There's still a kid living upstairs, and I'm in no hurry for him to leave home

You don't have to watch any of this video, let alone all 4 minutes of it. I'm not even sure why I include it here, since it's only tangentially related to the subject of today's post. These are scenes from our house on Christmas Eve 2006, Jack's first Christmas. It makes me feel nostalgic.

Terry and I find ourselves in this interesting period of life in which four of our kids have moved out and we have a grandson, yet we also have a child of our own still living with us.

This isn't a case of, say, your 35-year-old son moving back in with you, either. Our youngest, Jack, is only 20 and a sophomore in college. He lives in the big bedroom on the top floor of our house.

For as much attention as we give grandson Cal, we still haven't finished the job of raising our own children (not that you ever really do finish). While Jack lives a largely independent life – as college students do and should – he still needs us for a lot of things.

We see him every day because he's a commuter student at Cleveland State University, so it's not like he lives on campus and is gone for weeks at a time. The way his class and work schedules are structured, he's at home a lot more than he's away.

The happy result is that we get to talk with him, eat dinner with him (sometimes), and play a role in his search for a career and a direction in life. Years after having done all of that with Elissa, Chloe, Jared and Melanie, I'm glad we still get to do it with Jack.

A lot of parents are excited to enter the empty-nest phase of their lives, and I'm sure we will be too when the time comes.

I'm just not ready for the time to come quite yet.

For one thing, Jack is fun. And funny. He probably plays the same role my siblings say I did for our parents, which was living at home throughout their 50s and early 60s and "keeping them young."

I love going to hockey games with Jack, talking about his plans for school and a career, trading funny YouTube reels with him, and generally having him around.

I can't imagine not hearing his footsteps upstairs when gets out of bed in the morning and heads to his bathroom.

I don't know what it will be like not having him around to gather the upstairs trash when it's time to take out the garbage on Sunday afternoons.

I simply can't fathom the idea of Jack and his cat Cheddar living anywhere but with us.

But it's going to happen, and probably sooner than I think. Like his brother and sisters before him, Jack will reach a point when the need to be on his own outweighs the financial and practical benefits of living with Mom and Dad.

I get that. Terry and I bought our first house when I was just 22 years old. The second we got the keys, I was anxious to move in and live by myself for a few months. That very weekend I moved out of Mom and Dad's place, the only home I had known to that point in my life. 

We're all programmed to seek independence in young adulthood. Whenever Jack is ready for that, we'll be there to support him.

But it's OK if it takes at least a few more years for it to happen. I really love having him around.

Making Grammy and Grandpa's house a place of fun, happiness, love, and memories

Our grandson Cal comes to our house two and sometimes three days a week. I'm at work at least one of those days, so often the only time I get to see him is on Friday.

Fridays are work-from-home days for me. I'll be upstairs in my office when I notice out the window that Terry is pulling into the driveway after picking up Cal. That's my cue to race downstairs, grab Cal's little car (the one pictured above), and meet him and his Grammy at the back door.

Cal gets a big smile when he sees me, partly because we're buddies and partly because he knows he's going to get a ride on the car.

Being only a year old, he can't quite propel himself on it, so it falls to me to put him on the car and push him around the house. Cal loves this. His grin hardly fades the whole time he and I zoom our way through the kitchen, living room and master bedroom.

As Cal and I grow older, the memory of these fun times will stick with us. Or at least I know it will stick with me. With Cal not yet even 14 months old, his brain won't necessarily remember the specifics.

What I hope does stay with him, though, is the idea that coming to his grandparents' house has always been something to look forward to. He will be spoiled, sure, but more than that, he will be loved.

When my kids were little, we used to take them to my mom and dad's house on Wednesdays. That tradition began when Elissa was a baby and I worked nights at The News-Herald while Terry was working days at Lincoln Electric. I would drop Elissa off in the morning so I could run errands, get things done at home, catch up on work, etc.

Mom and Dad kept their Wednesdays open for many years as our family grew. No matter how young or old the kids were, they were always welcomed at Grandma and Grandpa Tennant's house with open arms.

I remember how excited my dad was when the kids arrived on Wednesday mornings. At the time I thought it was sweet but never gave it much thought beyond that. Now I understand far more deeply what he was feeling.

I've said this a lot since Cal was born, but you simply cannot fathom the love of a grandparent for their grandchild until you live it. It's a deep and profound bond that has caught me off guard with its joy and intensity. I love that little guy so much.

Chloe and Michael often say things like, "Is it too much trouble if we bring Cal over for a few hours on Saturday?" Terry and I look at each other and laugh, then one of us replies, "Bring the boy over. And leave him here as long as you want."

One day, Terry and I will have gone on to our greater good, as my friend and former co-worker Kate often says. And one day, Cal may become a father and a grandfather himself. If that happens, I hope he passes on the love he always felt at Grammy and Grandpa Tennant's house to his own little ones.

That's a legacy I hope to leave behind.

The nightmare scenario has arrived: Who to root for, who to root for...

 

Remember when Donna Kelce – the Cleveland Heights-based mom of Travis Swift-Kelce and Jason Kelce – would wear that split Kansas City-Philadelphia football jersey any time her sons played against each other? It looked like this:

My situation isn't quite like Mrs. K's, but I think I know how she felt.

Major League Baseball's American League Championship Series kicks off tonight at 8:00 at Tropicana Field in St. Petersburg, Florida. The Cleveland Guardians will face the Tampa Bay Rays in a best-of-seven series for the right to advance to the World Series.

In any other universe, my rooting interest would be clear cut. I've been a fan of the Cleveland Indians/Guardians for nearly half a century. I attended my first game at old Cleveland Municipal Stadium in 1978 and consider the '79 Indians to be the first team for which I was truly passionate.

I have rooted for the Indians/Guardians in horrible seasons (1991 comes to mind...) and near-championship seasons (1995, 1997, 2016). I've sat through games in all sorts of weather, both at Municipal Stadium and the current Progressive Field.

You would naturally assume that "Go Tribe!" will be my rallying cry in this series.

But...

Anyone who knows our family knows my son Jared works for the Tampa Bay Rays. He is in his fourth season there, and his current title is Manager, Baseball Information and Communications.

He does a lot of different things, but essentially his job is to write a whole lot of daily media game notes, help facilitate media interactions with the team, draft official team communications, etc.

Jared works closely with the players and manager Kevin Cash when they interact with reporters and broadcasters covering Rays games. He also takes several road trips a season, so of course he's on the team plane and stays in the team hotel in each city.

Jared interned with the Guardians (in addition to spending a short time with the Washington Nationals before landing the Rays job). He grew up an Indians/Guardians fan thanks to his dad, who took him to games early on and talked about the team often.

Believe me when I say, I'm not the only one in this family who is at least somewhat conflicted.

But Jared has grown close to these Rays players, coaches, and fellow front office staff. He says they're a fun, likeable, tight-knit group for whom it's easy to cheer.

Despite his Cleveland roots, he's pulling for his Rays to win this series and move on. And I get it.

We own lots of Tampa Bay merchandise in our family. Shirts, mugs, hats, etc. We're very likely the only people in Northeast Ohio displaying a Tampa Bay Rays flag in our front yard (it's pictured at the top of today's post).

You always want your kids to be happy. I love the success Jared has built for himself, and I love that the Rays have supported him and his soon-to-be-wife Lyndsey these last few years...even if it has meant them living 1,000 miles away from us.

If the Rays should win this match-up and move on to the World Series, no one in Cleveland will be cheering louder for them than I.

But...

Since the Guardians clinched their divisional series against the Chicago White Sox on Friday, I've been asked several times who I want to win between the Guards and Rays. And I've given the same response each time:

I love my son and want him to be happy, but I can't turn my back on Cleveland baseball. I've been a true fan for 48 years, and I have no plans to abandon that loyalty now.

I'm all in for the Guardians in this one.

I'll admit it's not going to be easy. Terry and I saw the Rays play twice in Kansas City earlier this summer, and we had a good time cheering for them while sitting in a sea of light blue-clad Royals fans. They're our team, no doubt.

Well, they're Terry's team. She's pulling for the Rays in this one.

For me, the Rays are Team No. 2. A solid Team No. 2, but #2 nonetheless.

I want Cleveland to win. The saving grace is that, if the series goes the other way, I'll be genuinely happy for Jared and the Rays. In some ways, I can't lose here.

But you have to pick a side when it comes to this sort of thing, and I'm picking one.

Go Guards!

(Sorry, Jared.)

"Aquarius" and the allure of tradition

 

I often talk about how much I enjoy being the public address announcer for various athletic teams and organizations at Wickliffe Upper School, which used to be "Wickliffe High School" and which I still often unconsciously refer to as "Wickliffe High School."

I'm in my 13th year as the announcer for the Wickliffe Swing Band. That's what we call our marching band, which isn't a traditional marching band but rather a "swing band" that incorporates a lot of energetic movement into its routines.

This swing style has been around for more than 50 years. Elements of it began to be incorporated in the early 1970s under the tutelage of legendary director Chuck Frank. It became the dominant style under the equally legendary Michael Elias, who was the director at Wickliffe when Terry and I were students there.

The swing style is so ingrained into the band's culture and sense of self that it would be almost unthinkable for the group to revert to being a more drill-oriented marching band.

I've heard that when the last few Wickliffe directors interviewed for the job, they were all told point blank they would be required to maintain the swing style. I don't know if that's true, but if it is, it doesn't surprise me.

If someone in Northeast Ohio happens to know anything at all about the Wickliffe Swing Band, it's usually that the band's longstanding signature routine is set to the song "Aquarius" from the 1967 musical "Hair."

POINT OF CLARIFICATION: We call the tune "Aquarius," but what the Wickliffe band plays is actually a mini-medley from "Hair" that combines two songs: "Aquarius" and "The Flesh Failures (Let the Sunshine In)." Few people these days know or even care about the distinction, but I thought I would mention it.

The Wickliffe Swing Band plays "Aquarius" every year. Year after year. For half a century. It always caps off their halftime performance at the homecoming football game, and it's their finale at every band festival.

The key moment in "Aquarius" is pictured at the top of today's post. The percussion section creates a little pyramid in which two bass drummers stand on their heads, two tenor drummers rest their instruments on the bass drums, and a cymbal player stands on top of that pyramid and bangs the cymbals together repeatedly while the rest of the band plays the soaring "Let the Sunshine In" chorus.

It's a bit risky. The cymbal player has to have a certain degree of leg strength to get to the top of the pyramid, as well as a good sense of balance to stay up there while playing.

I've watched this routine performed on muddy grass and pristine turf fields. In bright sunshine and cold drizzle. Probably 100 times or more in the last 40 years. I've never seen anyone in the pyramid hurt themselves, but it always concerns me.

The audience reaction to the "Aquarius" pyramid is predictable and enjoyable. There is loud applause and cheering, particularly from band members and parents from other schools. It's a fun and unique moment.

As I said, for many, it's what defines the Wickliffe Swing Band.

On the other hand...

I'm in the press box when "Aquarius" is played, so I'm often privy to somewhat different reactions. While there are still cheers and clapping, I also get to hear from those who aren't big fans of "Aquarius."

These are often band directors and music educators from other schools who have seen the routine many times. They occasionally say to me, in a semi-whisper with somewhat raised eyebrows and a derisive tone, "You guys are still playing that? When will you retire it?"

I never know what to say in response to these comments, but I understand them.

Some of these press box critics see "Aquarius" as a cheap novelty ploy for applause and cheers. Maybe they're jealous, or maybe they have a point.

Others wonder what students learn if they play the same song and perform the same types of routines year after year. And again, maybe they have a point.

Don't get me wrong: I still love "Aquarius." I love hearing the appreciative comments and seeing the positive reactions on social media. I'm proud to be a Wickliffe alumnus and a lifelong resident of the city. The response to "Aquarius" gives me immense satisfaction.

But I encounter these "give it a rest already" people far more often than I ever tell band staff, parents and students. Believe me, for every 10 people standing and applauding, there is at least one other person rolling their eyes.

It makes me ponder how the band should balance maintaining its cherished traditions on one hand and expanding students' musical horizons and helping them become more well-rounded musicians on the other.

I don't have the answer, nor is it my place to make any real decisions. I'm just the guy behind the mic. I work for the director, and I like it that way.

What I do know is, if a new director ever comes in and decides to retire "Aquarius," I may also be needed to step in and protect that person from the mob of Wickliffians who will inevitably storm the school in support of their favorite Swing Band routine.

(If you'd like to see "Aquarius" performed, this is what it looked like at halftime of the 2023 homecoming football game. The video, which will open in a new window, should start right at the mid-song percussion break just before the pyramid is formed.)

The 10 bucks I spent to become a licensed "minister" was the easiest part of my son's upcoming wedding

I read that more a million weddings are performed each year in the United States "by friends, family, or online-ordained non-traditional officiants."

In three months, I will become one of those "non-traditional officiants."

My son Jared and his fiancée Lyndsey are getting married this New Year's Eve. It's one of the more popular topics of conversation in our family, second perhaps only to almost anything my grandson Cal does.

(I've always assumed that at some point, relatively new grandparents like Terry and me stop obsessing over their grandchild. So far it hasn't happened for us.)

Anyway, regardless of Cal's exalted status, we're all excited for the big December 31st wedding shindig. It will be the social event of the year for the Tennants, though I admit I harbor some degree of worry over the weather.

If you live near us, you may recall that last New Year's Eve was a meteorological mess. Snow, ice, wind, etc. It felt like Terry and I were taking our lives into our hands as we drove home from my daughter Chloe and son-in-law Michael's house at 1 in the morning.

Pretty typical late-December stuff in Northeast Ohio, but we're hoping that weather situation doesn't repeat itself this year.

Regardless, I have a role to play in the wedding beyond just being the father of the groom. Jared and Lyndsey asked me to officiate their wedding, and of course I said yes.

Becoming a licensed wedding officiant in the State of Ohio is a pretty quick and painless process. I filled out a form on the website of an organization called American Marriage Ministries and was instantly ordained, free of charge.

I then took their certificate of ordination and submitted it to the Ohio Secretary of State's office, along with a $10 administrative fee. My minister's license was approved a day later, and they sent me this lovely document making the whole thing official:

The bureaucratic part was easy. Now comes the real challenge, which is figuring out exactly what I'm going to say and how this whole wedding ceremony thing is supposed to work.

I've sat through a dozen or more weddings, so I generally know how they go. And of course I'll need to talk with Lyndsey and Jared to see what they want their ceremony to look like.

Both are now in their late 20s and more mature than I was when I got married at the age of 22. In most cases when I was asked what I wanted when it came to my own wedding, I deferred to Terry. I'm guessing my son and future daughter-in-law are going to come at it in a more adult fashion than I did.

A lot of planning for this wedding (including my specific role) will be done in the last two months, as Jared's job with baseball's Tampa Bay Rays puts a ton of demands on his time until the seasons ends in October. There's simply not much he can do until the Rays' last out is recorded.

I figure my job during the wedding will be to keep my comments short and sweet, emphasize whatever it is the bride and groom want to emphasize, and make sure I stand back and allow Jared and Lyndsey to be the stars of the show.

There is likely to be a dad joke or two, and I make no promises that I won't shed a tear. Or two. Or possibly 10.

All I know is, I will feel a mixture of relief and happiness when the ceremony ends and we can all get to eating our catered dinners and doing the Chicken Dance.

I can't wait.

Melanie and the unhelpful tag of the "gifted" student

Mel and me, circa 2004

Today is our daughter Melanie's 26th birthday, a joyous occasion to celebrate one of the smartest, funniest, most beautiful people I know.

It's also a day on which I wonder how helpful it is for our education system to brand some young kids as "gifted" and others not.

To explain...

When I was a student at Mapledale Elementary School back in the late 70s and early 80s, there was a point at which they separated some of us into an honors class. I don't know how they determined this, whether it was by test scores, subjective teacher evaluations, or a combination.

Whatever the criteria, those of us branded as "smart" were suddenly segregated from our classmates to experience a somewhat advanced curriculum designed for "gifted" students.

The "gifted" label stuck with us through the rest of our public schooling, for better or worse.

The better part of it, I suppose, was that thinking of myself as a smart kid gave me a confidence that was at times helpful and at other times wholly undeserved. Either way, I tried a lot of different things growing up because I figured that, as a gifted student, I would probably be good at them.

That was not usually the case. Not by a longshot.

The sobering part of being one of the smart kids is that, at some point later in life, you come to realize you're not necessarily any smarter than anyone else. Or at least I know I'm not.

I got to be in the honors classes not because of an elevated IQ or exceptional talent, but rather because of my chronic need to please and subsequent drive to study hard and meet expectations. I worked hard and got good grades, so they figured I must be smart. The jury is still out on that one.

So what does any of this have to do with Melanie?

Also Mel and me, also circa 2004

Mel did very well in school, but she was the only one of our kids who wasn't part of Wickliffe's "Above & Beyond" program for gifted students. Again, I don't know why her siblings got in and she didn't, and ultimately it probably doesn't matter.

One time, a friend of the family found out Mel was the one Tennant kid not in A&B and jokingly said to her, "Oh, so you're the dumb one?"

It was NOT helpful, and it was obviously untrue to anyone who knew our family at all.

Terry, especially, spent years working with Mel to boost her self-confidence. Mel is as smart and as capable as any of her brothers and sisters, "gifted" or not. Talk with her for 5 minutes and you'll realize how sharp she is.

All of which makes me wonder what "smart/gifted" really means for an 11-year-old, and whether we're doing more harm than good withholding that designation from kids who, over time, show themselves to be every bit the equal (or superior) of their supposedly advanced peers.

It all worked out in Melanie's case, and for that we're grateful. Happy birthday to my 26-year-old smart kid!

Walking away from a dream gig for all the right reasons

While it never has been (and never could be) my primary source of income, I have been working as a sports public address (PA) announcer for the last 12 years.

It started in 2014 at Wickliffe High School, my alma mater, as the announcer for the wonderful Wickliffe Swing Band. From there I moved into announcing for various Blue Devil sports, including football, soccer, volleyball, and basketball, all of which I still do.

I also picked up work at other nearby high schools and colleges, and I even had a stint as the PA guy for a now-defunct minor league hockey team in Mentor, Ohio.

The pinnacle came in April 2025, when I began announcing for minor league baseball's Lake County Captains, the High A affiliate of the Cleveland Guardians. It was a dream assignment, largely because I saw it as the highest level of PA work I'm likely to achieve. It was also a job previously held by the great Ray Milavec, my 10th-grade English teacher and someone whose PA style I admire.

Over the last two seasons, I have been the announcer for 73 Captains games, all of which have been fun and a true privilege.

However, a week ago Saturday marked the last Captains game I will announce, as I've decided not to return for a third season with the team.

This was entirely my call, and it had nothing at all to do with the Captains. Everyone with whom I've dealt in the organization has been great, notably my game day bosses Jason and Jack, on-field host Liv, and PA announcing partner Thom. The Captains' front office is comprised of hard-working people who do their best to create an enjoyable fan experience despite significant obstacles.

My decision was very much a personal one. I have loved being the Captains' primary PA announcer this season, but the time commitment is simply too much at this stage (and perhaps any stage) of my life.

On game days, I'm at the ballpark for 5 to 7 hours, arriving 2 to 3 hours before first pitch to do everything I need to do to prepare.

Multiply that by four games – sometimes five – out of every six-game homestand over a period of 5+ months, and the time adds up.

It's time that's precious for me as a husband, father, relatively new grandfather, and corporate communications professional. I ended up missing several family functions this past season as a result of my Captains commitments. I also had to take PTO/vacation time from work to be able to get to the stadium for some afternoon games and early doubleheaders.

Every game was fun, but none of it was nearly as important as spending time with Terry, the kids, and our little grandson Cal. The only sensible decision was to vacate the PA chair in favor of somebody else and regain that lost time for the things that truly matter.

The Captains have treated me so well, and I'll forever be grateful for the opportunity, but it's best for me to step aside after two short seasons. The next time I'm at Classic Auto Group Park, it will be as a fan.

I'll continue announcing sports at Wickliffe until I'm so old I can't remember who I am, or until they tell me not to come back – whichever comes first.

In the meantime, I'll continue working to keep my priorities straight.

Thanks to the Captains for the opportunity, and thanks to God for giving me enough sense to figure out what I needed to do.

Onward and upward!