musty. It'll smell like us soon. We'll be on it. Jenny will be on it. Don't worry, it's really a nice recliner loveseat," Amy said.

The girls frowned. "No more street stuff, Mom."

But we were already using it. Our dog Jenny was already sleeping on it (although she hacked a few times the first time because of the Febreze). Just like it had always been there in our house. Like it was meant to be. 

The Day Before That

I had a busy day ahead with staff calls and work planning, and the last thing I wanted was a monkey wrench tossed my way to sabotage my day. When Amy got home from dropping the girls off at school, she was excited about something.

"There's a free loveseat that's perfect for our house!" 

She told me the story of driving by it, almost saying no way, and then circling back to check it out. 

"It's really in great shape and the both recliners work," she said.

It was in front of a house that was for sale. She wasn't sure if it was from the house, but mostly like it was. 

"We should go get it," she said. 

Now, I've never been a very spontaneous person throughout my life, although that's changed a lot since I've been with Amy and we've had kids. But my old resistance response of no was exactly what I did. 

"No, I just have too busy of a day today," I said.

"Okay, we can just look at it tomorrow maybe," she said, with a subtle hint of disappointment. 

I wasn't necessarily resistant to the idea of a free couch that was in good shape, but it was the time involved of going to see it, trying to get it home, etc., that was the monkey wrench throwing me. My day was busy and I just didn't want any unplanned pivoting to happen. 

But pivot I did. We were thinking of buy a new cuddle chair soon anyway and I know Amy was thinking about saving a thousand bucks, which I liked, so I made room in my schedule and we went to look at it. 

I agreed it was in good shape, but it was heavy and I didn't think it would fit in our SUV. We got it halfway into the car, but that's as far as it would go. We were less than two miles from home and she convinced me it was wedged enough for her to sit behind it and hold it while I drove us home. 

And that's exactly what we did. We got it home and into the garage safely. Later when my neighbors were home I asked for their help and we moved the old cuddle chair out to the street and the put the found loveseat in its place. 

I'm sitting on the new (old) loveseat now as I write this, our dog Jenny sleeping next to me on one of the old crocheted blankets my grandmother made so long ago. But this story is more than just finding this free piece of furniture we were looking to buy and how that all worked out for us. 

No, if Amy hadn't circled back to check out the free loveseat; if I hadn't changed my mind to go look at it with her; if we hadn't driven it home hanging halfway out of our car; if our neighbors weren't available to help me move both cuddle chair and loveseat; if the city had actually picked up our old memory-filled cuddle chair off the street the first night we put it outside -- then it wouldn't have given that homeless woman a few hours of somewhat safe sleeping the second night it was outside. 

Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe not. Whatever it was, reusing the usable was meant to be.