Like most of you, my idea of a perfect day includes finding a snake that regurgitates a toad.
I see you are all nodding in agreement, so I’ll share the details.
Our day began recently out at our family land. The start of spring is one of our favorite times out there, as that is when nature wakes up from winter, and many of the critters begin making appearances.
Like anyone, else, I long for the good old days. And never mind that good old days weren’t actually as good as we remember them. I hitch my wagon to the romanticized version of how life used to be.
My son was the first casualty. It started about 5 in the morning, when he came into our room and said, “Argggle. Clack. Snort.”
Or something like that. He was stopped up and sniffling, and his throat was hurting, which he countered by doing that weird clicking thing kids do to somehow offset sore throats.
If you’ve ever had seven teenagers having a sleepover at your house, you know that your house will immediately become the loudest one on the block.
If all seven teenagers are super duper into Broadway musicals, you may very well have the loudest house in the county.
It’s always fun when you can shatter a treasured childhood memory in one simple crushing blow of honesty.
It happened the other night at dinner. I’m not even sure how the topic started, but my daughter said, “Remember when we had that Disney castle poster hanging up in the pantry, and I had to earn all of the princesses and put them on it in order to get a trip to Disney?”
Should you be concerned with overfishing throughout the world, I can safely assure you of this: It’s not my family’s fault.
I can prove this by the fact that, since my kids have gotten new fishing poles, we have caught exactly the same number of fish had we asked them nicely to join us on the dock.
During a recent visit to Atlanta, my father-in-law, son and I made one of our routine visits to The Varsity in downtown Atlanta.
I am a real Christmas tree person.
I have nothing against artificial trees or the people who employ their use during Christmas. In fact, some members of my very own family have switched to artificial trees, and I have yet to judge them for it publicly.
It’s not the kind of phone call you like to get. When I answered, I heard, “Is this Parker Gibbons’ dad?”
I had the typical parent reaction when I heard this, which was to assume that my son had either found a cure for cancer, saved a teacher from a bear attack or successfully created a perpetual motion machine.
My son stood at the window, staring out from the kitchen at the backyard of the only house he’d ever called home.
He’s 11, and will show you how tough of a kid he is at any turn. But even the toughest kid has his soft side. I approached him. “You OK?”