The 2022 Top 10 Most Read from GOTG

Here we are again; another year flew past. Mercy me. I wrote 50 articles this year on Get Off The Ground (GOTG), and I've written 843 in total since I started writing in 2007. I went from silly posts in early fatherhood to more serious pieces over the years. 

Thank you for stopping by and reading. We're all works in progress, and my wife Amy and I continue to work at being better spouses, parents, and community members. which is the whole point of what I share here -- and to be the positive spread of growth, empathy, and love. 

Speaking of stopping by and reading, here were this year's top 10 most read from GOTG:

1. Coronavirus Sucks, But We Don't Have To
2. From the Loss and the Pride 
3. The Ultimate Quits
4. Not How They Will Wind Up 
5. Never Too Old 
6. Almost Gridless 
7. Those That Just Might Reconnect 
8. The Teen Brain Two-Step 
9. Thanks to Mom (and me) 
10. Stuck in the Middle with Me

Thank you again for reading, and now it's time for a Christmas break for me and my family. No matter how you celebrate this time of the year, and whatever your holiday traditions are, blessings to you all. Be safe and well. 

"You're all I need

Underneath the tree…”

Our Biggest Cheerleaders

We cheered them on when they performed in plays and musicals. We cheered them on when they played sports. We cheered them on when they graduated from elementary school. We cheer them on every day just hearing about their days. We celebrate their wins and empathize their struggles. 

Our children's biggest cheerleaders are Mom and Dad. Always have been. Always will be. 

Our oldest Beatrice was a junior leader for summer day camp this year and we cheered her on all the way through it. She was so grateful every day she was at camp working with the kids. This was something she wanted to do all year since being a camper at last summer's day camp. Back in early May of this year, I remember the video interview she did to become a junior leader. She was stressed prior to the interview, but she was so confident and calm during it. 

Just like her younger sister Bryce was when she spoke to her 5th graduating class at the end of May. She was one of three students from her 5th grade class who volunteered to speak. She shared how disappointing it was to get covid and miss some of the fun end-of-year events, but that no matter what, she was grateful to be back in the end for graduation to be with all her friends and her teachers. And she wrote the whole thing herself. 

We cheer our children on, we parent them, we take care of them, and we love them. As their parents, we don't expect them to cheer us on, just listen to us and love us back. And of course, deal with all our unabashed supportive cheering. That gets more emotionally and socially complicated now that they're teens when we have to deal with new and improved levels of overdramatic back-talk independence. 

However, they are our biggest cheerleaders, even when they try to act like they're not. Nearly every day when we tell them we hope they have a great day school, they reciprocate about our work days. Occasionally they tell me how good I'm getting at drumming. They cheer on Mom about all her yummy baking and cooking, and everything else that Mom does, which is a lot. 

Their cheering on was especially poignant when I was sworn in as a new school board member recently. Super-cheered on actually. They all sat in front, and Bryce whooped it up on my behalf while Mom and Beatrice clapped along when we walked up to be sworn in, and then again afterwards. Everyone in the room laughed, including past teachers both girls had in grade school. It was all so sweet. I smiled and laughed, thinking that this was the greatest Christmas present of all, the unabashed supportive love of our children. 

The Ride Home

As soon as they get into the car, both girls shout, "I'm going to talk about my day first!"

"No, I'm going first!"

"No, I am!"

"Dad, who gets to go first?"

Sometimes I tell them it's whoever said it first. Other times one of them will concede and let the other go first. The other day I actually had them pick a number between 1 and 10, and whoever was the closest got to go first. Haven't done that in years.

Our daughters have always felt safe and comfortable sharing their experiences with us, something we've fostered and have been quite grateful for. But now that they're both in middle school together, 6th and 8th grade, it's become a race to tell us about their "work" days. Good, bad, or indifferent. Sometimes in mind-numbing descriptive teen detail. About lunch drama with friends, that to me didn't seem all that dramatic, but to them was. Or, classroom drama about group projects where others in the group didn't do very much of the work. Or, more classroom drama about teachers who stress them out. More of these dramas from our oldest Beatrice than her younger sister Bryce, but both of their days are shared with us, drama or not.

My wife Amy takes them to school in the mornings, and unless I'm traveling for work, I pick them up most of the time after school (if they're not riding their bikes or walking, which they're doing sometimes). I love that time with our kids, just listening to them, asking further explanatory questions. That can lead to either further clarifications, or sassy retorts, depending on the context and their mood. It's only a 10-minute ride home, but for me it feels like hours listening to my children grow up. 

The fact that our teens are comfortable talking with us is so important. They tell their mother more than they tell me, but they're still comfortable sharing with me. One of the things that's made a difference is that we listen and let them talk. That doesn't take the parenting out of the equation, because there are situations that call for parental oversight and insight, and for me, judgmental interjections. I try to not to do that, but still do. And both girls call me out on that -- "Dad, I'm not done talking, so please don't interrupt."

The loving bonds of trust are there with our daughters because we listen to them without judgment (again, Mom more than Dad) and without directly trying to solve any of their problems they may have (school, friends, etc.). We help them, of course, but we also want them to learn how to figure things out, how to help themselves, work with others, and self-advocate. 

If there are issues that involve emotional, social, or physical safety, including things that we weren't aware of because they didn't want us to be aware, then there are definitely parental interventions and controls. Hiding things from us are rare, and when it happens, we deal with them immediately.

So, after arguing who tells Dad about their day first when I pick up our girls from school, they tell me about their days, and then argue who's going to tell Mom first when they get home. It's a gift of grace that they both are willing to share their days with us, every day. That's why the ride home is a highlight of my day, every day. 

Listen and Love First

In a sea of thousands, I felt seen. Again. I listened to his story, and although I knew it was nothing like mine, in a way, it actually was. The moment he finally felt seen and heard was pivotal for him, and it reminded me of mine.

Here I was at my first school board conference with nearly 5,000 school board members from across the state preparing to be a new board member next year, something I never thought I'd be. The first keynote speaker was Brandon P. Fleming, author of MISEDUCATED: A Memoir, an at-risk youth and college dropout turned award-winning educator. 

I felt that feeling of being seen and heard again because of a very specific part of his story. He was a failing black college student whose only role models were drug dealers and athletes. An English professor took the time "see" him, to meet him where he was in his life, to lead with love and help him turn his learning and his life around. She introduced him to black writers that he never knew existed and it changed his life forever. 

Brandon went on to finish college and launch a debate residency program that recruits under-served youth with no prior debate experience who he trains to compete against hundreds of elite debaters from over 25 different countries around the world. For five consecutive years, since the program’s inception in 2017, every cohort trained by Fleming has won the international competition.

My story was nothing like his. I was a privileged white high school student who got straight A's, took all the college-level AP classes, sang in choir, played football, and participated in student government. However, the pressure to constantly excel and the ghosts of my childhood growing up in domestic violence and sexual abuse became too much for me and I began to have severe anxiety and panic attacks. 

However, I didn't know what they were at the time. I began skipping classes, my grades suffered, and no one, not even my closest friends and immediate family, understood what was happening to me. It wasn't that they didn't love or care about me, but because I couldn't express what was happening to me, most took an arms-length approach with me. Everyone felt bad for me that I was breaking down, but no one could reach me. 

It wasn't until another high school counselor reached out to me when my perspective changed. Mr. Ash wasn't my primary academic counselor, but he connected with me in a way that others didn't. I told him as best I could what I was feeling and why, and he could relate; he had experienced that kind of stress when he was my age as well. He listened to my story without judgment, and shared his own story, and recommended that I take the time to heal and figure things out, that I should check out the field of psychology (which I ended up majoring in) but that I didn't necessarily need to go to college right away, if I needed more time. He took the time to "see" me, to meet me where I was in my life, to lead with love and help me turn my learning and my life around. 

Fully turning things around after high school would still take over a decade, but I got there. As a new school board member, I listened to Brandon P. Fleming speak and tears welled in my eyes. He said "stories are the gateway to empathy" and that as school administrators, educators, support staff, board members, and parents, we should "listen and love first, and then teach and lead second." Today, too many young people need mental health services, including elementary school kids, and we can do better to ensure they are emotionally, socially, and physically safe. We should meet each child where they're at, listen and love without judgement, and strive to provide the resources and support they need to thrive. 

A Gift of Grace

The four of us sat around the campfire -- me, my wife Amy, and our two daughters, Beatrice and Bryce. We talked about anything and everything. We talked about the nice Thanksgiving we had at my sister's, the first time in three years. We talked about Christmas being our favorite time of the year, especially for Beatrice (who already had me listening to Christmas music before Thanksgiving, again). We talked about going to Disneyland again after the holidays and what we looked forward to. We talked about school and what they looked forward to and not looked forward to. Like Monday after a holiday.

As we sat around the campfire, I watched our kids' animated faces in the firelight, and again witnessed the years that had already rushed by since they were babies. A joyful journey of multi-dimensional universes: from holding their tiny bodies close, to  toddler-ville, to childhood, and now to today's sassy teen world. I looked at my wife, the firelight highlighting her beauty as if she hadn't aged a day since we met.

But I knew our faces were older, softer, with deeper lines etched along our foreheads, eyes, and mouths where there none years ago. I smiled at her as I listened to our daughters share. I imagined us sitting there together 20 years from now, always comfortable sharing our lives with each other. Our girls all grown up with lives of their own sharing the adventures they've had. Their ups and downs. Their hopes and fears. Their passions and dislikes. Their loves and heartbreaks. Maybe they had spouses of their own, and children of their own, and we now all sat around the campfire together (God, let that be a long time from now). 

Back to our campfire moment at hand, though. The flames danced below us and the stars shone brightly above. Our girls were teens again and we talked and laughed and the smiles kept coming. I'm grateful every day for my family, but there was something more magical this time about that campfire time. A closeness that transcended the bounds of time as I traveled from the past to present to future to present again. Being everywhere all at once would usually be overwhelming for me, resulting in tears, but this time I embraced it all with a joyful smile, living lifetimes in moments, and moments that felt like lifetimes. 

No matter where I went in time, I felt tethered to the love that surrounded me, one that kept reminding me that every moment I experience with my family is a gift of grace. 

Reciprocal Ripples

"You guys judge too much," Bryce said to us at our latest family meeting.

"I don't think we do," my wife Amy said. "We try not to."

"Yes, you do," Beatrice said. "Like about Trump for example." 

Fair enough, I thought. But c'mon.

"Your dad and I talk about current affairs and things that affect our family, yes, but that doesn't always mean we're judging," Amy said. "Sometimes maybe, but not always."

"What about other people we know," Bryce said. "Like family or friends."

Ouch. Not fair.

"There's a difference between talking about someone we know and care about, than simply dumping on them because we wish them misery," I said.

"Still judging," Bryce said.

"No, it's not."

"Well, what about The Masked Singer?" Beatrice said. 

Funny. And true. But in a entertaining way. The Masked Singer being the singing competition show where famous contestants dress up in elaborate costumes and sing and a celebrity panel (and the audience) try to guess who they are. It's a family favorite of ours. 

"That's different," Amy said. "That's fun judging -- and a fun show!"

"Still judging."

Sigh.

When the girls were little, we knew they didn't pick up much of what we discussed out loud near them or in front of them. But over the past few years, they definitely pick it all up. If they do overhear, and ask us questions about what we're talking about, we do our best to give them context and clarity about why we're saying what we're saying. 

And while we don't deny we've been judgy at times about what we've discussed in front of our children, it's never done out of malice. Anger and frustration sometimes, but never malice. This is why we've worked on as adults and parents is finding joy in the success of others, of those overcoming obstacles and improving their lives and mental health, and more, and how we can help or support their success (you might have heard the German word Freudenfreude that means this). In other words, what it's like to have empathy. Something our girls remind us of every single day with their own actions (their sassy words are another story). 

As opposed to deriving pleasure and joy from someone else’s suffering or misfortune (you might have heard the German word Schadenfreude that means this). Why do so many long to see others fail? Get thoroughly excited by it even? Especially when political leaders, sports figures, actors and musicians, and others closer to home like family and friends, fail. Why? Because it can make someone feel better about themselves, about their own situation? Yes, it can. I know, because we've been there. 

But not anymore. (Mostly, we mean. We are human after all.) No matter what happens, we'd rather celebrate the personal wins of others and how we can all pay it forward in kind to others. Reciprocal ripples that buoy our interconnected souls. 

Yes, I just wrote that. No judging. 

Our Family Safety Zen

The last thing I should've done was to get in their faces, but that's exactly the first thing I did. The reaction was swift and effortless, as if my hand was already ready to flip the switch when provoked.

"Dad, that boy just poked me and laughed at me," our oldest daughter Beatrice said to me. "He's bullying me and I'm not comfortable and want to go."

She definitely looked uncomfortable and that was all the provoking I needed. I turned and faced the two teen boys and took a step toward them. Both wore baseball caps and one wore sunglasses.

"Leave my daughters alone," I said.

They instantly read my look and tone and both of them tensed. The one without sunglasses took a half step back. They were big kids, but I was a bigger adult.

"What do you mean?" the one without sunglasses said defensively.

"Your daughters?" the one wearing sunglasses said. "We didn't do anything."

I wasn't sure if he was making fun of us or me, but it didn't matter. Thankfully, they didn't say another word. 

"Leave them alone," I simply said again. I could feel my anger seething. 

I turned around to check on Beatrice and her sister Bryce. Beatrice was uncomfortable but Bryce seemed fine.

"We're going to go back to the car," Beatrice said. 

"That's fine," I said. "Or, you can wait here with me until I get our food and we can go back together."

"I'm fine, Dad," Bryce said. Beatrice didn't say anything. "I saw him bug Beatrice but he didn't bug me."

The two teen boys at this point were ordering some food of their own and then they sat at a table away from us. I don't remember them looking our way again or saying another word.

We had been on our way to go camping for the weekend and stopped to get food and gas. My wife stayed with our car and camper, and dog Jenny, and me and the girls went to McDonald's. As soon as we walked in the door I saw the two teen boys teasing each other and screwing around with the touch screen ordering system. A mountain bike lay on the floor near the bathrooms and I assumed it was theirs. The girls and I went ahead and ordered on the other side of the touchscreen system from where the teens were.

I was already on edge because of what had happened just prior to going to McDonald's, I was the one watching the car, camper, and our dog. Amy and the girls had gone to cookie store to get some treats. We were parked in a shopping center parking lot parallel to the main road, and coming up the sidewalk was a man pushing a shopping cart full of what I assumed where his belongings. In front of where we were parked was the shopping center security guard sitting in his car. As soon as the shopping cart man got close, he immediately pulled out his phone and start filming and cursing at the security guard. The security guard got out of his vehicle and confronted the filming man, which just made him angrier and he cursed continuously accusing the security guard of following him. 

I definitely felt like mental illness was in play here, and these days you just don't know who may pull out a knife or a gun, so I readied myself to roll up the windows and lock the doors. I had no where to go otherwise. The shopping cart man continued his way up the sidewalk past where we were parked. I told myself not to look him in the eyes, but I did, and thankfully he just glanced at me and then kept pushing his cart down the sidewalk. 

After the confrontation with the teen boys in McDonald's, we got our food and walked back to where we parked. Beatrice felt better because we left and Bryce kept saying the boys hadn't bothered her. I told Amy about what had happened and that I knew that I overreacted. Of course there's nothing wrong with protecting our children if they feel unsafe, but I did get too verbally aggressive with the teen boys. And, I didn't give Beatrice a chance to use her own Kidpower and tell the boys to stop herself.  

Again, nothing else happened and we went on our way down the highway to the campground. But from the shopping cart man to the teen boys, I felt rattled and angry, and instead, needed to channel our family safety Zen. The camping eventually did the trick. 

Then came the flat tire, which is another story for another time...