Category: Family

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Animals Family Uncategorized

Goodbye, old pal.

We know the deal when we sign up: We will most likely have to say goodbye to them.

Such is the reality of dogs.

And we just said goodbye to one of the greatest dogs I have ever known, Maddux the Stoic.

Maddux had a rough start to his life. I feel no need to get into specifics of that, because his first two years of life were the exception. And I feel pretty confident to say his final decade was exceptional, and that’s what I prefer to focus on.

Maddux was a boxer. My wife had boxers growing up, and always told me she one day wanted another one. When the opportunity to rescue one presented itself, we took the plunge. And we never regretted one second.

When I say Maddux was special, I know what you are thinking. “Sure, Mike. All of our dogs are special.” And I agree. They are.

But Maddux had something I’ve never seen in a dog – he was loved by everyone he encountered. I can’t even remember the number of times people told us they would gladly take him off our hands for us. (No thanks, was the answer, by the way.)

His appeal came from a combination of things. He had a stately, strong appearance. But he was as friendly as could be. And not just friendly. He seemed to genuinely care about people. Unlike any other dog I have ever met, he seemed to know when someone needed a pick-me-up. If you were having a bad day, Maddux seemed to know. He would find you in your chair or on the couch and mosey up to you, and just set his head in your lap, occasionally putting a paw gently on you. He was just telling you he was there.

He seemed to sense if people weren’t dog people. On several occasions, he bridged gaps between people who either didn’t really have a thing for dogs or straight up had a fear of dogs. And he won them over with his gentle, soothing nature and his shared kindness. He was just … different.

Like many dogs, he was protective of his pack. But he was welcoming of strangers, assuming he sensed our approval. If workers were at the house, he would often sit near them. Our AC repairman was once working on our unit, and Maddux was sitting attentively next to him. I asked him if he needed me to move Maddux, and he replied, “No, he’s my assistant. We like to talk shop.”

But if my wife and I were not there? He was on guard. I remember one time my son called me at work. He was home alone, and the pest control guy was doing his routine backyard work. Maddux was standing at the door barking, making it clear no one was coming inside. We started noticing that if we were there and the pest control guy came over, Maddux loved to go and greet him and have a chat. But if we were gone, all focus was on protecting the pack.

In the end, however, as so often happens, his body failed him. His legs began to fail. His appetite began to wane. He could no longer walk up the stairs, and we had to carry him to and from bedtime. He and I could no longer do our nightly walks. It was clear he was hurting, and you could see it in his eyes.

On his final day, our daughter came over, and we spent the night as a family with Maddux, sharing fun stories about his antics and just remembering the better times. The next day, when it was time for his final vet appointment, our son carried him into the front yard. He laid down in the grass and soaked in the sun, one of his favorite things to do during healthier times. We sat with him as he soaked in the sun. He’d earned that.

Maddux went peacefully and transitioned to a place where he no longer hurts, and he can run and frolic and be his true self. I know he is gone, but I feel like he is still with us. I will miss him every day, but I am so thankful to have had him as a part of our family. 

I will miss my walks with him. My kids will miss playing on the beach with him. My wife will miss how he would weasel his way onto the couch whenever she was sitting there so he could snuggle with her. We will simply miss his presence. And countless other things. But that is the deal when we sign up. And it was the best deal I’ve ever made.

Rest well, Big Fella.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

Categories
Childhood Family

Boxes checked. And the best is yet to come…

If there is a book title that accurately describes my son, it would definitely be, “Dude, seriously, what makes you think that’s a good idea?”

Ok that’s probably not an actual book. But it would sum him up pretty well, oftentimes when he is, say, stringing his hammock 40 feet in the air.

But if I were to pick an actual book title that accurately describes my son, it would be a 2017 book titled “I Love Learning; I Hate School.”

This sentiment is what made his high school graduation last week a wonderful end to a really long journey for him.

Many of you know (or know of) Parker. And often people most relate to him being outside catching critters or tromping in the mud or riding his unicycle. Before he was old enough to drive, he would unicycle through the neighborhood to one of his favorite fishing spots, his fishing pole on his shoulder. I would always remind him to make good decisions, not just because it’s the right thing to do, but also because it’s pretty easy to narrow down suspects when it’s described as a “teenager on a unicycle carrying a fishing pole.”

But it was often tough to get Parker excited to go into a building and sit still for eight hours. (Any former teachers of his reading this are no doubt nodding in agreement. Also, any former teachers of mine reading this are probably thinking, “Gee, I wonder who he gets that from…”)

He yearned to be outside and he longed for nature. Now, before you say, “Well, tough. We all have to do it. Suck it up.” I agree, somewhat. That is the deal. We all have to do it. (Now, whether we should all do it the way it’s always been done is a debate for another day.)

And that is why he walked across the stage last Friday night and accepted his diploma. He checked the boxes. And he did so with a lot of help along the way, from some amazing villagers who all helped raise a pretty cool kid.

I am thankful for that elementary school teacher who understood that Parker just didn’t care about chapter books, but she still wanted him to read. So she let him do his book reports on field guides he was reading. She said it was the first time she’s gotten book reports on a salamander field guide followed by a mushroom field guide.

I am thankful for the middle school teacher who, during parent orientation, held up his cell phone. He said, “Parents, whether you like it or not, your kids have access to all of the world’s information. If you want your kids to memorize exact dates, you’ll have to do that at home. I’m not going to teach them when Gettysburg. I’m going to teach them why Gettysburg.”

I am thankful for the high school teachers who “got him” and realized Parker was a really sharp kid who was doing some really cool things, but maybe needed a tweaked approach in some of the ways he learned.

I am thankful for our many naturalist friends who have seen Parker grow up in the woods and in the swamp and on the water, and who have provided guidance, knowledge, and a healthy dose of humor to keep his ego in check.

I am thankful for wonderful friends who have been a safety net/cheering section all through the years.

And of course, I am thankful for a large, loud, wonderful family who definitely gets that Parker is a bird of a different feather, and how they have been there all along the journey encouraging him to fly.

A lot of people have asked us what Parker is doing post-high school. The answer: We’re going to figure it out. He’s taking a gap year and is first doing an internship tracking rare reptiles and amphibians in a nearby national forest, which is pretty on brand.

After that? We’ll figure it out. The idea of the traditional college life is not something that is appealing to him. He is far more interested in tegus than togas, of finding a Farancia, not a fraternity. (A little one-two herpetological humor punch for you there. If you didn’t get it, fortunately, you have your cell phone, and thus access to all of the world’s information.)

But wherever this next journey takes him, I know it will travel through marshes and deserts and rivers and swamps and mountains, with a lot of cool critters along the way. And lots and lots of learning. Because, man, that kid loves learning…

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

Categories
Family Home improvement

Rake rake

My wife and I have always had two levels of cleaning. I clean. She clean cleans.

I do what I would, I guess, is what the base level of cleaning most people do. Meaning I put up dishes, sweep the floors, maybe mop, etc. This is just the starting round for her. She has to go to clean clean level. That includes such things as scrubbing baseboards, which is something my wife is very big on. She loves some clean baseboards.

Fun fact: If you asked me what my baseboards look like, I might very well answer, “What are baseboards?”

So we have a good system in place. I do the general cleaning in the house, and every now and again, my wife comes in to clean clean. Which means getting on her hands and knees and scrubbing things that I have never in my life paid attention to. But it’s important to her, so go do your thing!

And so the other day we discovered that we can take our clean vs. clean clean differences outdoors. We found that I like to rake, and she likes to rake rake.

We were working in our backyard, trying to clean out under some bushes that had accumulated a rather impressive collection of oak leaves. Admittedly, these had not gotten our utmost attention over the years, so we had a good bit of catching up to do.

We raked leaves into piles, and I began the job of bagging them. If you live in a place where you can load all your leaves on a tarp and just drag them to the side of the road where they will be magically sucked up via giant city-owned leaf vacuum, thank your lucky stars. We have to bag ours in these big, brown yard bags that always weigh more than you think they will once you will them. One upside – “The Leaf and Lawn Chute,” which was created by a modern-day Prometheus. You put it in the bag, and it makes it so much easier to put leaves in the bags. Why The Leaf and Lawn Chute creator hasn’t won a Nobel Prize of some sort (Nobel Prize for Lawn Care?) is beyond me.

We kept raking and bagging, and dragging each bag to the street. But every time I would return from dragging one bag off to the road, my wife would have a new pile, right where I had just scooped up all of the leaves. Finally, I said, “You know, you don’t have to get ALL the leaves, right?”

Her look told me that we would, in fact, be getting ALL the leaves.

I kept hauling bags, and she kept finding new leaves, despite the fact that, so far as I was concerned, any leaves left were merely survivors who earned their place in my yard. Turns out, leaves in our backyard do not, in fact, get rewarded for sticktoiveness.

I eventually hauled all of the bags to the street, and I have to say, it looks really nice. I don’t know how many bags I actually took out to the street. (Side note: Yeah, I do. It was 19.) But at the end of the day, I am glad we accomplished the task to her level of rake raking, rather than just my usual level of raking. However, I am not sure I can bring this enthusiasm inside, at least for team projects. I am all for working together, but there are some times where I will have to let her fly solo. Such as when it comes to baseboards, which may or may not actually exist in my house.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

Categories
Childhood Family

St. Parker’s Day

Eighteen years ago, I was eagerly awaiting the arrival of my second child, and only son. Our daughter was two years old at the time, and Patrick Whitfield Gibbons was on his way to complete the family. And then, mid-delivery, my wife made an executive decision.

She was in the middle of a C-section, as family members awaited Patrick’s arrival. And then it occurred to her that it was March 17. St. Patrick’s Day. And she wanted none of that.

The doctor told us Patrick was about to be born. “PARKER!” she exclaimed. “HIS NAME IS PARKER NOW!” 

The doctor told us she didn’t have to make that decision right now. “PARKER!” she said, with a really aggressive tone. Never mind that she was in a surgery having a small human cut out of her.

“Yeah, let’s go with Parker,” I said. The doctor and all of the nurses agreed this was not a woman to argue with.

We have been blessed to have one of the most spirited, fun, energetic and adventurous kids in our lives from day one. It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that my immediate family is all adults now. I guess that’s equally hard when you spend time around us and realize that there’s really only one person who acts like an actual adult most of the time. (Spoiler alert: Yeah, it’s my wife.)

As a baby, Parker was one of the most easy going critters you could have around. He mostly slept. When he started walking, he mostly ran into things. Constantly. He ran 90 mph through life. One time, we heard him wailing in the den. When we rushed in, we found him standing there, blood streaming down his face. When we asked him what happened, he said, “ I don’t know. I was just playing and then I guess I hit my face?” We took him to the doctor to get what would be the first of many trips for stitches or glue on various cuts. He once even got stitches from a tape measure cut. Because why not?

We moved to Charleston when Parker was heading into sixth grade. Admittedly, he was not thrilled about it. He was leaving the only home he ever knew, as well as his close proximity to lots of extended family. While the move was a tough adjustment, he quickly found that living on the coast provided him an opportunity to let blossom a love of fishing. 

Parker has always been a unique individual, and that is something we have celebrated. He found early on in life that he marched to the beat of a different drummer, and that drummer played a pretty cool beat.

He rides a unicycle. He walks on stilts. He juggles. He does magic tricks. And he loves nature. Boy, does he love nature. If you gave Parker the option of a day playing video games or a day tromping in the swamp, the swamp wins 100 percent of the time.

Parker is a rare spirit, one that I humbly suggest this world needs. He’s a spitfire who can challenge you at one turn, but then surprise you with his warmth and compassion. He wears his heart on his sleeve, which I can relate to, as I do too. He is fiercely loyal to his family. Even his big sister. They may bicker and argue and get in squabbles on family trips (yes, even to this day), but if it came down to defending her, I am fairly certain he lives by the mantra, “You can’t talk to my sister that way. Only I can talk to my sister that way.”

I’m really trying hard to grasp my brain around the fact that our son is now 18. I’m incredibly proud of him, I’m excited for the future, and I can’t wait to see what’s next. And I’m really glad my wife made that executive decision. It just feels right.

Happy St. Parker’s Day.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

Categories
Family

2020 Hindsight

 

So 2020 was … a year. That happened.

No sense in reflecting back on the dirty trash bag stuffed full of days that it turned out to be. If I try and reflect back on anything, I will try and take away the positives, even as some at first seem negative.

  • For example, The Dodgers won the World Series, LSU won the college football playoff, and the Chiefs won the Super Bowl. Now, how, you may ask, how can I, a fan of the Braves, Alabama and the Falcons, turn that into a positive? Well at first I didn’t. But that’s a natural reaction. Then I thought back to the times my teams have won big games. And I think about all the Dodger and LSU fans I have as friends. So they were happy, right? As for the Chiefs, yeah, I just like watching Mahomes play, and also I’m a Falcons fan so Super Bowls aren’t really my thing.
  • I also reflect on the fact that I learned to cook a lot of new things this year. I used my airfryer and Instant Pot a whole lot more than I would have. And I found that pork chops coated in crushed pork rinds cooked in an airfryer taste just like ones that are deep fried.
  • I reminisce about the fact that I actually did not binge watch as many shows as I thought I would. Granted, my wife and I probably watched more TV than we normally did, but we didn’t become totally sucked into it. And we covered a range, quality wise. We went from the low (Tiger King) to the high (Queen’s Gambit) to the Middle Road That I Took Alone Because My Wife Was Like, “Nah. Pass. I’ll Go Read” (The Boys and Umbrella Academy 2).
  • We did a fair amount of purging. A drawer here. A cabinet there. A closet here. A basket that has sat on the top of the fridge forever there. And what we found is that, like plenty of folks, we have a lot of stuff we keep because … we didn’t NOT keep it. And this is where we had some deep, soul-searching discussions with ourselves. And just how many spare HDMI cables do you think we should keep on hand? And that broken vase you’ve been meaning to glue back together since before you had kids? Still on the docket? 2020 – The Year of Not Keeping It.
  • My wife discovered that, for the time being, she is fine being without a car. Her car was very on brand for 2020, but that’s a column for another week. We sold her car a few months back, and she has been A-OK with it. When she needs to go somewhere, we just coordinate schedules so I can be home and she can drive where she needs to be. And you really can’t beat the car payments, insurance rates or property taxes on a noncar.
  • I played Zoom bingo with my extended family on several occasions. We couldn’t have our family reunion this year, but it was a wonderful treat getting together for Zoom chats and the occasional Bingo. Also, when we played, rather than coins or chips, my son used shark teeth as markers, which I think is an unfair advantage and why he won so many more than I did.

I know these reflections are very minor and insignificant. And for that I am very thankful. My year has been mildly inconvenienced compared to those who have suffered great losses, in myriad ways. My heart breaks for them on a daily basis, and I try to go about doing my part to help the world get a little better, even if it’s  just a single act of kindness at a time. 2021 is not going to suddenly have a magic switch that makes it all better. But each of us can try and make it a little less worse. And if I can somehow show some love and kindness to Dodgers and LSU fans, I know you can do something similar for others, too. Happy New Year.

 

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

Categories
Family

Joy to the world

Over the last week, I’ve heard a lot of people say that they want to put up their Christmas decorations early this year, probably right after Halloween.

I’ve seen a lot of folks on social media express the same sentiment, even saying that, while they would normally provide a tsk-tsk to people doing so, this year, everyone gets a pass.

And I couldn’t agree more. I try to live my life not getting upset about what other people do if it doesn’t affect me or hurt other people. And putting up a bunch of lights surely doesn’t check either of those boxes.

That said, I am normally a Christmas decorating stickler. For me during normal times, no lights or trees or Christmas music until after Thanksgiving. But this year, I may, too, break my personal guidelines and light the house up Griswold-style sooner rather than later.

I’m not exactly being a philosopher when I say that 2020 has been kind of a bummer year. And I also know the joy that Christmas decorations bring so many people. So, folks, if there is joy to be found out there, by all means get that joy up sooner rather than later.

My Christmas decorating tradition usually starts on the weekend after Thanksgiving. I bring out all of the boxes with our outside lights, and I pop open the lid to find my usual nice surprise: My note from last year’s Mike reminding this year’s Mike which lights go where. I am always appreciative of past me.

My kids usually enjoy decorating with me, although I will say that if I ever decorated without my daughter, it would be one of the more hurtful things I could do. My son is usually like, “Yeah, if I’m around, cool, but if not, it’s fine.” But the toughest thing about my daughter’s first year at college? Her worry that I would light up the night without her. Don’t worry, kid. I gotcha.

My wife also loves to decorate the inside of our house. We always do a live tree, but we have now added an artificial tree as well. My wife loves the tree because it is one of those all white ones, and she can hang a bunch of our nicer ornaments on it and make it her little art project. Which brings her joy. And thus makes me happy.

Our live tree will be adorned with lots of homemade ornaments, going all the way back to when my wife and I were kids. It also has at least one ornament from every vacation we’ve taken, so it’s always a fun trip down memory lane when they go on the tree.

And it will also be time for the birds. I am not sure how it started, but my wife has begun to amass a collection of these adorable birds that are about six inches tall. They are plump little rascals, and are all decorated with different seasonal flair. Currently, the birds that line our stairs have very fall-themed looks. But she has a host of Christmas-themed birds she can’t wait to put out. As she said just this morning, “I usually only get to see my Christmas birds for four weeks. This year, I want to see them for eight.” Joy. And I agree.

We also have a plastic Gingerbread house that the kids have decorated for years. If you are not familiar with it, it’s awesome. It’s a plastic frame that can be washed. You coat it with icing, and then decorate it with various candies and treats and such. You don’t just have to do it for Christmas. Name your holiday and decorate accordingly. Even though my kids are now 17 and 20, it’s still something fun to do that, again, brings joy.

So if you are feeling festive, get the decorations out. 2020 is probably still not done doling out unpleasant surprises, so every little bit of joy can help. Be well, readers, and find – and share – joy.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

Categories
Childhood Family

In other news…

I hope everyone is doing as well as possible, and that all of you are taking the opportunity to unplug and disconnect for a bit.

To that end, this week’s column will be free of the current topic at the forefront of everyone’s mind. So enjoy a quick break to enjoy some times when other people thought my wife and/or I were horrible parents.

For the record, I think we fall slightly north of horrible parents. Our kids are 19 and 17, and are, for the most part, good kids. Yes, they do not know how to turn off a light. True, they haven’t not figured how to take shoes upstairs. And of course, they are both masters of the “My parents are soooo lame” eye roll when we do such things as suggest maybe dirty socks don’t need to be in the middle of the den, or recommend against cutting one’s own bangs.

But other than that, I’d say we’ve done an OK job at this thing. But there have been a few times when other folks have viewed our parenting as suspect at best, straight up bad at worst.

Two examples:

When our daughter was about three, we went to Disney World. As we were walking along, with her in a stroller, we passed a woman who stared down at our daughter, and then gave us a glare and shook her head, in obvious disgust at what awful parents we were. My wife and I exchanged, “What was that all about?” questions, but just kept on going. A while later, we stopped and came around to the front of the stroller, to extract Allie. And then we saw where the judgment came in. There she was, holding the costume head of Mickey Mouse. Ha! I kid. No, she was green. Like, almost completely green. And not nauseous green. I mean bright green. Because she had gotten hold of a green crayon and began chewing it, and then rubbing it all over her face. And in her hair. And on her arms. Everywhere. Now, I am not sure if that woman is a parent, but if she is, and this act mortified her – congratulations on having perfect children who don’t eat crayons and paste.

A few years back, my son was at one of our favorite places to go and chill, a fishing pier near our house. At low tide, there is a nice sandbar that reveals itself. The water is only about calf deep. My son would often walk onto the sandbar and fish. He even developed a system where he would put a clam shell at a particular spot on the sandbar, and when the water reached the clam shell when the tide was coming in, it was time to walk back to the pier. I was sitting on a bench at the pier watching him fish that day, and a couple strolled past and began commenting on the awful parents who would let their kid just wander out onto a sandbar because the tide is coming in and blah blah blah. They were about 10 feet from me. I chimed in. “He’s mine. And don’t worry – he’s got a clam marker.” They turned and walked away, but I hope to this day they are still trying to figure out what a clam marker is.

I am sure there are other times when judgmental folks decided to have opinions that were either lacking in critical substance or lacking in a full story. But like I said, I think we’ve done OK. Allie clearly made it through the crayon slathering. And obviously Parker made it off the sandbar.

Of course, I will also acknowledge that sometimes I get on the defensive too quickly about things like this. For example, one time when Parker was out on the sandbar, an older woman happened by, walking very slowly and with a cane. She stared at Parker, out on the sandbar. She called out to me. “Is he yours?” Here we go, I thought. “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

She simply responded, “Well he’s living his best life,” and turned and walked away.

I guess the takeaway from this is to make sure you don’t form opinions too quickly or too strongly. Because sometimes, folks are just enjoying a little fishing and a lot of crayon. And that’s not really hurting anyone.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

Categories
Childhood Family

Operation: Chick-fil-A extraction

I figured everyone could use a break from Coronavirus information today, so I figured I’d lighten the mood and share with everyone about the time I got stuck at the top of a Chick-fil-A playground.

I know your first thought. You’re thinking, “Mike, I didn’t know they had Chick-fil-A playgrounds when you were a kid?” To which I respond, yeah, I was in my mid-30s.

No, this was not a college fraternity reunion with unfortunate yet predictable results.

This was a result of a rescue mission, a bold and daring journey to the top of the playground. And it wasn’t even for my kid.

My daughter was little at the time, maybe four or so. She was at the age where parents take their kids to fast food playground places and let them go and explore on their own. This is doable because the playgrounds are pretty well encased, so the kids are not going to fall.

The only real danger of falling is when a child climbs on the outside of the playground, a problem I would not face for several years until my son entered the mix.

My daughter was always a rule-follower, so I never really had to worry about her. The main problem I would get was other kids telling me that she kept telling them what to do, to which she would often respond, “Well, they weren’t following the rules.” There was a slight problem on occasion that the unfollowed rules were ones that she had created, and probably hadn’t even been shared with anyone else.

My daughter was busy playing around, climbing and sliding and giving orders of rule-following to her fellow playmates when a mother entered the enclosure. Oftentimes, parents would set children loose in the enclosure, because this is Thunderdome and scores must be settled.

Oh, wait. No, not that’s not it. It’s because there is a great big glass wall, and you can sit comfortably in a booth monitoring your child and enjoying your lunch at the same time.

The mom entered and began to call for her son. No answer. She called again. Same result.

Now, oftentimes, when a parent calls for a child and there is no answer, panic can begin to set in. But unless they have tunnelled out Shawshank style, there’s a pretty solid confidence that they are still somewhere in the maze of plastic tubes and tunnels.

Eventually she spied her son. He was way up at the top, clutching a center pole. He looked at his mom and just shook his head. They went back and forth for a few minutes. Each time she would encourage him to come down, his grip would grow tighter and more tears would flow. I asked my daughter to go up and see if she could help him come down, to which she responded by scampering into what looked like the front of a space shuttle. Big help.

After a while, the mother turned to me. “Do you think you can go up there?”

I was a bit taken aback. “Me?” I said. She said, “I can’t go up there,” pointing to a baby in a car seat in the booth. 

Well, I guess. I started my way up the playground. Hey, guess what – Chick-fil-A playgrounds are not designed for full grown adults. I shimmied this way and slid that way turned and curled and twisted, until I finally reached the top. With one final shove, I found myself on the top platform, next to a child who just found out his fear level apparently had even more levels. I tried to calm him. “It’s OK. Your mom sent me.” Those were apparently the magic words, as he screamed and shot off the platform and made his way to the bottom in record time, right into mom’s arms. Problem solved. At least, theirs was.

The platform I was on was at an angle to the lower that it made it really awkward for me to get down. I tried a few times, each time my legs telling me, “Nope. We don’t bend this way.” So, I guess this is where I live now, I thought.

Eventually, I realized the only way for me to get down would be upside down and headfirst, with a big plop on the lower platform, my legs dangling behind me, flailing in the air.

After a few minutes, I made my way down. The mother and her kids were gone, but I assume she was appreciative of my valiant rescue/scare attempt.

In fact the only one who expressed dissatisfaction with it was my daughter, who informed me that is NOT the way you’re supposed to come down. I’ll remember that rule for next time.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

Categories
Adventures Animals Childhood Family

Do go chasing waterfalls

As I stood at the base of the waterfall, the cool mist sprinkling over my face, I thought of the centuries of time that had passed as the waters flowed over these very rocks. I closed my eyes and reflected on the steady, relentless consistency of water, unfazed by time. And then I thought, “If I slip and fall here, I will have an incredibly bad day, as that water is really cold, there are lots of rocks out there, and my phone is in my pocket.”

Thanks, brain. Always there to drop a note of treacherous potential in the most serene moments. 

I tried to flush the slipping concern out of my head and get back to enjoying the waterfall. I was there with my son, and he was busy crawling around on rocks with a flashlight, looking into crevices trying to find salamanders. 

We were in North Carolina, where we had traveled for a couple of days to tromp around and look for salamanders and waterfalls. Yes, oddly specific.

My son loves finding critters, and keeps a “life list” of his animal finds. He is most proud of his reptile and amphibian list (current species total: a pretty impressive 145), and is always looking to expand that species count. He identified an area that is rich with salamanders, so we decided to set off to see what we could find.

We had a great time and found some wonderful waterfalls and super cool salamanders. But, of course, we also had some interactions with people. So, a few observations:

  • Why would anyone feel the need to yell at a waterfall? And I don’t mean yell while at a waterfall. I mean AT the waterfall. As in screaming directly to the waterfall to see if you could be louder than it. Yet, there they were, two college dudes, screaming. At a waterfall. They paused to share a laugh together. 
  • We have discussed this previously, but if you’re gonna bag your dog business, you’ve entered into the contract. Don’t leave your bag on the trail.
  • Apparently people travel to western North Carolina for Valentine’s. Who knew. Originally, we were going to stay at a friend’s cabin. But we ended up meandering around and wound up fairly far away after sunset. We were exhausted, and just wanted to find a place to crash. And nearly every hotel near us was booked. After the third, “We’re full” I asked if there was a festival or something. The woman at the hotel said, “Uh, it’s Valentine’s weekend.” Oh. I guess that’s a thing. I know what you’re thinking – my wife is one lucky gal.
  • There is a particular restaurant near the hotel we stayed at that has some serious drama going on. My son and I sat at the bar and quickly learned we were at Ground Zero for all the things going on in that place. It’s as if we were invisible, and the entire staff was congregating to talk about everything going on at work. And it was complex. I was texting my wife updates throughout dinner, up to and including when “Erica is doing the thing she always does,” to which the whole crew rolled their eyes. That’s just so Erica.
  • If you hike near places that have rocks, can you please do this one simple thing: Don’t. Stack. Rocks. I know you think it’s harmless. But there are tons of critters that live under those rocks. Even the small rocks. You’d be a little bummed if you came home and found out some giant had stacked eight houses in your neighborhood on top of each other, in particular if one of those homes was yours. So, you know. Be cool. Leave their homes alone.

All in all, we had a great trip and saw lots of beautiful things over two days. I am looking forward to our next field trip, so we can get out there and really take in the serenity that nature provides us. And hopefully not slipping into a creek.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

Categories
Childhood Family

Santicipation

Note from Mike: This column was first published in 2013. My kids are now both teens and well beyond this stage. But I hope it either still rings true for you, or has a new special meaning for those who maybe didn’t have ones at this stage six years ago. Merry Christmas.

When did you first see him?

It was, I’m pretty sure, 1980 for me.

When I was a kid, Christmas morning was always celebrated in our living room. In my parents’ house the staircase that leads down to the first floor is next to a wall that separates us from our Christmas bounty. The third step was key – no descent past the third step.

That tradition has continued with my family. We have a similar setup, and the third step is my kids’ starting line of awesomeness. When you’re on the third step, you wait in anticipation (Santicipation!) while Mom and Dad make a fire, get the coffee going, whip up some hot chocolate. And you know – YOU JUST KNOW!!! – that something fantastic awaits you on the other side of that wall. He made it to our house. You know he did!

But before Christmas morning arrived and you sat perched on your literal or figurative third step, many of you no doubt set out to see for yourself the Big Man at work.

I have three older sisters, so I have to say that it was pretty amazing that, by the time I was 8, no one had suggested to me that you could not see him at work. I decided I would stay up extra late, even pretending to be asleep if my parents came up to check on me. I made one try to come downstairs and check and see if he was there, but my mother, for some strange reason, was in the living room. (I assumed she, too, was wanting to see him.) She put me back to bed, and I started drifting off. I’d get up in a few, I assured myself.

The next morning, as I sat on the third step, I was absolutely certain I had, in fact, woken up earlier in the evening and seen him. He had been there. I knew it. When my parents let us crash the threshold, and I saw a Millennium Falcon and a Han Solo action figure and who knows what else, it confirmed everything I had thought. I KNEW that was him!

I was talking the other day with some folks who also knew of those who had seen him. Some were certain they had. Others knew people who had. But, rest assured, Santa has been seen doing his work by plenty of folks. Why so many doubters?

My kids are 10 and 13 now. I do not know if they have seen him. I think that’s something you probably keep to yourself, as it’s the most magical secret you can know, and spilling the beans to your old folks might jeopardize that.

But I know this much – I have seen him since 1980. I’ve seen him quite a few times over the past decade. And he does just like you think he does – he shows up in a flash. He fills stockings. He does some last minute toy construction. One time, he even had his elves assemble a trampoline in the backyard at our house. And here’s something I never knew when I snuck down and most certainly saw him in 1980 – Mrs. Claus is always there, and actually does WAY more than he does.

I know my daughter will not come down looking for him this year. She’s 13. And that’s OK. If my son comes looking for him – he’s 10 – this will most likely be the last year for a while.

All of us hit that window where we stop looking for him. But that window opens up again down the road.

I feel confident he’ll be at our house this year. And I have a feeling my son will be in his bed, one last time, plotting his time when he can sneak down and catch him in action. And I hope he sees him.
Because I’ve seen him. Time and time again …

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.