Sunday, July 5, 2015

Dad Life (The Movie)

The glow on their faces as they swirled and waved their sparklers was something out of an Americana  movie. 


The smoke in the air and the firework shows from several surrounding towns was the backdrop for this amazing visual. The addition of the delayed booms after the sight of lights dancing in the sky completed the opening scene to the movie.


Many people were celebrating Independence Day, but I was celebrating being a father. By far, my most favorite role in life and one that I truly feel I was born to play. I assure you, there is nothing better for a man. 


My 5 year old son asked me if I miss being a kid. I told him "every day of my life, but thank God I have you and your sister to make me feel like one".


Like almost any person on the other side of 40, I miss being a kid. I miss the innocence.  I miss the uncontrollable laughter and I miss the absence of the guard or front that grows as you get older.  I miss falling asleep in the backseat of the car and waking up in bed-wondering how the hell I got there.  (You can do this as an adult, but it requires large quantities of booze).


I look back at my childhood and have no regrets on the things that we did. We had an amazing time!  My duty is to make sure my kids get the full "kid experience" with all the bells and whistles that come along with it! Not forcing them into difficult life lessons that I learned at their age, yet not robbing them of those same moments if they organically occur. You gotta get burned by a sparkler in order to learn that they can hurt you. To take what you learned and remember it moving forward as you ask a grown up to light another one for you.


The theme of the day was freedom. Nothing more free than thinking like a child and enjoying this wonderful holiday with wide eyes, an open heart and childlike enthusiasm. Honestly, I do miss being a kid, but I love being a dad more than anything and I wouldn't trade one day of my life as a parent for a week of being a kid again. 


Merica. 

Sunday, June 21, 2015

The Life and Times of Deputy Doug!


Almost the entire time I was growing up it seemed like someone was living with us? My parents would have friends that were going through difficult times and those people always seemed to end up living in our guest bedroom or couch.

Wives would throw them out or they would lose their jobs or go through some sort of rough patch in life and they would find themselves sitting at our dinner table. They were all good people and my parents would never expose us to anyone that they didn't trust. You have to understand that my dad is a very intimidating man and feared by many, but deep down inside, had a soft spot for people who just needed a little help from time to time. Needless to say I called a lot of people I wasn't related to "uncle" while growing up.  It sounds more official and easier to explain when introducing these people to friends. "Uncle Rick" makes more sense than "This is Rick. His girlfriend through him out of the house and he lost his job, so he's staying with us till he gets back in his feet". Know what I mean?

When we first moved to Texas, one of the first friends my dad made was Doug. Doug and his wife and kids loved just around the corner and Doug worked with my dad. With Doug living around the corner, he and my dad drove to work together and because of all these conveniences, they naturally became drinking buddies. How he got the nickname "Deputy" is for another time and another story.

 Fast forward several years later... 

We moved away, Doug and his wife divorced and Doug moved in with us. You know the stories or see movies about people who become "broken"?   In short, that's what happened to Doug. A few years later, after he moved away to Houston, Doug died from what could be considered a mixture of alcohol and a broken heart. For reasons that I am still not sure about till this day, Doug's ashes were given to us. Not to his ex-wife. Not to his children, not to his family, but bequeathed to a group of his closest friends.

What to do with dead Doug's ashes?

 Doug loved Texas. In his youth he camped out for days and traveled the back roads of the hill country. He knew every hole in the wall bar in every county of central Texas and beyond. Doug had a very southern accent and after just 2 beers, he would get harder to understand and sound drunk-even when he wasn't. 

He was once thrown out of Luckenbach Texas by a bartender named Margie for sounding "too drunk". You gotta sound pretty drunk to get thrown out of a bar in Texas. Perhaps it was more because Doug was a terrible tipper? Doug getting thrown out, resulted in my dad and his friends having to leave as well. You can't let your buddy just sit in the car for hours and wait!  Well you can, but it's just not nice. This woman was a chip on his shoulder for years and my dad never pulled any punches when making fun of Doug while telling this story. Margie was about to receive a "gift" from Doug from beyond the grave. Doug's best friend Bo hatched an idea and decided to take some of Doug back to Luckenbach with him and to pay a visit to then woman that gave all of Doug's friends so much storytelling ammo.

Bo bellied up to the bar, ordered a beer and tipped the woman with a very special dollar bill. The same dollar bill, that just a few days prior, was dampened and then rolled in Doug's ashes. Only a close group of people know this story and to my knowledge, it has never been shared on this level till today.

We poured a little bit of Doug in the Pedernales River, in hopes that he would travel to the gulf and a little bit of Doug would end up in the folds of a bikini wearing spring breaker.

We bought a peach tree, Doug's favorite, and poured some of Doug in their as well. We shot guns into the hole and poured a little beer and whiskey in for good measure before planting the tree. We did a few other things with his remains, but nothing more epic than what I shared already. We still miss Deputy Doug, but we don't have to travel far to think of him.

When I see or hear stories about how families fight over what they want to do with the deceased or when they bury people or get them cremated, even if that person never wanted to get cremated or buried in a certain location, I always think about Doug. As we get older we tend to know more dead people so the thought crosses my mind more today than before. Doug had no plan for what would happen to him after he died; most likely because he died at such an early age. Nobody wanted him and his remains were left to a group of friends to deal with. Nobody fought over Doug and we all just agreed that his remains were our responsively and they would be scattered across all of Texas. No one place to come visit him in peace, but rather letting his spirit live on everywhere you looked. Knowing what a free spirit, go with the flow kind of guy he was, I am sure he is tickled by how we dispensed of his ashes. We would especially be happy to know that some of our actions were borderline illegal or had shades of bad intentions.

People, especially when they bury family members like parents and grandparents, try to make the whole thing about them. They bury a parent in a cemetery closer to them so they don't have to travel any farther than they need to visit the grave or they think that the last request of the deceased was stupid and instead, make the decision to do something they deemed more practical.

I think the final resting place should be determined by the decreased. If they want their ashes scattered under 2nd base of the little league field they played on 50 years ago, then it's up to us to see that this happens. If they want to be buried in a plot next to another family member in a particular city, we should honor that as well. If my wife passes before me and wants to be buried at a cemetery near the ocean, I would honor that. Even if my final resting place is 1000 miles away. Yes, It would be a burden on my kids to travel so far to see both of us, but if you look at it spiritually, it's not like people need a shrine to truly remember the people they love.

My family and I have lots of great stories about Doug and we never needed a stone to jog those memories. We don't need to physically travel to think about the people we love. We just need to think about them and smile.

I have 2 brothers and a grandmother buried next to each other in Blanco County and I miss them every day. They are an hour away and I pop in from time to time to squat down and pray for them or have a one sided conversation in my head. I miss them, but I don't feel guilty for not stopping by as often as I can.

People live on in your heart and the stories you tell. They say you die twice. Once when you leave this earth and once after the last person that knows you passes away. Through my stories and blogs, I hope to extend that second one for as long as I can.

Saturday, June 6, 2015

It Builds Character


Anything and everything that "built character" my siblings and I convinced ourselves that it was something we needed to do. My parents would use this phrase often to get us to do chores or tasks that were not always the most fun. Adding the phrase "it builds character" to tasks is the equivalent to saying "do this and you'll get a surprise" or in our case "do this and mom and dad won't beat you". 

Let me be clear. We thought it was all bullshit, but we still did it. We just needed to feel like we were getting something out of the chore. Kind of like when the car dealership gives you free oil changes for 2 years. "You just spent $30,000 with us so here's a few oil changes". You walk away feeling like you beat them and got the better end of the deal. We knew we were not going to get paid or awarded ice cream for doing the assignment, but it's always nice to feel like you're going to get something out of it-regardless if you actually do. In hindsight, these chores gave us tons of stories. When it comes to my brothers Michael and Jimmy, all I got left is stories.

Most of you reading this have probably never rotated a pile of wood in order to age the stack evenly. Let me guess, you have no clue what I am saying right?  It's when you have a long and tall pile of firewood and you take the wood on the bottom and put it on top and then take the wood on the top and put it on the bottom. This way, the pile ages and dries evenly. Not too dry and not too green when it burns. For my dad, who often referred to himself as his comic book avenger name "Captain Furnace" (he made us do this as well), this was important in the house heating process. Too much of each, dry or green, can eventually cause issues with your furnace. I'm guessing you never had to do this?  I'm betting that it’s not that important in the grand scheme of things, but again, it built character and if it did that, then it must be done! 

Michael and I would tackle this task the best way we knew how-we made a game out of it. Since we didn't own a wheelbarrow with an inflated wheel, we would have to move this wood from one fence line to the other by hand. The fences were about 40 yards from one another, so the process went like this-take the wood from the top of one stack and put it on the bottom of the newly created stack. You could always load your own arms up with wood and carry your logs from pile to pile or you could make a game out of it and that's just what we did.

While one kid had his arms out, the other would stack log after log into the cradle of the extended arms till the other kid started to buckle and then you loaded two more really fast, just to push the "human wheelbarrow" a little farther. The goal was to move as quickly as you could, from stack to stack, before the load would fall out of your arms. Often, like a Seeing Eye dog, we would have to guide each other during the 40 yard trip because the stack was above the level of your head. This "game" was a lot easier in the cold weather as warmer weather meant fire ant season. Nothing made you move faster than realizing you had an armload of ants.

No matter how strong I got, Michael could always lift more logs. Yes, he was older and bigger than me, but that's not why he could carry more wood. Michael had a "super power" that many never knew about.  As adults, we both grew to be about 5'9", but if you measured him from middle finger tip to middle finger tip, arms stretched out, Michael was 6'3". He was a human monkey! When it comes to boxing and carrying wood, both things he was better than me at, this length is very important. It also helped him hold things over our heads when he was being a jerk. (C'mon Patty!  Can't you reach it?).

Season after season we would rotate the pile so that we would be ready for a potential long winter. Yes, I grew up in Texas, so the amount of wood burned by "Captain Furnace" was not close to what people do in northern Michigan, but this was the only fuel we had when it came to heating our house for the winter.

How many things do you do each day that "build character"?  As adults are we still building character or do we feel, as a reward for surviving childhood, we have paid all the appropriate dues?  I am not trying to be the old man shaking his fist at the young kids running on the lawn or going too fast through the neighborhood, but are the kids these days getting the opportunities to build character?  Are we pushing them in a way to make them stronger mentally and physically?  Are we asking them to #Tryharder? Are we providing bonding opportunities that require them to come up with a creative way of making the time go by as a team (while still accomplishing the task)? Are we giving our kids or the next generation a pass because we are wanting them to have it better, but robbing them of the knowledge and experience that comes with the journey?  I know, a lot of questions to consider.

Although we knew our parents were using "builds character" to get us to feel like we were gaining something in exchange for accomplishing these tasks, we did put forth the effort to attack the chore.  We knew we were building something, but maybe didn’t quite yet have the maturity to actualize what that exactly was yet. Other phrases like "it will put hair on your chest" would probably accomplish the same thing, because what young boys don't want hair on their chest?  Yet, my parents were wise enough to know that a hairy chest would not have motivated my sister the same way. This was very forward thinking of them don't you think? 

Again, not to sound like an old man, but often kids and the early millennials today want to see the benefit or reward before they even start the task. They want to be assured that they are not being "tricked" into knowledge and want a copy of the test before they start to study. "Tell ya what, gimme the Cliff notes and maybe I'll read the book".  They want to learn, but they want a guarantee.  In some ways they are wiser than us, but I think for the most part they might be missing the whole point. 

Trust me, there are times I wish I knew the life lesson before I was forced to experience the journey. Honestly, what's the fun in that?  You have to actually stack the logs before you learn how many you can carry. You have to experience the "load" of life before you learn how much you can take.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

In my first 40 years


40. I have been dreading this number for years. No real reason why, just the thought of the number makes me wince a bit. When I was young, this was a number that you associated with the people you would consider to be old. This was the age that people started to become "out of touch". This was the number that you would tether to the phrase "midlife crisis".  This is the age my brother was when he died.

 With age comes wisdom or at least a perception of some sort of earned knowledge. At this age you should have at least leaned something that you could pass along to the next generation. This is the age you start to ignite any feelings of urgency towards any of your unfinished business or goals. The age where many start to doubt their place in this world and look to do something drastic that alters their current course.  All in all, it's just another number, but it's very Irish of me to apply additional gravity to it because it brings me one year closer to meeting my maker, yet at the same time, we celebrate.

I've learned a few things (or at least I think I have) in my first 40 years and I'll share a few with you.

 Love things. Find people, places and things to love. Don't give a shit if others don't feel the same way about these passions of yours. Your friends are your friends. Your oddities are your oddities. You don't need the validation of others in order for these things to be cool; these are your passions. Don't harshly criticize the passions of others. As long as these things aren't commonly considered terrible for you, they are ok to love. If you go a whole day without telling or showing someone that you love them, then you need to make changes in your life because you are missing out.

Don't wait for an opportunity to present itself for you to be kind. Extend kindness whenever and wherever you can.  You are never truly too busy to help. Often thinking you are busy is a sign of laziness and you should never let your lack of effort get in the way of doing the right thing.

Don't make apologies for who you are, where you came from and how you act. Also, don't allow your behavior to be something that others need to make excuses for.

 Give a shit. Just don't give so much shit that it drains your energy and doesn't allow you to focus on the bigger and more important things in life. Apply the proper amount of "shit" to each thing in life.

Know who your people are. Surround yourself with these people and don't be afraid to cut loose the cancerous people in your life. They will eventually find their own people, so don't feel too guilty about their loneliness.

40 years of living makes you an expert at one thing and that is how you lived your life. No amount of education or time in the chair allows you to be an expert at anything else.  Don't be a pompous know it all. Also, don't be so thick that you forget to remember to learn something new. Stop talking and let the world teach you things. It's hard, I know. You're never too young to learn new things or admit you are wrong.

Your family is weird. So is everyone else's family.  Know that.  Embrace it. We are all the black sheep.

Things happen the way they are supposed to. Everything always works out the way it should and no amount of swimming against the tide will prevent it. At the same time, don’t be so lax that they tide carries you out to sea.

You have it better than everyone else. No matter the pity party that you try to throw for yourself, deep down inside you have it good and it's important to acknowledge that. As I always tell my kids "NOBODY has more fun than us".

Life is really short and no matter how many different ways people tell you to live it to the fullest, we will all choose to squander much of it doing silly mindless things and that's ok. Just eventually make an effort to Pull the Trigger on the items on your bucket list.  Climbing a mountain when you are 50 is easier to do than when you are 80.

#Tryharder. Not just at parking your car correctly, but in other aspects of your life. Trust me, you have the energy and the time. Anyone who says they are too busy in life are liars and by saying that, it's actually a sign of laziness.

Be the kind of person you think you are and don't lie to yourself about being something you are not. If you are not who you want to be, then become who you want to be. No amount of addiction or roadblocks should prevent you from doing this. Be as good of a person as you are honestly capable of being. Do not set lofty expectations that you are not capable of living up to. Certainly push yourself, but understand that you will never be the Pope if you only go to church on holidays.

Take yourself seriously, but no so seriously that you can't be silly. I believe in myself and because of that, I have the confidence to unplug for a week at Disney and act like my kids-Mickey ears and all! 

Don't argue with idiots. You will never be able to bring them to your level, they will always drag you to theirs.

Keeping score in relationships will only make you a loser. Don't keep score, but always try to be the one giving more.

You're going to experience disappointment and pain. Life is going to punch you and punch you hard. Let it influence you, but don't let is negatively scar you. Being jaded is no way to live life.

Almost everything is a "laughing matter". There isn't a life event that I can't make a joke about. Why shouldn't we?  It's not deflection or avoidance, it's levity. In life, levity is very important.

Be sensitive, but don't be a big sissy baby. If you have to tip toe around everyone's feelings or others have to tip toe around you, then you are too sensitive. Toughen up. Others need to do the same. Super sensitive people get their feelings hurt too easily and because of that, they have few friends. In life, punches shouldn't have to be pulled.

Don't let the moment be bigger than it needs to be. Too often we get caught up and emotionally charged only to whip ourselves into an unnecessary frenzy.

#Tryharder to not think of the things you have lost or that you don't have. Turn around and take a look at where you came from and what you've brought to the world. It's not about the 10lbs you want to lose, it's about the 10lbs you already lost.  Try to focus on what if, the soon to come and what you have. Be humble, but celebrate with amazing swagger. 

40 Ain't nothing but a number…

Thursday, May 7, 2015

One punch. Just one punch.


Sometimes all you have to do is be remarkable one time.

Buster Douglass knocked out Mike Tyson in February of 1990. He became the first person to ever do this and it changed the world's perception of "Iron" Mike Tyson.  Tyson's previously untarnished 37-0 record came to an end. He became mortal in the eyes of the public and it really was a turning point in his fighting career. Buster, on the other hand, is merely a Jeopardy question these days as he never went on to becoming a great champion. He was remarkable once. He had an amazing punch, once.

Songwriters and musicians are often remarkable once. You write or sing one hit record and you can live off the royalties for the rest of your life. They may release 42 other albums and never have another hit, but they were remarkable once. Somewhere, in some city, there is a radio station doing a one hit wonders weekend and those bands are collecting rent money royalties because of it.

Sometimes, in life, it's just timing or a lucky punch. It's not always a series of successes or victories. Becoming "legendary" requires you to do one great thing at least one time. To defeat the naysayers, to slay Goliath, to accomplish something sizable and do it in such a way that people are forced to take notice; like writing the world’s most catchiest song. (Insert lyrics to "Achy Breaky Heart" here).

If you look back on your life you can probably think of one thing that makes you "legendary". If you have to think about it too hard, that means that your moment in the sun passed quickly or you are still waiting for your big moment to happen.  Maybe a little of both? At least when Douglass floored Tyson, he did it on a huge public stage and in doing that became a household name-at least in the 90s. He never had to fight anyone ever again. (He did however and lost).  His ego will forever be fed by the story of the one time he defeated the scariest man in boxing.

When you die, there will be one, maybe two, consistent stories told about you over and over again. Trust me, I know this from personal experience with the passing of my brother Michael. Although there are 1000s of great stories about him, people continue to tell the same ones back to me. I actually love it when they do, because each has an interpretation of their own and frankly I love hearing and feeling the love in those stories. Deep down inside, I do feel it's my job to share my stories and those about my brother with the world and I often do this through my blogs. They need to be shared, but mostly I do this so they never die. They live on. As his daughter gets older, she will need to know more about her dad and my archiving will help in the sharing of those stories. I too will get older and because of that memories may fade-so it’s important to journal them.

When your time is up in this world and you're called upon to leave, all others will really have of you will be your stories. As we get older, our memories tend to fade and dementia kicks in, so it becomes important that we share what we have with the world while we can. The stories about us will live longer than our bodies will allow us.

Make sure that the stories about you are truly legendary and not based on something unproductive or negative. Don't let the biggest thing about you be something others can watch on an episode of Cops. "Look Ma, there's Cousin Billy and his meth lab!  Why is he running?  We should be recording this"!!  

Yes, every family member can learn from the telling of the stories of the life and times of Cousin Billy the meth dealer, but I think it’s better that the accounts of your life are based on healthy and positive moments don't you? 

Make sure you are living a story worthy life. #Tryharder to ensure that the legend of you is worth telling. You don't have to beat the heavyweight champion of the world or write a song that becomes an anthem, but your contributions to this world should be as grand as you are capable of making the. By grand, they don't need to be played out on a stage, but they should influence the people and the lives you are a part of.       

Be the greatest version of yourself possible. Let your legacy and the legend of you live on. Ensure that those you leave behind will be able to tell beautiful and amazing stories about your life and contributions; because after we die, all others have to cling to are those stories.

 

 

 

Thursday, April 23, 2015

Tall Tales from a College Dorm Room



I had a roommate in college that could tell one hell of a story. He had this unique ability where he could tell you the same story three times, change the ending each time and you believed (or at least wanted to believe) that each version was true. It truly was a remarkable talent.

We sat through the bullshit of the story just to see where he was going to take us in the end; knowing we had just heard this same story 3 days ago. You wanted to believe it because he did such a great job of providing the visuals for the storyline.  He spoke in a matter of fact way, his punchlines were tight and the endings were so epic that they just had to be true.

He once told us a story about the time he and his twin brother stole a truck, ran from the cops, erased the serial numbers and repainted it so nobody could ever discover it was stolen. Yet, he didn't have a vehicle at college and when his brother came to visit, he drove a different truck than the one in the picture he showed us. Yes, he actually had a picture of the truck he supposedly stole. Yes, we knew it was a lie, but the story was amazing, so we just went with it.  You had to give him credit for being so dedicated to the lie that he had a picture of the truck in his wallet.

There was this one time when he supposedly hooked up with one of the hottest girls in the city. This girl was a 10!  She never denied it or spoke of it and because we were too afraid to ask her; we had to assume the story was real. How they met, where it happened and what he said to get her to say yes...His details were amazing and graphic!  Who could make this stuff up!?!  He could. There is no way he pulled that girl, but the story is now college legend, so it has to be true.

Sadly, he only lasted a year in college.  He had a hard time waking up in the morning and, for some reason, he was always scheduled for 8am classes. His advisers at school didn't seem to have his best interest in mind. Sleeping past 10am was a regular thing for him and since I was a sophomore, when all my roommates were freshman, and as the room elder it somehow became my job to wake him up in the morning so he wouldn't miss class. At some point his mother pulled me aside during a visit and asked me to please help her son wake up. I did everything I could.

We set four different alarm clocks and after they all were either turned off or left running for a minute or so; I would then bang on the door till he answered. Yes, this kid could sleep through four alarms and a door banging.  Sleep was more important than school and that's why school asked him to leave after only one year. Sadly his over the top story telling ability wasn't enough to keep him enrolled.

But man, he could tell a story.

Being more than a one trick pony is essential. You have to be able to contribute in multiple areas of life. I always joke about being average at pretty much everything and because I have limited skills in multiple areas of my life, it gives others the perception that I am somewhat "worldly".  I got a music scholarship before I learned to read music. I got my wife to think I was interesting and entertaining enough to go out with. The truth is that I am curious about many things and because I #Tryharder to be a focused listener of people that are passionate about their skills and hobbies, I take in a working knowledge of things that I have never personally done.

You should see the history on my cell phone of the random things I have looked up in an effort to gain knowledge. Yes, there are also things I have googled that I am not proud of and those are the things I erase from my history. Trust me, if I get hit by a bus tomorrow, I don't want my wife to see things like "Asian college girls with big boobs" in my search history. Those things get erased. Don't judge.

I never want to be at a loss for words or unable to contribute to a conversation or business meeting.  I never want to be without a learning opportunity or a fable that I can't site as an example of a life lesson for my children.  Every story I digest in my life is a brick in my wall of education and future contributions. Unlike my college friend that spun tall tale after tall tale, I want my knowledge to be based on believed truths and lessons learned. I also want to share that information with others and assist them in becoming more informed and equipped in life. I want to contribute and matter till the day I pass. I want to leave a lasting impression and have others remember the stories I shared. That's why I take the extra steps in putting my stories and life into blogs and later a book. That's why I haven't slept passed 7am in 20+ years.

My college friend didn't have the same desire to learn. He never had a fear of missing out or a curiosity for what the world had to offer once he opened his eyes and turned off the alarms. He was satisfied with telling exaggerated versions of amazing stories that supposedly happened at some point in his past and that is why he never flourished at the collegiate level. His past was more exciting than he perceived his future to be and the way I see it, nobody can move forward in life without the desire to embrace what's ahead and what could be.

Don't just be a teller of tall tales. Be a student of a curious life.



Thursday, April 9, 2015

My Wonder Years.


Today I was driving in South Austin and I stopped at a light. Suddenly, as I looked around, I realized that my surroundings were very familiar. The names of the businesses and the color of the buildings had changed, but the memories came rushing at me like a locomotive. I was in my old neighborhood.

The light turned green and instead of listening to Siri, telling me to turn left, I turned right. Although I had never driven the streets, I knew them well. The Safeway that is now a Sprouts.  The BBQ place that was now a Mexican restaurant. The neighborhood that was huge in the eyes of an 8 year old kid was now just a couple of blocks of strip malls and some older and more established houses that could use a bit of TLC.

I took a second right and recited the address aloud by memory. "6905 Cannon League Drive".  There it was, on the left hand side of the street, right across from the alleyway behind the strip mall. My family and I lived in this house from the time I was in 2nd grade though 5th.

There used to be a tree in the front yard that I would lay under and read the backs of baseball cards. Committing the card number, wins, home runs, batting average, jersey number and position to memory. I can't remember what my wife said to me 10 minutes ago, but I can tell you that Dale Murphy hit 36 home runs in 1983. 

On the sidewalk in front of the house, my brothers and I would build some sweet ramps to do some kick ass jumps off of. Mike once jumped his bike and ran over Jimmy's leg. His leg was fine and nothing got broke, but Jimmy did shout the phrase "I need a new knee" over and over again till we all started to laugh. Mom took away our cement blocks and wood after that.

My sister was the only one of us that didn't have to share a room. Well, because she was the only girl. In the back bedroom, while Jimmy slept, Michael and I would throw water on each other and frog each other's arms to stay awake long enough to watch Elvira on the weekend. We all got measles and head lice at the same time and Jimmy and I slept in bunk beds that my mom built from scrap lumber that my dad brought home from various construction jobs.

In the kitchen we had, what was meant to be, an outdoor picnic table with one of those floral print plastic table covers. This was the only way all 6 of us could eat dinner at the same time.  In the den was a record player and I remember setting the needle on records by Bobby Bare, Hoyt Axton, Hank Jr. and any other artist my dad wanted to hear, at volume level 11, after he got off work on Friday nights. Possibly the start of my DJ career?

One time, an older neighborhood kid picked on me and my brother Michael chased him down to his house. The kid closed the screen door and stuck his tongue out at Michael. Michael then punched the kid through the screen. 45 minutes later I got to meet my first police officer as he sat, at our picnic table in the kitchen, explaining to my brother that maybe doing that wasn't the best idea. My dad drank a beer in front of the cop and I can only imagine that this was some strange form of rebellion. My father had punched his share of kids back when he was Michael's age and I am sure that his father drank a beer when the cops knocked on his door.

I started my first business in this neighborhood when I was 8. I put up signs and went door to door asking people if I could rake their yard for a dollar. I would collect the leaves and bring them back to my front yard so we could jump in them later. In true Tom Sawyer fashion, I got smarter and convinced a few other kids to do the work for me. I took 50 cents and they split the rest between them. They were my (well my dad's) rakes and I brokered the deal, so I felt validated to take the most money. At age 8 I was a yard raking Forman!  My dad realized that our yard was the dumping ground for the leaves and shut down my business before it really got off the ground. At least I had the best pile of leaves to jump into for a few days before being forced to bag them and set them by the curb.

Neighborhood kids would come over to play football in our backyard because it was on a corner lot and that made it the biggest yard on the block. The cement patios framed the field and represented the foul lines. While taking this detour today, I realized that my yard wasn’t as big as I imagined it to be.  I recall it taking forever to run from the backyard to the back fence.  At glance, from my now adult perspective, that trip is now about 10 large grownup sized steps.

I was allowed to ride around the block by myself and bicycles were the only form of after school transportation. I could be gone for hours and nobody would ever wonder or worry.

At 9, I was old enough to pick my younger brother Jimmy up from daycare and walk with him the additional 1.3 miles to our home.  This was a few minutes before my brother and sister would get home from school and just enough time to grab a quick snack. I opened the front door with a key that I wore on a string around my neck. I never really heard the phrase "latchkey kid" till I went to college, but I guess that's what I was.

We would chase down the ice cream truck in the summer.  If we missed him, we would ride our bikes fast, stop and listen and then ride fast again. If we caught him, my dad insisted we got him something as well.

Michael and I would jog to 7-11 on Sunday morning, with every quarter we owned, just to play the Punch-Out arcade game. (Punch-Out! Not the Mike Tyson version). We were pissed when they changed it out for another arcade game. We stopped jogging after that and settled for the Atari and the 13" black and white TV that sat in our bedroom closet. Although my dad knew we had one, he would get pissed when he saw us play it if there was daylight outside.

Halloween was during football season, so in order to save money, we would dress as football players when we trick or treated.

Juan Padilla's mom didn't speak a word of English and would yell into our backyard around dinnertime. We always assumed he was in trouble because she always sounded so pissed off and Juan would leave our yard with his head down. Juan could never hit my fastball and that too would piss him off.

Our dog Katie would escape from the backyard at least once a week and one of those escapes produced several puppies that were birthed in a cardboard box in our backyard. I used the skills I perfected from asking neighbors if I could rake their yards to help give the puppies away. Soon, several people in our neighborhood had black and white puppies. Katie later got fixed and I didn't really know what that meant, but assumed it was something she needed to get done.

I got in my first fight, had my first kiss, picked up my first scars and created countless first time memories that could fill pages and pages of a book based on the first 10 years of my life. 

This life occurred before I was forced to learn about sex. Before the truth about Santa Clause. Before my confidence was ever rattled and before I was forced to learn about mortality and the loss of a brother. Now brothers. Before life forced me to #Tryharder.
These were my Wonder Years.