Cable TV taught me never to become a counselor at Camp Crystal Lake

I'm not sure of the exact year, but at some point in the early 80s, I got a cable-equipped TV in my room.

This was like the hitting the jackpot. It included the full package of premium channels like HBO, Showtime and Cinemax.

These channels were great for watching movies that had been in theaters only weeks earlier. It was a big deal when the first of the month rolled around and HBO introduced its new lineup of movies, including the blockbusters that were otherwise only available at, well, Blockbuster.

It was on HBO that I saw the first four (I think) "Friday the 13th" movies.

I remember sitting in my room one very late Friday night watching the first "Friday the 13th." My parents were asleep, the house was quiet, and I was scared stiff.

I wanted to turn it off when Mrs. Voorhees got her head chopped off, but I couldn't look away.

You have to understand, back then we hardly ever saw anything like that in movies or video games. It was terrifying.

With today being Friday the 13th, I think back on how cheesy those movies really were, and how they probably weren't particularly scary compared to some of the things you see today. But believe me, back in the Reagan Administration, Jason and his hockey mask were the height of the horror genre. They made you think twice about ever working at a summer camp.

And you sure as heck knew not to run to the basement when you heard a strange sound down there. That was just common sense.

When you see a number on the bathroom scale you don't like...

One evening a month or so ago, I decided to weigh myself.

This isn't an especially remarkable occurrence except for two things:

1. It would be the first time I had weighed myself in 2025. I hadn't done it at all this calendar year.
2. When I did get on the scale, the number that came back was one I had never seen before.

220 pounds.

Yikes.

Now, to be fair, it was late in the day after I had eaten, which isn't the ideal time to weigh yourself. And the weight I've gained over the last year or so is partially fat and partially muscle from strength training.

There's also the fact that no one would have looked at me and guessed I weighed a lifetime high of 220 pounds.

My face was fuller than it normally might be, and for the first time I ever remember, I had a bit of a belly. But I do carry weight well, and at most you probably would have said I weighed 195 or maybe 200.

No, 220 it was. I was a little stunned.

I knew I hadn't been eating well. And I knew, for the sake of my health, I needed to get back on track when it came to my diet. But I didn't anticipate that particular number on the scale.

Five days later, I found myself sitting in a Weight Watchers workshop for the first time in more than two years.

Weight Watchers has always been the most effective method of weight loss for me. Their point system works well for someone who is goal-oriented and likes clear direction.

I am what's known as a lifetime member of Weight Watchers in that I hit my physician-assigned goal of 185 pounds back in 2013 and maintained it for a period of six weeks.

Once you do that, you no longer have to pay Weight Watchers a fee. You just need to weigh in once a month within 2 pounds of that goal weight and everything remains free.

I did that for a while, and then I thought I could do it on my own without Weight Watchers.

But I couldn't, and of course I gained weight, so I went back to WW in 2016 and lost even more weight than before (getting down to a gaunt 166 pounds at one point...that wasn't good).

I experienced more ups and downs with my weight over the next several years, and now here we are.

I have been following the WW program, and of course I'm losing weight. I always lose weight when I do this.

My goal is to get back to that 185 number, which may be more difficult than it used to be given my age and the muscle I've gained. The latter is a good problem to have, but the fact is that muscle is heavy relative to fat, so getting the number on the scale to drop can be tricky when you're lifting.

The real question, of course, is whether I can maintain it over the long haul. That's the challenge, and it's going to require a change in thinking.

I can't obsess over the number on the scale every week. It has to be about developing daily habits that get to me to my goal.

My high school track coach, the great Al Benz, always taught us to concern ourselves more with the means than the ends. That is, worry about your form, technique and training, and the end result (times/distances) will take care of itself.

I was never very good at that. Before meets, I always worried over whether I would break 20 feet in the long jump or get into the low 11s in the 100-meter dash. I should instead have been thinking about the steps in my long jump approach or perfecting my start in the 100 meters.

In the same way, my focus now should be on a balanced, healthy daily food intake and getting plenty of water, rather than the exact amount of weight I'll have lost by the time my Monday morning weigh-in rolls around.

If I do the first part, long-term success (with some inevitable small bumps in the road) is guaranteed.

So this is as much a mind exercise as it is about meal planning and label reading. It's about long-term health and a more satisfying pattern of eating.

It's about finding ways to feel good that don't involve late-night carbohydrate loading.

So far, so good. I'm making progress, and it doesn't need to be fast.

Maybe this time I'll figure out how to keep on doing the things I've always known I should have been doing in the first place.

Here's what I've noticed about going to the gym: Everything is heavy

"Yeah, that's the idea," you probably said to yourself upon reading the headline of today's post. But hear me out.

I know the point of weightlifting is to move heavy things around in an attempt to build strength. You're supposed to make your muscles fail, thereby breaking them down and allowing them to rebuild themselves bigger and stronger.

And the only way to make them fail is to lift heavy objects.

Yet there's a difference between "heavy" and "HEAVY."

Like, the first set of everything I do is "heavy." By the time I get to the last rep, I'm working hard to get that weight into the air (or out to my side or whatever the movement calls for). But it's not to the point that I've lost the will to live.

That's not the case when I'm dealing with "HEAVY" weights. These are generally the types of weights my trainer Kirk will give me when I'm working out under his tutelage.

We'll be doing, say, a dumbbell incline bench press exercise. He'll walk over to the dumbbell rack and select two that are, for him, not a problem to move, but that are, for me, at least a small problem to move.

He'll hand me the dumbbells, I'll lean back on the bench, and I'll proceed to lift them 10, 12 or 15 times, however many reps he tells me to do. The last few reps are decidedly uncomfortable, and my earnest desire is for the set to end so I can go back to the mostly comfortable lifestyle to which I'm accustomed.

But then we'll proceed to a second set, and this time Kirk will hand me a Volkswagen or a small elephant and tell me to lift it about the same number of times.

I'm not speaking literally, of course, but he inevitably picks large dumbbells of the kind I normally associate with Mr. Universe contestants and that one women I see every day at the gym who is way stronger than me.

Even if/when I successfully complete this new and decidedly unfair task, Kirk will keep handing me larger and larger objects to lift. It's as if he's playing a practical joke of which he and all the rest of the gym-goers are aware, and I'm serving as a source of endless amusement for them.

I know what my face looks like when I'm really struggling to get a weight into the air, and I'm sure it's hilarious if you're just standing there watching. I also start to contort my body in a way that undoubtedly defeats the purpose of the exercise but also makes me feel like I'm making some progress toward lifting the 4-ton anvil Kirk has given me.

When we get to the heaviest weights, I'm quickly beyond caring whether I live or die. All I know is that existence = suffering and the only way I will make it through is to perform the prescribed number of reps, whatever it takes. This is when I know we have reached the level of "HEAVY."

And, if you'll pardon my language, it really sucks.

Then, suddenly, without me realizing it, my 1-hour session with Kirk is over. He gives me a fist bump, tells me I did a good job, and walks with me back into the gym lobby.

I collect my things from the changing room and head out to my car, noting that while my arms are fatigued to the point I simply cannot lift them over my head any longer, I have logged another workout. Victory.

The next day I am sore. And weak. My daily creatine powder helps, but there's a certain level of muscle fiber breakdown my 55-year-old body simply cannot overcome without the passage of at least a few days.

Yet there I am back at the gym soon after, sometimes the very next day to work on another part of my body while the first part tries desperately to repair itself. This cycle of suffering ends only if I die or decide to give up lifting, which in the eyes of the gym rats around me is kind of the same thing.

So back I go. It's hard knowing that while "heavy" is at least manageable, "HEAVY" is the only way I'm going to get better at this.

And worst of all? I'm paying both Kirk and the gym owner Frank for this suffering.

It always bears repeating: No one ever said I was a genius.

The day-to-day stuff that makes a marriage

Today is our 33rd anniversary. We were married on June 6, 1992, nearly one-third of a century and six U.S. presidents ago.

Relationships, particularly marriages, are very much about such milestones, but you only have so many of these big moments along the way.

What you have a lot more of is the stuff of life. You get one honeymoon and several thousand trips to the grocery store. One wedding and countless trash pick-up days. One each of your silver and gold anniversaries, and many hundred times each of cutting the grass and going to your kids' sporting events and school concerts.

This is not at all to take the romance out of marriage. I've just found that the deepest connection comes from the shared experience of late-night newborn feedings, exhausting family vacations in the minivan, sitting together reading quietly in the living room, and working as a team to catch the little mouse your cats have cornered in the basement.

It's worried discussions over finances, small compromises that keep the peace, gently making fun of each others' little faults, and laughing way too hard at the dumb joke you asked Alexa to tell at bedtime, right before you turn out the lights and both fall asleep.

It's kids' drawings on the side of the fridge, dust balls in the corner of the kitchen no one has the energy to clean up, and going together to the vet to put down a beloved old pet who will never be healthy again.

It's all of that and many other things you won't find preserved in a scrapbook but that are the substance of a lifelong commitment.

Today that's what I celebrate. Not so much the fact that it happens to be exactly 33 years, but rather the often-forgotten but deeply valuable, minute-by-minute reality of life spent as a couple.

It's worth celebrating. Every bit of it.

My conversation with the protein muffin in the refrigerator

ME (opening fridge door): Hey.

MUFFIN: Hey.

ME: So I'm probably going to eat you.

MUFFIN: What?

ME: I'm probably going to eat you. You look delicious. Thought you should know.

MUFFIN: You can't do that.

ME: Why?

MUFFIN: Because Terry made these muffins for herself. You're not allowed to eat us.

ME: Says who?

MUFFIN: Says your wife. She even told you that when you asked whether the muffins were fair game.

ME: Doesn't seem right.

MUFFIN: What doesn't seem right?

ME: Her eating all the muffins.

MUFFIN: But we're her muffins. She made us, put us in little containers, and placed us in the upper right corner of the fridge with the other Terry-only food.

ME: I just want one muffin. There are six of you. She won't miss it.

MUFFIN: She will miss it. Nothing escapes her. You know this.

ME: I just feel like anything she makes and puts in the fridge should be available to all of us.

MUFFIN: And that's how it works 99% of the time. For all the incredible meals she has made for the family over the years, being able to reserve 1% of the food for herself isn't asking much.

ME: Well, I paid for the ingredients. I should be entitled to at least one muffin.

MUFFIN: That's not necessarily true. What if she used the cash she makes at the library to buy those ingredients?

ME: It's impossible to say. It all goes into the same bank account, so you can't know whether it was "her" money that bought those ingredients.

MUFFIN: Nor can you know whether it was "yours." The point is, let her have her muffins.

ME: But you look delicious. And I'm hungry for some sweet carb-y goodness.

MUFFIN: What happens every time you eat something she wants for herself or that she's saving to use in a recipe?

ME: When have I ever done that?

MUFFIN: The chocolate chips, the block of Swiss cheese, the muesli cereal, countless restaurant leftovers. Shall I go on?

ME: No.

MUFFIN: Should you have eaten those things?

ME: No.

MUFFIN: And when you did, was she happy?

ME (cringing as I recall each incident): No.

MUFFIN: Back away from the fridge and find another snack, Hamburglar. We're hers.

ME: Just one muffin?

MUFFIN: No.

ME: How about half a muffin?

MUFFIN: No.

ME: One bite?

MUFFIN: NO! Taking a bite out of a muffin and leaving the rest in the fridge is going to make her madder than if you had taken a whole muffin. Now go away.

ME (resigned): OK.

MUFFIN: I'm glad you're finally listening to reason.

ME: Do you think it's OK if I only eat half the block of Swiss cheese and leave her the rest?

We're going to have a wedding in the family

 

Recently my son Jared proposed to his longtime girlfriend Lyndsey, and she said yes.

None of this was a surprise to us. It was eventually going to happen and was just a matter of when.

Lyndsey and Jared have been together for nearly eight years. They went to the same high school but didn't become a couple until the summer after graduation. As I often say, she is as much a member of our family as any of our kids, as Elissa's boyfriend Mark, or as Chloe's husband Michael.

Now it becomes legal.

Whenever this wedding occurs, it will be the first involving one of our kids. Chloe and Michael have been hitched for 5 1/2 years, but they never had an actual wedding (though not for lack of trying).

They were married by a judge back in October 2019, in part because Chloe was beginning her academic research career and wanted to change her name before she began publishing. This was to maintain consistency and avoid any confusion further down the line.

Their plan was to have a formal wedding in June 2020, but you might remember a little pandemic that popped up a few months prior to that, causing them to push the wedding to October 2020.

That little pandemic refused to cooperate, though, and eventually their wedding was cancelled altogether.

So Jared and Lyndsey's big day will be Terry's and my first time as parents of the groom/bride.

As I write this, we don't yet have a date or a location for that wedding. But whenever it is, it's going to be quite the shindig, I'm sure. These kids have a large army of family and friends who love them and want to be there when they tie the knot.

I can't wait. It's not often I get to show off my Hokey Pokey AND Chicken Dance skills in the same night.

Thanks to my youngest daughter, we built our collective family vocabulary, five words at a time

Until recently, on many weekday mornings, my daughter Melanie would pop into our family chat with a text that looked something like this:

Morning vocab

- Puerile
- Stasis
- Maxim
- Recrudesce
- Corrugated

These were lists of words that Melanie had picked up in her reading (she has become quite the voracious reader). When she came across a term she didn't understand, she would write it down and look it up, an admirable practice with which the vast majority of us are too lazy to bother.

She would then assign a member of the chat to use at least one of the words from that day's list in a sentence. The penalty for non-compliance was losing the opportunity the next time it was your turn to come up with the sentence.

As you can see from the list above, these were not necessarily strange or obscure words. Rather, they were words that Mel and the rest of us may or may not have come across before, and even if we had, we may or may not have known their precise meaning.

Given that we have some writers in the family, and given the wide age range among the nine of us, some people's vocabularies are necessarily larger than others. But everyone participated regardless, and it was one of my favorite uses for the family text chat, which otherwise can go in some pretty strange directions.

There were always bonus points if you could come up with a sentence using all five words on the list, something that was achieved with regularity among the more ambitious in our group.

Recently, Mel informed us she was running out of words for the daily lists. I hope she either comes up with more or maybe reduces the frequency with which she sends them out. I will never be guilty of floccinaucinihilipilification in assessing this practice of ours.

When you and your spouse have different senses of humor

Terry and I have many things in common, but we also differ in enough ways to make life interesting.

Take, for example, what each of us finds funny. Again, there is some overlap, but overall, our individual senses of humor are markedly different.

WHAT MAKES ME LAUGH: British comedy, the Airplane! move series, standup comedians who make you work a little to get the joke, puns, and the broad genre of dad jokes.

WHAT MAKES TERRY LAUGH: Any time I hit my head on something.

As far as I can tell, nothing in this world is funnier to my wife than when I experience some sort of misfortune, particularly physical misfortune that results in near-injury.

She will tell you it's not so much the actual act of me, say, bumping my skull on something, but rather the way I react to it.

All I know is there is an undeniable link between my pain and her amusement.

If we could somehow find a movie that combines Monty Python-style humor with a man randomly popping up and whacking me over the head with a stick, it would be the perfect date night for us.

One soldier's life, maybe not so forgotten

 

The gravestone on the left is that of Merwin Brewer. He is buried in a civilian cemetery in Buckinghamshire, UK.

(NOTE: This post has appeared more often than any other in the history of this blog. It originally ran on Memorial Day 2012, then again on Memorial Day 2015, and yet again on Memorial Day 2021. I also included it in my book "5 Kids, 1 Wife" because it is among my favorite things I've written. Merwin Brewer is still in my thoughts each year on the last Monday in May.)

Every Memorial Day, I think of Merwin Brewer.

There probably aren't many people who think of Merwin Brewer on Memorial Day anymore, or any other day, for that matter. He has been dead for a century.

Merwin Brewer was an American soldier who died on the Western Front at the tail end of World War I. His official address was listed as Cleveland, Ohio, but he was born in my hometown of Wickliffe, Ohio. Our local American Legion post is partially named after him (Brewer-Tarasco).

The annual Memorial Day parade is a big deal here in Wickliffe. It's one of the better parades around, with the high school marching band, lots of candy, and 40 minutes or so of entertainment for anyone willing to stand and watch the whole thing.

The American Legion used to have a group of local kids walk in the parade carrying signs with the names of Wickliffe natives who have died in war. At the front of this group was always a young person holding a sign emblazoned with Merwin Brewer's name.

The 30 seconds or so it took for that sign to pass by was the only time the Memorial Day parade turned truly somber for me. This is partly because, as I've mentioned before, I have a morbid fascination with the First World War and the way millions of young men were killed during it. No war is good, but this one was particularly tragic.

According to this site, Merwin Brewer died on November 13, 1918, from wounds. That was two days after the war in Europe had ended. No one wants to be the last man killed in a war that’s already over, but Merwin was one of those who fell just short of making it through alive.

Merwin served in the Argonne and in Flanders, both the scenes of brutal, bloody fighting. I often wonder exactly how he died. It was quite possibly from a shrapnel wound. Artillery was the #1 killer in the war, and countless soldiers succumbed to infections and internal injuries suffered when they were hit by flying hunks of metal from exploding artillery shells.

His story doesn't sound particularly distinctive. His life ended the same way millions of others ended, probably in some military hospital. But Merwin Brewer is as real to me as any one of my family and friends, because he was born in the same place I was born. He was a real person whose death, now long forgotten, probably brought unimaginable grief and sorrow to his family back in Ohio.

He was only 22 years old. Just a baby. "Virgins with rifles," that's what Sting called the soldiers of the First World War.

I'm as guilty as anyone of treating Memorial Day as a festive day off from work instead of a time for reflection. But while I'm eating my grilled hamburger later today or lounging outside with my family, I promise I'll spend at least another couple of minutes thinking about Merwin Brewer.

It seems like the least I can do.

Guys, here are three reasons you should just listen to what your wife says

It's time for our monthly Blog Rerun. This post was originally published 10 years ago on May 22, 2015. I still find it to be true.

I've been married for nearly 23 years (EDITOR'S NOTE: That was in 2015. It's now nearly 33 years.) Not as long as many people I know, but longer than some. I'm occasionally asked how Terry and I make it work, and when it's a guy/husband doing the asking, I always tell him one thing:

It's largely because I just do what Terry tells me to do.

Seriously. 98% of the time, if she says something, I pretty much follow her lead. And it works.

Here's why:

1. She's smart: I'm not saying your wife is necessarily smarter than you, though my experience suggests she probably is. Regardless, if your wife is like mine, she's pretty sharp and will very rarely steer you wrong.
   
   
2. She has thought this through: Chances are, whatever big decision you're considering or whatever task you're facing, your wife has given this far more thought than you have. This isn't universal, of course, and many guys I know are very thoughtful in their decision-making. But by and large, my wife spends more time thinking about important issues than I do, from how we raise our children to whether or not we should move to Florida. So in most cases, her argument is more well-reasoned then mine, seeing as how I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about hockey and apples. In cases where hockey and/or apples are important elements of the issue at hand, she allows me to make the final call. In all other instances, I defer to her.
   
   
3. There's less effort involved on your part: Maybe this just applies to me, but I'm generally looking for the path of least resistance. And given items #1 and #2 above, I think you'll agree that your wife's judgment is likely to be sound. Therefore, you don't need to go down the path upon which she has already trodden. Go along with whatever she says and you have that much more time and energy to dwell upon your own personal version of hockey and apples, whatever it might be.

I am now vaccinated against yellow fever and never thought I would have to say that

Very soon, I'll be headed to Brazil with my wife, my oldest daughter, and my youngest son. We're looking forward to nearly a week in sunny Rio de Janeiro, home of the world-famous Christ the Redeemer statue as well as, apparently, various exotic tropical diseases.

Well, to be fair, there's really only one main disease they warn you about, and that's yellow fever. And even that is more of a thing if you venture into rural areas, rather than Rio itself.

Still, if you're going to Brazil, the U.S. Department of State and the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) make it pretty clear that you should consider being vaccinated against yellow fever.

Both entities take a decidedly passive-aggressive approach to this warning. Read what each has to say about traveling to Brazil and you walk away with a message along the lines of, "Look, you don't have to get the yellow fever vaccination, but if it were me..."

So we got it. All four of us.

Let me say two things about that:

• We had the vaccine administered at a place in Willoughby Hills, Ohio, very near our home. I found it on a list of approved yellow fever vaccination sites, but it was only after Elissa went that we learned it's less of a medical clinic and more of a beauty/wellness center that also happens to stock some vaccines. This was somewhat disconcerting.
  
  
• Guess how much the yellow fever vaccine costs. Go ahead, just take a guess...If you said $400, you were correct. Now guess whether anyone's insurance actually covers this cost. I will give you only one hint, which is that the answer is not, as I had hoped, "yes."
  

To that second point, the vaccination was just one of many unexpected costs and hassles we incurred getting ready for this trip.

Another was the Brazilian tourist visa, something that only just became a thing last month. If we had taken this trip in say, January, we would not have had to worry about it. But now travelers to Brazil have to apply for a visa.

The visa itself is $80 per person which, eh, isn't so bad, I guess. But the Brazilian government's frustratingly exacting standards when it comes to uploading your passport bio page, submitting a precisely edited and cropped head shot, and answering questions written by someone who likely did well in English classes at school but still lacks that real-world touch when it comes to getting across their true meaning, made the whole process more difficult than it should have been.

One good thing in all of this is that our travel itinerary and reservations were completed early on by Elissa, our oldest child and top-notch travel planner. At least that part of it hasn't been difficult.

What could be difficult, though, is getting back from this trip in one piece, given the list of other diseases besides yellow fever the State Department says can sometimes be found in Brazil. Those include chagas, chikungunya, dengue, zika, leishmaniasis, rabies, tuberculosis, schistosomiasis, and the always-festive traveler's diarrhea.

Why didn't they just throw cholera. diphtheria, beriberi, rickets and the vapors in there to complete the cavalcade of 19th-century maladies we could theoretically contract?

Despite all of that, though, I'm very excited to go. It's going to be like the Oregon Trail of international vacations.

Reading names for our school's commencement ceremony: The single most terrifying gig ever

This evening, the 102nd Wickliffe High/Upper School graduating class will walk across the stage and receive their diplomas.

It will be an occasion for celebration and reflection, as it always is.

I wouldn't normally attend this commencement, as all five of my kids have already graduated, but I'll be there tonight in a working capacity. I have the distinct honor and dread of being the person whose job it is to announce the graduates' names.

Look, I'm not shy when it comes to a microphone. I've announced hundreds of sporting events from the youth level to the minor leagues. I've done freelance MC work for corporate events. For some years I was the superintendent/MC for our church's annual Bible school. The announcing/hosting thing is what I do.

This is different. I always try to be perfect when I'm on the mic, but with a soccer game, for example, there's some leeway if you mess up a kid's name.

Not so with graduation. Each of those young people in the caps and gowns will have several friends and family members in attendance cheering them on and recording the moment on their phones for posterity.

The person who announces their name has one shot and one shot only to get it right. Botch it and the kid's parents will be stewing over the memory years later.

This is the first year I've taken on this assignment. Recently I talked it over with Ryan Beeler, the person who handled the reading of names at Wickliffe commencement for many years before me. Ryan is an articulate guy and an excellent teacher and football coach. He knows how to speak to large groups of people.

But when I brought up the fact that I was taking his place (as he is now teaching at another school) and asked him for any advice, the first thing he said was, "Oh man, I hated it."

He didn't hate commencement, of course. He hated the pressure of getting 100+ kids' names right at one of the most important moments of their lives.

I'm right there with you, Mr. B.

Still, I wasn't especially nervous about this until a month ago when I was talking with a soon-to-be Wickliffe graduate named John Colacarro. John is a funny, bright, highly accomplished kid who has achieved a lot in his high school career and will achieve a lot in whatever he chooses to do in life.

I casually mentioned that I would be reading names at commencement, and he jokingly told me, "Make sure you get mine right!"

I laughed. I've known Julie, one of John's moms, for decades. I was saying "Julie Colacarro" long before John was ever born.

Except I always said it the way most Wickliffe people said it: "col-uh-CARE-oh."

Turns out that's wrong. Dead wrong. John informed me it's actually pronounced "cola-CAR-oh." "Cola," as in the beverage, middle syllable "car" like the vehicle rather than "care."

I'm sorry, what? How did I never know that?

More to the point, he's one kid out of dozens whose names I'll be tasked with announcing. What other pronunciation traps await me tonight if I can't instinctively nail the one I thought I was most familiar with?

To be fair, I'll be attending commencement practice this morning, and I'll have the chance to ask each graduate personally how to say their names correctly.

But I won't lie: I'm already sweating this one out. No one will be more relieved tonight when the last kid gets his/her diploma and they all toss their caps into the air.

It will give me just enough time to run home and avoid the angry mob of families whose names I've butchered.

Q&A with the Wife - Let's hear from Terry

(NOTE: On Wednesday we wrapped up our five-part "Q&A with the Kids" series. Before returning to your regularly scheduled blog content next week, let's take a few minutes to pick the brain of Mrs. Terry Tennant, my wife of three-plus decades and an absolute whirlwind of love and service. You won't find many like her.)

What's your favorite thing about your husband?

For as long as I can remember, the deal has always been I make dinner and he cleans it up. I take that totally for granted until I hear other women say they do both and how much they hate it. He knows my love language is acts of service and has always tried to frame things around that like planning time with the kids for a Mother's Day yard clean-up, a birthday Lego party, or a whole-house clean-up from top to bottom. So, I guess the answer is he's always thinking of how he can make my life easier – even with fewer kids around to take up my time.

If you could change one thing about him, what would it be?

The very obvious answer to this is that he could fix things. It wasn't that big of a deal in the beginning, but now I'm tired of fixing things, painting things, etc. Fortunately, we're in a position where we can just pay someone to do things now. The underlying answer, though, would be that he wasn't so hard on himself to be perfect. He's pretty good at most things and he doesn't tend to see it that way.

That's Terry and me with jazz saxophonist Dave Koz.

On that note, how hard has it been over the years being married to someone with next to no mechanical ability?

It has its ups and downs. I mean, fortunately, I do have the ability to fix a lot of things, but I'm just getting tired of doing it. And the older I get, the more difficult it is. Probably the hardest part is that no matter how you try to explain something, there are many times where it just makes no sense to him and that can be difficult because it's completely clear to me.

Did you ever imagine you would have five kids? How did that happen?

No!  I do remember thinking 3-4, and then I vaguely remember Scott saying 4 or 5 and thinking, "What?" But then it happened and I wouldn't change it for anything because I really like #5.

That's Terry when she was a little kid, celebrating a birthday.

How do you like having an almost-empty nest? What do you miss most from the years when the kids lived at home?

It has its pros and cons. Pros would be the house is much cleaner, bills are a lot less, bathrooms are always open, more down time. Cons would be it's always quiet. I sometimes miss the noise and the big dinners around the kitchen table. The constant on-the-go is gone, which is sometimes good and sometimes bad. I miss the football games for the band and for Jared, the soccer games for the first four, the track meets and cross meets for Jack (and Melanie and Chloe). I also miss the parents we used to have in our lives. Some are still hanging on, but many just fell out of touch. I miss watching movies with the kids. From when they were little, I miss dance parties and wrestling tournaments and making cookies and doing crafts and constant snuggles and book reading and all that comes with kids in the 0-10 range.

What is the most exciting thing to you about becoming a grandma?

I am just excited to have a baby in the family again. One where I won't be tired all the time and I can just smother with love. I want to be the best Grammy I can be – making cookies, having sleepovers, playing on the floor and basically spoiling him the best I can!

Q&A with the Kids - Part V - Jack

NOTE: You always hear from me, so I thought it might be fun to hear from the kids for a change. Here's our latest Q&A With the Kids interview, this one with my 19-year-old son Jack. He's the last one still living at home with us, and I love the chance to talk with him every day. He continues to impress me and make me laugh.

What was the best thing about growing up in a big family?

The best thing about growing up in a big family (specifically being the youngest growing up in a big family) is that you get to see everything. Even if I don't remember it all that well, I've watched all of my siblings slowly but surely move out, dozens of parties being thrown (whether birthdays, anniversaries, or concerts), and different collections of my siblings' friends over the years. And though it IS sad to be the last one to do everything, with not as many people watching, I'm really, really appreciative to have had people to watch and learn from over the years.

What things didn't you like about it?

Splitting up all of the attention among five kids is hard, like REEEALLY hard. And it made it so that until around high school, I didn't really get as much time as I could have with Mom and Dad. Although I have been VERY spoiled at home ever since I became an "only child" around 2021. They say you spend 90% of your time with your parents before 18, so it's somewhat unfortunate. But one thing it did teach me is independence and being able to thrive on my own. And I'm grateful for that.

What are your favorite memories of things we did as a family?

To name a few, going to Red Robin for everyone's birthdays, getting our trees at Christmas (when we got real ones), hanging out around our firepit, and ALL of the family dinners.

What is something you wish you could have done or had growing up, but you couldn't because you had four siblings?

For me personally, there wasn't really anything wrong with growing up with four siblings. I truly believe I had a really great childhood and I can definitely attribute that to Mom and Dad. Anyways, a pool and a trampoline.

Do you want kids of your own? Why or why not?

Yes, definitely. Once again, it can probably be attributed to me being the youngest and not having to experience the terror of having five small kids in your home. But I can definitely say that being in a big family has made me want at the very least a medium-sized family. Up to the wife, though, to be fair.

What was your favorite thing Mom used to make for dinner? Do you ever make it for yourself?

Chicken marsala. I've never, ever had any chicken marsala like Mom's. I believe I've helped her make it once, haha. But you better believe I'm gonna be making that recipe WEEKLY when I'm moved out.

Q&A with the Kids - Part IV - Melanie

(NOTE: You always hear from me, so I thought it might be fun to hear from the kids for a change. Here's our latest Q&A With the Kids interview, this one with my bright 24-year-old daughter Melanie. I still think of her as "Little Mel" and probably always will, but she has turned out to be one highly impressive adult.)

What was the best thing about growing up in a big family?

The best thing about growing up in a big family was probably never feeling alone or isolated. I feel like I was rarely bored throughout my childhood because even if I didn't have someone to play with, I had five kids' worth of books, toys and electronics throughout the house. A bonus was that we had to have a big back yard and house. 

What things didn't you like about it?

I didn't like the pressure of being a "Tennant kid" sometimes. Growing up with three older siblings who were all super smart, super involved and just generally known to be good kids sometimes made me feel like I was held to a high standard that could be difficult to reach. Mom and Dad didn't put any unnecessary pressure on me or anything, but of course I wanted to be as successful as everyone else. There's also the obvious fact of five kids being a financial strain. Sometimes I was jealous of my friends who were an only child or only had one sibling, just because they always had the newest, nicest stuff. It's hard for a kid to be grateful for what they have in a situation like that.

What are your favorite memories of things we did as a family?

Mom always made holidays really special. Christmas memories in particular will always be my favorite. Other than that I'll just rapid fire the first things that come to my mind:

• Dad getting home from work. I have such clear memories of the six of us sitting at the dinner table and someone saying "Daddy's home!" and running to the door to greet him. That was back before we had the mud room and all that, too.
• Mom and Dad bought Jared mini hockey nets and sticks and those were a staple game to play in the living room for so many years.
• I always had so much fun every New Year's Eve. Mom wasn't the type to load us up with junk food, so NYE always felt like a feast. In particular I remember she always bought Hawaiian Punch and made us all pizza.
• I'll never forget when we all watched the Camp Rock premiere on Disney Channel together, or when we all watched High School Musical for the first time.
• Board Game Olympics
• Fires in the backyard, Mom making homemade ice cream, playing in the snow and sledding down the steps, all of us wrestling Dad (gonna cut it here or I could name a million things).

What is something you wish you could have done or had growing up, but you couldn't because you had four siblings?

I wouldn't say I would agree with this now whatsoever, but at the time, I just wished we had more money lol. Now that I'm an adult, I can see how much time and sacrifice Dad put into providing for us and how much Mom put into making ends meet with five kids. But when you're a kid, the only thing you can see is that your friends get to shop at Justice while you have to shop at Gabriel Brothers (or get hand-me-downs!) Or that you have to share a room with your sister while your best friend from school has always had her own room. I wish I could've known at the time that I had everything I actually needed and more.

Do you want kids of your own? Why or why not?

Yes I do, but not five. I would ideally like two. I guess I want kids for the same reasons everyone else does, but I am excited to make moments memorable and magical for them like Mom did for us.

What was your favorite thing Mom used to make for dinner? Do you ever make it for yourself?

My favorite things Mom made for dinner were her pizza and her beef stroganoff. I haven't been brave enough to attempt the pizza yet, but I've made beef stroganoff quite a few times.

Q&A with the Kids - Part III - Jared

(NOTE: You always hear from me, so I thought it might be fun to hear from the kids for a change. In the spotlight today is our 26-year-old son Jared. He has a very cool job – if often stressful with long hours – as Senior Coordinator, Baseball Information & Communications, for Major League Baseball's Tampa Bay Rays. Thus, he's the only one of our kids who doesn't live close to home. We go visit him when we can, though, and we're very excited for the bright future he and his fiancée Lyndsey have ahead of them.)

What was the best thing about growing up in a big family?

I'll always be grateful for the chaos of growing up in a house with seven people and a bunch of pets. There was always something to do and someone to hang out with. I also think I had the best of both worlds being the middle child. I had less responsibility than Elissa and Chloe and still got to pretend I was in charge of Melanie and Jack.

What things didn't you like about it?

I got sick of the lack of privacy pretty often. I've always been introverted and enjoy having time to myself. That was a lot harder growing up than it is now. 

Jared & me at an outdoor hockey game in Rochester, NY, December 2013

What are your favorite memories of things we did as a family?

I loved all the traditions we had and still have. Things like Friday night pizza, Pennsylvania theme park vacations, backyard fires, British soccer camps and Harry Potter movie marathons come to mind. I was also a big fan of family kickball games, mostly because I took them more seriously than anybody else. 

What is something you wish you could have done or had growing up, but you couldn't because you had four siblings?

Outside of a couple Florida vacations, we didn't do much traveling beyond a state or two over. I don't think I went on my first flight until I was 12 or 13.

Awww, Baby Jared

Do you want kids of your own? Why or why not?

Yes, but not any time soon. I think 1-2 kids is probably where I'll end up. You guys are insane for having five.

What was your favorite thing Mom used to make for dinner? Do you ever make it for yourself?

It has to be her pizza. Honorable mentions go to beef stroganoff, meatloaf, taco soup and lasagna. I don't do much cooking during baseball season, but I used Mom's cinnamon roll recipe this year for Christmas.

Q&A with the Kids - Part II - Chloe

(NOTE: You always hear from me, so I thought it might be fun to hear from the kids for a change. Today we chat with our 28-year-old daughter Chloe. Dr. Chloe Edmonds, to be precise. She earned her PhD last summer, and she and her husband Michael are expecting their first child in September. Oh, and she also plans to go to medical school. Makes me tired just thinking about it...)

What was the best thing about growing up in a big family?

I think the best thing was always having someone to play with. It was never lonely growing up with so many siblings. Plus, each sibling relationship is so different based upon gender combinations and age differences, so we had a lot of unique relationships.

What things didn't you like about it?

Being #2 of 5 kids can mean some responsibilities that you didn't sign up for. I never resented my little siblings! But you do take on a bit more of a parent role as you move up in the birth order.

What are your favorite memories of things we did as a family?

I loved the "stay-cations" we took, especially when we went to all of the parks in Wickliffe. These were a lot less stressful than full-on vacations, but they still had the full extent of family bonding and fun.

What is something you wish you could have done or had growing up, but you couldn't because you had four siblings?

I think there were times when we had a little less money than Mom/Dad would have liked, and that can possibly be traced back to the number of kids. This meant we didn't get name brand clothes or shoes unless they were hand-me-downs. And when you're in middle school, this seems very important! In hindsight it's not a big deal, but I do remember getting tired of hand-me-downs pretty early on. Also I always wanted a trampoline, but I do not know if we never got one due to our financial situation or other factors, haha! (EDITOR'S NOTE: Other factors. I was too lazy to mow around a trampoline.)

That's Chloe operating on a pig...really.

Do you want kids of your own? Why or why not?

I sure hope so, considering we have one on the way! I think we want 2-3 kids total, but who knows? Michael and I both grew up in families with 4+ kids, and while we had good experiences, we personally think a medium-sized family would be ideal for us.

What was your favorite thing Mom used to make for dinner? Do you ever make it for yourself?

I had all sorts of favorites. One in particular was beef stroganoff. I don't cook super often these days, but beef stroganoff is still a popular one in our household. I also loved her lasagna, but truthfully I've never been brave enough to try cooking that one.

Q&A with the Kids - Part I - Elissa

 (NOTE: You always hear from me, so I thought it might be fun to hear from the kids for a change. We begin our Q&A With the Kids interview series with my 31-year-old daughter Elissa. She is among the smartest, funniest and most interesting people I know, inside or outside of my family.)

What was the best thing about growing up in a big family?

Always having someone to play with/boss around. Never had to worry about finding extra players for a board game. We had enough people to make two sparsely-filled kickball teams. I also feel like the general sense of belonging and love was good. And I got very good at reading in noisy environments because my house was loud 24/7. I have since lost this talent, but people noticed it when I had it. 

What things didn't you like about it?

Four people to play with is also four people to fight with! And you have to share everything: TV time, computer time, toys, parental attention, food, bedrooms, and everything else. I still think I'm terrible at sharing because I got used to hoarding resources as a lifestyle. And I can't eat snacks normally, I have to devour them as soon as they enter the house out of inherited fear I won't get any in time. It scares Mark and he often has to hide junk food from me in various secret cupboards. I also didn't like when I babysat Jack and he threw up on me.

What are your favorite memories of things we did as a family?

I think we had great vacations and staycations. I really liked the week we stayed at home and pretended to have a vacation because Dad took off work, which was very Midwest poor of us but in a classy way. I liked going to Red Robin for birthday sundaes and freckled lemonade and having dinner at Grandma's house on Wednesdays. I liked board game tournaments and family kickball. We did a lot of other stuff like making snowmen and playing Barbies and going to the library and community pool, but not all seven of us at once, so I am not including them here. 

Elissa and me, 1994

What is something you wish you could have done or had growing up, but you couldn't because you had four siblings?

TRAVEL. Before college I had only been to Pennsylvania, Kentucky, Indiana, Michigan, Maryland, and Florida. My boss has two kids and they've spent a month in Scandanavia, a month in Italy, a month in Taiwan and Japan, etc. every summer. Those little California worms have no idea how lucky they are. 

Do you want kids of your own? Why or why not?

No! And that is a full sentence requiring no explanation.

Elissa and me, 2013

What was your favorite thing Mom used to make for dinner? Do you ever make it for yourself?

I love Mom's homemade granola. Her beef stroganoff and London broil really stand out to me, too. And obviously her pizza. I've been vegan for 8 years now, so while I still have her pizza with vegan cheese and veggies, it's not as easy to veganize a flank steak for London Broil. I make my own beef stroganoff recipe now with Beyond Steak Tips and Kite Hill cream cheese, and I make my own granola with whatever grains and seeds I have in the cupboard!! 

Here's what I'm doing to prepare to become a grandfather

Nothing. I'm doing nothing.

Don't get me wrong, I'm very excited my daughter Chloe is due to give birth to our first grandchild in 4 1/2 months.

It's just that, in the grand scheme of things (haha, "grand"), Grandpa is the most fun and easiest job ever. My assignment, once this little one is born, will be to love him, play with him, and teach him stuff.

I can absolutely do that. All of it. Bring it on.

There's no manual to read in advance. I don't have to strip wallpaper and paint nursery walls like Terry and I did back in the 90s when we started having kids. And speaking of Terry, she is already in the process of preparing our house for a baby. My input there is minimal.

The only thing I have to do as Grandpa is to avoid doing the one thing my own dad, an otherwise outstanding grandfather, did when Elissa was a toddler.

Elissa was at my parents' house eating lunch, I think. Terry was there, too, and specifically said Elissa couldn't have any potato chips until she ate some of her healthier food.

But my dad – always one to spoil his grandchildren – gave Elissa those chips anyway. Just handed her the can of Pringles, right there in front of her mother.

Terry fumes about it to this day.

Note to self: If Chloe says the child cannot have or do something, no matter how much I want to spoil him, honor his mother's wishes.

Unless I want her holding a grudge against me 30 years later.

A little self-doubt can actually be the greatest motivator

I try not to write too often about my sports public address (PA) announcing side hustle, as it's a pretty niche little world and not all that relevant to most people.

However, I sometimes learn life lessons from announcing that are worth sharing. One such instance occurred last month.

By way of background, I am the PA guy (i.e., the person whose voice you hear over the loudspeakers in the gym, arena or outdoor stadium during sporting events) for just about everything that gets announced at the Wickliffe (Ohio) Upper School, formerly Wickliffe High School.

That means I get to be the voice of the band, football, volleyball, boys and girls soccer, and boys and girls basketball. I also step in during the winter and spring months to do Senior Nights for "non-announced" sports like swimming, tennis, baseball and softball.

In addition, I do quite a bit of work at Perry High School (basketball, soccer, track) and University School (soccer, hockey), along with regular substitute PA announcing work at Cleveland State University (soccer, basketball, volleyball, lacrosse) and other local schools.

Altogether, I announce more than 100 events every year, and I enjoy all of it. It's a fun hobby.

I worked for several years to secure my ongoing announcing gigs, but there has always been this expectation that I would keep trying to move up to the next level, whatever that might be.

I've never presumed I have the chops to announce for any of the big three sports teams in Cleveland: the Browns, Guardians or Cavaliers. But our region's minor league teams have always seemed obtainable, as has a permanent gig for one of Cleveland State's higher-profile programs like men's basketball at the Wolstein Center.

In the past couple of years, I've had three opportunities to audition for minor-league PA spots.

The first was for the NBA G League Cleveland Charge in early 2023. I had a tryout for that job and didn't make the cut. The guy who got the gig, David Kammerman, absolutely deserved it. He's good!

The second was for the Class AA baseball Akron RubberDucks earlier this year. I sent in an audition video, but I wasn't even selected as a finalist. Guess who got that job? Dave again, and again, he deserved it. The man has pipes.

When Dave took the Akron job, I messaged him a note of congratulations, and he mentioned how his previous baseball employer, the Lake County Captains (the high Class A affiliate of the Cleveland Guardians), would now be looking for a PA replacement. At his encouragement, I reached out to them.

The Captains ended up having an open public tryout for their PA announcing position, as well as for the roles of on-field host, mascot and drummer. They were expecting 40 people to come in that day, and from what I could tell, most were trying out for PA announcer.

My voice wasn't in peak shape, as I was still recovering from a cold, but I went anyway and gave it my best shot.

I came in assuming I didn't stand much of a chance. Two reasons for that:

(1) What many professional teams are looking for when it comes to a PA guy is someone with that naturally deep, bass/baritone voice. You know what I mean. It's the voice you hear advertising monster truck rallies on the radio ("SUNDAY, SUNDAY, SUNDAY!") I simply don't have that. My voice is an octave higher, more in the tenor-to-baritone range. I describe my style only half-jokingly as "congenial white guy TV host."

(2) I had already fallen short in my two previous professional auditions. I was thus somewhat resigned to the idea that I was not of the caliber to work for a pro team.

The Captains audition was on a Tuesday. The following Friday afternoon I received an email from the team offering me a position as one of their PA announcers.

Imagine my surprise.

There are three of us sharing PA duties for the Captains this season. One is an established veteran named Wayne, while the other is an up-and-coming younger guy named Mitch. Both are fantastic PA pros.

To date I've only done a few games, but the fact is, against my own expectations, I got the gig.

In retrospect, I think the self-doubt worked to my advantage. I went into that audition vowing I would just be myself, come what may, and that's exactly what I did. I read in my normal announcing voice without trying to be SUNDAY! SUNDAY! SUNDAY! guy. That's not me, and I'm not going to pretend it is.

You're better off just being yourself in almost every situation, personal and professional.

I also came in with a bit of a chip on my shoulder. Subconsciously, I thought, "I'll show these people." That put a bit of an edge and some energy into my tryout reads.

In the end, I achieved my goal because a large part of me didn't think I could.

Does that make sense? I'm not sure it does.

All I know is, mission accomplished. Long-hoped-for PA announcing milestone achieved.

And I couldn't be happier.

A man's got to know his limitations. I have many.

The list of subjects about which I can confidently say "Oh, I know a lot about that" is exceedingly small.

This comes as no surprise to my friends and family. They'll tell you my knowledge tends to be extremely focused and not altogether useful.

Which I suppose would be OK if I hadn't spent the past 50+ years expecting that at some point, through some unknown process, I would come to understand a wide range of things.

But it hasn't happened. I have very little wisdom and even less common sense. I continue to be mystified by how appliances in my own house work, for example.

It also bothers me that I write every day for both personal and professional reasons, yet I'm not confident I can fully explain the proper use of a comma.

And a semicolon? Forget it.

I am, in short, stunningly ignorant on most topics.

This is one reason I have very few opinions, especially when it comes to politics. Someone will explain their point of view to me on an issue and I'll say, "Well, that sounds right to me." Then another person with an opposing viewpoint will explain their perspective and I'll say, "You know, that sounds right, too."

Maybe I just don't understand the nature of opinions. I'm looking for 100% black-and-white clarity when instead I should be looking for the perspective that seems to carry at least a little more weight. You can, I guess, acknowledge that a person brings up some valid points and still overall disagree with them.

Now, I don't want you to think I'm entirely useless as a human being. There are subjects on which I'm a pretty reliable source. Or at least you could do a lot worse than me if you have questions.

Here is the complete list of those subjects:

• The Australian band Men at Work's full discography and song lyrics
• The 1979 Cleveland Indians
• World War I battles on the Western Front, 1917-18
• Oatmeal: Is it just for breakfast? (THE EXTENT OF MY KNOWLEDGE HERE: "No.")
• Rolling a 300 game in Wii Sports Bowling
• Ottawa Senators goaltenders, 1992-present
• Choosing the correct container size when cleaning up after dinner and storing leftovers

And that's probably about it.

Oh, I'm also pretty good when it comes to Flintstones trivia. Call me the next time someone asks you what Barney Rubble did for a living.

I think of our cats as tiny humans, and I constantly have to remind myself they're not

Ever since Cheddar the cat entered our lives a year ago, this scene has played out hundreds of times.

Cheddar (the orange cat above, lower right) will be sitting in the living room minding his own business, when suddenly calico Ginny, one of our two girl cats, will come charging at him. The two will tussle for a few seconds, hisses will be exchanged, then order will be restored.

When this happens, I give Ginny a stern talking-to. "Why would you do that?" I demand of her. "Stop being a bully. Leave Cheddar alone! You're mean."

Then I pause for a second and realize a few things:

• Ginny does not generally understand English, outside of the word "treats" and her own name.
  
  
• Ginny is acting on instinct. She is not "mean" by nature.
  
  
• These lectures of mine never seem to have an effect, and she is likely to repeat this behavior an hour later.

NOTE: Cheddar is not entirely innocent in all of this. Maybe it's because he's fed up with being attacked, but increasingly, he is the aggressor when he and Ginny or he and Molly square off.

Other than the occasional nose scratch, no one ever gets hurt in these confrontations. But I always feel like Cheddar, a cat who was plucked from the mean streets of Wickliffe by our daughter Melanie, deserves some peace and quiet.

Then again, he's an animal. Does he even know what "peace and quiet" is? Isn't he built to handle this kind of thing?

Regardless of how much we love them, the fact is that our cats, as domesticated as they are, are cats. They have instincts that make them act in ways that, while unpleasant to us, are perfectly natural to them.

Overall, they seem pretty happy with their lives.

This tendency of mine to treat them like people also extends to their facial expressions. Or at least what I interpret as their facial expressions, because again, I read their faces the way I would read people's faces.

Which is also a mistake. Cheddar, for instance, has what Terry calls "Resting Sad Face." He always looks like a forlorn little human child, but he looks that way even when he's sitting on my lap purring and is clearly very content.

So while I still don't like it when the cats fight, as I said, no permanent damage is done and they all seem fairly happy with their lot in life.

Of course, I would know for sure if they stopped being so stubborn and learned to speak English.