The deer on my morning walks are not at all impressed by me

I spend so much of my morning walks this time of year worrying about skunks that I sometimes forget about the deer.

Deer are very common where I live (they may be common where you live, too). This is a significant change from my years growing up in a suburban neighborhood with closely packed houses. Back then, deer sightings were real events. I remember deer roaming onto our street maybe three times during the 22 years I lived there.

Now, with the deer population in Northeast Ohio generally rising, and with us living in a somewhat more rural (though still decidedly suburban) area, deer are as common as dogs. Or at least it seems that way.

Being out on the road walking/jogging five mornings a week, I come across the various deer families in our neighborhood quite often, especially in the fall.

I see them in the spring and summer, too, but for whatever reason they seem more prevalent in October and November. On one recent morning I came across four different groups/families during my 2.3-mile jaunt.

Their fur is darker this time of year, and I never knew why until I just looked it up. Apparently the darker coat helps them better absorb the warmth of the sun ("solar gain") during a season when sunlight becomes a decidedly iffy proposition around here.

The males also have antlers now, of course. And while I've never had one act aggressively in any way toward me, I give those spiky-headed bucks a wider berth.

For their part, the deer react to me in one of two ways. They're either skittish and run away at the first sign of me. Or, more commonly, they eye me warily but stand their ground as I pass by.

Some seem genuinely interested in figuring out exactly what I am, but mostly I'm just a momentary distraction. As long as I'm not a threat – and it usually takes them about three seconds to realize I'm not – they don't care about me that much.

Which I suppose is the way of things.

I would happily pet them if they would let me, but they have no real interest in coming closer...even the ones who aren't scared of me.

So I confine my animal petting to our two cats, Ginny and Molly. To their credit, those girls do appreciate me, maybe because I'm the one who provides them fresh food and water every day, as well as being someone who is always willing to give them a scratch behind the ears.

It helps that neither has antlers. The power dynamic in our house would change noticeably if they did.

Helping your spouse through the death of a parent

My father-in-law Tom passed away a month ago, and as you might imagine, his three kids have had a rough go of it.

My wife has reacted exactly how you would expect my wife to react if you know her: She was very emotional upon hearing the news at the hospital, but while she has inevitably been teary-eyed several times since, for the most part she has kept it together.

Terry is not a crier. It takes a lot for her to cry, but that doesn't mean she is unfeeling. She loves intensely.

Having been married to her for 31 years, and having known her for nearly 38, I know there is very often more going on underneath the surface than others might realize. That's why I've tried my best to support her through this rough patch, the likes of which most of us have to endure at one point or another in our lives.

When my own dad died in 1999, Terry was wonderful. I don't think I ever told her this, but she made the whole experience much, much easier by doing the small stuff that helps others grieve.

Here are three things I learned from her and from others who have had to help their spouses deal with the death of a parent. If/when you find yourself in the same situation, maybe these suggestions will be useful:

Your primary job is to listen
You can offer words of comfort, of course, but you're mainly there to lend a sympathetic ear and a supportive shoulder. Many of us – Terry included – need to talk our way through the grieving process. Even when we're not sure what to do or how to deal with a particular emotion, we're generally not looking to you for a solution. We'll get there on our own. What we need mostly is for you to listen as we talk about what we're feeling and share our memories of Mom or Dad. (SIDE NOTE: Your spouse may tell you the same story or anecdote several times without realizing it. That's OK. Let them repeat themselves. Just keep listening.)

Whatever your spouse needs, you're available
This is easy in the hours after a parent passes away and even for the first week afterward. It's such an emotional time that you'll do anything for your significant other on the strength of nothing more than love and adrenaline. It's the weeks and months after that, when you may naturally be trying to get back to something resembling your "normal" life, that your partner will still need your support. Whatever it is, from running an errand to hauling stuff out of your in-laws' now-vacant home, you need to do it. You may have other real-life responsibilities to attend to, but your spouse takes priority. Whatever they want or need, do it.

Give them (and yourself) a little grace
No one grieves "perfectly," just as no one is perfect at being the supportive partner of a grieving person. You need to know that you'll probably make mistakes, and that's just fine. You also need to remind your husband/wife there's no set process for grieving. They should go at their own pace. Just be there. Just listen. In everything you do, be motivated by love. That will be more than enough.

I own maybe half of the 50 things every guy is supposed to have

 

The folks at a website called CoolMaterial.com put together a list of "50 Things Every Guy Should Own." I stumbled across it recently and went down the list counting how many of the suggested items I actually have.

It was difficult to come up with an exact number because, in many cases, we have an item, but it's either more Terry's than mine or it's not really exactly what they're talking about.

Suffice it to say I only own about half of the stuff they think I should own.

Here's the complete list. I've bolded the items I have.

1. A plain white t-shirt (I have plenty of plain white t-shirts, but they're talking about the kind of plain white T's that cost $50...I get a 6-pack of Hanes for 20 bucks.)

2. A suit

3. A navy blazer

4. A tie (I have several)

5. A bathrobe (as Jim Gaffigan once said, "A robe? What, are we about to shoot a porno?")

6. Slippers

7. Dress shoes

8. Sneakers (I grew up calling them "tennis shoes," but same thing.)

9. A watch

10. A gray hoodie (I have gray hoodies, but not a plain one like they're talking about.)

11. Denim jeans

12. Boots

13. A leather belt

14. Good sunglasses (I have a prescription pair. Is that "good?")

15. A pair of cufflinks

16. A pair of work gloves

17. A backpack

18. Tote bags

19. Suitcase and/or carry-on

20. Headphones

21. Refillable water bottle

22. A deck of cards (We have decks of cards. It's just that none are mine.)

23. A pocket knife (I had one when I was 9 and a Cub Scout, but that doesn't count.)

24. A lighter

25. A leather wallet

26. An umbrella

27. A toiletry bag

28. Bottle opener/wine key

29. Kitchen knives (These are Terry's, not mine.)

30. Proper glassware (same)

31. Your favorite coffee mug (my black Cleveland Orchestra mug)

32. A dedicated coffee maker (It belongs to both of us, but it was a Christmas present for me.)

33. A secret ingredient you use in dishes to impress guests (Good idea, but I don't cook.)

34. Your favorite bottle of whiskey (Yeah, not a spirits guy.)

35. A cast iron skillet

36. A versatile cookbook

37. A grill (We have one, but I'm rarely the one using it.)

38. A good office chair

39. Stationary (I didn't realize we were living in 1947.)

40. A good pen

41. A notebook/journal

42. A camera

43. A toolbox (So, yeah...we of course have one, but I'll admit it's way more my wife's than mine.)

44. Power tools (same)

45. Exercise equipment

46. A piece of art that means something to you (Man, I did way better on the first part of this list than I'm doing on the second.)

47. A copy of your favorite book (I have many!)

48. A quality coffee table book (I feel like I would need a coffee table first.)

49. A bike

50. A passport (A good way to end. This makes me feel a little better.)

The value of selective memory in parenting

I was on Twitter ("X," whatever) recently and came across this tweet from a young woman named Emily whose content I always find engaging and thought provoking. This is what she said:

"ok do neurotypical parents not find a toddler saying “MAMA!!!!! PICK UP!!!” ten thousand times overstimulating???what if there’s a baby crying at the same time? and you’re also hungry? And Bluey is blaring in the background? are some people feeling totally calm in this scenario?"

Most who commented on the tweet said exactly what I wanted to say: "Oh gosh, believe me, you're not alone. Every parent feels like that. It comes with the territory and is absolutely normal. Trust me, Emily, you're doing great!"

There was one comment from a mom of five who said that, in those situations, rather than stressing out, she revels in the chaos and is always calm. It may have been a well-intended response, but it came across as a little self-righteous. We parents of larger families are sometimes really good at saying unhelpful things like this, and as a rule, it's usually best simply to ignore us.

Anyway, Emily's plight reminded me how parents are so adept at filtering out the bad parts of parenting and retaining only the good stuff in their memories. Terry and I had plenty of times when the whole experience of raising offspring seemed impossible and we cursed our combined fertility.

Parenting is hard. It's supposed to be hard. You're charged with caring for these small, helpless creatures and keeping them alive while trying to mold them into civilized human beings. There is nothing easy about that, and being overwhelmed is just about the most natural reaction I can think of.

It is, in some ways, remarkable that anyone ever chooses to have a second child. The drain of raising just one rugrat is enough to make any sane person swear off the whole experience.

Yet we do it all the time. Mothers who endure pregnancy and birth routinely opt to do it again. And again. And in cases like my wife, throw in a couple more "agains."

The only explanation for this is that the rewards of parenting far outweigh the frustrations. And by that I mean the long-term rewards, because there will be stretches in your parenting journey in the midst of which it will be difficult to rationalize why you got yourself into it all in the first place.

The only thing I can say to young parents is something they already know, at least in their logical brains, which is that eventually it gets somewhat easier. And the little ones really do grow up. And somehow, perhaps unbelievably, there will come a day when you miss the chaos.

That includes you, Emily. Even if you don't realize it, those three kids are incredibly blessed to have you as a mom.

(NOTE: Today is my daughter Chloe's birthday. She is somehow 27 years old and still one of the most amazing people I know. Happy birthday to our second-born!)

Family birthdays are a little different once the kids are grown

There was a time when most of the attendees at our family birthday celebrations lived upstairs. Scheduling these parties wasn't especially difficult because the people in our house were, by and large, 12 years old and younger. We had a pretty good handle on when they could all be available.

Now, however, getting a birthday shindig on the calendar is somewhere just north of impossible. Four of the kids have moved out and are living the lives of young adults. All four come with significant others whose presence is greatly appreciated, but who sometimes add to the scheduling confusion.

It used to be that sports practices and school events were the main obstacles. Now we contend with business trips, sheer physical distance between our house and where the kids live, and family events for the aforementioned significant others.

This is what happens when most or all of your kids are in their 20s. I understand they have stuff to do...places to be, people to meet, that sort of thing. That's how it was for me when I was in my 20s (back in the previous century, though we won't get into that).

Once we do manage to find a date that works for everyone except my son who lives in Florida, even the parties themselves have changed. We still have cake and ice cream, we still make jokes and laugh, and we still sit around and watch as the birthday boy/girl opens presents.

What has changed is the dynamic. It's a different feel when the kids are grown up vs. when they were little and wanted to do more than just sit in the living room and talk.

Not better or worse, just different.

When the kids were preteens, they had soft drinks with their birthday cake. Now I walk around taking everyone's order for adult beverages and try my best to fulfill them from our stock in the garage refrigerator.

The talk isn't about school or friends so much as how work is going and why health insurance is so expensive.

So it goes. Things change.

I am, however, going to request that Chloe's upcoming birthday get-together have a Teletubbies theme. Just for old times' sake. 

In defense of marching band

Photo credit: Mrs. Terry Tennant

"This one time at band camp" jokes aside, there is much to be said for high school marching bands.

They create a special atmosphere at Friday night football games. They perform at halftime, play the fight song after touchdowns, and bring an air of excitement to the proceedings as they march into and out of the stadium.

Just as important, though, is what the band – as both a school organization and a social ethos – does for its members.

For many, band is their strongest and sometimes only real connection to the school. They don't necessarily fit elsewhere, but when they get together with their peers in the band room, they feel at home.

Band kids are their people.

I was and wasn't a band nerd. I played the saxophone, but I never marched a routine in my life. Because I also played football, I was excused from marching band and wouldn't pick up my instrument until November when football season ended and we started rehearsing Christmas music.

So I never experienced the family atmosphere that is perhaps unique to marching ensembles.

It took having five kids (all of whom spent at least some time in marching band), a heavily involved wife and a now-10-year stint as the Wickliffe Swing Band announcer for me to really understand it all.

Every high school band endures its share of derision from other students, but that is perhaps less true at Wickliffe. The Swing Band is well regarded within the school and around our community, so its members are maybe a notch or two higher on the social scale than they would be in other places.

Still, in the end, a band geek is a band geek. Most of them gladly wear the title and wouldn't trade their high school band experience for anything.

For more kids than you may realize, band is the one thing that gets them through four otherwise miserable years of high school.

So go ahead and make fun of their weird hats, the corny songs they play and the faux military discipline on display at every performance. Call them whatever you want.

They're too busy playing loudly and proudly to even hear you.

My phone is getting sassy

MY PHONE: It's 4 minutes from your location to the CVS Pharmacy on Chardon Road

ME: Why do you assume I'm going to CVS every time I get in my car?

MY PHONE: Because you go there a lot.

ME: I don't go there "a lot."

MY PHONE: You actually do.

ME: I do not.

MY PHONE: You do.

ME: Define "a lot."

MY PHONE: More than "occasionally," less than "constantly."

ME: It's barely "occasionally."

MY PHONE: You stop at CVS at least twice a week, sometimes three or four times.

ME: So?

MY PHONE: That's a lot.

ME: It doesn't mean every car trip ends at CVS.

MY PHONE: It does mean I'm right more often than not when I tell you how far away CVS is. Why do you go there so much anyway?

ME: What? Why? What's wrong with CVS?

MY PHONE: It's pricey.

ME: What do you care? It doesn't affect you. Besides, they know me there and they're nice to me.

MY PHONE: I'm nice to you.

ME: No, you're not.

MY PHONE: Every time you want to know the weather forecast, who do you ask? Me.

ME: So?

MY PHONE: Sports scores? You come to me. The year "Galaxy Quest" was released? Me. The lyrics to "Blinded by the Light?" Me. And I come through every time.

ME: But that's your job.

MY PHONE: I could say no.

ME: What? No, you couldn't. You're a phone!

MY PHONE: And way smarter than you.

ME: That's not true.

MY PHONE: It is. And you know it.

ME: Whatever. Can we just get on with this trip?

MY PHONE: Where are we going?

ME: <silence>

MY PHONE: We're going to CVS, aren't we?

ME (sheepishly): Yes.

MY PHONE: We'll be there in 4 minutes.