Happy birthday to my little girl from six states away

Melanie and her parents, 21 years ago today.

I've told you that my daughter Melanie, our youngest girl and second-youngest child overall, is spending six months in Orlando, Florida, as a Disney College Program participant. She operates rides at Disney's Blizzard Beach water park, sweats profusely in the Florida sun, and takes remote classes through Cleveland State University.

She is a very busy young woman.

She is also, as of today, 21 years old. Which I'm sure means she will take a sip of alcohol for the very first time in her life.

I choose to believe this is true.

Do you remember where you were or what you did on your 21st birthday? I was covering the Ohio high school state volleyball tournament in Dayton with my News-Herald co-worker Matt Kantz. I went through a drive-through beverage store to buy a six-pack of beer, mostly because I could.

The beer wasn't all that great, as I recall, but the fact that I could legally purchase it was very cool.

There are many things about adulthood that make you wish you were a kid again. But on balance, being a grown-up beats being a child, in my experience.

So here's hoping little Mel has the best of all possible 21st birthdays. If she does decide to have a beer today, I hope she doesn't also have to work a shift at the water park. Otherwise, her buzzed self may send an unsuspecting child down a water slide at the wrong time to his/her doom.

Happy birthday anyway, kid.

The three things I've told each of my kids the first time they got into the driver's seat

Our youngest child, Jack, recently got his temporary driver's permit. We have been down this road four times before, and each time, it has fallen to me to guide the kids through the early stages of the driver education process.

Considering the number of cars that have been totaled by our family, you could argue that perhaps I am not the world's greatest driving instructor. However, I stand by what I've told each of the kids the moment they've sat down behind the wheel and before they're allowed to drive even an inch:

(1) You could kill someone with this machine

Yeah, it's a little harsh, but you absolutely have to understand the power, responsibility and potential to change lives (your own and others) every time you're on the road. You're suddenly in charge of a ton or two of steel and glass that could maim or murder other human beings. I don't want you to be tight and nervous every time you drive, but I also want you to be constantly alert and aware of the consequences of not paying attention.

(2) Be patient...this takes a little time

Some people are just natural drivers and they understand the rules of the road and the nuances of maneuverability instinctively. Most of us, however, are not like that. There's a reason they want 50+ hours of on-the-road experience before you take your test. It takes that long even to start to feel truly comfortable and competent as a driver.

(3) There are no dumb questions

Ask me anything. It may seem like your friends already know this stuff, and you may feel stupid, but you should absolutely ask if you don't understand something about the rules of driving, road signs, which buttons and levers do what in your car, etc. Don't be embarrassed. ASK.

Jack knows the pressure is on him to become the first of our kids not to get into an accident within a couple of years of obtaining their license. I'm confident he can do it.

My early approach to parenting depended heavily on Barney and Pooh Bear videos

Elissa and Chloe, circa 1997

Back in the days when I worked nights and took care of Elissa all day, I had a go-to set of VHS tapes I would unashamedly use to distract her while I got stuff done.

This particular parenting technique is almost as old as television itself. You give the kid some Cheerios and a freshly filled sippy cup, sit them down in front of the TV, and let them happily watch something fun and age-appropriate while you fold laundry or whatever.

We had a wide range of videos we would show toddler Elissa, but the ones in heaviest rotation were undoubtedly Barney and Winnie the Pooh.

I know a lot of parents turn their noses up at Barney because...I don't know why? Because they think they and their kids are too cool for a goofy purple dinosaur? Eh, whatever. All I know is that goofy purple dinosaur did a whole lot to reinforce the lessons we were already teaching our kid about kindness, politeness, and putting the needs of others on par with or above your own.

God forbid, huh?

As for Pooh Bear, those videos were hilarious. There was a lot of adult humor in there that would make me laugh whenever I was able to pay some attention to the TV. Tigger alone is always worth the price of admission.

There were times I would feel guilty for pawning my parental responsibilities off on the VCR, but in retrospect, it was fine. There are certain things that must get done around the house, and sometimes you need electronic assistance in getting them done while simultaneously keeping your kid from wandering off and, say, tumbling down the basement steps.

Ultimately, all of our kids turned out OK. Maybe a tad neurotic like Pooh Bear himself, but really, who among us isn't?

I will never forget the feeling of moving into our first house

I was 22 years old and hadn't even graduated from college when I made my first mortgage payment.

It was March 1992 and Terry and I had just got the keys to our first house. We were going to be married that June, so I lived there by myself for a few months while finishing up my undergraduate degree at John Carroll and working my first full-time job at The News-Herald.

It was a hectic, heady period, and I still consider it to be one of the most exciting times I've experienced. For several weeks there, it was just life milestone after life milestone.

All of it was great, but nothing quite beats that first time we walked into the house when it had become ours. Houses belong to grown-ups, and suddenly this particular one belonged to us. We were little more than kids, yet we were responsible for everything that happened in and around 1913 East 300th Street.

That was admittedly a little scary, but the thrill of it far outweighed any dread.

Nearly 30 years later, we still have a mortgage. And we've moved on to another house where we've lived for 18 years. And of course we managed to fill up both houses with children, laughter, and memories.

And I'm still cutting the grass. Until I break down and hire someone to do it, I hope to be cutting the grass for years to come.

It's a life that began three decades ago in that beige house with the enclosed front porch and the (seemingly to us) big backyard.

What a ride it has been. What a ride it will be.

I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Our cats are lucky I love them

 

We have five cats, and I suppose I am more involved in their care and maintenance than anyone else in the family. It just sort of happened that way over the years, to the point that it's difficult to imagine doing anything other than feeding them and scooping out their litter boxes every day when I first wake up.

Contrary to popular belief when it comes to cats, they are all affectionate to one degree or another. They seem grateful for the easy life they live (at least as far as cats can be grateful), though there are times when they clearly take this as nothing more than their proper due.

I've generally been OK with that, but the three boys are trying my patience as they age.

The other night/morning, for instance, Charlie woke us up at 4:30am making a strange sound. Terry got out of bed and discovered he had a mouse in his mouth. I'm pretty sure the mouse was dead – that, or he was doing a bang-up job of playing dead – so I grabbed it in a paper towel, took it outside in the pouring rain, and flung it into the grass.

Then there's Fred, whose urinary tract issues are relatively under control, but only through daily effort on our part and not-inconsiderable investment in vet bills and prescription medicine. I've not cleaned up a puddle of Fred pee for a week or two, and I'm of course happy about that, but the total amount of his urine I have sopped up over the years would fill a large backyard swimming pool.

I apologize for the nauseating image, but it's true.

There are regular piles of nasty cat puke to clean up, some of which fall to me and others of which various family members (and here I'm thinking mainly of Terry) take on themselves to address.

Add to this Charlie's constant need to assert his alpha status by tormenting the other cats, plus the shedding, plus the cost of specialty food for Fred and regular food for the other four, plus the need to keep certain doors closed so that cats don't go in there and deposit a random biological substance on the floor, and...well, it's a lot.

Pet ownership done right is never easy, no matter what sort of animal you own. But the cats know all they have to do is present themselves to me for petting, and then loudly purr once I touch them, and all is forgiven.

I am an eternal sucker.

It’s never quite the same once they leave home

Four of our kids are in their 20s, but they’re at very different stages of their lives.

Elissa is 27 and has a thriving career as a marketer and a long-term partner in Mark.

Chloe is 24, married, and living in her first house with her husband Michael while pursuing her PhD.

Jared is 23 and less than four months from earning his undergraduate degree before embarking on a career in sports communications.

Melanie is less than a week shy of 21 and in the middle of a 5 1/2-month stay in Orlando as part of the Disney College Program.

The former two live on their own, while the latter two live with us (or at least Mel does when she’s not baking in the Florida sunshine operating a water slide at Blizzard Beach).

What they have in common, though, is that all of them have spent at least some period of time living away from home. And my observation is that once they do that, once they spend even a semester or so living at school or whatever, everything changes for good.

Yes, they may come back and live with you again, but the dynamic is forever altered. They suddenly feel much more on their way out, no matter how long they remain under your roof.

And that’s a good thing. Your job, from the moment they came into the world, was to help them eventually become responsible, productive, independent adults. If they’re close to doing that, then kudos to you, Mom and Dad. Ya done good.

That does not, however, mean we as parents are always thrilled with the idea. It was maybe 7 minutes ago that all of them were toddling around the house in diapers, a sippy cup in one hand and a stuffed Barney toy in the other.

And now, they’re a lot closer to their permanent departure than they are to their arrival.

Again, that’s good, but it makes me a little sad. A mixed blessing if ever there was one.

Jack, fortunately, is only 15, so we’ve got time there. But it’s time I now know will go by way, way, way too fast.

And, if I’m doing what I’m supposed to do, I’m bringing his flight from the nest closer to reality by teaching him the things you need to know to live on your own and be a grown-up.

Maybe just this one time I’ll slack off a little.

I'm in that stage of life when the musicians I admire are getting old

While my musical tastes have certainly broadened over the years, the artists at the top of my "Favorite Musicians" list have not.

One look at the most-played songs on my phone will quickly reveal that I am a hardcore fan of essentially three men: Sting, Colin Hay, and Billy Joel.

There are others in there I love, many of which are 80s bands that are still going (somewhat) strong like Duran Duran, The Fixx, and Huey Lewis and the News. And then there are my second-tier singer-songwriters, which include Jim Croce, James Taylor, Bruce Hornsby, David Francey, and so on.

But Messrs. Sting, Hay, and Joel are in the heaviest rotation and have been for decades now.

They are also, respectively, 69, 68, and 72 years old.

I am not sure how this happened.

Well, I know how it happened. Time moves on. We get old and so do those we admire, even if we think they shouldn't.

It recently occurred to me that there will someday very soon be a last Sting album and a last Colin Hay album. You could argue there has already been a last Billy Joel album, as he hasn't put out any new pop/rock material since 1993.

It has always been something of an event for me when one of those men released new work. In the pre-Internet days, I would consult a newspaper or maybe Rolling Stone to see when an album was due, and I would show up at a record store that day to buy it.

Then I would come home, pop it into my stereo (yes, a stereo) and listen intently while following the liner notes.

Now it's a little different. I still get excited when my guys have new material, but rather than me having to go out and get it, it just shows up on Apple Music. It's just...there, all of the sudden.

That doesn't affect my enjoyment of the music itself, of course, but it does take some of the pageantry away from the actual release.

Anyway, I try to appreciate new music from Stingo, Colin, and BJ more because I know they each have only so many more new songs in them. Sting has an album titled "The Bridge" coming out later this year, while Colin recently put out an excellent disc full of covers and has his own new music slated for release in the not-too-distant future.

I will savor every moment of it, knowing it won't be long before each of these guys will need a hearing aid just to listen to his own music.