Month: January 2019

So, what’s your Wizard Tree?

I know what you’re thinking. And I can assure you I have not been hit on the head.

My hunch is you have a Wizard Tree. You just probably don’t call it that.

Our Wizard Tree is an actual tree. And as far as we can tell, also an actual wizard. It certainly looks like one.

We first saw the Wizard Tree when we moved from Aiken to Charleston. The kids were both a week away from starting sixth and ninth grades, and they were moving from the only home they’d ever known. It was a scary time filled lots of understandable anxiety. On one of the back highways we were taking during the move, we saw him: A gangly, vine-clad tree, limbs spread wide. We dubbed it the Wizard Tree, and decided the Wizard Tree would be one of our signature milestones whenever we traveled to and from. And so began our tradition.

We made a lot of trips between the two towns as we were moving, and we still thankfully make the round-trip on a regular basis. Sure, we have our usual, typical milestones along the way, such as an interstate truck stop we stop at every time because it is, as my wife once described it, “Just a nice place to stop.” (She’s right. Clean restrooms, an attached restaurant that sells fried chicken so it smells amazing, and a super nice staff.)

But everyone who passes that truck stop knows what it is. I feel confident that most folks pass right on by the Wizard Tree and never give it a second thought. But it’s become a special part in our family trips. It’s always there for us, and it’s a moment of collective family goofy fun.

Every time we pass the Wizard Tree, we as a car always give a high five to him. We remind the kids that he has our back, coming and going.

The kids always look forward to greeting the Wizard Tree. Well, almost always. One time, as we were heading to Aiken with our son and one of his friends, and we approached the Wizard Tree. And, as we always do, we both raised our hands and said, “WHAT’S UP, WIZARD TREE!”

From the back we saw our 15-year-old burying his head in his hands saying, “Ugghhhh!!!! NOOOO!!!” Joe Cool and his SOOOO embarrassing parents.

I glanced in the rearview mirror. As he showed his absolute horror at his awful parents’ nerdy behavior, he still threw a subtle high five. The Wizard Tree was cool with it.

After we passed it, we explained to his friend about the Wizard Tree. She said, “Cool!” Fun fact: She happily high-fived the Wizard Tree on the way back.

And, yes, I know that it is an exceptionally dorky thing to routinely air high five a tree. But it’s become our family thing. And I’m sure that your family has something, too. Or there was something when you were a child that was regularly part of your family routine. It’s a fun little comfort food to have in your life.

I don’t know how long the Wizard Tree will be standing. Every time we near it, I get a little nervous, wondering if we will take the turn and see that the Wizard has left his post. Of course, it’s been there for at least four years, so maybe he only looks frail, but is actually like Dumbledore and has a good couple of centuries left in him.

Whatever the case, the Wizard Tree will forever be a part of our family story, as he stood by the road, always there to high five us on our latest journey. Thanks, Wizard Tree. And may the next 200 years treat you well.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike or at www.mikeslife.us.

On the morning of my daughter’s 15th birthday, she insisted we be at the DMV the moment it opened so that she could get her permit as soon as possible.

On the morning of my son’s 15th birthday, well, it was a Saturday, so he probably slept in. I might have made mention of him being able to take the permit test, and his answer would have most likely been a shrug or a “Yeah, at some point, I guess.”

As the weeks and months passed, I would bring the topic up more often to him. Same response. At one point he asked me if we could just get a golf cart. He was a bit bummed when he found out those required licenses, too.

But fast forward 10 months later, and a switch flipped. I asked him if he had read the DMV book I had gotten for him in preparation for the test. He had that look all children do when they feel so much more hip and with-it that their parents. “Uh, they have a test app, dad.”

We went to the DMV prior to school. When I got there, I gave them the required documents, including birth certificate and social security card. When I handed them to the woman at the counter, she said, “Sir, these are two birth certificates, long and short.”

And indeed they were. I had merely glanced at the size of the small card and my brain said, “Good enough!” Not good enough. I went ahead and took him to school and told him we’d try again after that.

I came home and began going through drawers and folders where my wife keeps all of our important documents. I could not find his social security card. I called my wife and, in an exasperated tone, shared with her that I could not find the card and now he’s never going to get his permit and I’m going to be his personal chauffeur until he’s, like, 40.

My wife came home and let’s keep in mind – who ultimately found the card in a matter of maybe two minutes isn’t important.

Fast forward to that afternoon. I sat in the DMV office, watching my son start taking the test. It was rather excruciating, trying to read his emotions as he answered each question. I’d see a slight grimace, and then a subtle fist pump. If he cut eyes my direction, I’d look away so as not to make him nervous.

After about 10 minutes, he took a deep breath and stepped away from the testing machine. A smile. A nod. He passed.

A few minutes later, he had his new permit and was ready to get behind the wheel. As the DMV is located at a rather busy intersection and it was right at 5:00, I told him we would wait until we were back in the neighborhood before he took his maiden voyage as pilot.

I will continue to let him drive in less-than-crowded areas as he gets familiar, just as I did with our daughter. Charleston, SC, has some crazy traffic that, when it’s not standstill, can be less than fun to drive in, and certainly not the best place to cut your teeth initially.

He will also start driving lessons, something that is required by state and federal law. That may or may not be true, but my wife I decided years ago that we would treat that as gospel, so doesn’t really matter if it’s actually factually correct.

I’m just glad he finally mustered up the desire to get his permit. At this rate, thankfully, he should have his actual license well before he turns 40.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike or at www.mikeslife.us.

We’re not sure how old our dog, Maddux the Stoic, is. We think he’s around 9.

But I can assure you this: He is definitely now in the demographic of finicky old man.

We don’t know how old he is because he was a rescue. Maddux had a less than stellar start to his first (we guess) couple of years in life, but I’d like to think he has enjoyed his time with us.

I base this on a few observances over the years:

1. Since pretty much day one with us, Maddux has made himself quite at home.
2. If my wife is sitting anywhere in the house, he will make sure he is (a) sitting next to her and (b) resting his head on her shoulder, snoring loudly, except when…
3. There is a new person in the house, in which case he will make sure he is climbing up in their lap and pretending to be an 11-pound dog, rather than the 75 pounds of solid Boxer that he is.
4. If he goes out the front door without a leash, he pretty much stands there, with a look that says, “Um, aren’t you coming with me?”
5. We have numerous relatives and friends who have assured us that if we want to get rid of Maddux (we don’t), they’ll take him (they can’t).

Maddux is a unique dog, partly because I think he does not understand that he is a big dog. He is equal parts people and small dog, in his mind’s eye.

He is now our only dog, having been one of three at the start of his tenure. Now, it’s just him. And Father Time spares no one, Maddux included. But, in true Maddux fashion, he even faces aging in unique form.

Namely, it’s the morning walk.

Maddux has a couple of beds in our house, one in our den, and one in our bedroom. Those are his spots to chill, unless, of course, there is a human he can climb on to snuggle with.

Each night, when we head to bed, Maddux relocates himself to his bed and takes a few minutes to dig and claw at the blanket on his bed to get it just right. He then lies there until we are asleep, at which point he slips onto the bed for the rest of the evening, so I wake up most mornings with a big ol’ cuddly boxer with his head plopped on my shoulder, snoring his night away.

Used to be, in the mornings, we would just open the back door, and he would go out and do his business. A few months ago, everything changed.

A stroll out back would not do, thank you very much. Now, as I am getting my morning coffee, he will trail me, tap dancing wherever I am. And when I approach the leash hanging by the front door? Oh, it is game on, tap dancing times 100.

So we dutifully take our walk through the neighborhood each morning, and he spends his time walking as slowly as possible to ensure that he stops and checks out every dog that has come before him (spoiler alert: It’s a lot).

It’s actually a quite nice time, except when it’s raining, because – fun fact – boxers are allergic to water and it burns with the white-hot intensity of the sun. Either that or they are really wimps when it comes to water. One of the two.

I’m fine with the change in the morning routine. I don’t know if it comes with him just being an old man who wants to take a stroll with me. I enjoy our morning jaunts. Besides, when we get back, he can resume his normal routine of climbing in the lap of anyone who’s at the house. He may be in the twilight of his time, but I hope it is a long twilight, filled with as many morning walks and as many sniffs along the way as he deems necessary.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike or at www.mikeslife.us.

It took six years, but it appears the training is complete. It is time to send our son to join the circus.

Now, lest you think that’s just a horrible thing to say about your child, I think most folks who have met Parker are nodding their heads and saying, “Yeah, that seems about right.”

It started six years ago, when he was nine, and we got him a pogo stick for Christmas. It was only a few days later that he had mastered said stick and was doing most of his personal transportation via pogo stick. He also enjoyed playing basketball on the pogo stick and playing harmonica on it. Why? Because he’s Parker, that’s why.

Fast forward a few years, and he received a unicycle for Christmas. That was a big hit, and while it took a little more time than the pogo stick, he was quickly traversing the neighborhood predominantly on unicycle. As he would head off, often with his fishing pole slung over his shoulder, I would remind him, “Should you do anything that catches the eye of a concerned neighbor, it will be PRETTY easy for them to narrow down who exactly you are, as there aren’t a lot of fishing-pole-toting-unicyclers in the area.”

So this year, we are confident that he has completed his training, and there is nothing else we can do for him. To wit: He can now walk on stilts.

He received the stilts Christmas morning, and he said that he would put them aside and do some research on stilts and stilt safety, and perhaps schedule a class to learn about the nuances of stilt walking.

Kidding, of course. He immediately began strapping on the stilts, right in the middle of the den. I suggested he pump the brakes as (a) we needed to go outside to start the training and (b) no stilt walking inside. I am pleased to report he was perfect at adhering to the first rule.

We went outside and strung up his slackline. For those of you not familiar with a slackline, it’s a thin strip of trampoline-type material that you string up between trees, and you can walk it like a tightrope or bounce on it like a trampoline. More for the circus resume.

He had used the slack line to help learn the unicycle, stringing it higher than normal so that he could use it as a guide as he learned to balance. He would take the approach with the stilts. However, while it took a few weeks to master the unicycle, he took to the stilts a bit faster.

As in first try.

In no time, he was strolling around the front yard. He marched steadily over to the front porch, standing at what we would later measure at 7’4”, and noted that he could now help me get the Christmas lights up and down at the front of the house. No more ladder for decorations? I’ll take it!

He walked around the front yard for a good hour. I got a hoot watching cars slow down and check him out as he strolled around taller than Shaq. After a while, he was starting to get a bit tired, and he decided he’d take a break.

We headed inside, certain that the stilts would be shelved until the next day. My wife and I were sitting in the den, when we glanced back to the kitchen. And there came Shaq Parker, strolling along, checking out the tops of the cabinets. So much for rule (b).

So now that he can add this to his list of talents, I think it’s clear that he is destined for a life on the road. Time to find him the right circus to join. As soon as he helps me take down the Christmas decorations.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike or at www.mikeslife.us.

I didn’t know until recently who Strava is, but I can tell you this much – you’re no fun, Strava.

For those of you as in the dark as I was, Strava is a social network for runners and cyclists. I heard about them because I saw quite a few news stories pop up recently that said that Strava had determined that most people abandoned their New Year’s Resolutions by Jan. 12. Well that’s just throwing a wet blanket on folks trying to do better.

But Strava, the thing is, the reason so many people fail is because they often set unrealistic goals. Look, I get it. A lot of folks make resolutions they’re going to fail at. Go to the gym, go the church, quit smoking, stop betting your mortgage on a college football game. Of course you’re going to swing and miss within two weeks.

Which is why I encourage each and every one of you to adopt my approach on New Year’s Resolutions: Make ‘em achievable. You can pat yourself on the back 12 months from now when you have crushed it.

My first New Year’s Resolution, every year, is one I have been consistently successful at and I feel confident you can do, too. The following ones are ones that I am equally confident you can add to your list and make magic happen.

So, to that end, in 2019, I hope you will join me. I resolve to:

• Not rob a bank. I have never robbed a bank. I am confident I can keep this up, and I think you can, too. See? Jan. 12 will be no problem. On to others:
• Park awesome. I will park my car in between those lines like a champ, and I will not have a single moment in 2019 where another driver pulls into the grocery store, starts to park, realizes someone has parked awfully, and has to say, “Well, that’s the worst person ever.”
• Ask to speak to the manager. And not because you’re having a bad experience. Ask because you had a good host or waiter, or because your food was awesome. And after you tell the manager it was good, go online and give them a good review. If we reward awesome the way some people punish less-than-awesome, we’ll know where the awesome lives.
• Stop and appreciate the day. I was heading out the other day, and I noticed it was the most beautiful blue sky, without a cloud in the sky. It was lovely. And then I thought back to a day a week or so ago when it was pouring rain. And I thought about how nice it was to hunker down inside and enjoy the torrential downpour. Whatever the day presents, appreciate that nature is rather awesome.
• Make fudge. I learned how to make fudge in 2018, so now I just assume everyone should do the same. Seriously. Go make fudge. Your friends and family will love you for it. E-mail me. I’ll send you the best recipe.
• Wave. Not to everyone. That would be weird. But when you get let into a spot in traffic? Shoot that hand up out the window and tell your fellow traveler that you appreciate it.

So these are some easy ones you can conquer, and go well beyond Jan. 12. So go off into 2019 and tackle it and succeed the way I know you can. And, of course, put your shopping carts up. It makes the world a better place.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike or at www.mikeslife.us.