Get Off The Ground

Dinner and a Show

2026-10-11T08:58:19.693-07:00

It was the best anniversary yet. On the eve of 29 years from one day at the beach when we met, both of us still recovering from the flu, Amy and I had dinner at one of our favorite local taquerias and then went to a show.

Not just any show -- our kids' closing performance of This Murder Was Staged, a hilarious whodunnit with over-the-top characters and plot twists throughout.

Our oldest Beatrice directed from the balcony during the show. Our youngest Bryce co-starred and delivered some funny and acerbic lines.

And there was nowhere else on Earth we'd rather be.

Early on in our relationship, Amy and her mother surprised me with dinner and a show in Half Moon Bay. We saw It's a Wonderful Life, one of my favorites. It's about a man reminded how loved and supported he is by his family and friends, and why he's the "richest" man in town. Makes me cry every time.

That's something I've more than related to over the years, thankfully having many more highs than lows, especially after I met Amy. Early on in our relationship, I was far from soul-centered, but I knew I was on the right path with Amy. Like in Dante's The Divine Comedy, I traveled through hell and purgatory to find my muse at the beach during El Niño '97. She's been guiding me through paradise ever since.

Our vows include why we celebrate the miracle of our choices (a version of which was from the cover of a journal Amy had given to me early on) and the fact that we always choose "us". Us now including our children, part of our choice miracles of the past 18 years.

I've written many times about the fact that each night at dinner we all share what we're grateful for. It doesn't matter what it is. And even if one of us is not feeling grateful in that moment for whatever reason, we give them the grace to find something. Because there's always something. Always.

Again, on the eve of our anniversary, and before our kids' last performance, Amy and I went to one of our favorite local taquerias. During dinner we shared how grateful we were for all of "us". After the performance concluded, we waited for our kids to come out into the auditorium lobby so we could celebrate them.

We're grateful for 29 years of dinner and a show. Our show. Encore!

Brilliantly Staged

2026-10-04T12:35:30.349-07:00

Moving the hands of the clock back and forth was a nice touch. There were multiple flashbacks and flash-forwards in the play, so this old-school entertainment time-travel mechanism worked well. Both my wife Amy and I were tickled each time one of the cast members moved the clock hands in between scenes.

This was the fall high school play that our oldest Beatrice directed and her sibling Bryce co-starred in. This one was accelerated, though. Usually, auditions and rehearsals start in late August and run until late October. But due to some scheduling conflicts with other school activities, the play had to open in early October, which was my birthday weekend.

The play is called This Murder Was Staged and is a murder-mystery comedy that was first published in 2024. Beatrice was on the high school theater committee that selected the play and then volunteered to direct, something she had never done before. Both our kids have been involved in theater for years, but this was something else to direct the play. Bryce was really stressed during auditions because they wanted a bigger role, which in turn put a lot of stress on Beatrice when it came to selecting the cast. There is a teacher theater advisor who helps with each semester's production, but these plays (in the fall) and the musicals (in the spring) are all student-run. Thankfully the cast selection worked out in the end.

So, when opening night came, we were all excited. And Beatrice, Amy, and I were all sick (not Bryce, though). The flu, covid, or a bad cold, we didn't know. We just knew we were sick.

[clock moving backward in time]

The week before opening night is called tech week when there are complete run-throughs of the play with lights, music, and more. Beatrice got sick the weekend before and it made for a miserable tech week. I had to leave on a work trip on that Tuesday of tech week and would be back midday Friday.

She didn't miss one tech week rehearsal, though. She wasn't the only kid who got sick that week, but she was the director and needed to be there.

On the Wednesday before, Beatrice and I had a call, and she shared something that true leaders live and breathe: "Dad, I need to be there for my team."

That was the day I started to feel sick. Amy was already feeling sick before I left on my trip.

[clock moving forward in time]

The play's opening scene included a lot of Bryce's character and they were amazing! Yes, we're the parents and we love our kids no matter what and are proud of them no matter what. But mercy me, Bryce was so good. They were worried about not projecting loudly enough without yelling since there aren't stage mics. That wasn't an issue because Bryce (and the rest of the cast) projected loudly and clearly enough all the way through.

Thank goodness Amy and I were hopped up on cold medicine, because the sick would've sucked the enjoyment right out of us.

And enjoy it we did. Plus, there was a seemingly random segue to an all-Peanut's cast performing The Crucible (about the Salem witch trials) was super funny. Nicely done!

[clock moving backward in time]

I started feeling crappy on that Wednesday and then when I went to the event I was speaking at on Thursday, I definitely knew I was getting sick. I made it through the event without any outward symptoms, but your body remembers what it feels when it's sick, and those memories hit me hard that night.

My flight back early Friday morning was on time, but I couldn't get home soon enough. That's when Amy and I loaded up on cold medicine. We also brought masks with us in case we started sneezing and/or coughing.

We weren't going to miss this for the world.

[clock moving forward in time]

The cold medicine kept Amy and I relaxed and focused so we could enjoy the play, a hilarious whodunnit with over-the-top characters and plot twists throughout. High school student directors don't make many friends during a production, usually being accused of favoritism, and/or being too stern, and/or worse. But Beatrice's leadership has been well-respected the entire time, something we beam proudly about.

All the characters were delightful including our Bryce. So good! Afterwards we talked with both kids about how they thought it went and both were delighted with the performance, even though Beatrice was still pretty sick (as were we). I told Beatrice we loved it all and the moving of the clock hands backward and forward between scenes was an especially fun touch. She said it was her idea.

Of course it was. Well done. The play was brilliantly staged and we couldn't be prouder.

Six Months to the Rest of My Life

2026-09-27T15:23:26.030-07:00

I stood on the cliff overlooking the ocean. The same ocean I had looked at just a few years earlier, thinking to myself, I'm going to live here. And live here I did, with the love of my life Amy, whom I also met a few years earlier one day at the beach.

The wind pummeled me from the sea, cold and damp. I was drunk. Again. I smoked a cigarette. The burning smoke enhanced my dark euphoria. I cried and smoked another cigarette.

This recurring pattern continued for a few months. I had been laid off from my startup tech job and was unemployed. Amy and I did take an amazing trip across Europe shortly after I was laid off, but when the travels were over, the perpetual hangover kicked in. I struggled with my blue genes, my addictions, my destructive past patterns of soul-crushing anxiety laced with depression. I didn't know what to do; this was post the dot-com bubble bursting into a tough job market. I felt like a failure unworthy of love or grace, even with my new found love.

At that time, I hid how much I drank from Amy. She worked nights then and it was too easy to drink more than usual. By the time she got home, I was already asleep. Passed out more likely. But then one day she found out what I was hiding, and the reckoning was upon me.

I come from addiction genes; my birth father was an abusive alcoholic and my mother struggled with chronic pain and painkillers later in life. I didn't start drinking until the very end of high school, but the fact is that I did start. Same with smoking cigarettes. In fact, I smoked cigarettes for 14 years after high school. A pack a day on average for most of those years.

After the above heavy drinking, I didn't quit drinking, but I didn't drink as much and I didn't hide it anymore. Amy and I both drank in moderation, until the pandemic, where we both upped our intake (like many others at the time). I remember our kids asking us why we drank nearly every night. I'll come back to that one.

In 2002, I quit smoking. Amy and I were to be married in 2003, but she didn't want to marry a smoker. I didn't blame her. But it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.

Nicotine has been proven to be as addictive as cocaine and heroin and may even be more addictive. 70 percent of smokers report wanting to quit, but many wait until they develop a significant tobacco-related disease such as heart disease, cancer or stroke.

The first two years were rough, but thankfully I did it. My official quit date was September 22, 2002, the same date when our oldest Beatrice was born years later.

Which brings me back to drinking. Post-pandemic, Amy decided there would be no more drinking for her; she wanted to be healthier; it was no longer "fun". It'll be four years for her in October. She didn't have a problem with me still drinking and I kept it low to moderate (except for work trips unfortunately). Our kids asked why I still drank. While I reminded them it was usually only 2-3 times per week, Bryce would say to me, "You have a beer every night, Dad."

Then came the death of my dear friend Robby. Paralyzed since his swimming accident in high school, he suffered from chronic pain and a body that degenerated over the decades. And like my mother, he struggled with painkillers.

After that, I really began to reflect on my relationship with drinking. Alcohol is detrimental and there's plenty of data now showing how toxic it is to the body, no matter the amount ingested. Without planning exactly when, I stopped on March 22 this year, six months to the anniversary date of my quitting smoking back in 2002.

When you're genetically dispositioned to addiction, ultimately the only choice you have is to not do the thing you might become highly addicted to. That was something I learned from attending Nicotine Anonymous (same program as AA) before I quit for good. Because if you choose to do it, you're right back in the heart of the destructive dark abyss. Overdramatic? Not really. Those who know, know. And mercy me, quitting smoking was a lot harder than quitting drinking, that's for sure.

I'm glad I quit drinking. I'm glad my wife did four years before me. We also know our own kids may drink someday and that's their choice (but as far as we know they haven't yet). However, I know firsthand that addiction and purposeful sedation prevented me from overcoming fear, anxiety, and scarcity, instead of embracing love and the potential abundance of a brighter life. And better health. You can truly never be happy if you don’t let go of the things that make you sad. And in the end, alcohol always made me sad.

So today, my life-affirming sentence is six months to the rest of my life. Blessings.

Big-Tent Friendships

2026-09-20T16:10:28.500-07:00

The skinheads filmed us during the birthday party. Dozens of people in my parents’ house, partying it up, to celebrate our dear friend Robby's 21st birthday. Robby wanted them to film it, but that video is now gone forever.

I think. C'mon, give me a break; it was a long time ago and memories tend to morph into multiverses that may or may not exist. So, for this piece, I'm believe it did.

They were skinheads, no doubt. That 1960's derivative of UK working-class pride that evolved into the 1970's and 1980's white power subcultures. They were always nice to me, and Robby of course because they were friends of his, but they did keep others we knew on edge (I just thought they were punk rock).

We all had a lot of fun over the years, these best friends of mine, with gravity's center being Robby. Robby who was a swimmer and water polo player in high school. Robby who broke his neck at a swim meet our senior year in high school, changing the trajectory of his life forever. Robby who became emotionally stuck in the spring of 1984. Robby who struggled with pain and day-to-day activities and his life-altering paralysis.

For decades we'd journey to Chico California to visit him. And not just my core group of friends -- Greg, Rob, and Craig -- but other longtime friend groups -- Charles, Donovan, another Greg, and another Craig. And many other men and women over the years. Robby had a pretty big circle of friends since high school; he connected with many flavors of humans over the years. There were those of us from our hometown of Visalia, and many others from Chico where he lived for over 35 years. There were old high school friends and water polo and swimmer friends and artist friends and rocker friends and plain Jane friends and even skinheads as mentioned above.

The list went on and on. When we held Robby's memorial in Visalia, many friends of the past joined us in celebrating Robby's life. Fast forward over a year later and a little bigger circle of friends got together in the Sierras and spent the weekend celebrating Robby, our friendships, our lives, and getting to know others we never really knew that well. And of course, teasing each other relentlessly, which has been our way for 45+ years. Our friend Donovan had made t-shirts for us that said "Robby Day Day" on the front with his birthdate and passing date on the back.

However, it's not all ribbing and guy talk; we're vulnerable with each other, too. Willing to share our highlights and hopes, and our funkiness and fears. Two of us have stopped drinking alcohol. One never drank. Two are retired. One's had open-heart surgery. We talked and laughed and talked and laughed a lot more. I grilled the meats all weekend and Rob and I drove the pontoon boat on the lake.

We've been brothers to each other for decades, more so now than ever, and miss our brother Robby. We love each other and tell each other. I can't remember the countless phone calls with Robby where he'd end with "I love you, man", like the Paul Rudd and Jason Segel movie of the same name. They're friends who bond over their mutual adoration of the rock band Rush. Not too far off the mark for us either (especially for my friend Troy and me).

Robby was an empathic big-tent friend sharing big-tent friendships with many. That's one of the many things that made him special. That's why I love watching our own children becoming big-tent friends with others in their social circles in high school with the hope that they'll have similar life-long friendships. And not just in high school either. In college, the workplace, and wherever they go and whatever they do. I do and my wife Amy does, too.

So, here's to big-tent friendships and the toast I made with my friends when we were together in the Sierras (or something like this):

"Here’s to our torrid pasts, our playful presents (and presence), our bright futures — and to our friendships."

I love you guys. Blessings.

What I'm Grateful For

2026-09-06T11:38:09.234-07:00

It's less often these days when we all want to do the same thing. Each of us is their own unique person with separate interests. And that's okay.

My wife Amy and I are doing more things together without our kids. Our interests have overlapped for nearly 30 years since we met and we're revisiting some of them now that our kids are older.

We're not empty nesters yet; our kids are still in high school. It's the precursor to that: they are old enough and responsible enough to stay by themselves for a few days here and there and we can venture out on our own.

Our oldest Beatrice goes to bed earlier like Mom and Dad do, but our youngest Bryce is a night owl. Both are busy with school, choir, theater, volunteering, and babysitting. We're busy with work, Amy with PTA, and me with the school board. They have their friends and we have ours.

However, one very important "same thing" we do together is dinner. With the exceptions of Amy and I having an evening meeting, or if I'm traveling for work, dinner is and has always been a sacred time for us. Sacred because it's an opportunity for all of us to share our day's happenings, the highlights (and sometimes lowlights), to discuss current events, to plan family events, and most importantly, share what each of us are grateful for.

Ever since they were little, we've been sharing gratitude at dinner. Now that they're teens, sharing gratitude on a feeling-funky-off day isn't easy. Same goes for Mom and Dad. We have our own feeling-funky-off days, too. But it's non-negotiable; each one of us is required to share what they're grateful for, because there's always something to be grateful for. And because there's always something to be grateful for, it grounds us in the happy now, and what to look forward to in the potential of tomorrow.

There are times when our kids say they have nothing to share. But we're patient and they eventually share. Again, it's non-negotiable for a reason. It's helps us all to reset to the now again, that we're all together sharing a meal, sharing our days, sharing our love, and it makes no never mind on what happens next.

And what happens next after dinner can vary. After I do the dishes, I usually go play my drums in the garage. Amy and Bryce might what some TV together. Beatrice goes into her room to do homework.

Occasionally, we all do something together. After dinner last night, Bryce asked us all to go for a walk. We all concurred. It was a warm September late summer night; the kind we get a lot of this time of the year. Not only did all four of us want to go for a walk, our dog Jenny did, too. Dogs are always up for going for a walk.

Our cat Winston went with us, too. Not by choice, though. Bryce had wanted a cat backpack this year for their birthday and that's what they got. The first time Winston when in the backpack, he peed inside it. We didn't get upset because it was obviously stressful. He's an indoor cat and we rarely let him outside.

Since that first time, he's gotten used to it, and just sits and smells and looks around at the big outside world he's never really known. So, Bryce loaded him up, I connected the leash to Jenny's collar, and off we went for a post-dinner walk around the block.

As we walked and talked, the love for my family swelled my heart to the size of the setting sun. The setting sun we walked towards in the warm, pre-dusk evening. I didn't even want to take a picture, which I usually do (instead, I picked another sunset photo I've taken).

No, I just wanted to stay in this moment with my family. We made these two amazing humans, I thought, and now they're making their own amazing ways. And we all still love doing things together.

That's why I already know what I'm going to share tonight about what I'm grateful for.

Healthier Options Help Make the Grade

2026-08-30T14:18:22.018-07:00

I used to love cowboy bread. Except when it tasted like soap.

To be fair, most of the time it tasted great. I remember it was a basic sweet cake with a crumbly cinnamon-sugar topping. When I ate hot lunches in grade school, it was a treat to eat. But sometimes, when the cake pans weren't rinsed completely (or I assumed that was why), there was a soapy aftertaste to the bread.

Besides the cowboy bread, I loved eating hot lunches in grade school. Except for the peanut butter filled celery stalks. Celery stalks? Really? For me, it tasted of crispy tasteless blech. The peanut butter, though? I scraped that right out and ate it up!

I loved hot lunches so much that in sixth grade I volunteered to work in the cafeteria. Sixth graders could sign up to work in the cafeteria for two weeks. We helped serve food and we helped clean up. And the best part? We got seconds. I was a skinny, asthmatic kid back then, but I did gain a few pounds those two weeks.

All those TV-dinner-kind-of meals were mostly yummy to me back in the day. Salisbury steak, meatloaf smothered in brown gravy or ketchup glaze, rectangular pizza with ground beef and melted cheese, fish sticks served with a side of tartar sauce, sloppy joes on soft white hamburger buns, tuna noodle casserole or macaroni and cheese, hot dogs and grilled cheese sandwiches, all served with comfort food sides.

Although I'm sure we would've qualified back in 1970s for free school meals, my mom sent my sister and I to school each week with our lunch money, sometimes all in change. Mom also made us lunches to take to school, too. But once we started junior high and then high school, we were eating more fried foods and less healthy options. In high school, being able to go off campus to buy lunch was the way to go. I have fond memories of Frito boats (a small bag of Fritos cut open with chili, cheese, and onions dumped atop the crunchy corn chips) and Del Taco burritos, among other fast foods.

Eating healthy food for breakfast and lunch improves students' grades, boosts brain function, and increases school attendance. There's a ton of research that validates this. Since 2022, California has funded free breakfast and lunch in all public schools to all students through a state mandate backed by state funding and federal nutrition programs. Free to all students regardless of income level. No more stigmatizing low-income families whose kids would otherwise go hungry.

These free meals aren't guaranteed forever, but thankfully our state continues to make these investments in health and wellness for our children, even when the federal government continues to gut overall education. Only 9 states currently offer free meals for all public school students. Our kids have always enjoyed having healthier and yummy choices for breakfast, brunch, and lunch. They don't eat the school food every day, but it's there when they're hungry to keep their brains firing.

Besides being a parent, I'm also a school board trustee, and very proud of our award-winning food services team in our Santa Cruz City Schools district (and we get to eat the food, too!). They've also made the list of America's Healthiest Schools for four years in a row now. They source a lot of our food locally, focusing on local organic farms, local bakeries, and local meat vendors.

Also known as the SCCS Surf City Cafe, their staff ensures that breakfast, brunch, lunch, and even supper and after school snack programs throughout the district meet the needs of students and staff. They also run a farmers' market periodically at the high schools featuring local fruits and vegetables. And now there's a SCCS-led Central Coast Cooperative that helps more than 20 school districts combine their purchasing power to get better local ingredients and products for their schools. No more ultra-processed-only foods!

Now, I don't see cowboy bread on our school menus, but mercy me, there are lots of super yummies for all our students at all grade levels to choose from, K-12. True, our kids do still hit the gas station mini-mart for junkie snacks after school just like we did in high school. We're grateful they have healthier options at school, though. Healthier options that help make the grade!

The Show Must Go On

2026-08-23T16:30:51.611-07:00

The night before auditions, both our kids were stressed. For Beatrice, it was more anticipatory, positive stress. For Bryce, it was a foreboding, negative stress. I worried how this one would play out, because this time, Beatrice is the director making all the decisions along with the help of a teacher-advisor.

Both kids have been in theater for years, but our youngest Bryce got involved in theater and choir in middle school, and our oldest Beatrice not until high school. Now both are in high school and loving both.

However, with theater, both kids have had their gripes about not getting the parts they wanted. This isn't unique to our kids; anyone who tries out and does the best they can during the audition will be disappointed when they don't get the part they wanted. This will be true for their entire lives, whether that's auditioning for a part, applying for a job, asking for a promotion, and so many other adulting activities.

We were proud because they were always still all in no matter what they got. They enjoyed themselves and we've enjoyed all the productions they've been a part of. But as I wrote above, this time Beatrice is the director. We're super proud that she stepped up to do this her senior year, and besides working over the summer, she began to prep and plan about the play, which is a murder mystery. That's all we know and all we want to know because my wife Amy and I want to be surprised!

Beatrice has still run play things past us, filling us in on her planning and some of the characters, all without giving away the "whodunnit" part. The one thing we knew is that Beatrice would be (and is) very organized in the planning, the blocking, and who should get what part. Organized and fair. When you have a lot more people try out than what you have parts for, you have to get creative with how many more you can keep than those parts.

The thing I worried about the most was the fact that one of those auditioning students is her sibling, Bryce. Bryce kept themself calm as much as possible, but the week before the auditions for this fall's murder mystery, the pressure cooker cranked up to 11 (that's a Spinal Tap reference). Bryce lobbied hard for specific parts that had more lines. Beatrice, forever the optimist and already a great boundary setter and leader, kept her cool and kept reminding Bryce to go for it when they tried out, without promising anything.

Bryce was relentless but also self-deprecating, discounting their own acting abilities, riding that pre-audition stomach-curdling roller coaster. Beatrice remained composed with more emotional intelligence than I could have ever wished for when I was 17. Her positive excitement of picking out the cast and directing the play infected us all, even keeping Bryce smiling more than frowning. And Bryce, to their credit, has already given Beatrice some solid directing ideas (something they want to do in the future).

Thankfully they both made it through auditions intact. Beatrice and the teacher-advisor finalized the cast list, and Bryce landed a role they were more than happy with, based on their abilities, and not because of their sister the director. We all breathed a happy sigh of relief.

In life, the show must go on no matter what, and we're grateful that right now, our kids have got it going on (as the expression goes). We can't wait for the show!

Mindful of Their Money

2026-08-16T13:44:07.305-07:00

"...Big money goes around the world

Big money give and take

Big money done a power of good

Big money make mistakes..."

–Rush, Big Money

Our oldest Beatrice banked another big chunk of money. This was the third summer she's worked nearly full time as a camp counselor for a summer day camp in town. She loved working with the kids, but sometimes the days felt super long working with the 7- to 10-year-olds.

Another big chunk of money banked, though. Four years ago, we opened mutual funds accounts for both our kids and explained the importance of saving for the future, including college and/or other life expenses. We contribute to them monthly and encouraged Beatrice to contribute the majority of her summer earnings to the account. Plus, she'll continue to babysit during the school year for extra cash. Our youngest Bryce hasn't been old enough to get a job yet and will be able to soon. Babysitting will not be one of them. 😆

Both kids also receive an allowance for weekly home chores. Bryce would spend it all immediately if we didn't make them save some of it. Beatrice has been much better at saving/spending her allowance and job money. Now that she's driving, she's helping to pay for her car insurance, which doubled our monthly rate. We want her driving, but now we understand why some parents don't want their kids driving as a teenager. The cost of any kind of insurance these days is definitely a future rant post.

Financial literacy has been a priority for us to pass on to our kids. Something we didn't get much of growing up. Our parents did the best they could with what they had, and neither family had a lot, but we do wish we learned to be more fiscally responsible at an earlier age. I saved for my first car in high school and my parents co-signed a car loan for the rest of what I owed.

Things went south financially after high school. I did pay for most of my bumpy college ride, eventually and proudly receiving my degree. But, I began to sink myself deeper into credit card debt, which exponentially became worse during my first marriage. When I met my now wife Amy, I had no choice but to file for bankruptcy. The debt spiral I was in was of my own making (and my ex's). Since then, I've rebuilt my credit and we began saving for retirement and eventually our kids' futures.

Part of that savings is to have a few months of emergency cash just in case. Less than half of U.S. adults have emergency money saved, so we're very grateful we've been able to save, period. We've had some tough financial times in the nearly 30 years we've been together. Those weren't without fights and relationship strains either, but we've always worked together to figure out what we needed to do.

This is why financial literacy is so important for us and our kids. Beatrice met recently with our/her financial advisor, something that was unfathomable to me when I first met Amy. He explained how her money was being invested, what her return has been, and the importance of the longer-term investment strategy. Beatrice had relevant questions that he answered clearly and succinctly. We have no idea where financial adulting will take both our kids, but if we have anything to do with it, they'll be mindful of their money.

The First Day Is Never the Last

2026-08-09T13:38:03.840-07:00

"...From first to last
The peak is never passed
Something always fires the light
That gets in your eyes
One moment’s high
And glory rolls on by
Like a streak of lightening
That flashes and fades
In the summer sky..."

–Rush, Marathon

And then it's 11 years later.

From kindergarten and second grade to a sophomore and a senior in high school.

Every year I take nearly the same first-day-of-school photo with our two kids, Beatrice and Bryce. It's in front of our house, the same house my wife Amy and me have lived in for 20 years. I had decided back way back when the kids started school that I didn't want to do the kids-holding-sign thing stating what year and class they were in. Partly because I didn't want to stress our kids out by holding a sign; I just wanted to capture the easiest first-day-of-school pictures I could, while getting Bryce to smile without sticking their tongue out.

Every year I take nearly the same photo, and it's been a blessing to experience how our kids have grown over time. It's also a blessing that they still let me take the first-day-of-school pictures. And it's been a continuous blessing of how much they enjoy school, more so that they're both in high school. When they were younger, they couldn't wait to show us their classrooms during open house. However, the first day of school wasn't always the best, and middle school had its lumpy bumps as a beautiful mess in progress.

They've both found their community in high school theater and choir and couldn't wait this year for the first period of day 1, which was choir. We can't wait to watch the murder mystery play Beatrice is directing this fall and hear all the amazing choir concerts throughout the year. And then there's the choir festival next spring in Anaheim, which we'll again chaperone. The keyword here is Disney, of course. Hopefully Bryce will do another duet and/or solo this year, too. Plus, it's Beatrice's senior year. Nope, I'm not crying yet, but I will be.

It's 11 years later and our kids have grown exponentially, physically and emotionally. Yes, their prefrontal cortexes are still developing, but it's been a joy watching them develop while providing them nurturing guidance and becoming a stable through line to all their peaks and valleys.

That's why I'm quoting Rush lyrics again from one of my favorite writers (and drummers), Neil Peart, who passed away in 2020. Not only because I saw the band play again this year with their new amazing drummer, and will see them again this fall, because the music still profoundly inspires me 44 years after becoming a super fan. Marathon is one of my favorite songs (the song quote above), although when asked what my favorites are, my response today is "all of them". Marathon captures the beauty of life over time when you live it to your fullest without burning out:

"...You can do a lot in a lifetime
If you don’t burn out too fast
You can make the most of the distance
First you need endurance —
First you’ve got to last..."

You just need the mindful endurance to last and to treat every moment as a blessing. To not fear failure or become weighted with regret. To always be learning and trying new things, to stretch your innate capacity for elasticity while curbing complacency. To never diminish the soul's sunlight burning bright within by embracing love and empathy from birth to passing. Amy and I have practiced and embodied all these things since before our kids, and have done our best to impart on them since having kids.

It's 11 years later, the age of adulting is here, and ultimately their journey is theirs to live, not ours. It's true that any day can feel like a first day, but the first day is never the last.

Another Majestic Moment

2026-08-02T17:01:49.348-07:00

"...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.

The Don't Fall Mantra

2026-07-25T14:44:04.406-07:00

As I fell to the sidewalk, the only thing I could think of was us telling each other: "Don't fall."

My wife Amy and I have been sharing that mantra with each other for the past few years when we go for workout walks and mountain hikes. We feel healthy and are in pretty good shape, although I won't say "for our age". That's too limiting. Last year we bought matching shirts that said "A Little Fit / A Little Fat" that were a big hit at last year's Wharf to Wharf. We're older parents now with teens in tow and grateful we haven't had many debilitating injuries. Our kids are grateful, too.

I had knee surgery in 2014, which put an end to my running days. That was because of a torn meniscus that proved to be worse than the MRI showed. I had fallen a few times on runs prior to that, most likely damaging an already tearing meniscus. I recovered and moved on to walking and hiking. No bike riding, though. We've tried but just never became a biking family.

Last year Amy rolled her ankle on a hike. She was sore but thankfully wasn't out of commission too long. Second to "don't fall" is our rule of never taking your eyes off the road or trail we're walking on. Especially mountain trails. That's what she did, and her foot slid off a root she didn't see to anticipate adjusting her footing.

In 2017, I did have a bizarre infection health scare that I never fully understood at the time or since. One that put in the hospital for night and left me with an awkward and painful healing process. Our kids were much younger then but old enough to be worried. It certainly sucked but I eventually recovered.

Otherwise, we've each had other physical tweaks in our necks, backs, and knees. We recovered nicely from each of those, taking care of ourselves and not pushing it when we couldn't or shouldn't (except me at times unfortunately). Each time our kids remind us to slow down and take care of ourselves. I'm six years older than Amy and I was 42 when our oldest Beatrice was born and 44 when our youngest Bryce was born. When I look back at one of the earliest posts on Get Off The Ground about being an older parent, I have to smile.

The question is – do Amy and I worry about the fact we're older having children? Not really. I mean, yes, I imagine what it will be like, banking on the fact we'll be in pretty good shape mentally, emotionally and physically – along with having contingencies in place just in case. But no, we're not that worried about it at this point.

So, here we are. We've made it with falls and all.

"Don't fall." The words collided with my other thought in that moment -- How did I lose my balance? After walking our dog Jenny thousands of times over the past six years, I had never lost my balance. Until I did.

I had reached down to pick up Jenny's poop, just like the thousands of times before that, and instead of standing back up cleanly, I spun slowly and fell to the sidewalk onto my right side. I tried to break the fall with my hand holding Jenny's leash, but it didn't work. I'm lucky I didn't break my wrist trying. I felt my ribs compress upward and inward. It hurt. A lot.

I laid there for a moment, still holding the leash, and Jenny just stared at me, waiting to finish her walk. I stood up and was able to walk. The right side of my ribs were sore, but all my limbs were scrape free and intact. I finished the walk and told Amy what happened. A week later I went to get an X-ray that revealed I had a hairline fracture in one of my ribs. But two weeks after that I was healing just fine.

"Don't fall." The words continue to haunt me because now our kids are on me about it. And sure enough, less than three weeks after that fall, on one of our mountain hikes I tripped and strained my right foot under my big toe. The part where you push off when walking, running, or jumping. I don't run anymore, and I don't jump much, but I do walk. And play the drums.

I'm recovering from that now, but damn. It's like I need all the automated warning alarms built into our fussy EV. And even though my family thinks I'm still fussier than the car, I need to do better job of embodying the "don't fall" mantra and watch where the frick I'm going. All the time.

The Age of Adulting

2026-07-19T12:47:53.135-07:00

And then they were gone. For hours. Beatrice had driven away with Bryce in tow to go who knows where. Just to drive. To get something to eat. To hang out. I tried to not think about the fact that Beatrice now had her license and could drive by herself, much less drive with her sibling. But here we were.

I texted a few hours later and Beatrice said they were good. She's a safe driver, but still a new driver still, so the worries don't subside easily. Plus, you always have to worry about all the other crappy drivers out there on the roads no matter now seasoned and skilled you are.

It's exciting for her. It's helpful to us. It's bittersweet, nonetheless. Because adulting is happening faster now that she's driving, starting her senior year, evaluating colleges, and more. For my wife Amy and I, it turns the photo memories that come up on our phones of when both kids were little into loving reminisces.

Besides the driving lessons we paid for, Amy and I helped Beatrice practice for her driving test. We went through the driving checklists she'd have to answer and practiced driving near the DMV where the test would happen.

Amy took her the day of her driving test. I had work calls but kept in touch via text. Although they were on time, the driving tester wasn't, and they had to wait an extra 45 minutes before it was Beatrice's turn. She managed her stress, though; Amy and I were more frustrated for her, and me for both having to wait.

I remember the day I took my driving test at the DMV. My mom took me and was very supportive. My stress was palatable but the entire experience didn't take very long. And I had to parallel park, which they didn't require Beatrice to do. I did it all and passed the test. Afterwards, I held my temporary license tightly in my hand. My mom was supposed to drop me off at school and then go back to work. Instead, she drove all the way back home and told me I could take the car to school. My face flushed with freedom and independence and I still couldn't believe she let me drive to school.

Amy texted that Beatrice was finally with the driving tester. I felt confident she'd pass. I just hoped she stayed focused and confident.

About 20 minutes later, Beatrice texted us all proudly: "I PASSED!!"

The total increase in our car insurance premiums aside (crazy calculus!), we're grateful that Beatrice has her license now, and we're confident she'll continue to be a safe and sound driver. Bryce isn't too far behind and has already started driver training online. (And then more crazy insurance calculus.)

Hours later when they returned from Beatrice's first solo drive, all I could think about was our little babies who were little babies no more. Beatrice doesn't need us to take her places anymore. Soon Bryce won't either. There's still much for them to learn and experience, but the age of adulting is here to stay.

On Making Good Choices

2026-07-12T14:17:34.495-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Declaration

2026-07-05T14:00:06.209-07:00

(a poem in progress for America and our children)

250 years a union

Still here

Still imperfect

Still built on the backs

Of the Others without

And the Others of color

Of sexual preference

Of huddled masses

Wishing to become

More in today’s America

Yet the vanquished

Cry out for justice

And prosperity

Again and again

Fleeced

Forlorn

Forgotten

That privileged

Liberty longed for

Fought for

Died for

Since before

The reason

The Declaration

Was born

250 years a union

Still here

Still imperfect

Still driven by wealthy

Tyrannical cannibals

Devouring our trust

Our sovereignty

Our livelihoods

While backing the

Grifter King

The farcical despot

Who cares nothing

For our country or us

Volatile

Vindictive

Vapid

Like those we’ve

Staved off before

To prevent

The treason

The Declaration

Had warned

250 years a union

Still here

Still imperfect

Still populated

And differentiated

By class and status

Let us break

The caste of

That privileged

Liberty longed for

Well lit with hope for

Justice and prosperity

Of the people

For the people

By the people

No Others but all

Noting that hope

Without action

Is impotent sage

So let’s find our

Founders’ footing

Of all people

Created equal

And becoming more

In today’s America

Let’s revive

The reason

The Declaration

Was born

We Make Our Magic

2026-06-28T16:22:34.968-07:00

"...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

2026-06-21T14:31:02.392-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Full Oliver Friendships

2026-06-14T14:27:35.951-07:00

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

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

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

"Yes, Bryce. Yes I do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More Full Oliver:

All the Friendship in Between, with Love

A Spirit Breaking Free

Because There's Always A Promise

A Longing for Loving Connection

What Happens Next

Superman's Love Letter

Men of An Influencer Age

Making a Dent

A Long-Term Well-Being Win

Men of a Stand-up Age

Men of a Vulnerable Age

Able-Bodied Grateful

Men of Our Present Age

The #MeToo Guys

Men of a Women's Age

Men of a Consequential Age

Like Men Knowingly Bound to Their Future

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

Big Heart Love to My Class of 1984

Men of An Unremarkable Age

Being What Happens Next

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

The Rainbow Parade

2026-06-07T16:08:25.371-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love is love. Straight Corporate Pride allies and all.

Safe and Sound

2026-05-31T14:30:21.272-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let's take it from the top

2026-05-24T16:37:59.210-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We can't wait!

All of You

2026-05-17T14:52:13.105-07:00

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".

To Take Their Mother's Lead

2026-05-10T14:18:00.000-07:00

One of the best things we've done for our kids, besides the positive discipline parenting, the Kidpower parenting, the empathic parenting, is to let them be and become.

Meaning, to let them become who they already were, are, and will be.

Of course, we've had our own thoughts on what we've wanted them to become, but never at the expense of their own decision making. Their own mistakes. Their own regrets. They own successes.

A teen's prefrontal cortex is still in its infancy, and it has until later in the 20's to fully develop. This means that teens often rely on the amygdala, which is the emotional center, and that leads to heightened emotions, risk-taking, and impulsive behavior.

But that doesn't mean they can't learn the coping mechanisms they'll need to deal with the adulting stressors of life that have only just begun. Because it begins in childhood today, no matter how loving and supportive you are as parents.

Kids can be more resilient than most parents think they can. We struggled and stressed about our own kids' struggles and stresses about their own social anxieties and mental health. At some point, both have had their own breakthroughs; they've adapted, overcome, and are thriving. These are great personal leadership skills to develop and practice whatever those "anxieties" are. That includes us the parents getting them whatever supports and resources they may need at the time they need.

Kids can also know more about who they are and how they identify than most parents want to believe. That makes it hard for adults who have specific beliefs and ideologies about who their children are and who they should be. Sexual orientation and gender identity, for example. Our youngest was clear when they told us they were queer and identified as they/them. We've been nothing but supportive parents, and staunch allies, ever since. They were even nominated for a youth leadership award this year for the march they organized last year.

Before we wanted to have children, it was my wife Amy who opened me up to endless possibilities with our lives. To always look at life through eyes of love without judgement or shame. To learn and adapt as best I could. That was hard at first, but I got there.

When we changed our minds about children, then we were all in on being the best parents we could be. That they would learn to embrace and manifest endless possibilities that we believe in. That we would guide them and teach them as best we could. Again, they have to develop their own decision making. Make their own mistakes. Own their own successes. And hopefully learn to limit regrets.

That's a constant work in progress, and no matter what, one of the best things we've done for our kids is to let them be and become.

One of the best things I've done for myself and our kids is to take their mother's lead. For that, we are all grateful.

Happy Mother's Day.

Curbing the Bluto-Bloat

2026-05-03T12:03:00.000-07:00

Beatrice said I sounded like Popeye. The Sailor Man. The old cartoon from the 1930's that I watched in syndication growing up in the 1970's. Popeye the pipe-smoking protagonist who loved his sweetheart Olive Oyl and protected her against his nemesis Bluto, the bully who was constantly trying to take her away. Popeye was always the underdog until he ate his supercharged superhero food: a can of spinach.

Yes, kids. Eat your spinach so you can grow up to be big and strong...I didn't think either of our kids had ever watched Popeye.

"Do you know who Popeye is, Beatrice?" I asked her.

"He's a pirate," she said. "You sounded like a pirate."

I got so tickled I nearly spit up. I thought that was the funniest thing I had ever heard. Both our kids, Beatrice and Bryce, laughed because they realized why I laughed.

I caught my breath and said, "Nope, not a pirate. A sailor. Literally, 'Popeye the Sailor Man'. Toot-toot. That was the theme of the old cartoon." I say it for them.

"They both sailed the seas, Dad," Bryce said.

I snorted laughter. "True, but Popeye was a sailor, not a pirate. Now, do you know what made Popeye big a strong?"

I waited. It was now clear they didn't really know the Popeye cartoon, but I wouldn't stop this comedy train.

"Fish?" Beatrice said.

"And beans," Bryce added.

Another round of laughter between the three of us.

"What? Sailors eat fish," Beatrice said.

"And wouldn't you have cans of beans on a boat?" Bryce said.

I couldn't stop laughing. It was just so funny to me. So sweet and honest.

"Oh my, kids. That's so funny. No, Popeye would eat a can of spinach, get big and strong, handle the bad guy, Bluto, and save the girl, Olive Oyl."

"Spinach?" Beatrice said.

"Are you mansplaining Popeye, Dad?" Bryce said.

More laughter. The whole thing just kept cracking us up. I love these kids! It's since become an ongoing joke for us, what Popeye eats to get super-powered strong and fight the bully Bluto, instead of spinach. For example, I'll ask what everyone wants for dinner, and I'll hear the kids call out:

"Fish and beans!"

Goodness, we need more of this levity today. In a world filled with bullies and worse, sometimes I don't think there's enough supercharged spinach, fish, or beans in the world to curb the Bluto-bloat.

But our kids give us hope that there is. And laughter, too. Toot-toot.

Celebrate the Safety of Everyone

2026-04-26T14:50:00.000-07:00

Medieval Times reminded me of how we still like to be entertained by strong men and physical games. This was staged fighting, being a dinner show and faux tournament, and no one was purposely maimed or killed. But there was no mistaking physicality of the fighting and I'm sure the actors were exhausted after the show.

After our high school choirs participated in a music festival, we went to Medieval Times for the dinner show. The huge auditorium was divided into sections supporting specific color-coded knights. In addition to our two high schools, dozens of other high schools from multiple states added to the raucous cheering for their knights.

I know. It was only a show. Nobody died. The fighting was fake. We were very much entertained and the food was better than I thought it would be; we had to eat with our hands. Good times.

We always want to be entertained. Don't we? Today's professional sports feature both men and women battling it out with rabid fans cheering them on. The same with high school and college sports. I've loved sports in my life. Not so much now, but I still like to watch football now and again.

We celebrate champions and shame the losers. And because we like winning so much (I use the collective "we" loosely here knowing it's not everyone), we forgive the transgressors of their greater sins. Time and again it's the men who fall into this category considering thousands of years of patriarchy and misogyny.

Men in sports who harass, assault, rape, and perpetrate domestic violence on other women, usually girlfriends and spouses. Otherwise known as intimate partner violence. There have been many high-profile cases in the past two decades, and probably more so since the reporting of domestic violence, assault, and rape may be higher than it's ever been. And many of these athletes had little to no punishment and continued to play sports and receive paychecks for those who played professionally.

We want to be entertained regardless of who gets hurt. We want to win regardless.

Even with reporting supposedly up, it's impossible to exactly know how many men in sports have committed harassment, assault, and/or rape across professional, collegiate, and youth levels across the globe since 2000.

However, data indicates the number is in the thousands, with reports showing that 96% of perpetrators in these cases were male.

It's not just athletes. Men across the socioeconomic spectrum continue to be entrenched in our ongoing culture of patriarchy and misogyny. According to Jackson Katz, Ph.D., "They’re all men who were socialized into a misogynous culture that dehumanizes women, turns them into sexual commodities and licenses men to mistreat them." He was specifically talking about the men in the Epstein files and the men who raped Gisèle Pelicot in France, but this applies to all men from every facet of life.

Jackson Katz, Ph.D., is the co-founder of the Young Men Research Initiative and a prolific writer about violence against women. I've started his new book titled Every Man: Why Violence Against Women is a Men’s Issue, I've read and watched a lot of his work and can't wait to read his book.

Only 2%-10% of reported harassment, assault, and rape turn out to be false. But again, that's based on the victims who actually come forward and report the crimes. And too many of us still blame the victims in the end.

We celebrate the men and we shame the victims. Again, the collective "we" meaning society in general, but not everyone specifically. There are those of us who want to change the misogynous assault and rape culture that's so embedded in our lives from birth. Mr. Katz has also said, "If it takes a village to raise a child, it also takes a village to raise a rapist."

We can break the latter without sacrificing the former. And it all starts at the beginning. Only then can we celebrate the safety of everyone.

Because it's all "fire", dude

2026-04-19T13:48:00.000-07:00

I told our kids I really was in men's glee in junior high, and then in choir in high school. They wanted proof. High school was easy because, there I was, styling a tux in the yearbook pictures from freshmen through junior years.

But when I looked in my junior high yearbook, I wasn't in the group picture. Why I don't remember. Maybe I was at a math competition that day. Something else that would've conflicted with the taking of the group picture. Not only I wasn't in the picture, my name wasn't listed either. That was an unfortunate oversight somewhere along the line. Mr. Hannah, our junior high choir teacher, surely would've included my name in the listing.

"Dad, you weren't in men's glee; you're not in the picture," our youngest Bryce.

"Yes, I was," I protested. Why wasn't I in there? I thought.

"You're not in there, Dad," our oldest Beatrice said.

"C'mon, Dad," my wife Amy said.

"I thought you were an athlete, a brain, and in student government," Bryce said. "You were a nerd, Dad. Except when you were in detention. That was cool."

That's a story our kids love: the fact that when I was student body president, I received lunch detention for too many first period tardies. One of the other kids in detention has said to me, "Dude, aren't you the president?"

Yes. Yes, I was. The kids always laugh at that.

I continued to defend myself about being in men's glee. Then I had an idea -- I had a cassette recording from men's glee in junior high that Mr. Hannah had recorded and made for all of us and our families.

"I have proof," I said. "Listen to this."

I pushed play on the only working cassette player we have. Young teenage boys' voices sang an old standard like Erie Canal.

I stopped the tape. "See?" I said. "I was in men's glee."

The kids laughed. "How do we know you were one of them?"

Sigh. They weren't wrong. I really was in men's glee. No, really.

Today both our teens are in high school choir and love it -- and we love watching them sing! Bryce has been in choir since middle school and this is Beatrice's first year. Since last fall, they've been excited about their spring trip to a music festival in Anaheim, CA. And so have we.

Because Disneyland.

Don't get me wrong -- we really enjoy hearing all the kids sing. They are amazing. But c'mon, it's Disneyland. We've been taking our kids to Disneyland since they were three and five years old. So, we volunteered to be chaperones. Over 50 kids in total and 8 chaperones between two high schools.

It was wonderful listening to all the high school choirs sing throughout the festival day, especially our two high schools (and especially our kids' choir). There were over 30 choirs from multiple states that participated. Brilliant song choices and inspired singing. These music directors are doing amazing things with these kids who sounded more like professional adult singers than teens.

As a parent, it's been quite the bumpy joy ride living it all over again through our teens' experiences -- and all the kids on the choir festival trip. Their boisterous energy, anxieties, friendships, camaraderie, teasing, occasional indiscriminate F-bombs, and Gen Z slang flooded the bus on our way to the Anaheim music festival. Our high school choirs performed admirably and won all gold awards.

Amy and I and all the chaperones powered through with the kids, eating dinner with our hands at Medieval Times, cheering for all the choirs at the awards ceremony (with Mickey, Minnie, Merlin, and friends), finishing off the 10+ mile hike throughout Disney until it closed, and staying up until midnight each night doing room checks. We were all exhausted but elated on the bus ride home.

"Are you 'locked in', Dad?" Bryce said to me when we left, leveraging some Gen Z slang.

"It's 'fire', dude," I answered. It means something is really good, impressive, or exciting. That always makes our kids smile.

Because it's all "fire", dude. And that always makes us smile.