Another Majestic Moment

"...You move me

You move me
With your buildings and your eyes
Autumn woods and winter skies
You move me
You move me
Open sea and city lights
Busy streets and dizzy heights
You call me
You call me..."

–Rush, Analog Kid

We sat in stillness watching the setting sun cast an orange-gold glow over the Pacific. The only sounds were the strong sea winds whipping through the grassy hills around us and the far-off yipping cries of coyotes. Just below us were a group of Tule Elk bulls grazing, which was something we weren't sure we'd see. Their silhouettes in the distance were soothing. I rolled down the window and took a picture. 

Earlier in the day, a park docent told us that the Tule Elk were primarily from the Central Valley and were nearly wiped out. Two pair of mates were brought to the Point Reyes National Seashore where we were on this trip. Those two pairs eventually because over 600 elk in the area. But he told us that we may not see any unless we hiked a few miles up to the north end of the park. 

What my wife Amy wanted to see was the sunset and it was coming fast. We decided we wouldn't make it in time doing a hike to the water, so instead, drove back along the road to the top of the highest hill, turned around, and parked on the side of the road. That's when we saw the Tule Elk grazing. One of them looking up, watching us intently, but then continued to graze. 

It was the last hoorah before school year started. Our kids Beatrice and Bryce stayed home to hang out with their friends, and Amy and I took off for some together, just the two of us. Now that the kids are older, and not like we were when we were young (thank goodness), we've been taking more trips without them. It's great, especially now that Beatrice is driving. They take care of the house and our pets. Of course, we miss them, and they miss us, but adulting is here to stay. Yeah! That continues to be an interesting new phase in our family's lives and one we embrace fully! 

Point Reyes and Inverness where we stayed were spectacular. Only three hours from us, it's a place we'd never been to before. Another highlight was hiking down to the Point Reyes Lighthouse. And then back up again. A very steep 313 stairs plus another 50+ feet of pathed path with guardrail fencing on either side due to the sheer drops of hundreds of feet down the cliffs into the ocean. It's also the windiest and foggiest location on the west coast, and although it was very windy, it was clear and beautiful. The "caution" sign at the top of the stairs started with the warning "The 313 stairs are wicked hard."

The stairs weren't that hard for us, but the vertigo was. We dubbed it our Angels Landing, because we actually finished it. If you’re not familiar with Angels Landing, it’s an iconic rock formation in Zion 1,500 feet tall with a hiking trail that does not have any guardrails, just heavy iron chains bolted directly into the red rock for hand support. That's it. Amy and I attempted it in 2007, nearly making it to the end (or midway, we were never sure). The fear of falling kicked our butts back down to ground level.

I have a fear of heights, and yet I always challenge myself to do activities that include heights. Why? Because I don't want to miss out -- and it always freaks me out -- and I still do it. Same with Amy. Neither of us could finish Angels Landing, but we finished the Point Reyes Lighthouse climb. I stayed focused on the stairs, held onto the guardrails, and never looked down the cliff side. 

It was worth it. In the nearly 30 years I've been with Amy, I've learned that everything we do together is worth it, strengthening our bond exponentially. Even if I balk at first. I didn't think we should park on the side of the road to watch the sunset because I was afraid we'd startle the Tule Elk bulls and they'd rush our car, which they can do during mating season. 

We didn't startle them, though. We stopped and sat in stillness watching the setting sun cast an orange-gold glow over the Pacific. The Tule Elk silhouettes in the distance soothed us. One of them looked up toward us and then continued to graze. We smiled and touched hands, feeling blessed by another majestic moment together, one of millions stored forever in our hearts. We missed our kids, but we know we've instilled in them the same love of moments like these, receiving hearts from them when I texted them our pictures. 

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. 

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".

Our Family Bonding Present

I could see her there. Studying. Socializing. Working. It wasn't literally about the specific colleges we visited during spring break, just the fact that in less than two years she'd be going to college. Maybe it'll be a four-year college, or it will be two years of local junior college first. That's a decision yet to be made, although she's very interested in going away.

Exciting and bittersweet all at the same time. Our oldest Beatrice is a junior in high school and wants to be a teacher someday, elementary and/or middle school, so she's eyeing a credential program along with the four-year degree, maybe even an MA in education. We're looking at the California CSU and UC systems since we live here.

Visiting campuses brought back a lot of memories for both my wife Amy and me. Neither of us had a traditional four-year college experience. Amy went to a junior college for one year and then transferred to the University of North Carolina Wilmington. I started at my local community college, dropped out, then went to San Jose State University a year later. After a rocky first two and half years, I took a break, was already working full time, and then returned to finish with honors while working full time taking a full load of classes. Neither of us work directly in the fields our degrees represent, which is common for many college grads. We're grateful we still have them.

Both of us still have friends from those days. One of my best friends from college, Troy, has been my Rush (the band) touring buddy for decades. We're super excited to see Rush again this summer together. We were in the TKE fraternity together at SJSU and have many fun and fond memories from our college days, and the years since. We even ran into his ex and two of his kids on one of the college tours! Also, during our college trip we stopped at a deli called Grossman's (my last name but no relation as far as I knew) and the manager noticed my Rush t-shirt and said his head chef played drums in a Rush cover band. Synchronicity indeed. 

That's something both Amy and I are grateful for from our college experiences besides the education and our respective degrees. The fact that we found lifelong friendships. As we toured the college campuses with Beatrice, I pictured her walking to the student union with her friends, to class, to the dorms, to all the college haunts I remember from my time. 

Of course, college isn't for everyone and not the only options for future careers, and the world of work is changing in exciting and scary ways (AI is one of those ways and our kids aren't happy about it). But the careers that both our kids want to pursue -- teaching for Beatrice and marine science for Bryce -- will involve college and eventually embracing AI tools and systems.

Although those are life experiences yet to come, I can still see her there. This trip provided us with a glimpse of Bea's college future while staying grounded in our family bonding present. And that's always the greatest gift of all. 

Unconditionally

The words "unconditional love" dislodged wonderful multiple memories from my brain. They fell into my heart like happy kids into an inviting pool. As each memory hit my heart's waterline, my breathing hitched and the tears came. I sobbed uncontrollably for a few minutes.

"Are you crying" my wife Amy asked.

I nodded and sobbed. She took my hand.

I didn't expect this reaction, sitting at a celebration of life for the father of one of my wife's good friends. Her friend was sharing some memories about her father and then she told us all that her dad loved her and her brother unconditionally. That he gave his love freely, kept communication open, and supported them through good times and bad. 

And that made me remember my father and his unconditional love for me and my sister. He passed away in 2012. 

I couldn't stop the tears; he gave his love freely, kept communication open, and supported us through good and bad times as well. It's not that our mom didn't do some of the same, but it was more complicated with her and us. She passed away four months after our dad, shortly after I took her home to Oregon.

I couldn't stop the tears. Amy squeezed my hand. I then thought about the day before when we were at another memorial for one of my dear friend's mother who had recently passed. She loved life and lived it to its fullest. She found and embraced as much joy as possible throughout her life and encouraged her family to do the same. 

And that's Amy to us, me and our children. I squeezed her hand.

Amy's friend finished her eulogy. My tears continued. I remember at the end of high school when I finally broke down and told my parents about my past, my current emotional state, and my crippling anxieties, anxieties that I was not equipped to talk about in any rational way prior to that moment. Prior to that moment I had become cynical about unconditional love, not believing there was such a thing. But in that moment, both parents held me and told me they loved me and that they'd help me figure it out. I'll never forget that. 

Our kids have had some of their own emotional struggles as teens, and we're grateful they've been able to share with us. Each time we listen and hold them and tell them we love them and we'll help them figure it out by empowering them to do so.

My tears kept coming as the celebration of life for Amy's dear friend's father continued. Those in attendance were given party hats because he wanted it to be a celebration. But losing someone dear brings sadness, and Amy's friend told us all, "The tears are worth it."

I wondered what my children would say about me someday after I was gone. I know that's morbid, but after reliving my own's father love as I sat there, I already knew the answer before I even asked myself the question: they would say he gave his love freely, kept communication open, and supported us through good times and bad.

Unconditionally. 

Excavate With Love and Care

"...The world weighs on my shoulders
But what am I to do?
You sometimes drive me crazy
But I worry about you

I know it makes no difference
To what you're going through
But I see the tip of the iceberg
And I worry about you..."

–Rush, Distant Early Warning

Even with a lot of friends in high school and a close family, there were times when I was lonely. Extremely lonely. The kind where I didn't know how to articulate how lonely I was and periodic depression set in. It got worse toward the end of high school when I started having panic attacks and extreme anxiety, which at the time I understood nothing about. 

I tried to talk about it with friends and family, but it sounded trite to me. I had everything in the world going for me, so why did I feel this way? Why did I feel so alone? Why was I falling apart? No one treated me that way, but no one knew exactly how I felt, and when your self-perception is skewed to dark extremes, it's hard to accept help of any kind. The spiraling feeds on itself, propelling you into isolated oblivion where no one can reach you.

Fortunately, I worked through all that after high school, with help from dear friends, family, and therapy. Decades later I'm married with two teens and haven't felt severely lonely, anxious, or depressed for a long time. There are small fires here and there from time to time, but those are easily managed and put out. 

But today, according to a recent AARP study, 40% of U.S. adults now report being lonely, a significant increase from 35% in both 2010 and 2018. Besides us "old" folks, it's also a greater problem for Gen Z, Millennials, and the LGBTQ+ community. 

Also, according to the article, nearly half of lonely adults have limited social resources and wish for stronger connections, compared to about a third of adults overall. Community engagement is also declining: fewer people are attending religious services, volunteering, or joining local groups. 

While technology can help a helpful connector, too many adult dive into social media rabbit holes and stay too long. Even our own kids tease my wife and I about spending too much time on our devices, flipping through Facebook and Instagram. My usage is down 50% from a few years ago, but they still think I'm on too much. Social It's no wonder that more lonely adults are turning to artificially intelligent (AI) companionship. 

Loneliness is a strong predictor of poor health outcomes, including a higher risk of cognitive decline, depression, and stroke. It's linked to approximately 871,000 loneliness-related deaths annually, with significant health impacts. I read it's equated to the damage smoking a pack of cigarettes can do to the body. Thank goodness I'm an ex-smoker with limited anxiety these days. 

As a close family that does our best to fill our lives with daily joy, we're very open and empathic communicators, ready to listen to each other and provide counsel if and when needed. Or, just simply listen. Well, our teens aren't always the best listeners, and sometimes it's clear when all they hear come out of our mouths is, "Blah, blah, blah..." Because we are still the parents and the adults in charge. 

Both our kids have their own friend groups and close friends, but like many teens today, have struggled with loneliness sometimes since middle school. We've found that having the open communication with them, without shame or judgement, is the key to healthy family relationships and curbing isolation and loneliness. The more adulting they do, the more it translates into healthy relationships with others in their lives. Same goes for Mom and Dad. 

Also, get your whole family involved where you live. Volunteer your time. Join a church and/or a club. Play recreational sports. Take a class. Organize a march. Make new and lasting social connections. And if you see the tip of a loneliness iceberg, excavate with love and care to find the heart that's always there.

Digging Those Christmas Beats

Five years ago, I started playing the drums. Something I had wanted to do for decades I finally did. It's been amazing. It's been challenging. It's fired synapses in my brain I never knew I had. And most importantly, it's been fun. 

Since then, I usually play for at least one hour five to six days a week, before or after dinner, when I'm not traveling for work. I've had lessons, used online programs, and have a regular practice regimen. I've also learned over 180 songs I've loved over the years. Mostly ground in rock and roll but also including pop, rhythm and blues, soul, and even contemporary country. I get to channel amazing drummers that I aspire to play as proficiently as they do someday. 

The first two years I was lucky to get through and learn one to two minutes of a song, but then I finally improved enough to get through entire songs. Not note for note; I do my best to hit 80%+ of a song and record it. On average it takes two to three hours for me to learn a song, and once I record it, I move on to another one.

The past three Christmases I've learned various holiday songs, but this Christmas, I asked my wife Amy and our kids Beatrice and Bryce if there was a song they wanted me to learn to play. 

Beatrice didn't have to think about it, she just immediately said, "You know the song 'Do They Know It's Christmas?' -- that's the one I want. Who's it by again?"

"Band Aid," I said. "It was one of the super-group awareness and fundraiser songs like 'We Are The World'. Lots of MTV 'first wave' and rock and pop artists of the 1980's."

"Cool," she said. 

It's great because Beatrice is a big retro-80's-sound fan and likes bands like Duran Duran and others. I recently learned Hungry Like the Wolf and she loved it. 

The Band Aid song was a perfect choice for our caring, empathic kid who loves Christmastime and can't wait for us to decorate every year.

"...And in our world of plenty we can spread a smile of joy
Throw your arms around the world at Christmas time..."

And oh my, Phil Collins played the drums on this. I had totally forgotten about that. So much fun to play Do They Know It's Christmas?. 

Bryce was also quick to select and said, "Play The Waitresses song 'Christmas Wrappings'. That's one of my favorite ones."

"You got it," I said.

What a perfect choice for Bryce, our sometimes aloof, and always "punk rock", yet super sweet and loving kid who also loves Christmastime, even when they play it down. 

"...Bah Humbug, now that's too strong!
'Cause it is my favorite holiday..."

Billy Ficca was the original drummer on the song. So much fun to play Christmas Wrappings.

For Amy, it was a little harder, just because there are so many holiday songs we both love. One of her favorite bands is Train, and so last year one of the songs I learned was their rendition of This Christmas. 

Instead, she went more traditional, "How about, 'We Need a Little Christmas'?" 

"Which one?" I asked. I looked up some of the versions. "Johnny Mathis?"

"Yes," said. "That one."

What a perfect choice for Amy, always encouraging smiles and cheer throughout the year. Beatrice also likes all the old-school traditional singers and Christmas songs. There's no drummer credited to this song that I could find, but I just started learning We Need a Little Christmas and the big band sound is also fun to play. 

"...For we need a little music, need a little laughter
Need a little singing ringing through the rafter
And we need a little snappy, happy ever after
We need a little Christmas now..."

And there you have it. I'm fulfilling our family Christmas song requests, I keep learning from fantastic drummers, and we're all digging those Christmas beats. I hope you are, too. 

The Sun's Love

Hearing them sing The Rose made me teary and it had been years since I'd heard it. When the joint choirs sang a mashup of Amanda McBrooms's The Rose with the Praetorius Lo, How a Rose, arranged by Craig Hella Johnson (which I had never heard of), I had forgotten how much I used to love The Rose.

The Rose was the theme song to the 1979 movie by the same name, loosely based on Janis Joplin's life and starring Bette Midler. She also sang the song The Rose. I was in 8th grade at the time, and I remember hanging out at a friend's house with other friends where we practiced singing different songs, one of which was The Rose. I don't remember why we were practicing (maybe for 8th grade choir?), but that song has always made me teary, even before I fully understood the lyrics.

It was such a wonderful way to end the joint community college and our kids' high school choir performance. Both our kids, Beatrice and Bryce, are in choir and theater and loving both. They've found "their tribes" who have embraced them and vice-versa. 

One of my tribes back in the day was also choir. Both in junior high and high school. Music has always been important to me (and my wife Amy and our kids). Music fills me with reverence. Singing elevates my spirit. (And so does drumming!)

We're so very grateful watching our teens grow, thrive, and become who they are. It hasn't all been a bed of roses, though; in their short lives they've had their own share of thorny trials. Each of us has to experience our own journeys, to meet head on our moments of highs and lows, and our children are no exceptions. 

As parents, we are their guardians and their guides, supportive and loving, but we can't live their lives for them. Don't want to live their lives for them. We've already grown up once and that was bittersweet enough. Instead, we continue to impart the wisdom learned from our own lives. Because we're always learning how to keep growing and thriving. Easier in the best of times. Not so much in the worst. But even winter hearts can birth springtime souls. 

"Is Dad crying again?" our kids ask regularly. 

Yes, yes he is. Let's listen to The Rose again, kids. This Thanksgiving, I'm grateful for the sun's love.

"...When the night has been too lonely

And the road has been too long

And you think that love is only

For the lucky and the strong

Just remember in the winter
Far beneath the bitter snows
Lies the seed that with the sun's love
In the spring becomes the rose..."

A Series of Fortunate Events

At first, it felt like a series of unfortunate events...

When my wife Amy came back a few minutes after she had just left, I knew something was wrong with the car. 

She came back inside the house and said, "There's a bolt in the front tire."

"F-ck," I said. 

"Can you contact the Hyundai roadside assistance?" Amy asked me. 

"Yes, I will. We have the worst frickin' tire luck in the world," I said.

"I know, but at least the car maintenance is fully covered," she said. 

"We'll still have to have it towed to the dealer, though. F-ck."

This was only three months into having our new car. It's like every six months we're dealing with a screw or bolt or nail in our tires. 

Like everything that happens in adulting world that we can't put off and have to take care of, it can be a life-drag momentary buzzkill. "It's only time and money" Amy and I joke when these things happen. Time and money. And sometimes the money might not always be there, but there's sure as hell always time. Time you can never get back.

Then came the news of my sister in ICU battling recurring health problems. So, the day after the tire was fixed, we drove four hours to see how we could help my niece and nephew and their mom. 

While we were gone, we got a call from our oldest Beatrice that there were ants all over our kitchen. We coached her on cleanup and she did the best she could. There wasn't anything else we could do until we were home again. 

After returning home, we assessed ant situation and saw that our neighbors had an exterminator over because they also had an ant infestation. So, Amy called the exterminator and they came over to our house to spray. This was during our morning workout, which was frustrating to me, because that's important time for me, both physically and mentally, but I knew we had to take care of it. Blessings to my wife for managing that. 

Then we had our handyman come over to replace the faucet mixer valves on our shower and bath. We didn't have all the right parts at first, so that delayed the fixing. Once we did have all the parts, the shower went fine, but the bathtub faucet did not. No matter what he did, there was no hot water, and it wouldn't stop leaking out of the faucet. He finally got the hot water adjusted, but it still wouldn't stop leaking, and now we have to call a plumber. Amy had been researching it to see if we could fix it ourselves, but I knew if I touched it, there would've been a horizontal geyser drenching us both.

During this week of continuous un-fun things, I attended a work conference in Las Vegas for a few days. I enjoyed the time with my team, seeing old industry friends, and some yummy meals, but it was a lonely drag being away from my wife and kids. I felt overwhelmed by it all because I was also woefully behind on work research reports, and the conference time increased that distance further. I kept checking in on my sister who was stable and out of ICU but still not well. Plus, the wifi in my room didn't work well, and the hotspot on my phone didn't work at all, so I had to sit in the food court of the casino hotel with pop music playing too loudly around me to get some work done. All the while the divided world outside burned.

Used to be that when life got overwhelming for me, my anxiety would bind my mind with barbed wire, and my heart would sink to the bottom of the sea. I'd get depressed and completely check out from everyone around me. But over the years I've learned to better adapt, stay centered (somewhat) no matter how askew, and keep going. That doesn't stop me from being grump-fussy; I rail at the universe and let it know I will persevere. Amy helps me with that along the way as well (even when I'm grump-fussy with her). Our meditation practice has helped a lot, too. And if the universe is God, and God is the universe, blessings to us all.

What felt like a string of unfortunate things ultimately became a series of fortunate events. Ones that included seeing family we don't see that often. Ones that included seeing colleagues I don't see that often. Ones that included hearing our youngest Bryce's solo audition video for choir while I was away at the conference. Ones that included talking about what colleges to attend with Beatrice after I got back. Ones that include petting our purring cat first thing in the morning then walking our dog. Ones that included a wonderful mountain hike with Amy to reflect and decompress from the bumpy week we had just had. 

Ones that included having a celebratory dinner for your daughter's 17th birthday. Time and money got nothing on these things. Fortunate indeed. 

The Main Mom-and-Dad Thing

Every time I had an asthma attack, it felt like a ton of hot gravel had filled my lungs. My face would wash out white and I had to slump over to help me breathe better. And if I got a cold with my asthma, it became horrid no-sleep coughing jag for many nights, getting little to no sleep.

This was when I was little until I was a teen. The severe allergies and asthma I had as a child literally faded away in high school. But then they came back decades later in adulthood. Not as bad as then, but still bad, especially when I'd get a nasty cold combo.

When I was little, I suffered less because my mom did everything she could to comfort me and take care of me. My birth father and first father shared no love or support for me or my sister, but Mom never stopped caring for us. Never stopped caring for me when I was sick and felt like I could barely breathe.

When my wife Amy and I decided to have children, we went in fully invested in keeping them well. Or, as well as we could. From shared family throw-up bowls, to all-night comfort zones, to empathetically living their anguish when our kids were sick -- we were always there together. 

Especially Amy. I'm a loving, caring father, but I'm not the Mom. And that's okay. As an adult, Amy takes care of me and the kids when we're sick. I, of course, do the same, but I don't have the same softer empathic touch that she has. I'm just a little rougher around the edges when it comes to comfort. 

Regardless of our respective styles, we both care deeply when any of us don't feel good. Mentally or physically. When we dealt with our kids' middle school anxiety angst, we did it with patience, listening, and a lot of love. We were also grateful to provide them with whatever they needed to adapt and persevere. 

When our kids get physically sick, like with colds, it sucks all around for us all. It sucks for them because it simply sucks to be sick, and it sucks for us because Mom and I just want to make it all better, but we can't. It's got to run its course. We can comfort them and give them medicine if need be to treat the symptoms, like cold medicine and decongestant, which helped Bryce a few weeks ago. And after an urgent care visit for our oldest Beatrice recently, an inhaler. Such a bummer for both kids to get sick right after school started.

But we never thought that the cold medicine and inhaler would make Beatrice sick. An inhaler was always my go-to when I had allergy and asthma attacks, especially when it got exacerbated by a cold and a rough cough. Just like what Beatrice got, but for Beatrice, they just made her feel worse. 

Bea's on the mend now and catching up on the school she missed. Bryce did the same before her. Thankfully none of us get sick that often, but when we do, it sucks. It's hard enough when Mom and Dad get sick, because we have to keep doing our Mom-and-Dad things, like taking care of the family, the pets, the house, the work, the everything. To be fair, our teens do have their chores and help us around the house. 

But when the kids are sick, the main Mom-and-Dad thing is loving and caring for them, whether they're 5 and 7, or 15 and 17. I'm sure that will continue to be true for our family, even when they're taking care of us someday. 

Empathic Parenting Outperforms the Punitive

Even as I got upset about the article I read, I couldn't help but think about that time with our youngest Bryce. The time when they were five years old and I had to carry them thrashing and kicking out of CVS. I was on a mission to get last minute cheap and fun little Christmas gifts for my wife Amy (yes, I'm one of those guys). Bryce had a meltdown because they wanted a toy they weren't going to get. Our oldest Beatrice tried to help, but as a seven-year-old, that's not easy to do when your sibling is out of control in a store and you're trying to get them out safely. 

It wasn't the first or last time Bryce had melted down growing up. But I never thought of punishing them to attempt to extinguish the behavior. That never would've worked because it would've fueled the melt down further. Instead, we always did our best to secure them safely and let the tantrum burn out, which it always did. Yelling at them and/or shaming them would've exacerbated the problem and just create fear, distrust, and resentment.

A recent Wall Street Journal article titled "Goodbye Gentle Parenting, Hello ‘F—Around and Find Out’" (paywall) is what got me upset and thinking about all of this. Even before I read the article the title alone made me mad. "Goodby Gentle Parenting" -- as if parenting with love, empathy, positive discipline, and of course, Kidpower, was feeble and weak and not conducive to deterring poor behavior.  

The article went on to share "tough love" parenting examples like throwing your child into a pond because they were "acting up" and not listening or biting your child back if they bit you.

WTH?

I don't care if it worked or not in the short term, that's nuts and will not help you raise respectful and responsible kids. Instead, it will help you raise bullies. And if your kids have any kind of mental health issues, it's potentially worse for the kids' mental health if they've been treated punitively (which was the way it was for a long, long time). 

Punitive discipline can have a lasting negative impact on your children. When my sister and I were growing up, we were spanked for misbehaving and our mouths washed out with a bar of soap for cursing. That did not necessarily get me to stop the behaviors, but it certainly made me fearful and angry. Fortunately, our mom moved on from that discipline style in our late childhood -- and thank goodness! But the lasting impact for me is that I continually fight against my punitive-mode origins. 

Yes, I can be a fussy dad, but I've worked on it every day since we first had Beatrice and then Bryce. Amy and I intentionally parent with respect, empathy, and positive discipline. Positive discipline's goal is to teach, guide, and encourage better behavior in the future. This includes using respect, clear expectations, natural/logical consequences, and encouraging our kids to foster self-control, which is what we've done since they were little. 

Removing Bryce from the meltdown's crater all those years ago was a natural consequence. They weren't getting the toy they wanted and so we were no longer going to be around the toys they wanted. Once Bryce cooled down, then we had a discussion about why they couldn't have the toy. Not a super in-depth conversation when your child is five, but you've got to start somewhere. Now that both Beatrice and Bryce are teens, the positive discipline payoff has been the strength of our parent/child relationships, their relationships with others, and their value of self.

Do we do it right every time? Nope, but we're pretty damn consistent otherwise. Do our kids get where we're coming from all the time? Nope, but they listen and learn much better than if we focused on "toughening" them up by literally biting back. Empathic parenting outperforms the punitive every time in our lesson plan. 

A Lighted Life to Live

"Chase the sun around the world
I want to look at life
In the available light..."

–Rush, Available Light

I wanted to get a family picture under the rainbow balloon arch before we headed into the awards ceremony, but that didn't happen. First we tabled with other local organizations supporting LGBTQIA+ student groups to promote Bryce's upcoming We Will Not Be Erased March coming up this week on May 13. Then I was recruited with a few of the other school board members who attended to help serve food, which we gladly did. Then we enjoyed the watching the Queer Youth Leadership Awards (QYLA), celebrating some amazing kids demonstrating empathic leadership sorely lacking in today's world.

Once the event was over, our kids and their friends were talking away while our youngest Bryce and their mom Amy worked on recruiting other students to speak at Bryce's march. I was tired but was still determined to get that dang family picture. 

I'm the family photographer. Always have been. That was one of the many positive attributes my mother instilled in me (pummeled me with sometimes, actually). I love Amy, but if it wasn't for me, there would only be a handful of family pictures. Every once in a while I take a journey through all our photos, most of which are now on my computer. It's always a wondrous journey, one where I can relive our family story over and over again. From the day I met Amy, to the birth of Beatrice, then Bryce, to all the things we've done in the nearly 17 years since. 

The pictures (and videos) I've taken over the years are the permanent representations of our love letters that last. They haven't all been love letters, mind you; there have been some bittersweet and painful moments that perusing our pictures remind me of. But those are few and far between. Looking at our family pictures just reminds me how much I love Amy and our children. 

Like I need reminding. I'm so grateful for them. This Mother's Day I awoke and again checked out our pictures before Amy or the kids were up. I was intent on picking some out for a last-minute collage, but I became overwhelmed and was happily lost in our memories. What struck me was something I was already aware of: my eye for light. I'm only a photo hobbyist, so no professional photographer careers in my future, but I do have an eye for light. 

Prior to meeting Amy I struggled with darkness and depression. I preferred emoting in the shadows because that's what I grew up with, what I knew. Too much stress and trauma that fueled anxiety that fueled fumbling through life -- until I started chasing the light. I wanted to finally be happy. To live in abundance and love, and not scarcity and sadness. Like my dear friend Robby who passed away earlier this year had said to me more than once over the years, "You know, sometimes I wish this would all end, but then I think, I still really want to see what happens next. You know what I mean?"

I do. And we did, my friend. After Amy came into my life, she reminded me every day -- and reminds me and our children every day -- with every word and action -- there is always a lighted life to live. There is abundance. There is love. There is grace. We don't always see it, but the light is always available, it's always there. 

And yes, I got my latest family picture -- a BhivePowered rainbow 🌈 by Mom.

Happy Mother's Day, Amy. We love you. 

The Comfort of Gratitude

Every night at dinner we ask each other the same question. Well, Mom and Dad ask each other and our children the same question. 

We ask the question: "What are you grateful for today?"

Rain or shine, happy or funky, at home or traveling -- the same question every time. All four of us pause, reflect, and share something we're grateful for. It doesn't matter what it is, just that we're grateful for something. Sometimes with teens, the answer is, "Nothing." But that would be the wrong answer, because there is always something. So, sometimes in those cases, either kid may answer that it's the food they eat, or the shirt they're wearing, or something seemingly benign and unimportant. 

But it's all important, whatever it is. Just the act of being grateful about something, anything, is good for the brain, the heart, and the soul. There are many studies that have been done that correlate gratitude with wellbeing -- gratitude was most strongly correlated with personality attributes related to wellbeing, and the researchers concluded that gratitude has a unique relationship with life satisfaction.

We've embedded gratitude into our relationship since the beginning, between my wife Amy and myself, long before we had children. When our kids were old enough to understand and answer the question, we included them in the gratitude sharing and have made it a best family practice ever since.

For us, we're so grateful for our children. If you've ever read anything I've written here, you figure that out pretty quickly. Not one dinnertime sharing goes by without us sharing something about our children we're grateful for. 

Today, their level of self-awareness, with teen flaws and all, are light years ahead of where me and Amy were at their age. We're so grateful for Bryce for being who they are and organizing an upcoming LGBTQIA+ march. We're so grateful for Beatrice who is also a leader in the making, who volunteered to show 8th graders the high school campus recently, including her sibling, and who will again be a lead camp counselor at a local day camp this summer.

Recently we all went to a high school event called "Dancing with the Santa Cruz Stars: Battle of the Bands" where students and teachers alike danced in teams to supergroup music and compete for the fun of it. We went last year and it was so much fun! The gym was again packed!

This year, Beatrice is in a high school production of High School Musical, and some of her theater mates and her did a flash mob routine during one of the dance routines at the Dancing with the Santa Cruz Stars. Even more fun!

After the dance competition, I loved seeing both our kids talking and laughing with their friends. My heart danced and sang watching Bryce embrace the evening with a rare joy; they're so done with 8th grade and excited to be in high school next year. Both kids will be in choir together next year, and the high school choir teacher, known as Mr. T, won the dancing competition this year, dancing impressively with another student to a medley of Wham songs. We can't wait to see what Beatrice and Bryce do in choir next year, especially after Bryce's inspirational solos the 8th talent show.

We're grateful that both of our kids push themselves out of their own comfort zones, which is easier for Beatrice, but not so much for Bryce. They both do it nonetheless, and whether they want to admit it or not, are both grateful for improving their own wellbeing and embracing life. 

Blessings to us all. We are all but fragile beings and the comfort of gratitude strengthens our resolve to live and to thrive in the face of anything. 

#BhivePower works.

The Meddling Mentors

It's an awe-inspiring thing, watching your children grow up. And not just for the bigger milestones of age and physical growth and going from elementary school to middle school to high school. It's also for the subtle, incremental maturity moments of their emotional and psychological growth. 

Being a teenager in any generation isn't easy. It's full of hormonal changes, front cortex development, indecision, anxiety, anger, depression, streaming opinions, self-awareness, emotional swings and sass, introversion and extroversion, and yes, radiating moments of pure joy. Like the Inside Out movies on steroids. 

All these changes and experiences are coming at them constantly and they're woven together like a patchwork quilt they wrap around themselves and wear with pride. With disdain. With uncertainty. 

Our youngest Bryce wore their quilt with disdain. They had felt disconnected from people, including us, and extremely introverted and anxious. But we never stopped caring for Bryce, loving them, ensuring we invested in whatever support they needed, encouraging them to develop their passion through music -- singing in the school choir and learning to play guitar.

Bryce never wanted to sing a solo. Like ever. Their choir teacher encouraged them the past two years, but it was always a no-go. Bryce never wanted to even sing in front of us or play their guitar for us (except for when one of us takes them to their guitar lessons).

But then something changed. Bryce's patchwork quilt brightened in the sunlight over the past year with their belief that they could do it (and more). And not just their belief either -- the actual doing of the things with a celebratory heart. Every year Bryce's choir runs a talent show where the kids are encouraged to sing their favorite songs with solos, duets, quartets, or other combos.

Bryce just didn't take on one solo -- they took on four solos total -- radiating with moments of pure joy. 

Our oldest Beatrice had also worn her quilt with cocooned anxiety. Always second-guessing her decisions and her learning ability, she's struggled with feeling confident in her activities and experiences, especially about her classes. It always taken her a little longer than her peers to process what she's learning.

But she's learned to adapt and how to approach learning that works for her and has thrived in school. It's not without a lot of ongoing work, and we've never stopped helping her whenever we can, getting the support she needs when she's needed it. 

Now, she's taking honors classes and will take some AP classes, planning for college and career, stretching herself constantly to learn, adapt, and thrive. She's in theater -- acting, singing, and dancing. She's joining choir next year (and her sister will be in high school choir, too). 

Those incremental, maturity moments of our teens emotional and psychological growth aren't without setbacks and a need to reset; that's just how it works growing up (and growing old). But the key for any of us is how we respond to these setbacks, and what then we do in the shadows of uncertainty and despair. For us as parents to watch them both learn, adapt, and thrive more and more on their own has again been awe-inspiring.

In fact, for me, they've become the meddling mentors, hungry to understand what's made us tick since we were their age, what makes us tick today, and what makes them tick today (and what's coming tomorrow). They're not afraid of asking the hard questions, not afraid of pressing for answers, not afraid of who they are and who they're becoming, while constantly reminding us of why we became parents in the first place. Of why we are who we are today. Of why we want a better world for them and all of us, and the fact they want the same.

What Happens Next

"...You may be right

It's all a waste of time

I guess that's just a chance I'm prepared to take

A danger I'm prepared to face

Cut to the chase

What kind of difference can one person make?

Cut to the chase..."

–Rush, Cut to the Chase 

I needed a distraction. Something fun with the family that could shield me temporarily from work stress, from America slipping away, from grieving my best friend's passing, and from existential exhaustion. Feeling helpless and overwhelmed by it all, I just needed a break from how my brain has been reacting of late. 

The Santa Cruz Clam Chowder Cook-Off was upon us and never disappoints. It's a weekend full of yummy local chowders cooked up by both amateurs and professionals and held at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. And this year our oldest Beatrice worked the event, selling tasting kits and merchandise. 

Beatrice finished her shift and joined my wife Amy, her sibling Bryce, and me to start tasting the chowders. It's always a busy event, rain or shine, and this year the weather was fabulous. Within the first hour of tasting there was wall-to-wall people walking around, waiting in chowder tasting lines, or waiting to ride the amusement park rides. But mercy me the chowder is always a treat with dozens of chowder booths to choose from. After a few samples I'm always full. 

It was fun, and momentarily distracting, but my life nagged at me like a child pulling on my shirt on the verge of a tantrum. I looked up to watch the 100-year-old Giant Dipper roller coaster train race down the first precipitous drop. That's the trope, I thought. That the world is just a big, scary roller coaster without safety bars or straps, and we've got to hold on with all our might for fear of flying out and plunging to our deaths. 

Yikes, Kevin. What the hell?

There were so many people at the Boardwalk, that it was a little overwhelming at times, but we were still so glad that we went. Families and friends alike who all just wanted a break from whatever daily stress they face to have a little fun, ride some rides, play some arcade games, and eat some chowder (and a variety of amusement park junk food). 

But after the chowder cook-off, I was still full of existential exhaustion. Since my dear friend Robby passed, I've struggled more than I thought I would with his death, my own mortality, and what I've done with my life. Over the years, he'd always say to me, "You know, sometimes I wish this would all end, but then I think, I still really want to see what happens next. You know what I mean?"

I know, Robby. I do. And even at our lowest points, we still wanted to see what happened next. The difference you made in my life, and so many others, was indelible. 

Because of that, I just can't feel this way today. I'm still here and I can't feel like I don't and won't make a difference. You would tell me I have much work to do, just as my inspirational wife and children do. They are working hard to make a difference in the world around them. They proudly speak actionable truths that took decades for me to articulate and live. They not only want to see what happens next; they want to be the positive change of what happens next. 

And dammit, so do I. 

Hope Is Always "Here"

We watched it together as a family. That wasn't unusual, as we do watch various shows together, but there's not too many movies that we all agree on.

And this one wasn't necessarily agreed upon at first; our youngest Bryce usually doesn't like the movies that Mom and Dad pick out. Our oldest Beatrice doesn't feel the same way, but it's still harder to align likability for all of us. 

Everyone seemed interested in this one, though. The movie was Here starring Tom Hanks and Robin Wright and the reviews were not very good. There was still something intriguing about it with the primary movie scene set in the same place over time: a living room with a big window to the world beyond. There was also something Wes Anderson-esque about that, which is why Bryce and me really liked the way it was filmed. It was also based on a graphic novel by Richard McGuire, something both our artist teens like, especially Beatrice. 

The story itself focused more on one family over time, but the movie didn't always work. What did work was the theme and it resonated with all of us. The theme for us, of loving where you live and who you live it with -- "here". Bryce and I cried; we are the family criers, that's for sure. Amy (Mom) and Beatrice are feelers, just not criers. 

While we watched together, Beatrice laid on Amy and Bryce laid on me. This "here" for me has always been special. We've lived here for nearly 19 years and are grateful for every moment that we've had in this house. We lived here before we decided to have children. Bryce was born in this house. Beatrice was supposed to be. Our kids have grown up in this house (and continue to). They shared a room until middle school, and after some renovating, now each has their own. 

We've lived in every inch of this house. We've loved, laughed, cried, screamed, brooded, and laughed and loved some more. There's no other place we'd rather be than here while the world keeps spinning outside our front window. That spinning "here" includes the community we live in, the state we live in, the country we live in, the world we live in. We're Americans who love our "here".

But our "here" is in danger; we've never lived in fear until now. American democracy has certainly had its challenges and setbacks, but today it's being transformed from the inside-out by a fast-moving coup that's doing everything it can to take away our civil rights, our education, our livelihoods, and our safety, all for the sake of oppressive power and control. Even those who supported it all and who think these changes will benefit them will lose it all in the end, too. 

That's the point -- that we all lose in the end except for a wealthy few. And in the meantime, these dismantling actions are supposed to make your head spin. To make you scared. To paralyze you. To make you give up. But we stand tall where you are and stay vigilant. Fight the good fights about human rights when and where you can. Speak up, speak out, and speak truth for a better bigger picture. 

Today, our morning meditation mantra was this: Hope is my source of strength. It provides the endurance needed for positive and sustained change. As I look around our house and out our window, I know that hope is always "here", and our family is all in. 

Believe To Become

Beatrice started the old stop-motion animated The Little Drummer Boy. 

"I've never watched this one," she said. "Did you used to watch this one?"

"It was one of my favorites growing up," I said. 

"Is that your origin story, Dad?" Bryce asked sarcastically, knowing how much I love playing the drums now.

"Yes, yes it is, Bryce," I answered emphatically with a big smile.

"Did you play your drums for the baby Jesus?" Bryce added.

"I wish I did."

"Did you cry when you watched The Little Drummer Boy?"

"Every year."

"Awe, that's sweet," Beatrice said. They both know Dad's always a hopeful crier.

Those were simpler times when my sister and I were kids. Every holiday getting together with the extended family, eating way too much food, singing Christmas carols, and celebrating the birth of Jesus. Plus, getting to watch all our favorites stop-motion and other animated classics, and of course, opening all the gifts. 

Sigh. I can hear the Peanuts gang singing "Christmas Time Is Here." 

"Christmastime is here
Happiness and cheer
Fun for all that children call
Their favorite time of year..."

It wasn't all happy and carefree, though. The pleasant memories were bound to painful ones. Growing up with domestic violence and abuse sent my sister and I hurtling away from the innocence of childhood toward the concrete ceiling of adulthood at the speed of sound. The eventual sonic booms were deafening at times. 

And because my ears still sometimes pop from the pressurized past, my wife Amy and I were always all in for delivering supportive and loving parenting underscored with positive discipline. We don't always get it all right, but we do work hard to right the wrongs of our own pasts. 

Now our kids aren't kids any longer. Still years away, adulthood is coming faster for them. There are more questions about our specific rites of passages, the choices we made, and navigating friendships. There are questions about financial literacy, which we started having with them a few years ago. Beatrice has already had her first paying job and Bryce wishes they had one (besides the allowance they get for doing weekly household chores).

Their schoolwork gets harder every year and they have to focus more and more on time management and project management, which stresses both of them out. They realize how competitively ugly the world can be and how they'll have to navigate that throughout high school, college, and whatever they end up being and doing in their lives.

Yes, our kids have grown older and the simpler times have waned like a beautiful but brief winter sunset. Through this transitional time, the one thing we can't do for them, and really don't want to do, is to live their lives for them as they barrel toward adulthood. They have to go through it, with our guidance, of course. 

Now we hear them say, "I just don't have the time I need to get everything done -- and still be able to chill out!"

Which isn't true, but it's what it feels like sometimes. We can go from being on top of the world, to being flattened by it, especially when we hit that adulthood ceiling full force. But if there's one thing my origin story has taught me is that this ceiling can and does open like a magical observatory revealing a starlit universe of endless potential. 

Hard to see when you're scraping yourself off the ceiling, but all you need to do is believe to become, and then get to work. 

Blessings to you all however you celebrate this holiday season. Merry Christmas. 

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.

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.