This poem / observation was jotted down in my note app as I was on my walk. I also took this picture to reinforce the idea.
One of the reasons I like to walk everyday is the mental aspect, the way my mind can drift and be inspired by the world around me. As I continued on my walk I thought about how much a home is like a tree.
On average, most people (6 out of 10) live within 100 miles of their home town. And most of them are only 30 miles away (2022 Census).
Even wind-dispersed seeds of trees travel just over a mile, but can reach 18 miles.
I thought about how my desire to create a stable home for my own family influenced aspects of my personal life, my goals. One of the biggest aspects has been coaching, specifically football. But also my writing goals. This town is not a poetic mecca by any means.
But the thing about trees is that they are beautiful in their strength and characteristics; leaf shape, color, and their bark patterns. Trees withstand the seasons by changing with the weather.
We have been in this particular house for 15 years. My three oldest children are out in the world, two are over 100 miles away while one is in town. I have three more children at home, one of them will be a senior and ready to make the decision of which college to attend.
I do not know where the wind will take my children, but they know where home is. It is a strong blue house… sitting pretty close to heaven.
This morning I stopped at The Blue Moon for a coffee, a Pooh Bear latte (part of my yearly summer challenge to drink their specialty coffees). My youngest daughter got a breakfast sandwich. We sat on the couch, chatted a little about the rest of the day. But we were mostly quiet, partly because she was hungry (just got done with morning weights) and I was people watching.
The Blue Moon is a hot spot for the older generation to gather and chat while enjoying a coffee. Every morning you can find tables brought together and groups of people talking, laughing, just enjoying the fellowship of friends. The afternoons are more subdued, that is when I try to go and write.
This morning there were about 10 older ladies at a table beside us. Conversations flying. Across the sitting area was a young boy, probably about 10 or 11 years old. He was by himself, I figure he was a grandson and tagged along with his grandmother. He had an empty juice bottle and some crumbled up napkins on the table. But what struck me was how he was just sitting there with an iPad in front of him, the volume loud enough I could hear it, but could not catch everything that was on the screen. And he didn’t move, at all. His face was illuminated by the screen. I watched as different colors shifted on his face.
Now, I know that a young boy may not feel comfortable talking with a group of older women, I get that. Besides the idea of reading or coloring or doing something active, he was silent and did not move at all. His silence struck me, I see the way screens silence people, even in my classroom and even my home.
Let’s throw in AI just for the fun of it… Open AI just released GPT-Live which will listen and talk to you in real time. A quote from them, “We’re launching GPT‑Live, a new generation of voice models that make talking with AI feel much more like having a real conversation.”
I’m going to let this sit for a second…
I always wondered why the cool advancements in technology always seemed to correlate to making technology more human.
And now technology wants to silence you even more to other humans.
Yesterday we (my wife and three youngest daughters) went to Lincoln to get new tennis rackets, had lunch together, and visited the children’s zoo. Yes, we had phones, taking pictures and sharing some of them on our family group chat. We even rode the little train around the zoo. My two oldest boys added a few comments about the memories they had of the train and the zoo when they were little. We talked at lunch and had fun getting new tennis rackets for my two middle daughters (one chose some crazy colors for her strings).
As a dad it was a great day, it was filled with smiles, conversation, and laughter.
At the moment my house is pretty silent… and yes, we are all on screens. I am writing this blog post, I can’t see the screens of my daughters, but it is the classic position; phone in hand, face blank. My wife is working on her computer. The house is silent.
I am not against technology. I am concerned about its ability to silence us in lots of different ways, and what that will cost us as a society, as a person.
I would rather enjoy my coffee in the middle of the noise of people enjoying fellowship, then sipping on it in silence, screen illuminating my blank eyes.
My stereo system, from 1991, finally just stopped working about a year ago. I had a dual deck cassette player, CD player, receiver, and six speaker set-up that was in my corner library. I did not have a record player. In fact, I have never owned a record player. Until this Christmas.
As a Christmas gift my wife gave me a Victrola 6-in-1 Bluetooth Record Player & Multimedia Center. I can listen to my CDs, tapes, and now, for the first time, listen to records.
During Christmas break I visited our new used record store downtown to buy a LP. I was hoping for a Prince record, but they didn’t have anything at that time. I ended up buying Poco’s Legend album, which has one of my all-time favorite songs, “Heart of the Night”.
When I got home, I immediately put the record on (Side two though because that side started with “Heart of the Night”). I’ll be honest, I was excited. I dropped the needle down, heard that hollow crinkling sound and smiled. Then the first notes of “Heart of the Night” started to play… and I was hooked.
My record collection is at five albums, and yes one is Prince’s “Around the World in a Day”. Many of the times I am just chilling on the bed when I listen to any of the albums. Those moments remind me of doing the same in my teenage years. Most of the time with my best friend at his house listening to cassettes. I remember the trips to Casper to buy music.
The other day as I was flipping over an album to the other side, I thought about the change in our culture around music.
Like many kids, my children listen to music as they do homework, headphones on, YouTube or Spotify playing their playlists. All my children have CD players in their room. Their music collection isn’t vast, but they ask for music as gifts. We definitely listen to music in the car, I mean we spend a lot of time traveling and we have some fun playlist we listen to.
But, what is missing in their life is the personal cost of time and care it took when I was a teenager, and now revealed in what it takes to listen to an album.
Here is what I mean, to listen to an album I must take it out of the sleeve. Place it on the player, physically move the needle and when the side is done, I have to flip the record over. To listen to a record I know I have to invest time and care even to enjoy the music.
There is so much missing from the musical experience today. It was hard to find hard facts, but for streaming revenue a song only has to be played between 30 and 50 percent of the length. Another stat I came across was that listeners only complete 50% to 80% of a song when it is on a playlist. Completion rates were higher for album plays (GEARNEWS).
Music doesn’t mean the same to my children that it does for me. And part of the reason is that they have not invested anything in listening to music. Like anything in life, when we invest our time, our energy, our hearts, it means more to us.
Every physical form of music, LP, CD, cassette, and even 8-track cartridge, has a physical, emotional, and time cost associated with it. Each form is unique in those costs; fastforward / rewind for tapes, dropping the needle down, switching tracks if we want to hear a certain song.
But I think the most interesting factor is the commitment to listening. Every form can be background music, every form can be heard while just chilling in the room, but the physical forms will have a stopping cue, a moment that you have to physically change the format. Even CDs will end. But the deeper aspect is the anticipation of that favorite song coming on, even if we are using the music as a backdrop, we know that a particular song will be next, so we may choose to stop washing dishes to dance or sing along with the song.
The full experience of listening to music in physical form adds a depth to the moment that digital music usually misses or fails to create for us. And in that depth, we can remember other moments, feel a range of emotions, and share, like best friends chilling on the floor waiting for THAT song to play, a rich and wonderful time with someone.
I like digital music. Again, we have travel playlists we listen to in the car, but we don’t skip songs. We sing and, yes, dance to our favorite songs. But, my new Victrola has Bluetooth capabilities that I have not used. I would rather put a record on…
Next year starts 2026. As we have done since 2015,each member of the family chooses one word for the next year. We each share the reason behind the word, and then design our display. This year we are using small wooden clipboards.
As you can see from the picture my word is MAGIC.
There are a number of reasons behind my choice for the word. I want to create more magical moments, which I tried to do this Christmas, actually, when Santa visited our house for everyone. There were 8 filled stockings under the tree (my six children and my new daughter-in-law and my son’s longtime girlfriend). And yes, Santa visited my wife, even if she didn’t get a stocking, she had presents under the tree.
But to have magical moments I have to be active as a father, a husband, and even as a poet. Magic doesn’t happen staring at a screen. It happens when my children laugh, my wife smiles, someone replies to a poem I wrote.
I have some really big goals this year. Accomplishing them will be magical. Jon Finch once said, “Magic is the poetry of impossibilities, each trick a stanza in the verse of wonder.” And I am a good poet.
If you are a faithful reader of my blog you know I write a lot about being a father, but this blog post will be written as a son. And I have no idea where it will go. All I know is that I need to write something to help deal with finding out today that my biological father has passed away.
There are so many emotional elements that I am processing right now.
The first is dealing with the third death in less than a year. The harsh reality that our time here is limited and unknown. But I’m going to leave this topic for another day.
This post is about me as a son. Of spending most of my life dealing with the question of why I was never important enough for either of my parents to love me, to raise me, to guide me in this life. And now I won’t have the chance to ask my father… or as any son deeply desires, to know if he was proud of me.
A blog post is not enough space to tell my whole story. To bring forth the pain his absence created in my life and does still to this day. And I am scared of the feelings I will have tomorrow.
He never saw me play football in high school or in college. He has never seen his six grandchildren. I never had my father to ask advice from. He lived his life as if I wasn’t here.
And yes, I know that some of you are asking why I didn’t reach out to repair the relationship. First, a single blog post can not cover the craziness of my younger years. The alcohol and drug use my parents partook in, living with them with their new wife or husbands, moving from city to city. As I grew older, I understood how I was seen as a burden at times or other times simply forgotten by both of my parents.
And as I started a family, worked at being a good dad, I became even more angry at both of my parents because I did a good job of being a dad. Yes, it was hard at times, I have sacrificed for them, but I am proud of my kids. And that deep rooted question grew even more in my heart.
Why couldn’t my parents love me? Why wasn’t I worth their time?
There was a moment when my father and I reconnected for a brief second. We saw each other in person (a crazy story) and a few letters were sent back and forth but in the end it was clear that nothing had changed. I wasn’t a son he wanted to be a father to (he had another family). So I went on living my life, never having the question answered.
But I am his son. And it hurts to even think about what could have been, maybe what should have been.
I believe all children, but especially sons, just want to know that their father is proud of them. Sadly, now, I will never know. I am left believing he didn’t care… and that hurts the most.
We had s’mores last night. Set off a few fireworks. Tried to catch lighting bugs. Watched our neighborhood firework show. Then went to bed. This morning we had cinnamon rolls. While we were eating, my youngest daughter said that last night was fun. Everyone agreed.
One of the things I am proud of is the sense of home we have. My wife and I work hard at creating a home that is warm and safe for our children. When I became a dad, I wanted my children to know that they had a loving place in this world. I wanted a home filled with laughter. Filled with love. A place that my children could find reprieve from this world.
I grew up in houses that I felt alone in. Scared in. There were houses where I found ways not to spend time in… luckily the library was across the street from that house.
Our home is part of the fabric of our family. We have movie nights, dance parties, blueberry muffins and simply some good days.
Of course we have had our troubles, rough times. But the heart of our home is love. And I have to give credit to Oprah Winfrey for some advice early in my days of being a dad.
Does your face light up when your children enter the room?
As Oprah says, it was a light bulb moment for me. I remind myself of this everyday.
Now, I might have taken the idea to the extreme. Especially in the mornings. My kids hate my energy in the morning, but part of the reason for that is that I want them to know I am excited to start the day with them. To let them know they are loved. The teen years are the toughest in the mornings… they do not want to talk when they first get up. But it is all good! It is funny to listen to my sons, who are both out of the house, about how I used to wake them up. But they remember it!
I do my best to let my children know I love them each time they enter the room. I am not perfect. No one is, but I am proud of how I’ve created a home I never had. I look forward to all the good days ahead.
My mom passed away at home as dad held her hand on June 9. Just four days from her 69th birthday. She battled cancer for five months, but we didn’t know it was cancer until April. My wife and I made a quick trip home in April. I wrote a tweet to share with my Twitter friends that my mom was sick and that my engagement on Twitter would be erratic.
Over the last few months I gave quick updates for my friends and colleagues of my mom’s journey.
My wife and I again headed home on June 3 because my mom was in the hospital. Again, I sent a quick update for those who know me. I also recorded my poetry lesson for Move Me Poetry on the way home. I was scheduled to provide the lesson for Tuesday. My mom was released on Sunday, things were looking good. So we headed home on Monday.
My dad texted me Friday morning (June 9) that she had passed. I called my brother, called my two sons, and broke down sharing the news with my four daughters that afternoon. Then I tweeted the news on Twitter.
Why am I sharing this? Because something powerful happened.
As I am writing this blog, that tweet has been seen 15,684 times. It has been retweeted, liked, and commented on thousands of times. What happened? Why did this simple tweet make its way to so many people and why did they care enough to interact with me? I have some thoughts…
First, and the most important thing, is that some aspects of life connect us on an important level. Grief, heartbreak, but also joy and love are emotions and moments we all share. The stories are different, but at some point we have to deal with the loss of someone important to us. We all grieve, yes in our own way because of the uniqueness of our stories, but we feel that loss.
Some of the interactions with my tweet were of the stories of people losing their mothers, some just as recent as mine and others were years ago but they still missed their mom.
I tried (and I think I did) to respond in some way to everyone that left a comment or an emoticon for me. There were some small but powerful conversations because of sharing the pain of the moment.
For a few days, I have connected with strangers because we shared a common moment, understood a powerful emotion. For others, they simply wanted me (a stranger to them) to know that they understood and cared.
That’s a powerful thing. I wonder what this world would be like if we could do this in the real world, on an everyday basis.
The second aspect isn’t about the tweet, but the stories, including mine and my family’s.
I mentioned that people did share their stories, as best they could in the space Twitter gives us. And life is not that simple, and neither is death.
As a dad I broke the news to my children. The three oldest took it the hardest because they have had their grandparents involved in their lives for over 19 years. Summer vacation, Thanksgiving trips, graduations and other big moments.
My youngest three have had their grandparents in their lives too, but that relationship has been different and less interactions. (We now spend Thanksgiving at our own home instead of traveling.) I realized that they all had their own story with their grandma.
My dad lost his wife. He held her hand as she passed, married over 40 years.
She was one person, who played so many parts in different life stories… her death is just as complex. As is our lives.
My wife has said a number of times that life never lets you handle just one thing. It doesn’t. As my mom’s health declined, my oldest daughter was graduating and we had college orientations. My youngest had art camp the week of my mom’s death. We moved our oldest son to his new town as he starts his first year teaching, then moved my wife’s parents into assisted living and then headed home to see my mom the first week of June.
Life will not allow us to handle just one thing at a time, it is a complex mix of joys and heartaches. Stress and good music. Eating on the road and tweeting to friends. But it is also, just sitting, holding the hand of your mother, trying to give her all the love you were going to share with her in the future.
At the end of the tweet, which is now at 15,753 views, I wrote that we should say “I Love You” more, laugh more, and that life is a gift.
I hope that message goes viral for everyone today, and each day they are given to experience this life.
For the first time in a while, everyone was around the table for breakfast on Sunday morning. There was only one blueberry muffin left, the eggs and bacon were all gone. And the morning was filled with conversation.
These moments are becoming rare, and I know that next year that having everyone home will be even less frequent. This is what bittersweet feels like. It is a mix of joy, reconnecting, laughter, pride, and knowledge of time running out, that scares me, to be honest.
Even though my word was Miles for this year (and I have traveled some miles this year), I sat thinking about how many miles my children have traveled this year. Especially my three older ones.
One of the things I am most proud of in this life is building a home. It has not been easy at times. But home is the center of our life as a family. Like a wheel, the house is the hub. My children are spokes. Their lives will take them away from the house, but the love we share keeps us connected; the rim that allows us to travel through this life.
As we started to put dishes away, I joked that the kitchen was going to be quiet once everyone was out of the house. My oldest son said, “You still got a long way to go,” as he looked at his youngest sister (age 9). I smiled at him because I knew deep down that I would be a dad for all of them, no matter how many miles they travel to come back home for blueberry muffins.
Tennis with my oldest son tonight 1 and 1. (He won the regular set, I won the shortened one)
Disc Golf with both my sons 0 and who knows.
Lightsaber battles with my second daughter 0 and like 28.
Pool basketball? 1 and too many to count.
Regular basketball? Against my sons? Haven’t won any serious games in years.
Chutes and Ladders (and other games)? I win sometimes. I’m a pretty good Pitch player.
Lately, I have been defeated in lots of different activities. And it is a bitter but mostly sweet feeling. These defeats are milestones for my children and for me. They are important for a number of reasons.
For my children they gage where they are in life regarding their mental and physical stages. I am, as a father, a measuring stick for them. There is a special joy they feel when they win against me. I see it in their faces, the way their eyes shine. I also see their frustration when I win. Either way, they are building strength, discovering what they are capable of. And not just physically. They have to handle their emotions, win or lose. Playing against dad (and mom sometimes with tennis) gives my children a space to develop who they are.
The second factor is that we build memories, win or lose, great shots are made, awesome hands are dealt, funny jokes shared, and sometimes bandages are needed (driveway basketball is not forgiving). Playing allows us to live life fully. The moments get retold at the dinner table. The disc golf shot on the first hole. The 9 bid because I didn’t have the 2. Switching to the other color of lightsaber but still losing.
As a father, I get to see my children grow. I get to teach them, through playing, life lessons that I know will be needed in their efforts to reach their goals. Yes, sometimes in the activity (like basketball) but also in the hardships that life has. I influence how they handle winning and losing. My children get tested playing with me before they are tested by life, tested by an opponent, tested by their own doubt and fear. They build their strength by defeating me.
And I love it.
I may never win a basketball game again. Or a lightsaber battle. But you better believe that I will be up to playing with my kids, no matter their age or my record. I’m their father, that’s what I do.
Like almost every Sunday morning, we made blueberry muffins for breakfast. I brewed a cup of coffee, set the oven to 410 degrees, started some music on my phone and got the paper cups into the muffin pan. For new readers, making blueberry muffins is a foundational part of my family’s life and a running metaphor for this blog.
Today is also Father’s Day. As my playlist switched to the song “Wild Horses” by Gino Vanelli, I thought about how music and specific songs defined moments for me as a father. I thought it would be fun to share some of those moments and music as a celebration for Father’s Day. Grab some headphones as I share some good vibes about being a father.
“Arms Wide Open” was a staple on radio when my first child was born. Once I held my son for the first time, I understood this song, completely. The feeling of wonder and responsibility never faded for any of my children’s births. Fatherhood is not easy, but it is the greatest gift I’ve received in my life. Honestly, I believe the world can change from the home. I want this post to be a celebration, so I will simply say that I can not fathom how anyone, father or mother, can treat their children in so many horrible ways… Anyway, this song captures an honest view of the start of fatherhood.
There could be a number of songs here, in fact the song “Wild Horses” could be placed here, but this is a song my daughters like to dance to during our dance parties. Which we have done for about 20 years. On any random night we might have a dance party. We play music and dance. The fun part has been the change in music over the years. The boys had The Wiggles and “Jessie’s Girl.” Now, the girls have Imagine Dragons, Minecraft parody songs like, “Skelly Heart,” and SpongeBob. But the dance party has stayed, filled with music, laughter, and sweet dad moves.
This song started our family’s connection to the stage. My oldest son was 10 years old when he wanted to try out for Charlie in the musical Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory for our youth community theater production. To audition he had to sing and dance to a song of his choice. He decided on “Cave In.” He decided to dance literally to the lyrics. He was auditioning against older kids who had been in theater for a while. Did I mention he had never performed in a play or musical before? He got the part. Watching my son on stage was my first taste of fatherly pride.
That moment when your child finds a place in the world and you get to experience it. But also help foster it and be there through the rough spots. I will admit it is hard to not get caught up in that feeling. My children’s talents are theirs to develop and to reap the rewards from them. I am there to support them and enjoy the ride.
My oldest son isn’t the only one to enjoy the spotlight on the stage. My youngest daughters have been involved in our youth community theater program, too. Not to mention my adventure last year on the stage (What I am Learning). But it all started with my son using this song for his audition. And honestly, his last performance in high school as Tevye in The Fiddler on the Roof, was my first taste of knowing how much it hurts to let them grow.
We are also a basketball family. Yes, my youngest daughters play basketball, and also volleyball and tennis. My oldest son played basketball through junior high. But basketball has been an area for my second son (who did do some summer theater when he was younger). My second son started playing when he was nine years old. We have traveled thousands of miles to tournaments and practices. Each season my son would have a song or two we would listen to before we arrived at the gym. Those songs changed every season, but “The Show Goes On” has been a staple for him through the years. The message rings true for me as a dad as I continue to drive miles for him and his sisters now.
This song is one of my oldest daughter’s favorite songs from the show Good Omens. She is the artist, the wild soul in this world. Her taste in music, art, literature, and other forms of media is different, and that is awesome. I remember sitting in her room listening to this song and others from the soundtrack. Something I would do as a teen with my friends. She has influenced her younger sisters in some of the shows they watch, but she has taught me the importance of allowing my kids to have their own interests, to foster their own views in this world. She brings a beauty and wider lens to my world. The depth of fatherhood is found in the uniqueness of each child and the path they follow.
For the last song, I wanted to find a song that came the closest to my view of what it means to be a dad. My view of fatherhood has changed as my children have grown. Each age brings a new understanding of what it means to be a father. The needs and demands change with each year and each child. The joys and pains are unique for each of my kids. I know that they have their own battles in this world, and it only gets harder for them as they become adults. But I will be there for them, for as long as I can.
And if they ever come home, blueberry muffins will be ready for them on Sunday morning.
It is all Connected 