Author: Mike Gibbons

(Don’t) back that car up

There are a lot of things people enjoy that I just don’t get.

For example, I don’t understand why new pop music is so popular, despite my daughter’s affinity for it. (I’m more of a The Police guy.)

I also don’t get why new country music is popular, despite my wife’s affinity for it. (I’m more of a George Strait guy.)

And I have no idea of the appeal of new rap, despite my son’s affinity for it. (I’m more of a Run-DMC guy.)

So, what we have learned is that I have diverse music taste, and harumph at new things. But it doesn’t bother me if other people like those things, because, hey, you be you.

I try to live my life in a manner in which I try to do the right thing in life and hopefully have a positive impact on the world. If other folks are doing things that aren’t necessarily my cup of tea, then fine, so long as it doesn’t have negative impact on others.

Which is why I’m having a tough time with folks who back into parking spaces.

It makes no sense to me. It takes way more time than just pulling in normally. And sure, while you may be able to zoom on out of your parking spot when you are ready to leave, the amount of time it takes you to navigate into the spot in the first place is way more than the amount of time it takes you to back out into a wide-open parking lot. I can confirm this is true, because I once timed this with a co-worker. Despite my very scientific findings, she refused to concede the normal way was more efficient.

But no harm, right? After all, how did it actually affect me if she backed in? It didn’t.

But then a couple of instances happened where folks backing into parking spaces DID impact me, which leads me to the conclusion that, if you are going to back into your spot, you’ve got to give in on a few items.

First off, you can’t get mad at me because you passed a spot and I pulled into it. This happened recently when my family and I were heading to dinner. A car was in front of us and cruised on past an open spot. I swung on in and parked the car. As I got out, the driver, his car still in reverse, made a comment to me that somewhat impugned my character. He put the car in drive and zoomed off, backing into a spot a few yards away. I approached his car, and when he got out, I said, “Hey, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t realize you were backing into that spot.” His response was less than warm.

Second, you can’t hold up the flow of traffic to back into a spot. This happened at the grocery store recently. I was the middle car in a pack of five heading into the lot. There was a stop sign, and I was about five feet short of being able to turn into an open spot that the first two cars had passed. As traffic started to move, I went to turn in. The car in front of me pulled up a few feet, and then put the car in reverse. We were both about equal ways into the spot when she saw me, paused for a second, then waved, put the car in drive and headed on for greener parking lot pastures.

So at least she got that I had claim on that spot. But it really never should have been an issue. Cars behind you? Don’t even consider backing into a spot.

I know this may seem like a petty thing. But it’s the little things in life you can do that make the world better. If we all just try and keep the world moving forward in a positive direction, it will all be good. And at the end of the day, we can kick back, relax, and listen to a really diverse playlist that includes The Police, Run-DMC and George Strait. But none of that new stuff. Harumph.

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.

Family

Technically speaking

Well, technically, my team lost.

The event we lost was a scavenger hunt. Now it may have been a while since you took part in a scavenger hunt, but I assure you, if the competitive gene is strong in you, I highly recommend you take part the next time the opportunity presents itself. Or, even create one yourself. It’s worth it.

We were out at my folks’ cabin to celebrate my son’s 15th birthday. The cabin is nestled on 100 acres of woods and swampland, and is a favorite rallying place for my family. My son decided it would be fun to do a nature scavenger hunt. Hey, your birthday. Let’s do it.

He developed a list of things we would hunt. Among the items:

Five pine cones bigger than a fist
A feather
Picture of a salamander
Video of a team member climbing a tree at least 10 feet high
Animal track
A bone
Something shaped like the letter “E”
And about a dozen other things

My son said he and his cousin, Nick, would be team captains and would hold a draft. My son had the first pick in the draft. So naturally his first pick was … not me? What? He picked his cousin Sam. Surely I would be Nick’s first pick. Nope. Aunt Laura. Well, time to join Parker’s team. Nope. Uncle Ron. Oh, so this is how it is? I was picked last by Nick, setting the two teams.

Before we started on our quest, I made a pronouncement: My mom would be the judge of whether things would be accepted (as no one can overrule Judge Grandma), and we were enacting the “Well, Technically” Doctrine.

That is a piece of international law that states when, in taking part in things intended to be fun, you cannot skate on technicalities. We are going with the spirit of the law, and you can’t bring back a footprint you just made and call that an animal track. Judge Grandma would rule those out.

And off we set. Ron, Sam and Parker set off in one direction, and we set off in another. Laura, Nick and I were gradually adding an item here or there, and spending a good chunk our time being wiseguys and seeing how we could test the limits of “Well, technically.”

Soon, we arrived at a large tree that was tilted up at about a 45-degree angle. I stood under the tree, and estimated it to go up at least 10 feet high. “Hey, Nick, climb that tree and I’ll video it,” I said.

I turned to Laura, my oldest sister. I said to her, “It’s probably a good thing Susan (Nick’s mom) isn’t on our team, or one of us would be climbing the tree.” Upon seeing the video a while later, Susan confirmed that was the case.

We continued to mosey about being our funny selves, slowly adding to our collection. And then we arrived at a spot where we could see a big, open field. And we saw Ron, Parker and Sam sprinting across the field, stopping only briefly to check off items on their list. And that’s when the Gibbons competitive gene kicked in. The three of us began sprinting back toward the cabin. “E! Find something that looks like an E! And where are the pine cones!?!?!?”

Both teams arrived back at the cabin after the 30-minute time limit mark. The whole family gathered to check off the items that Judge Grandma ruled as admissible. Admittedly, we were amazed that, after some deliberation, she allowed the lettering on a Home Depot bucket to count as something shaped like an “E.”

Alas, at the final tally, my team fell short, 13-12. Begrudgingly, I acknowledge that Sam, Parker and Ron won the scavenger hunt. Well, technically.

Animals Family

Fowl play

I was leaving the grocery store recently when my wife called. I answered and she said, “YOU NEED TO COME HOME. NOW.”

Based on this tone, this was not something I had done. I knew this, because that tone was not the one someone would use had I, say, left the toilet seat up. That’s the tone for someone who has just been caught replacing the dining room furniture with a video game arcade. And I knew I had not committed any egregious acts, so it had to be something I had not done, but needed to take care of.

“What’s wrong?”

“There is a BIRD in the house.”

Uh-oh. Now, my wife is a very patient woman, and very understanding that we are a family of animal lovers. She has evolved immensely over the years as snakes and lizards and possums and such have made their way into our house. But she draws the line at birds. They are welcome at the feeders. They can nest in the boxes. But they better stay outside. And this one had not.

I told her I would head that way. I asked her what kind of bird it was and where it was. “I don’t know because I’m outside,” was her very direct response. She then said, “My computer bag is inside and I have a work call in 15 minutes. You need to COME HOME NOW.”

The grocery store is just across the street, so normally this wouldn’t be a problem. However, I had just dropped our son off to go fishing a few blocks away. If I went home for a bird rescue without him, he would be devastated. “I need to get Parker first,” I said. She reminded me that the clock was ticking and that there was a BIRD IN THE HOUSE!

I drove to where Parker was fishing and rolled down the window. “There’s a bird in the house.”

As if we had rehearsed this 100 times, Parker quickly packed up his fishing gear and sprinted to the car.

As we were pulling into the neighborhood, my phone rang. I looked at the screen. It read “Parker’s phone.”

I looked at Parker and showed it to him. He put his hands in both pockets and said, “Where’s my phone!?!?!”

I answered the call. A voice on the other end said, “Hi, I found this phone on the road…”

I swung around and turned back toward the fishing spot. I called my wife. She skipped the usual “hello” and answered with, “WHERE ARE YOU!?!?”

I responded, “I need you to not freak out…” I told her that Parker had dropped his phone and we would be there as soon as possible. Her silence was not one of a pleased person. Tick-tock. Tick-tock

We arrived at the fishing spot and a nice young man was waiting for us with the phone. We gave a very quick, “Thank you thank you thank you!” and then made our way back to the neighborhood a second time.

We pulled into the driveway and my wife was sitting on the front porch She was wearing sunglasses, which meant I could not see the daggers she was no doubt shooting into me.

We sprinted inside to confront our avian invader. Nothing. Not a thing. Just a backdoor that I had left wide open earlier during the very pleasant day. We checked the house twice. Disappointed, we went outside. “It’s gone,” I said.

“Go check again.”

We did. Nothing. Later that night, as my wife was planning to head upstairs for bed, she turned to me and said, “If I get upstairs and find a bird…”

She didn’t finish the sentence, but my guess is she would have been less mad had she gone upstairs and found I had replaced our bedroom furniture with a video game arcade.

Childhood Family

Permit me to be terrified

Post author By Mike Gibbons
Post date March 8, 2018
No Comments on Permit me to be terrified

Disclaimer: This column is not about guns or gun laws. Yes, it starts with a mention of the gun debate as a jumping off point, but please don’t stop reading just because you see the word gun. I don’t do politics in this column, and never have. The most controversial subject I have tackled was the grand debate raging through our home on the proper way to eat corn on the cob. (The correct answer is typewriter style, not the barbaric way of corn cob rotation that my wife continues to try and indoctrinate our poor children with.) Now, to the column:

One of the talking points that comes up in gun discussions is raising the age of purchase to 21. A common rebuttal is, “Should we raise the driving age to 21, too?”

To which I immediately think, “YES! At least 21. How about 30? Can we do 30?”

I realize this is my knee-jerk reaction because, in less than two weeks, my son will be eligible for a learner’s permit. You know, that thing that means you are legally allowed to operate a car. An actual car. Yes, the state of South Carolina is going to be a-ok with that, assuming he can pass a written test.

This is the person who often cannot find his shoes, and when he does, they are often not in the same room, and have even been on entirely different properties.

This is the person who recently asked me if he could hide in the attic and sit above his sister’s room until she and her friends got there so he could pretend the house was haunted. (Answer: No, because your mother is home.)

And now this is the person who will be able to drive a car? Oh, lawdy.

In all fairness to him, I believe he does understand the big responsibility of being in charge of a car. And he is surprisingly risk averse when it comes to speed. Roller coasters? No thank you, for him. I am hoping that applies to when he is behind the wheel as well.

Initially, he was rather indifferent about nearing the legal age to drive. That is quite the opposite of his sister, who was there when the DMV opened the first morning she was eligible to take the test. Same with when it came time to get her actual license.

But he was kind of meh about the whole thing. We weren’t going to push it, because if he wanted to kick that can down the road, fine by us (and our insurance premium).

But the other day, we were driving along and he said, “Dad, want to hear something terrifying?”

My answer, of course, was, “What have you done?”

He said, “No, nothing. I think. But this is terrifying: In two weeks, I can get my permit.”

Terrifying indeed.

My guess? It occurred to him that, with a driver’s license, he has vastly expanded his potential fishing holes. He’s nothing if not pragmatic.

So this week I will go to the DMV and get him the study guide to take his test. When I told him that, he was thrilled that he was going to have to actually study for it. “Do you think I could just take it without studying?” I considered saying yes for a second, guaranteeing he wouldn’t pass that way. But that would be wrong for multiple reasons, so I said, “Trust me. You need to study the guide to pass the test.”

So fairly soon, I will take our freshly minted 15-year-old to take his learner’s permit test. But I’m OK if wants to hold off. I can take him when he’s a bit older. Say, 30.

Uncategorized

Dear Mr. Bud Light man…

My son and I were heading down a dirt road to one of our favorite hiking spots when he asked me a question.

“Dad, why do people shoot signs?”

He was referring to a road sign that was scarred up from gunshot. My answer, “I have no idea.”

I should have answered, “Because Mr. Bud Light man doesn’t care about things.”

Stay with me here.

A short while later, we encountered a post on the side of the road. On top of the post was a tall Bud Light can, with an orange flag sticking out of the top. A sign was nailed to the post. It read:

“Dear Mr. Bud Light man and others who dump their trash here… Please stop trashing our National Forest.” It goes on to point out a nearby recycling center that is a mere three minutes away, and shares was it the penalties for littering in the forest. It concludes by saying, “Thank you for your understanding and please help us protect and preserve this incredible resource.”

While the sign made us chuckle, I’m unfortunately pretty sure Mr. Bud Light man won’t read it, and even if he did, he wouldn’t care. He’s the same guy who shoots a sign. He doesn’t care. He lives his life how he wants to, and he doesn’t give a lick about how it might affect others.

Basically, Mr. Bud Light man is embodiment of “This is why we can’t have nice things.” We have laws because people consistently do things they shouldn’t. A threat of a fine or imprisonment for illegal dumping and littering really has zero impact on me, as I personally would never consider doing such a thing. And it boggles the mind that someone would. But sure enough, it not only has happened, but happens enough we have to actually have laws saying, in essence, “Yeah, if you could not leave your beer cans out in the woods that would be swell.”

And it’s not just laws that this creates. It also ruins really good things in life we all could enjoy, but Mr. Bud Light man likes to ruin them.

Case in point: The awesome L.L. Bean return policy. They used to have a lifetime satisfaction policy. I was the beneficiary of said policy. I have a pair of duck boots I got in the late 80s. About a decade later, one of the soles began to come apart from the shoe. I sent them to L.L. Bean, and they fixed them. I still have those boots to this day. But Mr. Bud Light man decided to take advantage of this policy, and began buying L.L. Bean products from thrift shops and garage sales, returning them to be fixed, and then selling them. They were essentially flipping duck boots, for crying out loud.

And so L.L. Bean said enough. Now, it’s a one-year return policy, and you have to have the receipt. Thanks, Mr. Bud Light man!

It’s unfortunate we live amongst people who really don’t care about anything, or the consequences of their actions, in particular on others. I personally would not want to live that way, as I feel certain it eats away at your very core to be that kind of person. (Fun fact that I guarantee is 100 percent true: Mr. Bud Light man has never returned a grocery cart to a corral in his life.)

But maybe there is some hope. Maybe there are more of us than him. Maybe the person who put up that sign is one of many, and Mr. Bud Light man is the exception. If we all commit to taking care of the things in our life and not just trashing the world (figuratively and literally) we can stem the tide of all of the Mr. Bud Light men. In the meantime, let’s all just hope my duck boots keep on trucking.

Childhood Family

I want to ride my unicycle, I want to ride my … unicycle

Post author By Mike Gibbons
Post date February 26, 2018
No Comments on I want to ride my unicycle, I want to ride my … unicycle

Prior to becoming a parent, there are plenty of sentences I had never uttered. In fact, I had never even considered saying plenty of them, including:

“Do not feed your brother crayons.”

“Take the underwear off your head.”

“Fine. You can wear a sombrero to school.”

Plenty of those were said when my kids were much younger and, by all accounts, living in a different realm of reality.

Now, my kids are teens, so I don’t as often say things that, as a standalone, make me sound like a person who is just stringing random words together.

But every now and again…

The other night, I was walking inside my house. There, right by the front door, was something that was not supposed to be there. So I came inside, went to my son’s room, and said a sentence I would not have predicted saying pre-kids: “You need to make sure you bring your unicycle inside.”

Yes, my son has a unicycle. It was a Christmas gift, and he was taken to it quite well. When he first got it, we went online and watched tutorials about how to ride one. By most estimates, it was going to take 15-20 hours of practice to learn how to unicycle.

My guess: That estimate is for adults, not teen-age boys who are blissfully unaware.

The first hour or so of practice was just getting to know the unicycle. He would lean up against the garage or the back of a car, and gradually ease up onto the unicle, just learning to balance. He would make a few pedal rotations before being dispatched to the ground.

Fast forward a few hours of practice, and he was moving up the distance a good 20-30 feet before falling off. Add about two more hours – I’d say five total – and we now have his primary mode of transportation.

When I pick him up from school, we usually have this conversation:

ME: Any homework?

PARKER: Yeah, some math.

ME: Well, why don’t you knock that out when we get home.

PARKER: Yeah, I’m probably gonna unicycle the neighborhood, fish for a bit, and then come home and do it.

ME: Sounds like a plan.

And it’s a quite good plan. Burn off some energy on a unicycle, hook a few fish, then come home and rock out some algebra.

That said, I do remind him that he should bring his unicycle inside. No, it is not likely that a thief will come to our porch, dedicate several hours of training to learn to ride a unicycle, and pedal off. It is also unlikely that a skilled unicycler will happen by and seize the opportunity. What is possible, however, is that someone sees it and decides, “I’m gonna take that.” Why would someone do that? For the same reason people vandalize street signs. Because they just want to make the world a little less better. I hate to be a cynic about things, but it’s just a sad reality of life. You have to be proactive in making sure the cretins of the world aren’t given the opportunity to be awful. And one way of doing that is to bring your unicycle inside.

My son has gotten good at making sure the unicycle is inside each time he’s done, meaning I do not have to utter the previously mentioned sentence often. Granted, I do have to occasionally say things such as, “Hey, don’t unicycle through the kitchen when I’m cooking.” But who doesn’t say that a few times a day?

Childhood Family

Choose wisely

Remember that scene in “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade,” when the bad guy, Donovan, has to choose which one is the Holy Grail?

You don’t? Well let me refresh your memory. The knight guarding the Holy Grail (among scores of other goblets) tells Donovan, to “choose wisely.” He picks the wrong one, drinks from it, and, instead of eternal life, he ages instantly and is quickly turned into a pile of dust and bones. (Yes, I know Elsa actually chose the goblet, but isn’t it really his responsibility at the end of the day? Oh, and also, spoiler alert.)

The knight responds by saying, “He chose … poorly.”

Well, now you know how my daughter feels right now, as she tries to make her choice of colleges.

We have assured her there are no wrong choices. She has five schools she is looking at: University of Alabama, University of South Carolina, Winthrop, Elon and James Madison.

Depending on the day, a different one is a leader in the clubhouse.

I get that this is a big decision. I mean, I get it in theory. I never had this inner turmoil, as I had been sold on going to Alabama pretty much forever. I applied to a few other schools, but my plan had been to go Bama all along, which is what I did. My wife did not have a lifetime favorite, but when she got accepted to Bama, she said, “Meh, why not.” We met there, so I’d like to think it worked out for both of us.

So you might think there is pressure on her to go to Alabama, since in addition to her parents, countless relatives (including aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents) and family friends went there as well. (There is a reason my wife and I walked into our wedding reception to “Sweet Home Alabama.”)

Rest assured, there is not. We have told her that she needs to go to the place that is the best fit for her. If that’s Alabama, super. If it’s one of the other four, good for her. (One caveat: Regardless of choice, we do have rules on who she can root for under this roof on football Saturdays. Some things are non-negotiable.)

We have told her not to fret too much about the decision, as she still has several months to decide. And we still have to visit some campuses to find out if it just feels right.

Here’s the main thing I want her to factor into her decision: What school wants her the most? And I am sure they will all tell her they want her. But I have a slightly different way of determining just how much they want you.

My wife and I were both fortunate enough to get out of college without debt. And that’s my main goal for her. I want her to find out what scholarships are available, and what the school is willing to do to entice her to attend.

It seems really bonkers to me that (a) we ask 17 and 18 year old kids to know what they want to be when the grow up and (b) give them ability to get into a debt that will follow them around for decades.

Yes, I get personal responsibility and all the jazz. But let’s be honest – if you are looking for someone to hoodwink with a really bad deal that will cost them for decades, a senior in high school looking for the perfect college is a great mark.

So over the next few months, we will team together to find what the best fit is, in terms of academics, social life and financial responsibility. I feel confident that, at the end of the day, she will choose wisely.

Family Home improvement

Couch your answer

Some two decades ago, prior to getting married, my wife and I went through the ritual of picking out dishes. And, because she is a saint, she structured the process thusly: She spent hours looking for plates, knowing that my main criteria for plate is “holds food.” Upon identifying three possible patterns, she brought me into the mix, asking if any of the three were especially preferred or, more importantly, especially offputting.

Once I confirmed that all three patterns of plate would successfully hold food, I told her that I really didn’t have a favorite, so whatever she went with was great by me. And we still use those plates to this day, so they seemed to have been a good choice.

Fortunately, my wife takes this approach to a lot of things. It’s not that I am not willing to help. It’s that with a lot of these things, I really, truly do not have an opinion one or the other, in particular on appearances. I am far more concerned with the utilitarian aspect of objects in our life.

Add to the fact that I have the color matching skills of a fence post and you can also see that, even if I am contributing, I’m probably contributing poorly.

We employed this technique recently when shopping for furniture. Our den furniture currently fulfills its desired functions, which are primarily (1) sitting and (2) napping during sporting events.

But my wife has wanted new furniture for a while, as these are getting older. Additionally, they do not match our new flooring, which is something she assures me is a fact but that I just have to accept.

When we went to the furniture store, we fortunately picked one right next to a sporting goods store that sold fishing gear. This was critical, as we brought our 14-year-old son with us, and if there is one thing that is the most awful thing on the planet for a teenage boy, it’s shopping for furniture with your parents.

I dropped my wife off at the store, and she said she would browse while I took him to the sporting goods store. If she found something, she would text me. I do want a little more input on a furniture purchase, as I am very particular about just how comfy my nap space is, so my wife assured me she would let me take it for a test drive before pulling the trigger.

After a while, I got a text. “I found a few things.” I told her we would finish up at the fishing place and head next door. “Hooray!” said my son, not once.

When we walked into the store, my wife was standing at a lovely couch in the showroom, along with the salesperson. I sat on the couch. Niiiice.

I kicked off my shoes, which caused my wife to roll her eyes and the salesperson to look at me a little cockeyed. “I don’t want to put my shoes on the couch,” I said, as I swung my feet up on the couch and nestled into napworthy position.

Homerun.

My wife mentioned that she had seen a few others as well. “Do you like it?” I asked? She said she did. “Well then let’s stop looking and start enjoying!”

“Hooray!” my son said internally, as no one actually says “hooray” any more.

The couch will be delivered soon, and I look forward to it giving many years of service. And I hope excited to have a couch that matches our floor color. Whatever that means.

Uncategorized

Wreck yeah

If there is one thing my family can attest to, it’s that I am fantastic with lectures on driving safely. They’ve heard them all. The perils of texting and driving. Why following too closely is a fool’s errand. And don’t get me started on blind spots.

So you can imagine I had no fun enjoying that bite of crow when I recently got in a wreck that was completely and totally my fault.

First off, no one was hurt. My son was in the car with me, and he was a little shaken, as this was the first (and hopefully last) car wreck he’s ever been in. And the damage to the vehicles, while unfortunate, was not catastrophic, as both of our cars were driveable after the incident.

And don’t get me wrong. I am not suggesting my family took delight in the fact that I caused an accident. I just know that they have heard the lectures from me for years about how there are two kinds of accidents: Ones you couldn’t have possibly avoided and ones you could have avoided but you didn’t. And here I was firmly entrenched in the latter camp.

It was a foggy, rainy Sunday. My wife and daughter had headed out to go shopping. Prior to leaving, I gave them one of my surely appreciated driving lectures. Roads are slick. Visibility is low. Keep those eyes moving! Alas, I should listen to my own lectures.

My son and I decided we would head to the Mace Brown Museum of Natural History in downtown Charleston. It’s a small but wonderful museum at the College of Charleston with amazing and cool exhibits, and definitely a hidden gem in Charleston. Fun fact: My Facebook profile picture is of my kids standing in front of a skeleton of a giant cave bear that is on display there. OK, that fact is probably not that fun.

Anywho, we were driving downtown and searching for parking. I figured that since it was a rainy Sunday, parking would be fairly plentiful near the museum. As I approached the building, I decided to see if there were some spots on a side road. I turned right and was traveling along, and saw an open spot on the road to my left. As I went to turn, I saw something in my peripheral vision. Yeah, that would be a car, in a left lane that I did not actually realize was there, as plenty of Charleston’s downtown streets are like 6 feet wide but still designed for two cars for some reason.

Now, I know it sounds like I am giving excuses for getting hit. I’m not. I screwed up. I completely own that. When the police officer showed up and asked the other driver and me what happened, I spoke first. “Yeah, this was my fault. I pulled in front of him and didn’t see him, and he didn’t have time to stop.”

I know conventional wisdom is that you should never admit to fault at the scene of an accident. But I have always told my kids that when you screw up, you own it. And I screwed up. So I owned it.

The officer wrote up an accident report, noting that I was the one who caused the accident. And he is correct. I have filed the appropriate paperwork with my insurance company, and we will hopefully have all this behind us in due time.

It’s an unfortunate life hiccup, but one you just have to deal with. I guess if there is a silver lining, I can tell the rest of my family that, “Hey, accidents can happen to the best drivers out there.” Even if I may have to do some convincing to them that I am still one of the best drivers out there…

Childhood Family

Exit stage left

When my children reach a finish line at various stages of life, I try not to get too sentimental about the fact that a chapter has closed.

Sure, some of them are easily celebrated – being done with diapers, being able to ride a bike without training wheels, and, of course, being able to respond to “I’m hungry!” with “Well, then make yourself something to eat.”

Others are tough, however.

Such as when you realize your child is no longer going to bring home school craft projects.

Or when your child drives off alone for the first time.

Or when you realize they are probably going to see that new superhero movie with their friends instead of you.

But I tell myself not to lament these closures. Rather, I tell myself to celebrate that my wife and I were able to successfully usher our kids to their next phase.

I found myself having a little bit tougher of a time not lamenting such a closure the other night, however.

I sat in a high school theater, watching my daughter take a bow onstage at the conclusion of the play “All Shook Up,” where she played Mayor Matilda.

And I said to myself, “This may be the last time I see her perform on stage.” At that point, the person to my left began cutting onions, and the person to my right blew dust in my face. Yes, that’s what I’m going with.

My daughter is a senior, and this was her final high school theater performance. She has been involved in theater since she was four, when she played a rabbit in a Winnie The Pooh play. (It was a tour-de-force performance, widely regarded as one of the greatest rabbit performances of all time, mainly because she was four and managed to not fall off the stage.)

She took to the stage naturally. Over the last 13 years, she has been consistently involved in some aspect of theater.

When she was 5, she auditioned for a role in “Best Christmas Pageant.” I took her up to the auditions and was pleased to see her taking an interest in it. I had done some theater when I was in high school, but drifted away from it in college.

As I sat back away from the auditions, letting her do her thing, the director realized that no men had come out to audition for the role of the dad. They asked me if I would read for the part, which I reluctantly did, mainly at my daughter’s urging. I got the part (yes, I realize I was cast out of a pool of one), and my daughter and I were soon on stage together.

Getting me back involved in theater soon led to my wife getting involved in theater. And with us came our son, and we spent the next decade with theater as our full-time, non-paying (but incredibly rewarding) jobs. Allie’s interest in theater was the snowball that brought us into that world, a gift she gave us that has had such a remarkable impact on our family over the years.

When we moved a week before her freshman year, she immediately found her tribe in the high school theater department, something that helped her transition into the scary world of starting high school in a completely new town.

But she’s a senior, and she is heading off to college next year. She has her eyes set on a major that is not theater. But as I can certainly attest, even if you get out of theater for a while, you can always get back in.

But I realized at that moment this was the last time I would see her on stage when we are a family of four under one roof. Because this chapter is closing. And as much as I want to be sad that it is closing, I have to remind myself that this is the best possible thing that can happen, because time only moves forward. So go write that next chapter, Allie Gibbons. And break a leg.