How Did I Get Here?

Quote of the Day: “By the time I’d grown up, I naturally supposed that I’d be grown up.”

As you read yesterday, my man-cub has now become a man, or at least in the legal sense. His 18th birthday means one more thing I made sure we took care of…

Selective Service.

For those of you that need a little help here, as improbable as it may seem, 18-year-old American men still have to register for the Selective Service so that if there is a draft again (highly doubtful), well, there is a pool of able-bodied men to fill the ranks.

This brings me to a subject that has been asked of me for many many years: how would I feel if my son wanted to join the service.

Normally, this question was brought up during a discussion about young men wanting to join the service and the worry caused to the parents. My answer has always been what it is today:

I’d be all for it.

Do I cringe at the thought at my son facing danger? Hell, yes I do. I once told my wife she would be a wreck for three months if he went to bootcamp and she countered without missing a beat by saying “No, YOU would because you would know what he is going through.”

She was and still is, right.

But my argument has a few facets.

I firmly believe freedom is not free. We enjoy a standard of life that most people can only dream of and to protect that, young men and women must defend this Nation. Leaving it to someone else’s kids reeks of hypocrisy.

Secondly, I have seen what the military can do for young men and women. Not only as a leader of many “reformed” delinquents but even more close to home. The Marine Corps took a young kid living on his own with nothing more than the clothes on his back and enabled him to have a 22-year career, a family, and education up to the graduate level.

With all that said, I do not support the draft. I think we as a country learned our lesson in Vietnam that conscripted soldiers an effective force does not make and I think our all-volunteer force has done just fine the last few decades. A draft is not fair to the unwilling nor the professional force that has to spend 90% of their efforts to keep them in line.

But, the law of the land says that my son must register so that’s what we did. Call it the sign of the times that we did it right over the internet as opposed to the historical process of going to the post office.

They even have a searchable database you can look up if you are registered. And it works too because sure enough, I found out I signed up on 4/9/1987.

Just one more thing me and my boy have in common. Welcome to adulthood, Son.

Free Advice for Today: “Add Art of the Western World to your videocassette collection.”

Quote of the Day: “Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.”

……………….18 years …………………………………………………>>>>>>>>>>

Today, my boy becomes a man. Eighteen years ago this very day, my only son came into this world via C-section and now he takes his rightful place next to me as a man.

I couldn’t be happier.

We thought about what we should do to commemorate this auspicious event and here is what we came up with: Whirly Ball.

What is that, most of you ask?

Well, it’s kind of like playing lacrosse with bumper cars. You use trackball racquets and a trackball to try to hit a target at each end, scoring points for hitting the center which has a sensor. You have two teams and ride around passing the ball and shooting for the goal.

It is:

- a blast
- quite expensive
- something that can be done with a large group of people like our family

- something we’ve done as a family for decades
- the best present we could give Alex since he is so family-oriented

I’ve discovered I might be professionally quality at this game and am thinking about turning pro.

OK, maybe I am mediocre but that is the beauty of the game: it can make anyone feel athletically superior (or as athletically superior as one can feel while driving around a bumper car and smashing into loved ones.)

Oh, and for awhile I thought this day was going to be a milestone of another kind: for the first time in the years I have had my GPS, it could NOT find an address. It simply did not have it as a choice no matter how many times I looked and cussed profusely.

The bottom line was this: the main thoroughfare I’ve known since childhood goes by many many names: Highway 99, Pacific Highway, Independence Highway, “99”, “Pac Highway” but I have never heard/seen/nightmared that it would ever be called “State Route 99.”

Sons-of-bitches!

OK, today was not the day to get all pissed off at the world (even though there were some tense minutes on the way).

After we were done and came back, my bro-in-laws had snuck over to our house and filled Alex’s room with black balloons, multi-colored balloons (which I about earned a hernia blowing up last night), and crete paper.

They also made signs and a big “18” made of small cones in the front yard.

This is just how my wife’s family rolls.

As you all know, today wasn’t just about my son’s birthday. For most people, it was Super Bowl Sunday so what we worked out was perfect: we would all go play Whirly Ball as a family and then move the party to our house where we would host a combination “Alex’s 18th Birthday Party” and a Super Bowl party.

What could be better?

It was a day of a full house and rowdy sports watching complete with food, fire, big screen TV, and more food.

What can I say about the game?

I wanted to see Favre go and we all know THAT didn’t happen and then I put my saddle on the Colts’ horse (see how I did that?)

And got crapped on again.

It was a good game and very enjoyable to watch to include the commercials. That the Saints won pulled out of me a hearty “eh” and the whole New Orleans imploding in an orgy of celebration was, to me, maybe a little excessive. But hey, they gotta cling onto something since they got wiped from the map a couple of years ago.

Go for it.

One interesting moment came when one of my nephews decided to get in a contest of wills with me and the fact that his age is in the single digits, you can imagine how that turned out.

It all centered around me telling him it was time for him to get off of the trampoline. He kept jumping, informing me that his father had told him he could stay on (which I knew to be false since I had just been talking with said father).

Well, it took me three times to tell him to get off of the trampoline, the last one combined with a stepping out of the sliding glass door toward him which, as we all know, is the international sign that a grown up is just about to roll a train no kid wants to be a passenger on.

His reaction, when he saw the look in my eye and the tone in my voice, was the wrong one.

“Fine. I hate you!”

Oh, no he didn’t.

“What?”

He wouldn’t look me in the eye.

“What did you say?”

Still no look as he got off the trampoline.

I met him at the sliding glass door, froze him with a stare and said “You got something to say? If you have something to say, look me in the eye and say it to my face.”

He didn’t.

Instead, he ran inside and then upstairs to hide. I walked over to my bro-in-law and explained exactly what had happened and we spent the next few minutes looking for him upstairs.

When we found them, I let me bro-in-law handle it and it wasn’t until we were eating about an hour later that Scott carried over a struggling young boy and Scott said “Say it!”

“I don’t want to!” as he struggled.

Strike two, young man-cub.

His father carried away the struggling boy for what I assume is yet another explanation of child-adult relations.

It wasn’t until much later that he came to me and apologized. I hugged him, told him I loved him, and left it at that.

I remember.

I remember dealing with a young, impulsive man-cub and it seems like yesterday. Now, mine is 18 years old and officially a man.

In a way, I am very proud. He is a fine young man and I am honored to call this man my son.

In other ways, I remember this.

And in my heart, he will always be that boy.

Free Advice for Today: “Learn to eat with chopsticks.”

Quote of the Day: “People seem to enjoy things more when they know a lot of other people have been left out of the pleasure.”

It’s no secret that I’m a softie when it comes to my kids. And that I’ve fallen into that inevitable situation where the kids gets older but I still see them as toddlers.

Normally, this is reserved more for the mothers of this world but in my family’s case, it’s me. I am constantly referring “back in the day” when my daughter either had tight curly hair on her tiny head…

… or no hair whatsoever.

And back when my son would toddling around his mother’s feet in the kitchen, throwing Tupperware willy-nilly.

Never mind that they look like this these days.

I still see this.

But every once in awhile, I get to go back and frolic in the yesteryear in the form of nieces and nephews. Once again I get to pick up and swing around little beings to the sound of great delight and requests of “More, Uncle Jason, again!”

Today was one of those days. My nephew Nate came over and the little guy is just about the cutest thing you could ever imagine.

Oh, and your own kids never look so big as when they are playing with toddlers. It’s a crashing together of two worlds: the reality of grown children with the representation of how you see them in your heart’s eye.

Next stop: Grandchildren.

Bring it on.

Free Advice for Today: “Write a thank-you note to your children’s teacher when you see your child learning new things.”

Quote of the Day: “I have seen the future and it doesn’t work.”

I have written a few times about going hiking up Squak Mountain but today, I was not alone.

My bro-in-law, his wife, and their two kids wanted to go so they called me up and I was more than happy to join them.

I figured that with two little kids, we wouldn’t do the whole 1:15 up and 45 minute run down routine but it was a good break from the training I’ve been doing.

The similarities were pretty spot on between my kids at that age and the two munchkins along for the ride this time.

We had one that blazed trail and one that, well, didn’t.

And the genders held true: the girls are the trailblazers and the boys were the ones who needed help in the motivation department at certain points.

Only the comparative ages were flipped: my trailblazing girl is the younger sibling while Scott’s trailblazing daughter is the eldest.

I was even more impressed that my niece wanted to run starting about halfway down and kept right on my heels the entire way to the bottom. We might be seeing a budding trail runner at work here.

By the time I got home, I got showered and then took care of some errands before my appointment today.

If you remember, I had made a VA appointment only to have it cancelled by the counselor because she was sick. That wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t take 2 weeks to get another appointment which then took two more weeks to get here: today.

I had all my paperwork ready and was happily driving the 5 miles to get to the appointment when terror hit.

SHIT!

I grabbed my iPhone because a thought had struck me that made me break out into a cold sweat.

I pulled up the calendar (almost wrecking in heavy traffic) and I saw what I most feared.

Here is what happened.

My original appointment was at 2:00. When I made my new appointment two weeks later, I just dragged the reminder from the old date to the new date on my Outlook calendar.

The problem was, the new appointment was at 1:00 and that is what was tickling my memory as I headed to the VA office, at 1:30.

SHIT!

I called the counselor but only got her voicemail and left a somewhat edited version of what had just happened. I then told her I was more than halfway so I would just come in and hope.

You know what they say about hope.

Hope in one hand and shit in the other and see which filled up first.

Sure enough, the receptionist said he had talked to her when I didn’t show up at 1:00 and she told him to have me call her to reschedule.

Again.

First time was her fault.

Second time was my fault.

You would think that would make us even.

But recall, it took 2 WEEKS to even get her on the phone after SHE cancelled our first meeting and 2 more weeks to get another appointment.

Now that it’s my fault, I might be eating tapioca pudding and shitting my pants by the time I can get in another time.

Or maybe even longer than a month!

Free Advice for Today: “When babies are born into your family, save the newspaper from that day. Give it to them on their eighteenth birthday.”

Quote of the Day: “I have noticed that the people who are late are often so much jollier than the people who have to wait for them.”

I had a dream last night.

I dreamed I was still back in Saudi Arabia and I was talking to someone, telling them that I couldn’t wait to go home. Specifically, in my dream, I was imagining the feeling of the cold air conditioning of the airplane I was just about to get on as a symbol that I was going home.

It was vivid, as were my feelings of wanting to go home.

The next thing I was aware of …

“Jason, are you getting up to take Steph to school?”

That sentence was coming from my wife, half asleep next to me.

I had forgotten to set my alarm and overslept by about 15 minutes.

What is further bizarre is that I was tired, cranky, and listless all morning. You would think I would be on Cloud 9 after waking up to the scenario I was fanaticizing about in my dream.

But no.

I’m a freak.

Free Advice for Today: “For an unforgettable adventure, float the Gauley River in West Virginia.”

Quote of the Day: “Part of being sane, is being a little bit crazy.”

I guess it’s time to weigh in on the don’t ask don’t tell situation. What I DON’T want to happen is to get into a huge back-and-forth discussion because that has been done to death over and over. I don’t think I could bring anything new to the table other than my opinion so here it is.

I support repealing DADT.

100%.

I think it was a stupid law that played the monkey hands over the mouth, ears, and eyes game.

With that said, I don’t support gays in the military.

Yes, I think they should repeal the DADT law but that is not to say that I think they should allow gays in the military. I think they should go back to expressly forbidding them to serve.

This is different than most of the arguments you hear because most people who argue against repealing the law want to repeal it and let the flood gates open. Mine is to repeal the law and close the gates altogether.

How have I formed this opinion? I submit to you my 22 years of active duty in the Marine Corps. On that level, I think I have the creds to at least weigh in.

Let me start with an experience I had over in Saudi Arabia and wait for the tie in at the end.

The Saudi Arabian Marine Corps is not what you would call awesome. In fact, after advising them for a year, I can say they are substandard as a fighting force. This is a result of many factors I will not go in to right now but one of them is their short history. They simply have not had a long time to develop into a viable fighting force.

If you ask any of them, they would probably think they were really good. In fact, their common, if not humorous, belief is this:

- If I have the weapons and equipment used by the United States Marine Corps, I am as good as the United States Marine Corps.

- If I have the training used by the United States Marine Corps, I am as good as the United States Marine Corps.

They truly believe that if they have these two factors, they are on equal footing as the United States Marine Corps.

Therefore, they buy our equipment (or similar types) and hire a few of us to go over there and teach them how to use it.

And they think this is enough.

It is not.

There is one ingredient they lack. And, ironically, it’s the most important ingredient that makes the United States Marine Corps the most effective fighting force on the planet.

It goes by many names: espirit, professionalism, verve, cockiness…

But it boils down to one thing: the fighting spirit imbued to every Marine from the moment they enter the service.

To those of you that served, you know what I’m talking about. To those that have not, it’s hard to precisely define but it is that mentality that we are the best at what we do and we will win any fight we get into. Period.

This is the ingredient that the Saudis lack and, in my opinion, will never attain. Therefore, I don’t see them ever becoming what they say they want to be: a true Marine Corps on par with the United States.

OK, now, with all of that said, let’s get back to gays serving in the military. As I’ve stated, the arguments have been horse-beaten over and over so I don’t want to debate this. Just take it for what it is: my opinion.

When you allow gays to serve, their very existence in a unit eats away at that special ingredient. The vitality and combat effectiveness of a unit is anchored in the relationships between the individual Marine of the unit, be that a squad, a platoon, or higher. If that relationship of trust, respect, and yes, even love for your brethren does not exist, the unit is weakened if not completely ineffective.

These units exist. There are weak units because of many factors. The leadership has failed to forge the unit and something has gone wrong with the dynamic and as a result, that unit creates a danger to itself and to the units around it. The weakness, borne out of anything from distrust to outright personality problems, translates into real danger on the battlefield.

If you allow gays into any unit, the very concept that makes that Marine unit good would be removed. You would introduce mistrust and that is a cancer that cannot be allowed to decimate a unit if you want it to perform to the standards that make it what it is: a fighting force to be reckoned with.

“But why should I care what a Marine does on his off time as long as he fights…”

That is assuming he is only a Marine during “working hours.” Guess what, a Marine’s working hours are 24 per day, every day. We are Marines not by trade but by belief system. We do not shed the uniform, put on earrings, or moonlight as scumbags. Or homosexuals. It’s simply counter to everything we believe in. Is that so hard to understand?

“This is the same argument as they used to try to keep black people out of the ranks.”

Big difference. Being black or any other race is not a choice or a behavioral factor. I would not question being in a communal shower or curled up in a foxhole with anyone from any other race but if that person was a homosexual, he would join a long list of other people I would have a problem with in similar situations.

How would America swallow the knowledge of throwing their daughter in a communal shower with a bunch of male Marines?

The unfortunate comparison above puts me and other heterosexual males in the role of the daughters because, think about it, the scenario describes victims who are attractive to a population.

So if we expressly forbid men (attracted to women) to shower with women, why should we be OK with men (attracted to men) to shower with men?

That is, of course, hypothetical because we all know what would happen. The gay man would be beat to shit and then you would have a legal nightmare which, predictably, would wipe out that unit.

Before long you would have the following exiting service:

1. The beat-to-shit gay man

2. The perpetrators

3. The Officer in charge

But there is a few other populations you would lose:

1. Marines who either resign or don’t reenlist since they don’t want to put up with being forced to accept serving with gays

2. Potential Marines who don’t enlist or apply for a commission for the same reason

And if you think these numbers would be small, you would be wrong again. Marines, more than any other service, depend most heavily on their reputation to recruit and retain. If you decimate that allure to “Be a Marine,” then you have gutted your best fighting force.

It comes down to a simple question: does America want a Marine Corps?

If the answer is “yes” (and it is), then you must allow an environment exist that is capable of creating and maintaining the kind of units it takes to have a good Marine Corps.

If you start tinkering with that proven formula, you will break it.

A Marine fights and wins. He does this with his fellow Marines who fight just as hard and these bonds are the strength that protect all and give the American public what they expect from a Marine Corps: checks in the winning column.

If you let gay people into that formula, the bonds will break down.

And you will not have a Marine Corps, or at least one that does what a Marine Corps is supposed to do.

So if you do this, do not call it a Marine Corps.

Because it will not be.

To show you that I have not lost my sense of humor while way up here on my soapbox, I did have to chuckle at this that I got from The Reluctant Optimist who noted the improvements if DADT is repealed:

The Army might finally get some uniforms that look good.

The Marines might finally get rid of those ridiculous onionskin PT short shorts for fear of fraternization.

The Air Force might look more macho.

The Navy… well, pretty much status quo there.

Free Advice for Today: “When you race your kids, let them win at the end.”

Quote of the Day: “Love is the difficult realization that something other than oneself is real.”

Today, most people celebrate Groundhog’s Day.

I do not think that a stupid forest creature coming out of his burrow and seeing (or not seeing) his shadow has anything to do with weather.

To me, this day means something much different.

It’s my Grandma’s birthday, who passed away a couple of years ago.

To her, I am reprinting the eulogy I gave at her funeral. I was in full Marine Corps Dress Blues.

Happy birthday, Grandma.

For those of you that don’t know me, I am Jason Grose, and this is my grandma. You wouldn’t know it looking at me but grandma called me her “Silly Rabbit” She had nicknames for all of her grandchildren and somehow I got stuck with that one. OK, Silly Rabbit it is. My Marines would kill for such information.

As I look out today, I see something I know my grandmother would have cherished; a gathering of the people she loved. Each one of you have your memories, your stories, your details of why my grandmother was special in your lives.

This is a couple of mine.

120 miles.

It’s 120 miles from Oklahoma City to my grandma’s house. And when we would make that trip, for two hours my brother and I had our noses pressed up against the car door glass in anticipation of arriving.

When we did, Mom would not even have a chance to stop the car as my brother and I flung open our doors and jumped out of the moving car, leaving the doors wide open and a very concerned mother back in the vehicle.

We so loved coming to see our grandmother and it’s a testament to her love that her home was a sanctuary for us despite the lack of what you would normally consider a place that drew children. There were not big toys and few small ones. There was a TV but most of the time only with a smattering of channel offerings, few of them that would keep a child’s attention.

We had no neighborhood friends here, no computers, no video games. But what we did have made us long to come back and stay for as long as would be allowed.

Mexican food!

Actually, food was just a fringe benefit. The love that was showered on us from grandma was the actual draw. Her attention was more desired than any diversion, any game, any entertainment and she gave it to all of us freely and in copious amounts.

When it was time to leave, tears rolled down our faces even after we had passed the city limits. My brother and I cried unashamedly, heartbroken that we had to leave our grandma.

That is my classic example of what my grandmother meant to me and my brother but if you will indulge me, I want to share one more important realization I had recently.

60 miles.

Perry Oklahoma is only 60 miles from Oklahoma City and when I was a kid, most of you will remember the enormous family reunions we had there. We would take over the block with the kids running every which way, through the ditches, and roaming in and out of every house. The women would be in all the kitchens cooking, talking, and laughing. The men would either be in the living rooms or outside talking politics, smoking, and yes, arguing.

Music was in the air, as well as the love we all shared for “The Family.” People were dancing. Only peals of laughter broke through the blaring Mexican music.

But I have to admit. Since my grandmother was one of 13 children, I was not all that sure who some of you were. Our family tree has so many branches that I was lucky to pick out even a small portion of any of your actual relationships to me.

But that did not matter. What I did know was that we were family, I was related somehow to all of you, and I was loved.

I was recently telling someone this exact story and it was at that time that I made a sudden realization. I realized it as it was coming out of my mouth and I almost felt like an audience member hearing it for the first time.

The reason I loved this family so much was simple. The reason I felt comforted and loved by the mass of you sitting in this room stemmed from a single source.

I loved all of you because you all have aspects of my beloved grandmother. Some of you bear such a resemblance to her that it’s hard to look you in the eye today. Many of you talk like her. Many of you have the same mannerisms as her. And yes, all of you exude that unconditional love I so valued from her.

So I guess you could say that my grandma was a collection of everything that is good in those of us gathered here today. I love my grandma and I will miss her deeply for the rest of my days. But I can take some comfort in knowing that she is not gone. She is just spread out evenly among who I see today.

I stand before you a Major of Marines, proud of my 20 year career and the two decades of wearing this Cloth of our Nation. I have been to war and I have forged men of steel to defend this great nation. At my unit, I am simply known as “The Major.”

But I hold another title in higher regard than any of that.

I AM a Silly Rabbit and I AM the grandson of Sanjuana Candelaris Terronez Garcia.

Free Advice for Today: “When someone tells you they love you, never say ‘No, you don’t.’”

Quote of the Day: “The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”

I thought thse were funny enough to post. They are dedicated to my father-in-law who is the master of bad puns.

(Hat tip to Theo Spark)

50. Act naturally
49. Found missing
48. Resident alien
47. Advanced BASIC
46. Genuine imitation
45. Airline food
44. Good grief
43. Same difference
42. Almost exactly
41. Government organization
40. Sanitary landfill
39. Alone together
38. Legally drunk
37. Silent scream
36. British fashion
35. Living dead
34. Small crowd
33. Business ethics
32. Soft rock
31. Butt head
30. Military intelligence
29. Software documentation
28. New York culture
27. Extinct life
26. Sweet sorrow
25. Childproof
24. “Now, then…”
23. Synthetic natural gas
22. Christian scientists
21. Passive aggression
20. Taped live
19. Clearly misunderstood
18. Peace force
17. New classic
16. Temporary tax increase
15. French bravery
14. Plastic glasses
13. Terribly pleased
12. Computer security
11. Political science
10. Tight slacks
9. Definite maybe
8. Pretty ugly
7. Twelve-ounce pound cake
6. Diet ice cream
5. Rap music
4. Working holiday
3. Exact estimate
2. Religious tolerance

And the NUMBER ONE top Oxymoron

1. Microsoft Works

Free Advice for Today: “Add The Book of Virtues by William Bennett (Simon & Shuster, 1993) to your home library.”

Quote of the Day: “All programmers are playwrights and all computers are lousy actors.”

Doesn’t count!

I never really noticed it before but it makes sense, even though it disgusts me.

The “Pro Bowl” is a weak sister excuse for a professional football game.

Logically, I know why this is:

- God forbid that a high quality player should get hurt while playing what amounts to an exhibition game.

- Performing in the Pro Bowl is not the big goal here: it’s GETTING to the Pro Bowl so that forever and a day, the player will have the “Pro Bowl player” tacked on to his name.

- There are not really two teams: there are just a bunch of good individual players which means the game is going to suck.

Now, I am a mid-level fan, as opposed to a hardcore, paint-your-face and curse your existence if your team doesn’t win, fan. And even to ME, the reality that the football season is coming to an end brings a certain desperation.

The Pro Bowl, normally played AFTER the Super Bowl, is that last morsel of football before many long months without the pigskin being snapped.

This year, they moved it, squeezing it between the playoffs, or what I like to call the Blood-Letting since big, mean dudes are throwing themselves around wrecklessly and creating violent Gladiator-style entertainment that is almost unparalleled, and the Super Bowl.

So right off the bat, they pumped the pooch. Yes, yes, they threw us a bone between the playoffs and the Big Game but speaking for myself, I would rather have that little nugget AFTERWARDS when I’m staring down the barrel of many barren months without football.

Second, the lameness that is the Pro Bowl performances are somewhat overlooked when the game is the last football to be seen in months. When you move it between between the arguably most intense played games of the year, it makes the Pro Bowl seem like the soap-dropper.

On top of all this, they moved it to Florida.

I don’t know how I feel about that so I will split my personality on this one:

Con: the players always use this as a free trip to Hawaii each year, upping the spoils of getting to the Pro Bowl. After many months of long, arduous schedules, the family gets to reconnect in the paradise that is Hawaii.

Pro: Cry me a river, you rich bastards. You earn MILLIONS so use some of that to go to the friggin’ moon, as far as I’m concerned. I’m sure one trip for you and your family to Hawaii isn’t going to even show up as a blip on your financial radar. And you are allowed to be in the PRO BOWL, and forever be known as a PRO BOWL PLAYER. You haven’t the room to bitch, my friends.

But since I do have male chromosomes, I watched the game because it is football and the party will soon be over.

How disappointed I was.

They were hardly hitting each other! They were helping each other up, smiling, and patting each other on the butt.

On one extra point attempt, they didn’t even make CONTACT!!!!!!

It is sad to watch defenders give up at the end of plays, rushers give half-assed efforts to get to the QB, and to see the general lethargy. Why even play the damn game? I want to see the blood, violence, and career-ending injuries I’ve come to love and expect from professional football.

Sheesh, what is a violence-addicted gorilla to do?

Free Advice for Today: “Watch a video on CPR and emergency first aid with your family.”

Quote of the Day: “Money doesn’t always bring happiness. People with ten million dollars are no happier than people with nine million dollars.”

Today, we watched our niece and nephew.

OK, my WIFE did most of the watching.

It’s nice to have a household again. To have a place where you can have family over. To have a place where family can drop off their kids and go do stuff.

We have waited so long for this. We have been travelling around for a couple of decades and the last decade or so is when we feel we’ve really missed out. Our nieces and nephews are edging toward their teen years but we still have a few left before hanging out with their cool uncle is no longer cool.

And our place is the cool place.

We always have all kinds of good treats.

And we have a stupid dog that most of the kids aren’t afraid of.

And we have a trampoline.

We have 3 different video systems.

And best of all, we are the cool aunt and uncle who let the kids pretty much run wild as long as they stick to the most basic rules of good behavior.

If I were a kid, this is the place I’d want to hang out.

And isn’t that the ultimate test?

Free Advice for Today: “Offer to say grace at holiday meals.”