We Need "Back To School" Spirit for Adults

It's September and the kids are back in school.  The end of summer has been mourned, and in a millisecond the kids' sadness ends (okay, maybe a little longer for my son, Will). And, the excitement starts.

School supplies have been bought. Lockers have been filled. Books have been covered.  Schedules are set. Curiosity stirs. Fears are faced. Friendships formed.  Can you feel it?  

The truth is "back to school" is an amazing time. A great ritual.  And, in many ways, I envy my kids for that.  With the perspective and distance of a middle-aged father, I wish I could go back in time and recapture some of those feelings that my kids experience every September.  The truth is we need a "back to school" spirit for adults.  Wouldn't it be great?

What?  You don't think so?  How about this?  Here are five things that I miss about the Septembers of my childhood.

1) Butterflies

As a kid, do you remember the butterflies you would feel a few days before school?  It was scary, but mostly good nerves and excitement.

For kids, nerves can be terrifying, but they are also so exciting, special and energizing every September.

You had so many questions.  You were worried about the unknown, but looking forward to the answers.  Who would my teacher be?  Who was coming back to school?  Was Algebra really as hard as my sister said? Would I make the team this year?

And, oh my gosh, if you were starting a new school, the butterflies became condors.

I went to an all-boys high school known for its Jesuits, academics and discipline.  I was a skinny, four-eyed freshman in my first gym class one September with about 50 other freshman -- and I had butterflies.

Our gym teacher was a stern, no-nonsense mountain of a man. A marine and All-American who had been a legend at the school for 30 years.  He kept everyone in line with a hard stare and sharp one-liners.  The first day, he lined us all up across the gym floor and told us to stand at attention. He stood on the balcony near his office, clipboard in hand,and he laid down the law.  My butterflies started to move.  The nerves and whatever breakfast I ate started to stir in my stomach.  I looked around anxiously.  I dashed out of line to the nearest garbage can, threw up quickly and ran back to my spot in line without skipping a beat.  I was over the butterflies and ready.  [The gym teacher had a heart and never said a word. He'd probably seen it a thousand times before :)]

For an adult, butterflies don't have that same fun, exciting edge.  Butterflies become ulcers.  They might linger, require acute medical attention or years of therapy.

I think about when I have started new jobs.  That's sort of like back to school.  Same thing, right? While it can bring on some similar nerves, I haven't found those nearly as comforting or exciting as back to school days. And you certainly pray you're not experiencing those "new job" butterflies every September.

2) Shopping sprees

As a kid, every September came with new sneakers (Converse) or shoes (Does anyone remember wallabees?).  A new school uniform and bookbag (nothing like the backpacks today).  A shopping cart at KMart full of spiral notebooks, theme paper, Bic pens, Dixon Ticonderoga pencils -- and maybe even a hazardous compass to stick in your friend's leg during recess.

For adults, the "annual" shopping spree gives way to car payments, mortgages and kids' orthodontia. My wardrobe looks pretty much the same as it did ^%*^% years ago (just ask my wife), and my supplies come from my assistant's file cabinet at the office.  And, if I am lucky, I am not "growing" out of my uniform every year.

3) Reunions

For kids, every September is a reunion.  After a few months off on summer adventures, they come back together to swap stories and bond over whose parents are becoming more annoying.They are so excited to see one another.  The girls squeal at each other. The boys wrestle each other.  All is well.  Sleepovers ensue and the school year drama begins.

As an adult, the reunions are less often, less exciting and more complicated.

At school reunions years later, there are all the awkward moments. "Are you sure we were in the same class as me?  I don't remember you at all."  ... Calling people by the wrong name for 10 minutes because you were sure he was Jim -- only to find out later that  he was always called Mahesh.  Your wife who didn't go to school with you rolls her eyes all night and looks at her watch as she hears the story about the big game when some guy nicknamed Smoothy hit the big shot or when Boomer's house got wrecked while his parents were away in Bermuda.  The inevitable judgments and comparisons of who has lost more hair, gained more pounds, had more kids, made more money.

Then there's impromptu reunions with friends from school that you try to arrange. You spend months juggling work commitments, kids schedules, and finding babysitters to set up a weekend -- or maybe just a dinner -- to "reunite" with the old crew from high school or college.  You're so exhausted by the time the day arrives  you can barely keep your eyes open past 10 pm.  And, so you drink, eat and talk about the work commitments, kids schedules and the new babysitter.



4)  Clean slates

As a kid, every September comes with a clean slate.  There are no grades on your report card. You get a fresh start.

This is the year that I am going to get straight A's.  This is the year that I will beat out Hillary for student council.  This is the year I will get the lead in the school play or show off that new jump shot I spent 2,000 hours working on over the summer. This is the year, my teeth are straight, my skin is clear and my contact lenses are in -- I may have exited that "awkward stage" as my mother would call it and she won't hide the class pictures in a drawer.  This is the year, I might have the nerve to ask Amy to the prom.

As an adult, clean slates are a lot harder to come by.  Situations, habits, perceptions and grudges change a lot more slowly as we get older.  We think New Year's Day can be our clean slate every year, but it never has the same effect as the first day of school.

5) Safety nets

Every September, no matter how the first day went, you could count on a reassuring word, a comforting hug and some delicious ice cream from Mom and Dad.  Whether you were devastated by missing the school bus or excited by being elected class representative, your parents were home, wanting to hear every word. They could make everything alright, or so it seemed.  You always had a safety net at home.


As an adult, life's safety nets may not always be as sturdy and the problems may have a bit more of a sting.

But somewhere your mother is waiting for that phone call.  She has a quart of Breyer's in the freezer in case you come by. And she has a ready ear, a clear solution and hours of stories when the same thing happened to "your Aunt Matilda's son Jim's granddaughter Lucy who lives in Bayonne down near St. Andrew's.  You met her at Uncle Jim's funeral when you were six...  Do you remember her?"

Ahh, the Septembers of my childhood.  To have that "back to school" spirit again.

Ticket Stubs Are Bookmarks To My Life

I am a 45-year old man, and I have a treasure box.  There, I said it.

It's a pretty ordinary wooden box.  It has a whale carved on the top and comes from Maine. About 25 years ago, it was sitting empty on my dresser collecting dust.  Then it became a resting place for my treasures.

It doesn't contain money, jewelry or gold coins.  It doesn't have baseball cards, photos or antique watches.

It holds a lifetime of memories.  A lifetime of memories in the form of ... ticket stubs.

The Bookmarks To My Life

These  pieces of paper mark more than 100 events in my life.  They are from concerts and comedians.  Broadway shows and basketball games.   Dance recitals and plays. Aquariums, zoos and gardens. The truth is these tickets stubs are the  bookmarks to my life.

When I was younger, I thought it would be cool some day when I was old to sit on my porch in a rocking chair, take out my treasure box and walk down memory lane.  A cheap and restful form of entertainment for an old man.

I wondered if a particular ticket would make me laugh?  Remind me of an old friend? Perhaps bring a song to my mind?  Conjure up images of the kids?  What would I remember when I looked at this assortment of decorated pulp?

This week, I took out my ticket stubs to see what I would find.

The Kids

The kids tickets marking
adventures and milestones.

There was a large group of tickets that will always remind me of the kids:

• Saturday afternoons with the kids at the Shriner Circus in Mennen Arena where cheap popcorn, cotton candy, elephant rides and acrobats made us laugh and cheer
  
• Tess' dance recitals and  Emma's performances in Willy Wonka and Hairspray
  
• Days at the Liberty Science Center, Sesame Place, the Bronx Zoo, and the Aquarium in Boston


• Long walks up the Cape Hatteras Light House every summer
  
• Spending a Daddy day with little Emma and Tess at a production of Cinderella.  A great idea until little Tess got a spontaneous gushing, bloody nose in the parking lot two minutes before the curtain.  I can still see the red handkerchief,... hear my most soothing "you'll-be-fine, Tess," ... and thinking "I hope they don't call DYFS," as we ran through the parking lot to make the curtain.  :)

From the Community Theater
to Broadway

The Shows

In another stack are the shows that remind me of great performances, lots of laughs and endless evenings with friends:

• Howling at Bobby Collins, Drew Carey, and Colin Mochrie and Brad Sherwood -- the two funniest men alive by my account.  Check out this video and wet your pants.
  
• The first time we took Emma to see Wicked and would hear Popular sung 10,000 times by our little starlet
  
• Les Miserables, Lion King, The Producers, Chicago, Riverdance and Rent

The Concerts

One more group for the concerts that set the musical score for my life and embed all those "old" songs in my head to this very day.

• Going to Bruce Springsteen's last show at Giants Stadium and screaming out Thunder Road.
  
• Seeing Billy Joel at Madison Square Garden and at Yankee Stadium.  My favorite performer ever.
  
• James Taylor at the Garden State Arts Center.  Is there any better way to spend a summer evening in NJ? (My wife would say there are hundreds of better ways, but she is from Ohio -- and thinks Dave Matthews is far better)

• Going with my wife to see the Irish group, the Chieftains, one week before my daughter Emma was born. We had to leave early because little Emma was kicking like crazy and enjoying the music a bit too much for her poor, uncomfortable mother-- and then getting lost in Newark on the way home.  Aaah, the bliss of impending parenthood and panic.

The Games

And, finally, The sporting events that brought me together with friends and family -- and were far less about the game and more about the gathering and camaraderie:

Gathering at games over decades

• Tailgating at countless Kickoff Classics at Giants Stadium.  No better way to end the summer and start the fall.
  
• Nets games at the Meadowlands -- especially for that brief moment when the Nets were good.
  
• Minor league baseball games in Bridgewater -- where summer reunions with the old colleagues never got old.
  
• The Rose Bowl in 1997.  Jake the Snake and Arizona State against the Ohio State Buckeyes in a thriller.  The culmination of a "boys" trip up and down the California coast with my Prep crew.
  
• Saint Peter's College basketball games against Seton Hall at the Meadowlands.  We rarely -- if ever -- won, but spending the night with my dad feasting in a VIP box as special guests was always priceless.
    

Dwindling, but Precious Treasures

Today, there are fewer ticket stubs.  We print them off our computers on cheap disposable pieces of paper.   In some cases, a sticker or a wrist band will do. Soon they'll just be digital certificates on our smart phones and stamps on our hands.  

I will miss ticket stubs.  They are dwindling, but precious treasures.  The memories they store will be a wonderful gift when my rocking chair calls and memory lane is awaits.

Always Leave with I Love You

When my daughter Tess turned two years old, she quickly got into the stage of talking -- and she has never stopped.

She was no longer just repeating phrases.  She knew when to say thank you, when to say please.  She knew when to ask for what she wanted – and unfortunately she knew when to scream and whine, too [At age 10 today, she is still pretty good on the "please," and she can still whine with the best of them].

A Late Night Visit

One night, when I was typing away and working in the basement at about 10 p.m., this little toddler came downstairs.  She was still in the mode of coming down one stair at a time on her butt.

As she got to the bottom, I said, “Hi, Tess,” to my little surprise guest.

“I want you, Daddy” was the reply.  She came over sat in my lap and we talked a bit.  I showed her what I was doing, and when she couldn’t play on or crash the computer herself, she became bored (a trait she inherited from her mother), and said, “I want Momma.”

So I told her Mommy was upstairs and she waddled back to the stairs.  She got to the bottom of the stairs and turned to me and said, “Bye, Daddy.”

I said, “Good night, Tess.  I love you.”

12 Steps to a Father's Heart

What happened next was one of those moments you know is a treasure for the memory bank.  It wasn’t something they would play on “America’s Funniest Home Videos” or that would win an Oscar for “Best Short Film,” but it was a moment I recognized then as a memory I would want to capture and replay in my head on days in the future – days when she would be mad at me, or when she would leave for college, or be walking down the aisle at her wedding.

Tess grabbed the banister and walked up one step.  Then she turned her head and yelled in that sweet Tess, child-like voice, “Good night, Daddy.  I love you.” And I said, “I love you, too.”

And then she went up the next step, and turned and said, “Good night, Daddy.  I love you,” and I responded.  Each step another turn, another sweet message.

There were 12 steps from our basement to the first floor in that house, and 12 times Tess grabbed a little piece of her father's heart in a way only a daughter can.

The truth is exits can be tough, but there aren't many better ways to leave a room than with a heartfelt "I Love You."

I remember that night I woke up at 4 a.m. from a dead sleep and went back to the basement.  I typed the original version of this essay that late night, hoping to capture for myself and for her – one moment, one memory that might last forever.  On that night, I could still turn and look at those stairs, walk into her room and see her in those blue pajamas and hear her sweet voice.  Today, it is a fading memory that I hold in my heart and in these words.

“Good night, Daddy.  I love you.”

“l love you, too, Tessie.” …  And I always will.

Editor's Note: This post is based on a series of essays I wrote from 2005 to 2009 and updated for Truth Is...

Values Should Be More Than Something You "Have"

I admire people who have clear moral convictions in life.  Those who see the world as black and white.  It must certainly make life a lot easier.

I am a bit more of a gray guy on many issues.  I tend to listen to lots of perspectives and usually find some virtue in arguments on many sides. My wife would tell you that when I am in a "mood" I will over think everything.

In the end, I may just have a gut feel that makes me lean one way or the other on an issue.  And ashamedly, at times, I may just make the easy choice and go along with my crowd. I might stick with a long-held belief, without any fresh examination or justification, and choose a side simply "because."

What's for Lunch?

Recently, we were on a trip to South Carolina and one simple dining choice got me to thinking about what issues would really stir me to take a stand -- and did my morality or values have a price?

We were driving down 95 South  looking to stop for lunch.  With three picky kids, that means finding the right pizza,pasta, chicken fingers and french fries -- or some combination thereof.

My wife and I were indecisive, and we kept stumbling upon Chick-Fil-A restaurants.  They looked very nice and clean from the outside.  I had a vague recollection about the food being good.  We loved the funny billboards with the cows.  And, the parking lots were always full.

We finally pulled into a Chick-Fil-A, but then my brain decided involuntarily to regurgitate a memory about Chick-Fil-A having been in the middle of a controversy over gay marriage.

I was fuzzy on the details, but I recalled that the CEO made some comments about his personal views on gay marriage and his entire company became embroiled in a messy situation and litany of protests.  You can read more about the situation in this recent USA Today story on the company.

And, so there I was at this mini-moral conundrum.  I have friends and co-workers who are gay, and I have supported gay marriage for a host of personal reasons.  So would I park and partake of some delicious Chick-Fil-A, or would we keep on driving?

If you are Catholic, you can probably relate to those Fridays in Lent when you go to the cafeteria and stand in-line for 15 minutes to get that hamburger special you love, only to realize as you are standing there that it is FRIDAY IN LENT and you aren't supposed to be eating meat.  Do you pretend you forgot that rule and enjoy that carnivore's delight anyway?  Or, do you groan and head to the salad line with your Catholic soul and good standing preserved -- at least for this week.

In the case of Chick-Fil-A, I couldn't do it.  We drove around the parking lot and headed back out onto the road.

Morality of Convenience or Conviction?

It made me think about what other issues would drive me to take an action and how far would I go to stand up for something I valued?  Was my morality one of convenience or conviction?  

There were another dozen fast food restaurants within spitting distance of Chick-Fil-A.  My family certainly wasn't going to starve because of my "stance" on Chick-Fil-A.  It seems even a columnist who is gay has written about having faced a similar conundrum.

I raise this question because the truth is that sometimes your "values" need to be more than something you "have" -- like an old book on the shelf -- they need to be something you "do" and "demonstrate."

I have a good friend, who to this day will not buy gas from Exxon.  It has nothing to do with the Exxon Valdez, which most of us are familiar with.  It dates even farther back to some controversy he recalls from his childhood, which I have long since forgotten.  He would drive the extra blocks for another gas station, and I remember thinking when I was younger, "This is crazy.  It's all the same gas."  But for him, it pushed a button.  It was one demonstration of his values.

Taking a Stand

The Chick-Fil-A turnaround made me think about when I had made a moral stand on anything (this certainly wasn't it)?  How strong were my convictions and values?  What actions do I take that really demonstrate my values?

• Had I ever walked out of a meeting or spoken to a colleague who made a racist joke in my presence?
• Did I ever march for a cause that would try to right some social injustice?
• Had I given my seat on the bus or subway to an older person?
• Did I ever stand up to a boss who was not acting appropriately? 
• Had I ever supported a candidate because of their position on one issue I deeply valued?

And, most importantly, do I teach my kids about my values?  Not only with lectures (you can imagine the eye rolls), but more effectively with my actions.  Do I explain to my children not just what I hold as values, but why I hold them?

I think that may be part of the lesson.  Take time to think about your values.  Examine them.  Question them. Understand them.  And, find those cases where you would actually do something to demonstrate them.

Then pick the opportune time to talk about them with your family, your kids ... maybe even for longer than the thirty-second u-turn out of the Chick-Fil-A parking lot.

Relaxing Takes a Lot of Work -- and Isn't All That Relaxing

August.  It's peak vacation time.  Everyone is squeezing in those last minute trips to soak up every bit of fun before the kids go back to school and the post Labor Day frenzy at the office begins.

It's time to lay back and chill out, right?  Hit the beach.  Head to the mountains.  Leave the the laundry and cooking behind.  Go somewhere to just sit back, enjoy the kids, read a book and be pampered. Maybe stop shaving and forget about work.  But, the truth is relaxing takes a lot of work.

Lessons in the Work of Relaxing

In fact, the pre-relaxing stress can drain you.  My wife Elena is the most relaxed and laid back person I know.  Last year, she was stranded on I-95 in Delaware with three kids and a broken down  minivan loaded with  a week's full of beach gear.  Just imagine!  She never broke a sweat and kept smiling for the entire tow back to NJ (I was stranded in NJ with my new job).  She even emailed me a photo of the "fun."

But, Elena isn't relaxed when it comes to her vacation planning.  She takes her relaxing seriously.  She attacks vacations with a precision and efficiency that make a NASA launch seem like child's play.
 
She begins with research.  Whether it is Disney, Lego Land, the Outer Banks or Seabrook Island, you can be sure she has examined every house, hotel, on-line brochure available.  She has looked at every promotion, deal and "expert guide" a good Google search can get you. She has mentally checked on everyone's pet peeves, allergies and dietary needs to make sure we will all be happy. 

Then there is the pre-trip shopping ... days of packing ... mapped-out directions and alternate routes ... making sure the kids have every swimming goggle, DS game and snack they desire ... collecting enough hardware -- headphones, mini-iPads, a SanDisk for wireless movie storage -- to put a Best Buy out of business  ... and cleaning the house from top to bottom before we leave ("I like to come home to a clean house"). 

Before we step out the door, my laid back sweeetheart could use a pre-trip drink and a day at the spa.  But, she is ready to relax.

Disentangling from Work

Elena is so terrific on the prep, I just have to pack a bag, load up the car and get in the driver's seat to mindlessly follow her every command.
 
My one pre-trip job is to get myself disentangled from work, so that I can be fully present and enjoy the time with family.



Like Elena, I start well in advance. Block my calendar and adjust my schedule.  Then I basically try to get that vacation week's worth of work done ahead of time.  Lots of late nights the week before vacation to get the deck cleared and hand-offs ready. 

I recently did an interview for a magazine with one our executives about this topic, and she shared some awesome tips that I have been trying to follow more and more.  Here is my take:

1. Set the boundaries -- It's hard to disconnect.  Some people can walk out the door and not look back.  Others need to stay tethered constantly.  Everyone has to find a balance and a boundary that works for them.  I am no role model (ask my kids and wife).  I have a compulsive need -- or work ethic -- that makes check my email, but on vacation I do it once a day now.  Being able to sort my email and direct traffic keeps my stress level down and helps me relax.  I don't have to wonder what might be festering at the office or come home to 1,000 emails on a Sunday night. 

My biggest change has been using two phones.  When I leave work, I forward my work cell phone calls to my personal cell phone, so co-workers can get me in an emergency (they rarely do).  But this does two things: I don't feel guilty or stressed because people know I can be reached, and it takes the temptation of work email off my phone as a constant distraction and source of worry. 

2. Be Transparent -- There are inevitably going to be intrusions from work.  It is the world we live in, but everyone is in the same boat and most people I have worked with will respect your boundaries and encourage you to take a break.  People want to think they will get the same courtesy -- and protection -- when they are away.  Set up your "out of office" on email and voicemail, pointing people to other colleagues.  Be clear in your messages if you will be checking -- occasionally or not at all -- and stick to it.  Once you break that boundary, the flood gates may open or you become ensnared in something that sucks you right back to work mode. 

3. Make It a Priority -- Work comes with all sorts of pressures -- real ones and ones that we build up in our own minds from being insecure or uncertain of our situation.  Make family time a priority and think about the long-term benefit of that.  Will it matter to me if I made that conference call two weeks or two  years from now?  Instead, think "Will my kids and I share a moment, lesson or a laugh -- and will that memory matter in 10 days or maybe even 10 years from now?

My executive used a phrase I really liked.  She tries to be "mentally present where she is physically present."  When I am with my family, that is where I am.  Hopefully, I am no longer peaking at an email, or dashing off for a quick call, or even thinking about work.  I can make time for that, too, but be fully present where you ARE.

A friend of mine shared a great article with me today about a practice that the company Daimler has undertaken to help its employees disconnect from work and find time to relax:

"The German carmaker Daimler is offering its employees a blissful solution. With the company’s “mail on holiday” inbox feature, correspondents will be told to contact someone else because all email sent to this person while they are on holiday will just be deleted. That’s right: destroyed. Gone. Imagine the calm of getting home. No horrifically bulging inbox. Nothing to “catch up” on."

The truth is ... relaxing sounds simple, but it takes a lot of work.  When you get it right, though, isn't it worth it? Relax...
 
  

God looks out for fools, children -- and stupid fathers (a.k.a., fools)

You may have heard some form of the old adage, "God looks out for fools and young children."  Some versions say he looks out for drunks and the United States of America, too.  

Whatever the source (The Bible or Otto von Bismarck), I would amend this saying.  In my case the truth is ... God often looks out for fools by another name -- stupid fathers.

Eleven years ago, we adopted a dog named Sadie.  She was a mutt who had been living on the street in Montclair, N.J., and we took her into our home.  She was about 40 pounds when we got her, mostly white fur with brown and black markings on her face.  Long pointed ears like a bunny and a long tail.  One blue eye and one brown eye.  

Sadie today.  About 12 years old.
Older, slower and lot calmer.

A unique dog in her looks, she was even more "unique" in her antics.  You see, Sadie was also certifiably crazy.  Just ask her vet and behavioral specialist at the time.

I could tell crazy Sadie stories for days -- and have to most people who will listen -- but this post is about one lesson she helped teach me more than 10 years ago.

Dopey Daddy Daycare

I had come home at about 8 p.m. one evening when my daughter Emma was about one-year old, and I had to take Sadie and Emma out for a walk because my wife was running late for an appointment.  I got Emma all packed into the ultra-cool, rugged jogging stroller with knobby tires, hand brakes and racing blue colors. I put on Sadie’s leash, grabbed a flashlight and rolled out.

Classic jogging stroller
with classic fit dad 

Everything was going fine.  We lived in a quiet suburban neighborhood.  It was dark outside, so none of our neighbors would be out walking and very few cars just drove up and down our block.  Emma was happily drinking her bottle and Sadie walked calmly next to her stroller with her leash in my hand.

Now, Sadie wasn’t crazy like a vicious, rabid killer.  She was crazy like a scared-of-her-own-shadow, extremely anxious and nervous pup.  When she saw a stranger or another dog she would go nuts, jumping around, barking, trying to get to them -- or away from them -- it was hard to tell which in all the panicked, frenetic movement.

On this night, when Sadie left a "deposit" on our neighbor’s lawn, it presented me with a bit of a dilemma.  With a flashlight in one hand to see what I was doing and a bag in the other hand to do what I was doing, I had one last piece of the puzzle to figure out.  What to do with Sadie and her leash?

I had one of those big discerning moments that you think about later in life.  You reflect and wonder, "What were you thinking?"  I remember thinking that this wasn’t a good idea at the time, but it would only take a second. And, then I proceeded to clip Sadie’s leash to the stroller’s handle. CLIP!

I looked around and didn’t see anyone.  As I bent over to pick up the dump, I heard a sound behind me down the road from where we had come.  It was a man and his dog out for a late night walk about 50 yards down the street. 

In an instant, I turned my head back to look at Emma, the stroller and Sadie.  It was already too late.  Sadie had heard them, too, and had been spooked.  She took off down the street at full speed with Emma’s stroller flipped over like a dragster on a raceway and careening behind her.  I screamed at that dog words and sounds I have not spoken since.

Sadie stopped dead in her tracks.

As I ran about 15 yards down the block, I was prepared for the absolute worst.  Emma was crying hysterically and Sadie sat there frozen -- for the first time in her life.  Luckily, Emma had been strapped so snugly into that stroller that when it flipped she didn’t get dragged on her head or face.  She was scared , but not scraped.  Sadie and I were just scared.

The lesson here is that when you get that little twinge in the pit of your stomach that says, “This isn’t a good idea,” go with that feeling and stop what you’re doing.  On that night, God gave me a pass. A near miss on a potentially devastating accident.  A wink, a nod, and a big "this one is on me" gesture from heaven. 

The truth is sometimes we get a little more help than our actions would deserve...

Editor's Note: This post is based on a series of essays I wrote from 2005 to 2009 and updated for Truth Is...

A sockless life is a happy life

The truth is socks don't belong on feet -- at least not in my house.

I honestly don't know what it is about the socks in my house.  I walk in from work every night and I can follow the trail of socks from the mudroom ... to the living room floor ... to under the couch ... to between couch cushions ... to the stairs going up to the bedrooms.  Fallen "foot" soldiers strewn around my house.

A herd of socks forced together for photo

It's as if they are creatures with lives of their own.  Like those dried up crabs you find on the Jersey shore -- limp, still and stinky.

And there are rarely two socks together.  They live lonely, solitary lives once they leave my kids' feet.  They seem to repel each other.  Or, maybe they are like every bad horror movie where the two teens say, "We'll have a better chance if we split up," then one of them gets gutted by some chainsaw wielding psycho.  One lost single sock is all you ever find.

No socks were hurt in the documenting of this story

History of the Sockless

This is not a new phenomenon or unique to my house.  Apparently, the U.S. military has a long history of trying to solve the Lonely Sock problem, dating back to the Civil War.  You can read more about it here.

My family has never been big fans of socks.

The most famous of these demonstrations was Tess who quit soccer after a few weeks -- due to sock irritation.  Tess was about 5 and wanted to try playing soccer with her friends.  Like all good suburban parents, we signed her up, got all the gear -- soccer ball, cleats, shin guards ... and official fuzzy soccer socks.  After weeks of having tears over the socks every Saturday morning, it was over.  She would practically undress herself on the drive to the soccer field trying to get her socks comfortable and feeling just right. Screams and tears -- over socks.  Soccer would have to wait for another day.  Tess has now become a dancer and favors flip flops and dance shoes over ever wearing socks.

Barefeet rule 

The kids play basketball in the driveway in their barefeet. They run through the lawn chasing each other in barefeet.  If they are forced to put on sneakers, they probably don't have on socks.  There is rarely a moment in the house when socks are ever on their feet.

I went seeking the truth about why they don't wear socks and so I asked Emma:  "They make your feet all sweaty and stinky."  I asked Tess: "I don't like fabric on my feet."  And finally, I asked Will, my truthteller.  "I hate socks," he said quite simply.  "But why?" I pressed.  "BECAUSE I HATE SOCKS."  Duh!

So a sockless life seems to be a happy life -- at least for my kids.  No matter how much the sock "debris" around the house drives me crazy, it's a small price to pay for happiness.  Ironically, their grandfather always wears socks.  Lawn mowing accident.  Nine toes.  Long story for another day...  ;)