Category: Family

Shoe do you love

If you have never had the joy of shopping for shoes with a 16-year-old young man, I invite you to embark upon this adventure: Ask your dog what kind of shoes it would like. When he stares at you blankly, ask him then what size he wears. Wait for blank stare. Thus is life with a 16-year-old.

We had this delight recently when our son needed new shoes. He wears flip flops about 11.5 months out of the year, because those require the least amount of effort, and when it comes to fashion, that seems to be the teen boy bottom line.

But on occasion you need to wear actual shoes. Such was the case recently when we were heading to an event and our son needed non flip-flop shoes. My wife asked him if he wanted to go get shoes. His response was a long, drawn-out “Mom,” in which “Mom” has about 18 syllabes. She said she could go buy the shoes without him, but needed to know what size he wears. Cue “Mom,” but with 22 syllables.

In case you are wondering why we don’t know the size of our son’s shoes, it’s because he is at that age where he is growing at radioactive rates, and there is no telling from day-to-day what size anything is. Buy him some pants today, and they are clam diggers by the end of the week.

So my wife went to the store and bought some shoes. This is also a risky endeavor. My son has never been picky on brands and such, but I can also understand if we bring home something that he feels like no one his age would wear.

Alas, my wife is good like that. She picked out a pair he loved. And they were several sizes too small. He tried to get his foot in them, but it was a no-go. By a long shot.

Because my wife had already logged her miles on this venture, I told her I would take them back and get a new size. The ones she had bought were size 9. I asked my son what size he thought he could use. I should have asked the dog. I would have gotten the same reaction.

I opted to go for my size – 11. My wife thought I was overshooting with the size, but I rolled the dice. Having been on the fast track growth pattern in my teens, I know what it’s like to grow disproportionately and fast. I brought home the 11s. Perfect fit.

These shoes were gold stars for him, and he wore the heck out of them for weeks. And he got to where he would wear them when were tromping out in the woods. And that puts some wear and tear on shoes. While these shoes were still fine, he wanted a pair that was set aside just for school. Fair enough. I told him I could get another pair, and said we could go to the store and find some. “Can’t you just go and get them for me?” Fine. Yes, I’m an enabler. But it’s slightly better than being stuck in a shoe store with a brooding teen who would rather be fishing.

When I got to the shoe store, I started looking around and realized that there were a ton of shoes that looked somewhat like his shoes. I called my wife and asked her to send me a picture of Parker’s shoes. I approached the counter and showed the clerks the picture. Now, you often hear about the indifference of store clerks. These were not those clerks. They were aces. One of them eyed the picture and said, “Yep. That’s a (insert whatever the name of the shoe is here because I surely don’t remember it). Follow me.” In about five seconds, we had a box of the new shoes in hand.

I brought the shoes home, and they are a perfect addition to his modest shoe collection. I get that a 16-year-old has no desire to go shoe shopping. I don’t blame him. He’s got better things to do. Like wonder why his parents are asking him such lame questions about shoes.

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.

Bee careful

My father has beehives. He got into beekeeping a few years ago, and he and my brother-in-law are the expert stewards of the hives.

The bees provide delicious honey, and are also really interesting critters to watch go about their daily bee lives.

Recently, we were in town and decided to go out and check out the bees. Normally, the bees are rather chill and you can walk right up to the hives and watch them come and go. But when the hives are being opened and the bees are being disturbed, it’s pretty much game on, and if you don’t want to be stung, keep a good distance.

My brother-in-law, Keith, had donned his beekeeping suit, and my son was going to be his assistant for this day. Parker suited up, and they approached the hives.

I stood back about 20 feet, as I have been there before when they check on the hives and stood closer, and let me tell you – that did not end well. My wife opted to watch the bee check-up from our car. As she said, “I know where they can’t sting me.”

The beekeeping was going well, and I was situated a good distance away watching them assess the hives. And then it became clear something had gone south. Mainly, this was because Parker said, and I think this is a direct quote, “AHHHHHHHHHHH!”

He began sprinting toward me, peeling off his beekeeper gear as fast as he could. “IT’S IN MY HAT!!!!” he screamed, as he tore off the protective top and the hat.

Fun fact about bees: they do not give up on a fight. Parker was out of the suit, but several bees were still coming after him. He began sprinting away from the hive, hoping to outrun the stings. He outran most of them, but logged about five stings on his head and neck from when the bee was in his hat.

I went back to retrieve the shed bee gear. The gloves and shirt were clear of bees. I picked up the hat, and saw a bee was still clinging to the mesh face protecting part. Figuring this bee would want to go home to his hive, I turned the hat inside out and gave it a few good shakes to free the bee. Turns out, he did not like that. And he blamed me.

So the next thing my wife saw from the safety of our car was me sprinting past her and the car, a beekeeping shirt being twirled like a helicopter blade over my head like crazy to try and keep the bee away from my head.

Once I was free and clear of any bee attacks, I went back to the bees (but in the safe zone), and Keith and I agreed our work here was done. I hopped in the car to head out. I lauded my wife on her wise choice at staying in the car.

And we drove about 100 yards when a heard a big BZZZZZZZZZZ in my ear. I swatted at my head, and a bee that had apparently been secretly riding with me presented itself, and proceed to fly towards the windshield. My wife was not exactly thrilled.

I stopped the car and told my to get out of the car. She did. Not my best call.

She stepped out of the car and plopped her foot firmly in a fire ant nest that was covered in sandspurs. She said … well, she conveyed that she was not cool with this current situation. I grabbed a plastic bag that was in the car and managed to use it to shoo the bee out of the car. All the while my wife was trying to delicately get fire ants off of her foot without being stabbed by sandspurs.

We eventually made it out with no more bees riding shotgun and no fire ants hanging on my wife’s foot, and eventually picked off all of the sandspurs.

It’s a small price to pay for being able to watch these amazing creatures and to enjoy their delicious honey. But next time we go check them, just a hunch my wife will let us do it without her.

Animals Childhood Family

Reality bites

Some might say that when you go actively looking for snakes, you probably shouldn’t be surprised when you get bitten by a venomous one.

Well, believe it or not, it’s actually more surprising than you would think.

The favorite hobby my son and I share is looking for snakes in the wild. My father is a herpetologist, and I have been doing this since I was a child. My son has followed that pattern. We love to get out and tromp in the woods and look for any and all critters.

And therein lies the surprise when my son called me while he was hiking with a friend and told me had been bitten. We are always looking for them. And we NEVER handle the venomous ones. Ever. That’s a rule. There is no need. We are out in nature to enjoy the amazing creatures, and unnecessarily handling a venomous snake it just asking for trouble.

I was heading out of my neighborhood on the way to the store when my son called. He had some panic in his voice. “Dad, I just gotten bitten by a cottonmouth.” I knew his general vicinity, a large park with miles of hiking trails. He told me which trail he was closest to. We settled on a rendezvous point which we could both get to in a matter of minutes.

I hung up and called home. My wife answered. I said, “Parker’s been bitten by a cottonmouth. I’ll meet you at the ER.” I’m not even sure if she said a word or just used her mom superpowers to immediately transfer herself into her car.

By the time I got there, he was hobbling up the trail, his friend helping him. I could see the puncture marks on his ankle, and his leg was beginning to swell. It was clear he was in tremendous pain. He told me that he had been in some water about calf deep (not an uncommon thing for us at all). He went to step out of the water and planted his foot on a cottonmouth that he did not see. The snake responded as was its snakey right. I imagine if something that much bigger than me stepped on my back I would not be happy either.

I arrived at the hospital a few minutes later and my wife was only moments behind us. Fun fact: Want to go straight through the ER and back into a room without even stopping to fill out paperwork first? Get bitten by a snake!

We were told that he would most likely have to be given antivenin (starting with four vials), which had to be given within eight hours of the bite. Having familiarity with snakes, I have seen many stories about the cost of antivenin. I asked the doctor how much a vial cost. He looked at me with a curious look. Perhaps he thought I was going to say, “Whoa, that seems a little steep. His leg isn’t THAT valuable.” I was not. I was just bracing myself.

We eventually had to transfer him to a different hospital, as the ER closest to us does not admit patients under 18 for an overnight stay, which he was going to have. In short order, we were transferred to a children’s hospital. Fun fact: A children’s hospital ER on a Saturday night is a super fun place to hang out! It’s heartbreaking to see little ones coming in throughout the night with various ailments and injuries. The folks who man those units and tend to the kids coming in are truly angels who walk among us.

Around midnight he was given the antivenin. The person administering informed him that this was a one-time treatment, and did NOT give him immunity for future bites. I can only assume that disclaimer has to be stated for a very good reason by someone who had previously been given antivenin. (“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU FIGURED YOU COULD LET THEM BITE YOU NOW!?!?!?!?”)

He spent two nights in the hospital, the final 24 hours so they could monitor blood work and make sure his numbers stayed good. (I say “numbers” because that seems to be a good catchall to kinda sound medically smart but without having to actually try and nail medical terms that I may botch.)

When we left the hospital, his leg was still plenty swollen and he had to walk with crutches, which he would use for several days after.

He’s back on the mend now, and has even gone back out in the field. Yes, looking for snakes. I know snakes are not exactly beloved by many folks. But they are still loved by us. I value their role in the ecosystem and am fascinated by their mere existence. I will forever be a defender of snakes (and all critters out in nature). Yes, even the one that bit my son. We moved into their neighborhood, and we should respect them. After all, snakes have made it pretty clear: “Don’t tread on me.”

Childhood Family

Running on empty

While I have not been in college for decades, I remember vividly the college days, in particular that my gas tank and refrigerator were usually very close to empty.

And I remember when my folks would visit, and those problems would go away, as parents visiting you at college are oftentimes emergency relief funds.

Such is the case with our daughter. When we come visit, we do as our parents did for us – a run to the grocery store and the gas station.

Sometimes, however, the gas station run takes on a few extra steps. In particular when the car is stranded a few miles from your child’s home, as she ran out of gas.

We were about 45 minutes away from her when she called in a bit of a panic. My wife took the call, and went into usual mom mode, which was calming the situation down.

Oh, did I mention this was on a football gameday just a few hours before a big game?

My brother-in-law was already in town, so he went ahead of us and got the car secured and brought Allie back to her apartment. When we arrived, I told her to hop in the car with me, and we set off to solve the problem.

My wife and I had agreed prior to getting there that there was really not going to be any purpose in harping on the issue. As my daughter and I headed out, I told her as such.

“That said…” I said, causing her to sigh and slump, as she knew a parting mini-lecture was on its way. “Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling you that Starbucks can sometimes wait.”

“Fine,” she said. (I don’t think she was fine.)

We headed off to the nearest gas station. I went in and asked where the gas cans were. The clerk said, “Gas cans?” which to me seems like a really odd question at an actual gas station. It’s not like I came inside and said, “Yes, where do you keep your iguana food?” I was asking for a gas can, which is no doubt no. 2 on the list of containers people use to take away gas, right after actual vehicles.

I was told they did not carry those (or iguana food, I assume). So off to a nearby hardware store. Tick tock. Tick tock.

Then back to the gas station. Then to my daughter’s stranded car, which was parked in a game-day lot, so it was fortunately still there. I put a gallon or so in the tank and started the car. Good to go. With room to spare before gametime.

The next day, we took her car up to the gas station and filled it up. And, of course, we took a trip to the store to remedy the refrigerator situation. Our cart was the most “My Parents Are Visiting” cart you could imagine: Food, a printer, a deck of Uno cards.

I was happy to be able to come in and do the same thing for my daughter that my parents did for me on multiple occasions. I’m glad she has a full fridge and a full tank of gas. And I am hopeful that she will not gamble on an empty tank again for a Starbucks. In the end, it all ended up well. Except for if we need iguana food. I’ve got nothing there.

Adventures Childhood Family Food

Take me out to the ball game

Post author By Mike Gibbons
Post date September 3, 2019
No Comments on Take me out to the ball game

I just attended my first Major League Baseball game in almost 25 years.

You must be thinking, wow, Mike, you are clearly not a baseball fan.

Au contraire.

I am a huge baseball fan. My first job ever was before I was old enough to work, and the owner of a baseball card store near my house figured out a way to game the system and, rather than pay me to work, let me have store credit if I “volunteered.” At the end of each week, he would tally up my volunteer hours and gift me a store credit. One week, my entire pay … I mean, gift … was a single baseball card, a 1980 Topps Ricky Henderson.

I love baseball. But since 1995, I’ve had a bit of mental roadblock on going to a game. Because that game I went to in 1995? Kinda special.

It was Oct. 28, 1995. The Braves were good. Super good. They had been the team of the 90s. And they finally won the World Series. And there I sat in the stands, with dad. My wife, who was my girlfriend at the time, sat a section away, with her dad.

And to be honest with you, it’s a hard thing to ever top watching your team win the World Series. In person. With your dad. I’m pretty sure if you think about it hard enough, a bald eagle will appear with an apple pie for you.

I have attended games with my kids. But those were minor league games. They have both gone to MLB games, but they did those with their grandparents in Atlanta.

But recently, I ended my streak. We were going to be in Atlanta for the kickoff to the Alabama football season, and my wife caught wind of a Friday night Braves game that was geared for Alabama fans, including a super cool ball cap that had a Bama logo on it.

And the game was everything I could have hoped for. There were Bama fans everywhere, and we all had on our signature caps, and there was no shortage of “Roll Tide” exchanges being passed back and forth through Suntrust Park. I know this sounds like torture to a lot of non-Bama fans, but trust me, it’s a nice evening for us.

The Braves won the game 10-7, and while the game did not have quite the same importance of the game I last saw, it was awesome to be there.

Among the highlights:

We saw Chipper Jones, who was a rookie when I last saw the Braves play in person. And he is a large individual.

We got to enjoy Suntrust Park, which is an amazing stadium.

We ate ballpark hot dogs, which simply makes life better.

We watched The Freeze race – and lose! If you are not familiar with The Freeze, Google it. He rarely loses.

Prior to entering the stadium, there were clowns outside who were juggling and unicycling. They were slightly amazed when my son asked if he could join them and juggle and unicycle. And then proceeded to juggle and unicycle. I do not think they were expecting a fellow clown in the crowd.

We found out that you can rent ball gloves for free. Yes, for free. You give your credit card, and they give you a couple of gloves. Both of my kids are lefties, so they were excited about having mitts in case a home run ball made it our way (it didn’t). I asked the guy at the stand how exactly you could “rent for free”? He told me that if we did not return the gloves, they charged me $750 per glove. I laughed. He did not. He said, “No, seriously.” Rest assured, we returned those gloves.

So we had a great time. And while the time my wife and I went to the World Series win with our dads will always be special, this day was special, too. Because we will always remember the time we saw The Freeze lose.

Animals Childhood Family

Praising Arizona

Thirty years ago, I went with my dad on a week-long trip to Arizona. It was one of the most amazing trips of my childhood. My dad is a biologist, and we focused on seeing all kinds of amazing critters – rattlesnakes, roadrunners and coyotes, oh my. It was a constant adventure and discovery after discovery.

Fast forward to today. My son has a thirst for adventure and discovery just as I did at that age. He loves going out in the woods tromping around with his Grampa, discovering new and exciting things. And, just between you and me, he was probably pretty much tired of hearing just how great that Arizona trip was three decades ago.

So when the chance to go back to Arizona and tromp again – with my dad and my son – presented itself, I immediately said, “Nah, I’ve got some shows I need to watch that week.”

I kid, of course. When I told my son we were going to go out to Arizona, he was just a smidge excited. I believe his exact response was, “WHAT? REALLY? SERIOUSLY?”

Prior to leaving, I told him there were two things we would be amazed at: the terrain and the weather. He had never been out west, so he had never seen what a desert looked like. He had also never felt that kind of heat. And yes, it’s a dry heat. So is your oven.

On our flight out, we had a layover in Dallas. About 20 minutes west of Dallas, my son was staring out the window, as the terrain turned to a barren, Martian-like view. It was awesome watching my son see a part of the earth that he knew existed but he had never seen for himself.

When we touched down in Tucson, my son started seeing Saguaro cactuses from the window of the plane. He was very excited by those. I assured him he would see more. Many more. He also experienced his first Arizona heat shortly after landing. He concurs. It’s a different kind of hot.

After several days in the desert, we had checked off a lot of bucket list boxes:

rattlesnakes, lizards, roadrunners, In-N-Out Burger. After about three days, pretty much the only thing my son hadn’t seen that was on his bucket list was a Gila monster. For those of you not familiar with a Gila monster, they are a venomous lizard and they look cool as all get out. But even if we didn’t find one, the trip had been amazing as we had found so much other stuff.

On our last night, my dad, son and I took a night hike through a canyon near us. There was enough moonlight that we could walk the rocky trail without flashlights. Occasionally during the hike, my dad and I would stop and sit on a rock as my son explored crevices looking for critters. My dad and I looked at the stars and talked about the night sky. We talked about how cowboys must have seen the terrain 200 years ago, and what their horses must have thought. If you have the chance to sit on a rock in the desert and talk about this kinda stuff with your dad, please do. I know how fortunate I am, and I don’t want anyone else to miss that chance.

Eventually, we turned our lights on. And we found a couple of rattlesnakes that were making their way, just doing their thing. At one point, I found one, and said, “I got one!” When my son came back to where I was, he said, “Dad! I thought you’d found a Gila monster!”

As we were finishing up the final 100 yards or so of our multi-mile hike, we

noticed something in the bushes, about a foot to our left. And there it was.

A Gila monster. My son took roughly a bajillon pictures of it. Another hiking group came up the trail and they were excited to get to see one, too. I stood back with my dad, watching my son, his grandson show the hiking group where the big lizard was. It was dark, but I’m pretty sure my dad had as big a smile as I did. I

wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else with my son. Or my dad. But the three of us together? Yeah, I’ll take that.

So, in short – Good trip? Nope. Great trip.

Childhood Family

Tired

I am not sure if there is anything more Father’s Dayish than fixing a kid’s bike tire. Yet that is exactly what I found myself doing on Father’s Day.

I don’t offer this up as some sentimental Hallmark movie moment of father-child bonding. I just thought it was stereotypically comical it was occurring on Father’s Day, I mentioned it to my wife, but also noted that mosquitoes and sweat were also big contributors to the day’s narrative, so let’s not go over the top with sentimentality.

What led me to the moment was my son’s desire to do things that seem like a great idea to teenagers. My son and our neighbor, who is about his age, like to get up at the crack of dawn and ride their bikes to the beach, which is just a few miles away. While I prefer logging what sleep I can and driving to the beach, I am not 16. And I would never throw a wet blanket on the freedom that a couple of teenagers feel when they can pedal down to the beach and waste away a summer day.

Alas, on their last journey to the beach, my son popped his bike tire and needed a new one. We headed over to the store to get a replacement. He drove, as he is getting his hours in with his learner’s permit. Once he gets his license, he may shelve the bike ride to the beach for a car, but for now, the bike’s the way to go.

As we neared the store, he asked me if I knew how to fix a bike tire. I snorted at the absurdity of this question. I am a dad. On Father’s Day. I can fix ANYTHING. And a flat bike tire? Pshaw. Child, please.

And then I started to think back to the last time I fixed a bike tire. When my kids were little, they somehow avoided flat tires to the best of my recollection. Plus, when you first start riding bikes, you are at the age where you are growing like a weed and moving on to a new bike quickly.

So I thought back to when I was a kid. So, yeah, it may have been 30 years since I changed out a bike tire.

But how hard can it be?

Answer: Actually, not that hard, but I hadn’t recalled it requiring a hammer, prybar and tin snips.

Once we got the replacement tube procured, we went to work on the bike. We flipped it upside down and took a wrench to the bolts. Once they were free, I noticed that we could not remove the tire as there was a little metal bracket securing it to the frame. I spent as much time as I could trying to determine the function of said bracket, but could not for the life of me find one.

Commence the prybar assault. After several minutes of pounding away at it, it was not free. But I had lodged it enough open that I could then fix some tin snips in there and clip it free, getting the tire free and, as an added bonus, creating a ridiculously sharp piece of jagged metal that protruded from the side.

In short order, we had the new tire installed and he was on the road taking it for a test drive. I am pleased that, despite my decades-long void of bike repair, I was able to get my son back in the saddle for his early morning beach trip. I guess you could say it was just like riding a bike.

Family

Along came a spider

My wife is a very patient person. Exhibit A: She has been married to me for more than two decades.

Generally, if you present my wife with a challenge, she will tackle it in a cool and calm approach. That said, put her in a car and have a spider appear on her head, and cool and calm quickly leave town.

I base this on a recent incident in our car. I am thankful we were not in a convertible, because she would have probably just shot on out of the vehicle.

My wife, son and I were driving down the highway the other day. As we were chugging along, my son casually said from the backseat, “Mom, there’s a spider on your head.”

Her response was, “What!?!?” And then she put her hand to her head. Spider confirmed.

At this point, I was in the left lane of a fairly busy four-lane highway. Not exactly the easiest place to pull over. Adding to the difficulty factor was the fact that I had begun laughing hysterically.

Now, you have to understand that my wife does not hate spiders. She is quite an admirer of them. She is totally cool with the fact that we ask our pest control guy to leave the webs outside around the house. If there is a spider inside, we kindly escort it out so that it can go do spider things, which includes eating other bugs. But on her hair in the car? Nope. Definitely a bridge too far.

But she didn’t want to kill it, as the spider was just being a spider. So she swatted at her head and removed the spider from her hair. Next problem: Then it was sitting on her seat. Possibly.

My wife climbed up on her seat and did her best to hover above where said spider may be. She made it fairly clear that I should (a) stop laughing and (b) pull over.

Eventually, I made it to the right lane, and then safely off the road. Before I was even in park, my wife was out of the car with Usain Bolt-like speed.

So there we were on the side of the road, my wife on one side of the car, doing an intense self-spider review, and my son and I on the other side laughing more and my son offering a high-five for some reason.

My wife said, understandably, “STOP LAUGHING AND HELP ME FIND THE SPIDER!!!”

I gained my composure and came around to help my wife search for the spider. And it was no longer there. We searched everywhere, but alas, nothing. Our son’s contribution to the event was to say, “Mom, I got a video of you.” Big help, dude. And rest assured, no, you will not see the video. Because as much as my son and I have enjoyed watching the video of her scrambling up on the seat, she has made it clear that should said video reach any social media platform, there will be consequences the likes of which we could not fathom, and she said it in a tone that made us realize that she was SUPER serious about that. My concession to her: “But I can write a column about it, yes?” Her response was an eyeroll, which is not technically a no.

Eventually, my wife agreed to get back in the car. She looked down at her feet and noticed what we think was the source of the spider: our son’s hammock, which had been strung up in some woods for a good week and had just been taken down. She quickly bundled the hammock and pitched it in the back seat and told our son to keep it and any other spiders back there with him.

I know it sounds like we were being insensitive in her time of need. But I did get the car off the road as soon as safely doable. And I knew that she was not in any actual danger, even if the knee-jerk reaction to a spider on one’s head is instant panic. At the end of the day, she was fine and, probably, the spider is fine. One day, we’ll look back on this incident, watch the video a few dozen times, and laugh. A lot.

Adventures Animals Childhood Family Food

Gone fishin’ (and eatin’)

Post author By Mike Gibbons
Post date December 9, 2018
No Comments on Gone fishin’ (and eatin’)

My son loves to fish. Loves, loves, loves to fish. If I gave him the option of having a roof over his head or fishing, it’s pretty much time to tell him goodbye.

He fishes in the morning. He fishes in the afternoon. On plenty of occasions I have called him and said, “Dude, it’s dark. How are you still fishing.”

His usual response: “Yeah, I’m packing up and will…WAIT – BITE! GOTTA GO!”

We rarely keep what he catches. Part of that is that a lot of the fishing he does is around the lakes and ponds near our neighborhood, and I prefer my fresh fish not to be marinated in a brine of lawn chemicals and road runoff.

Another reason, however, is that cleaning a fish is a lengthy investment. It’s messy, it takes a good bit of time, and it kinda smells like fish.

But every once in a while, you want to be able to catch your supper. My son had done some research online and found a new pier he wanted to fish. He was positive he was going to catch dinner. I reminded him that, should he catch dinner, he and he alone was in charge of cleaning it. He made it very clear that no one else was invited to take part in cleaning said future catch, as it was his catch, his clean. Fishermen are a prideful lot.

My daughter was home from college and she came with us to the pier. She likes to fish on occasion, but is more of a stand-by-the-rod-and-Snapchat kinda fisherperson. If she catches something, great. If not, at least there was Snapchat.

After an hour he had a few nibbles here and there. I told him we were getting close to needing to pack up, and he offered his usual closing offer, “Five most casts?” Which means 15-20 more casts, because, you know, almost got a bite on that last one…

He cast one here and there and then BOOM! His line dove. He sprung into offense, grabbing his pole and positioning himself in the perfect fishing stance, which I say because I have no idea what the perfect fishing stance is, but good chance you don’t either, so we can just go with whatever stance our mind’s eye finds appropriate.

After fighting for a few minutes, the fish broke the surface. It was a sheepshead, a beautiful black and white fish that hangs out around pier pylons. It took a few more minutes, but he pulled it in, and he measured it to ensure it was the appropriate size for a keeper. It was well within the range. Dinner time!

When we got home, my son set to cleaning the fish. Because this is 2018, he first spent about 30 minutes on the couch watching YouTube videos on how to clean sheepshead. The internet is really something.

While my son was on fish duty, my daughter and I went into the other essential component of a fish fry – hushpuppies. We had the hushpuppy mix and read the directions on the side. It said we could either use a deep fryer or bake them in the oven. I asked my daughter which we should do. “What kind of question is that?” she said. Deep fryer it is.

My son soon had the fish cleaned and ready to be dipped in a batter. My daughter tended the hushpuppies on the back deck (I learned early on that deep fryers are an outside game, lest you want your house to smell like a Waffle House for a week; I love a Waffle House, but I don’t want to live in one). Oh, the perfect fish fry was on its way.

In short order, we were loving friend sheepshead and hushpuppies. My wife is not a big fan of fried food, so she politely tasted and then went back to some spinach concoction she created for herself. But the other three of us wolfed down our health food dinner, and enjoyed every fried minute of it. Not sure when we will try and catch dinner again, but I am sure it will be before we know it. And, whatever he hauls in for the catch I’m sure will be a perfect meal for the evening. Thank goodness the internet is there to tell him how to prepare it.

Childhood Family

Marvel(ous) memories

Comedian Bill Maher has made a career courting controversy with his politically-tinged comedy. That’s an arena I have never stepped foot in with this column, and don’t worry, I won’t today.

But he drew fire for a different reason last week, when he posted a blog entry about the passing of Stan Lee, the legendary Marvel mind behind such iconic comic book characters as Iron Man, Spider-Man, the Incredible Hulk, the Fantastic Four and many others firmly entrenched in our culture.

Maher made fun of fans who were expressing sadness for Lee’s passing, calling it “Deep, deep mourning for a man who inspired millions to, I don’t know, watch a movie, I guess.”

Um, yes, actually, 20 to date. I saw them with my kids, who were coming of movie age just as the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) was coming alive on the big screen. As Iron Man ushered in a new era of superhero movies, I saw my children stare at a movie with the same wild-eyed amazement that I did as a kid watching Superman soar across the screen.

As my kids started to get into the MCU, they started looking forward to each new film.

When new trailers would come out for upcoming movie, whichever one of us saw it first had to be the first to tell the others. And try as we might wait to watch it together, usually the first to find out about a new trailer would do a quick sneak-peek, just so when we were watching it together you could go, “Ooooh – watch this part!” Most trailers would be watched at least a few times in a row, to see what we might have missed. Then we have long discussions about what direction we thought the movie would go or what a certain thing in the trailer meant.

When the movies came out, we would always try to go opening weekend. It was there they learned the pro’s guide to movie maximization. Never sit middle. Sucker bet. View is just as good on the aisle. Also, free refills on the large popcorn. If you power though that bucket during the trailers, boom – get that bad boy filled up before the feature starts.

We love to stay for the stingers, those surprise scenes in the end credits. (There are always stingers in the MCU). We would wait through the credits, killing time before the scenes by seeing if we could find our names in the credits. Bonus point for an exact match.

When The Avengers first hit the big screen in 2012, they could not wait to see all the superheroes on screen at once. I remember my daughter seeing Agent Natasha Romonoff, aka Black Widow, kick the everlasting stuffing out of two bad guys while she was still tied to a chair, and watching my daughter stand up and pump her first in the air and scream, “YEAHHHH!!!!”

I remember watching my son as he saw The Incredible Hulk get his marching orders from Captain America: “Hulk – smash.” That was my son’s catchphrase for at least the rest of the day, every so often just randomly laughing loudly and hollering, “Hulk – smash.”

When we went and saw the latest Avengers movie, we sat in silence at the end. Some people may have gotten a tear or two in their eye. It doesn’t matter who.

Although my daughter is off at college now, my guess is that, when the final chapter of The Avengers comes out in 2019, I will do my level best to make sure we all see it together.

The day that Stan Lee died, I got two texts from my kids within three minutes. One read, “DAD! STAN LEE DIED. IT’S SO SAD!!!” The other: “Stan Lee died” followed by three crying emojis.

Stan Lee was 95 years old and had been reported to have been in declining health for a while, so his passing can hardly be called a shock. But it’s still OK to be sad. Stan Lee’s creations that eventually turned in the MCU that has brought joy to so many people. For my kids and me, Stan Lee gave us a part of their upbringing I wouldn’t trade for all the Infinity Gems in the universe. Thank you, Stan Lee. And, Bill Maher, yes, it’s because he did inspire millions to watch a movie. A lot of them. Together.