Five things I want to tell my son on this, the day of his high school graduation

Tonight my son Jared graduates, the third of our children to do so. Three down, two to go.

I will tell you I'm not pleased with the way this post turned out. I earnestly believe everything I'm trying to tell my son below, but none of it came out quite right.

Maybe that's because, while many life lessons are universal, the way we each learn and experience them is unique. So that even as I describe my own thoughts around a particular nugget of wisdom, I'm acutely aware that Jared's perspective on it is likely to be a bit different.

So I guess this list isn't perfect. No list of supposedly transcendent life lessons ever is. I hope the boy, and anyone else who happens to read this, accepts it in the flawed-yet-sincere spirit in which it is offered.

Jared, we bought you the laptop for graduation, and now here's the gift that comes without a receipt:

(1) You've got to try even when you don't feel like trying: Whatever you do, whether it's a job or a marriage or anything else important in your life, you have to be present and you have to be actively engaged. That means showing up and really trying. Every day. Sometimes that's going to be easy. Sometimes it won't be. You often hear it said of pitchers in baseball that they "just don't have it today," yet many times they stay in the game and "battle." They may not feel great, they may not feel motivated. But they have a job to do, and so they do it. Even when they don't feel like doing it. That's the essence of being a responsible adult: You show up and you work hard every time without exception.

(2) Feeling sorry for yourself is tempting, but it will get you nowhere: Sometimes you're going to feel like everything and everyone is against you. You just will. And you can safely allow yourself to feel that way for maybe 15 minutes. Then you need to move on. Seriously, you need to get over it and move on. Not everything is going to go your way. Not everyone is going to like or appreciate you. Oh well. There's not much you can do about that, so keep doing what you know is right. Keep showing up (see item #1 above), keep plugging away. It sounds simplistic, but it's the only way things are going to turn around. In essence, quit your crying and suck it up.

(3) Sports cliche #147 – "Worry only about the things you can control" – is real: You hear athletes talk about this all the time. They say they can't concern themselves with the things they can't influence. Instead, all of their focus is on the items over which they have specific control – their attitude, their preparation, their game plan. It's the same for those of us who don't get paid to play a sport. In your career, in your personal life, in everything you do, there is a long list of things over which you exert control. Concentrate on those things. Don't worry about other people's attitudes. Don't worry about external circumstances you can't change. Don't concern yourself so much with the unchangeable things that simply are. Direct your time and attention instead to what could be.

(4) Have a plan: Even if it only covers the next few years of your life, have a plan for what you want to achieve and how you're going to get there. Develop a vision for your life and what you want out of it. Otherwise your existence will be a series of randomly connected activities with no real end goal in mind. You'll get somewhere, to be sure, but probably not where you want to be. Just set aside some time every once in a while to think about the future, both short term and long. You'll be glad you did.

(5) Be grateful: You have so much in your life. You have a family who loves you more than you can understand (though you will understand if and when you have kids of your own). You have a roof over your head, a car to drive, food to eat. Lots and lots and lots of people in this world lack one or more of those things. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth whether or not you recognize it. If you spend your time lamenting the things you don't have, you will be one unhappy individual. I'm telling you, you don't want to be that guy.

 Happy graduation day, buddy. Enjoy every minute of it, because you've earned it.

You're only as happy as you want to be, and I'll admit I hate that

There's a quote you've probably heard, usually falsely attributed to Abraham Lincoln, that says "most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be."

Whoever originally said it, boy, there's a whole bucketful of truth to that, isn't there?

Yes, there are external forces in your life, things beyond your control, that affect you. Those things have always been there, and they always will be there.

What many a life coach will tell you, though, is that you can control how they affect you. If you choose to let them affect you negatively, they will affect you negatively. And if you choose to just roll with it, take the punch, and move on in a more or less positive manner, they will probably affect you positively in the long run.

And man, I hate that.

I want to be able to point to this, this, this and this, and say, "I would love to be happy, but look at all of these things that are wrong in my life. I can't be happy as long as all of that is going on."

But I can't do that with a clear conscience because I have finally learned, in 47+ years on this planet, that you absolutely choose your outlook. Happy people are happy because they choose to be happy.

Which is fine, except it takes real work to be happy. And that's where the inherently lazy part of me that doesn't particularly like trying hard at anything rebels.

Happy people are happy not only because they choose to be happy, but also because they choose to work at being happy. Every day.

You don't have to be a Pollyanna and ignore all of the ugly things in life. By all means, acknowledge them. Deal with them. They're there whether you and I like it or not.

But you do have to make the active choice to be mostly contented with your existence. You cannot be someone who constantly laments their lot in life and be a generally happy person at the same time.

Feel sorry for yourself if you want, but it's a miserable friggin' way to live, let me tell you.

Because here's the thing: Unless you believe in reincarnation (which I do not), then you must acknowledge that you get one shot at life. One shot, that's it. How you choose to use that shot is entirely up to you.

If you choose always to wait for things to get better someday and then you'll be happy, you won't be happy.

You won't. There's no maybe about it. You won't be happy. Why? Because you have full control over what "things getting better" means to you. And maybe it's time for you to reconsider your personal definition.

It cannot and should not mean that you're waiting for all things to be aligned and perfect, or even near perfect. You and I both know that only leaves you waiting for a bus that will never come.

Again, there are three key facts of life that you have to accept if you want to be a happy person:

• I can control my happiness (or lack thereof).
• There will always, always, always be "bad things" in my life. This has always been, is now, and always will be. There is no changing this. "Bad things" will happen. I cannot alter this essential tenet of human existence.
• I must choose to be happy anyway.

I don't know how else to say any of that. I don't know how to couch it in a way that doesn't require you to make the mental and emotional effort every day. It's just what you have to do. Suck it way up, buttercup, cuz that's how this whole thing has played out since the dawn of human existence.

God sets the rules, and He always gives you a choice.

This effort does not come naturally to me, by the way, yet lately I've been making it. And I'm genuinely a happier person. I feel less tired, less bogged down by my daily obligations, less overwhelmed by the challenges of moment-to-moment existence.

I'm still learning, but already I see a world of difference in myself. All because of a simple daily choice.

I felt the need to share this with you because, if you're like a lot of people I know, this realization (simple to understand, more difficult to execute) can be life changing.

Happiness isn't a confluence of fortunate external circumstances. Much like love, it's a personal choice to be happy. A choice that must be consciously made each and every day.

So make it.

Happy Easter, and I'm finished talking for a while

For my Christian friends, I hope that in addition to whatever chocolate and miscellaneous confectioneries you consume today, you also take a moment to remember the resurrection of the Lord Jesus Christ. It is, as that most cliched of phrases has it, the reason for the season.

For all of my friends, just a note that this latest little spurt of blog posts is over and I'm going back to checking in every month or two for anyone who may be interested in reading.

Speaking of which, please know how much I appreciate the fact that you read this stuff at all. The comments (here, on Facebook, and verbally when we meet) are of great value to me. Even if we DID collectively violate Google Ads' solicitation policy together and cost me 15 or so CDs worth of classical music pleasure.

That still stings.

Talk to you soon!

I love Saturdays

Do you not love Saturdays? Are they just not the best day of the week?

I say they are. Or at least I say they're in the top two. Back in July 2013, I wrote a post in which I ranked the days of the week, and in that list I placed Saturday at #2, just behind Fridays. I may have changed my mind since then.

(NOTE: I really wrote an entire blog post ranking the days of the week? Apparently I did. I was seriously hurting for blog material by that point. You will note that, about three months later, I suspended the blog for what turned out to be nearly a year-and-a-half because I felt I didn't have anything interesting to say. You may counter by pointing out that this has never stopped me before...)

Saturdays are just all-around tremendous, especially Saturdays on which I'm free to do what I want without being burdened by any outside appointments or obligations.

Saturday always starts with me getting out of bed. That, I find, is an excellent way to start the day. Then I pee. You didn't need to know that, but I feel it's important. It's a good, satisfying pee because I spend it thinking about all of the cool stuff I'm going to get to do that day. When in fact I should probably be concentrating a bit more on my aim.

Anyway, after the pee, I go into the closet and put on my running clothes. I run every Saturday, rain or shine, cold or hot, windy or not. Usually 3 miles but sometimes 4 or 5.

After I get my running stuff on, I go into the kitchen and feed the cats. They're always happy to see me when I do this. I feel this is unfair, as I'm more than just a provider of kibble.

For example, I'm also a provider of water, which is what I do when I go into the basement and fill up their water bowls. After that, I scoop out their litter boxes, sweep up the general area, and then take the bag of disgusting cat waste outside to discard it. If it's a day in which the newspaper is delivered, I go and pick up the paper.

Then it's a glass of water, a quick session of dynamic stretching to warm up, and then I'm out the door to run.

(ANOTHER NOTE: We need to pick up the pace here. I'm stunned that you're still reading this.)

After the run comes a shower. And after the shower I step onto the scale so I can get a read on how my Weight Watchers meeting that morning will go. Did I gain anything? Did I lose anything? Did I stay the same? That first weigh-in will tell me how the official meeting weigh-in will go.

Anyway, I get dressed, I brush my teeth, I go to the Weight Watchers meeting, I come home, and I finally get to have breakfast. You guys, I love breakfast. Which is kind of surprising when you realize I have the same thing every day. Every day. It's always a half cup of cooked oats, a banana, and coffee with half and half.

But on Saturday it's just so good, because it's the first food I eat and I know I still have the whole day ahead of me. It's a glorious feeling.

After that the Saturdays vary. I may be taking Jack to his cross country practice. I may be taking a shopping trip to the market for greens and fruit, and maybe to CVS for various provisions I routinely buy there. I may be going to the library (you guys, I love the library).

I will almost certainly be working my way through a list of to-do's that I've sketched out the night before. To-do lists are a major part of my life, and some of my greatest satisfaction comes from completing them: CHECK! CHECK! CHECK! DONE! DONE! DONE! I AM A GOOD AND CONSCIENTIOUS PERSON!

There are always some sort of chores on the to-do list, from cleaning the bathroom to doing laundry to vacuuming to checking the car fluids and tire pressures to whatever else needs doing.

Saturday evenings are spent with Terry, the kids, or some combination thereof. We may see a movie. Maybe go out with relatives or friends. Or just stay in and watch TV. But it's almost always fun and I almost always love every minute of it.

Don't get me wrong, Sundays are a strong contender, and I can see why I placed Friday at the top of that days of the week list. But Saturdays? Man, you can't beat a good Saturday. I hope you enjoy yours!

One of my favorite jokes and, less importantly, why

A couple of years ago, an Oxford University study determined (don't ask me how) the 10 funniest jokes ever.

You can peruse the list for yourself. Inevitably, you'll chuckle at some and scratch your head at others. Not because you don't understand them, but because you'll be thinking, "Wait, THAT'S one of the 10 funniest jokes ever?"

Because humor is, as much as anything I can think of, a subjective endeavor. I know this because my wife and I often have what is commonly termed Incredibly Opposite Senses of Humor. Something will bring me to tears I laugh so hard, and she will look at me without the trace of a smile and shake her head, as she often does as she wistfully looks back on the day of our marriage and wonders how things could have gone so horribly wrong.

The point is, one man's gut-buster is another man's "Huh?"

My absolute favorite joke from that scientifically proven list of 10 is this one:

A guy is sitting at home when he hears a knock at the door. He opens the door and sees a snail on the porch. He picks up the snail and throws it as far as he can. Three years later there's a knock on the door. He opens it and sees the same snail. The snail says, "What the hell was that all about?"

I first heard that joke, or some variation of it at least, many years ago. But it still makes me laugh even today. Why? Three reasons:

(1) The Unanswered Questions: Why was this snail coming to the guy's door? Why did the guy react by throwing the snail away? Did he realize the snail could talk, or no? What is so important that the snail spent three years of his life slithering back to the front door so he could get another chance to talk to the guy AND voice his displeasure? I love thinking about all of these things.

(2) The Swearing: Yes, I consider "what the hell" to be "swearing." This is because, as a general rule, I don't swear. I never really have much. Don't know why, just didn't. So it still has a bit of a scandalous comic effect on me when I hear it. And I love the idea of the indignant snail saying it.

(3) The Absurdity of It All: You either like Monty Python or you don't. There's no in between. Same with a hundred other comedians, actors, sketch groups, etc. I love, love, love Python, whose skits and movies always rested on some comically unreal premise. The whole situation with the snail having a valid reason to visit this guy's house is hilarious, even apart from the joke itself.

I may have over-analyzed that a little, but if nothing else, it gives you a sense of what makes this 47-year-old white American male laugh. It's a tad frightening, I know.

If I had to do it all over again...

Back in November 2015, I wrote about some things in my life I might have done differently if given the chance to go back. I'm not a person who has many regrets, but as Frank Sinatra once sang, I've had a few.

In addition to the ones I mentioned in that post of 17 months ago, I can think of a few others:

1. I should have taken piano lessons.
2. I would have learned to program in machine language on my Commodore 64 computer instead of just playing a series of pirated software games.
3. I would have lost weight after my senior season of football so that my last year of high school track wasn't such a..."disappointment" isn't the word, but 190-pound me simply couldn't long jump or run as fast as 170-pound me.
4. I would been a much better class officer, speaking of high school. (Apologies to Brian Fabo, who shouldered much of the load and rightly pointed out that I wasn't shouldering mine.)
5. I shouldn't have quit after one night of washing dishes at The Bright Spot restaurant in order to take a job at Wendy's that paid me a dime per hour more. (Hey, I was 16, had a girlfriend and needed the money. Those dimes really did count! But still...)
6. I should have treated college as something more than just an academic formality that had to be completed before I could become a sports writer and, of course, stay in the business for 40 years covering Cleveland professional teams until my retirement.
7. I wouldn't have been such a smart aleck from, oh, 6th grade through...well, now. Remind me to stop doing that.
8. I would have taken our dog Jesse for more walks. He was such a good boy.
9. I would have made sure my shorts (and their contents) were secure before sliding down that rope in 6th-grade gym class. Yikes.
10. I should have made a point of telling my coaches and teachers how much I learned from them and how much I appreciated them. The list is too long, but apologies to the likes of Mrs. Schwarzenberg, Mrs. Grabner, Mrs. Feltham, Miss Yeager, Mr. Thomas, Mrs. Crow, Mrs. Coil, Ms. Capasso, Mr. Kondrich, Mr. Duricy, Mr. Kendra, Mr. Ranallo, Mr. Mazer, Mr. Bailey, Mr. Bezjak, Madame Whitehorn, Mr. Elias, Mr. Robertson, Mr. Kowalski, and Coaches Benz, Magill, Knapp, Rosneck, Nackley, Smith, Wolfgram, Kowalski (again), D'Amore, and countless others I've neglected to mention. You were all wonderfully patient with me and incredibly influential in my life. Thank you.

I'm totally fine if you're not a hockey fan, but if you let me take you to a game, I bet you would be

There are two types of hockey fans (two types of fans of any sport, really):

(1) Those who love the game and are very, very concerned that you love it, too
(2) Those who love the game and couldn't care less whether you like it or not

I am of the latter tribe. It doesn't affect me in the least if your general attitude is "Hockey? Meh."

I happen to think hockey (ice hockey, as a point of clarification for my international friends) is a beautiful game. I know soccer has appropriated that title, "the beautiful game," but for my money, it should be attached to hockey.

It is a sport that combines speed, skill, and equal parts mental and physical toughness. It looks stunningly easy until you try lacing up the skates yourself. Once you do, you will be forever in awe of the men and women who play the game at the highest level, stopping and starting on a dime, skating to the point of exhaustion on every shift, handling a five-ounce rubber puck as if it were glued to their stick, and doing all of that while hitting (and being hit) at speeds upwards of 20 miles per hour or more.

It is not a sport for the faint of heart, and we're not just talking about the players. If you're going to watch hockey with any regularity, you will see blood. Oh yes, blood will be spilled. Sometimes it's an accidental high stick to the face. Or a fast-moving puck to the teeth. Or an elbow that hits just right and splits an eyebrow.

I'm not saying this happens every time a player steps onto the ice, or even every game. It doesn't. But it is an extremely physical game played by a breed of athlete whose grit and persistence often defies ready comprehension. The intensity with which these athletes play greatly increases the risk of sustaining physical damage.

It is not uncommon, for instance, for a hockey player to suffer an injury that would immediately sideline an athlete from another sport, get stitched up, and be back on the ice only minutes later. It's part of the culture of the game: You must be there for your teammates. You must be available to take that next shift. You must.

In some sense, hockey is the most team-oriented of all sports. People often say they don't like the fights, but that's almost always because they don't understand the nature and the purpose of fighting. Fighting is done for the team. The players need referees to keep things fair, of course, but they largely police themselves by sticking up for teammates.

If you "take liberties" (a wonderfully Canadian phrase) with my star player, someone on my team is going to drop the gloves and expect you to answer for your dangerous play. Winning or losing the fight is almost secondary. The point is showing up, taking and demanding accountability, and defending teammates who may not be able to defend themselves.

While often the least skilled players on a team, hockey's "enforcers" are often also the most beloved. They do a job few others can or want to do.

And even if that all sounds like rationalization of barbaric behavior, you will note that fighting in hockey is being legislated out of the game relatively quickly. At some point there will be no more fighting, which many think will lead to a rash of injuries caused by players who no longer have to worry about whether they're making a careless hit or carrying their stick a bit too high.

In any case, there is nothing like a hockey game watched live and in person. I watch it on TV when I can because I'm a fan. But to really get it, in order to really appreciate it, you must be attend a game yourself. Sit close to the ice the first time or two if you want. I call the glass seats the "gateway drug" of hockey that introduces you to the speed, skill, passion and jarring impact of a game.

Those of us a bit more seasoned in the sport tend to sit farther back in order to watch the flow of play develop. But it doesn't matter really. Just get to an arena.

If you go with me, the only two things I will need to teach you are the concepts of "offsides" and "icing." If you get those, the rest is almost self-evident, from the penalties to the tactical execution.

Like I said, whether or not you allow yourself to become addicted to the drug of hockey is ultimately of no consequence to me. But I'm telling you, let someone experienced sit next to you at a game and, in most cases, you'll be hooked.