When I was a kid, I played one year of football. I was probably about 10, and I was a small kid. I quickly learned that having much larger kids run you over was not fun, even if you had pads on.
When I got to college, I was introduced to flag football, which is football for people who don’t like to be crushed by larger people. Being small and quick is advantageous, as the way to down a player in flag football is to grab a flag off of a belt, not knock the person into a different week.
The pool and I are having a disagreement.
I believe a swimming pool should be a crystal clear place of refreshing dips and a producer of delightful childhood memories.
My pool believes it is a murky, mysterious pond, one where kids dare not venture lest they be eaten by the inevitable swamp beast lurking beneath.
Deep. Fry. Everything.
This past weekend was a foray into a world of deep-fried deliciousness. And, for a little while, deep-fried regret.
I ventured into my deep-fried adventure during Aiken’s Makin, the annual craft fair in my hometown. While crafts are aplenty, I head there every year for one reason – my wife makes me go.
I’m sure you’re like me, and you recently had a meat nap interrupted by a mouse.
Lest you think I am just stringing together random words, let me explain.
I was asked to judge a barbecue contest. And I think we can all agree the single greatest question anyone can be asked is, “Would you like to come eat a whole bunch of barbecue?”
I’ve always been the laundry guy in our house.
I’m good at it (even though it’s not that difficult), and I actually kinda like it. I wash copious amounts of clothes and dry them, leaving them in a big pile by the dryer. At that point, I turn on a good movie or a football game and mindlessly fold enough clothes to outfit everyone in Toledo.
Bike Boot Camp was a success.
The goal of Bike Boot Camp was to get my two 6-year-old nephews, Nick and Sam, off of their training wheels and into the wide-open world of two-wheeled freedom. The idea of the intense, no-fail-allowed sessions was the brainstorm of my dad, who would serve as the Drill Sergeant for this exercise. We were at a family trip down at the beach, so we opted for low tide, which could give us the maximum amount of easy riding beach before someone plunged into the Atlantic Ocean.
One would think the simple act of reaching down to pick up your keys would not send you reeling back in pain and create a cascade of blood down your face.
Mainly, you would think that because rarely when you pick up a dropped item do you get your head split open.
So, you’re a teenager now.
Yes, Allison Nicole, you have finally reached the mountaintop you have eyed for so long. No longer will you have to say you’re “almost a teenager.” You are there. Congratulations.
If there is one thing I can say about a week at the beach with my entire family, it’s, “Wow, that was an incredible amount of family time!”
That sentence can be taken two very different ways. For those of you who don’t get to connect with your family on a regular basis, you may be pining for a family reunion or a Thanksgiving or Christmas holiday, thinking, “Gosh, I wish we could get together more often.”
Whenever my kids get into it, I am quick to point out that siblings do not treat each other that way. They treat each other with love, kindness and respect. And then I look around to make sure my three older sisters aren’t standing around, possibly bursting into uncontrollable laughter.