Our $50,000 hockey investment has yielded a million dollars' worth of family fun and memories

I had never been a season ticket holder for any sport when the Lake Erie Monsters came to Cleveland in 2007.

But I knew I liked hockey, and we had a bunch of young kids who I thought might feel the same. So Terry and I took the plunge and bought two season tickets for the Monsters' first season.

Actually, we got involved so early that the Monsters didn't yet have a name when we wrote our first check to "Cleveland Pro Hockey Ltd" or some such legal entity. I was at then-Gund Arena when they later announced what the team would be called.

Since then they have morphed into the "Cleveland" Monsters, and we recently finished our 19th year as full season ticket holders.

That puts us in relatively rare air. Back in 2016-17, the team's 10th year of existence, they put the names of those of us who had been full season ticket holders (officially "Monsters Hockey Club members") from the very beginning on one of the dasher boards at ice level. Here's Jared and me posing with that list of names in February 2017:

While there may appear to be quite a few people there, it's still a small list when you consider the team now averages more than 11,000 fans a game and annually leads the American Hockey League in attendance.

Next season is the Monsters' 20th, and I hope they do something similar to recognize those of us who took the plunge early and never left.

More importantly, I can't say enough about what a great thing the Monsters Hockey Club has been for our family. 

In 2020, the team was kind enough to make a video about us that was shown several times on the arena "Humungotron" and shared on the Monsters' social media channels:

Of greater worth is the one-on-one time I've spent over the years with Terry and each of the kids at those games. Sometimes we watch and comment on the hockey, other times hockey is just the background to deeper conversations about life.

We've also met many wonderful fellow hockey fans who sit near us, some of whom I chronicled in this blog post.

We've cheered game-winning goals, mourned lost opportunities, and eaten more arena popcorn than anyone probably should.

Recently I tried to calculate how much money we've spent on Monsters hockey over these two decades. I don't have records of how much we've paid each year for our tickets, but I seem to remember them being as cheap as $1,700 total for the first season and as expensive as $3,000 for the 2026-27 season (which in fairness includes a couple of hundred additional dollars for the AHL All-Star Game being held next year in Cleveland...also in fairness, we have really good seats).

Figure our average ticket outlay over the years has been somewhere in the middle, say $2,300 a year. Multiply that by 20 years and you get $46,000. Then there's the food and team apparel we've bought, which is somewhere well north of $5,000 at this point.

All told, we've sunk $50K+ into this team – and it has been worth every penny.

I had no idea it would last this long for us, and now I can't foresee a time when we're not season ticket holders for our favorite local hockey team.

I've already told my 9-month-old grandson Cal how much I can't wait to take him to the arena. He smiles back at me indulgently, figuring that whatever Grandpa is saying, it must be something fun.

Oh, it is, buddy, it really is.

Go Monsters!

Forty years into this thing, I think I'll keep her

This is Terry and me the night of her senior prom in 1987.
We were babies.

This Saturday, my wife and I will celebrate our 34th wedding anniversary. I know many couples who have been married longer, but I'm proud (and exceedingly blessed) to have been with Terry that long.

Actually, when it comes to how long we've been together, the real figure is a nice round 40 years. We started dating in March 1986 and have (mostly) never looked back.

Terry and I were talking recently about what we would do if something happened to the other person, and we both said we wouldn't remarry. This is especially believable for Terry, as I think women generally do better than men living on their own in the second half of life. But I also know I'm not helpless and would be fine flying solo if I had to, albeit sad over what I had lost.

I try never to take for granted the fact that when I get home from work, my best friend in the world will be there. Often she will have cooked a delicious meal and will have spent her day taking care of one or more household issues with a skill and grace I could never match.

It's a blessing I neither deserve nor necessarily knew I wanted until I had it.

Because here's the thing about life: You have no idea what's around the corner. You can plan for the proverbial Second Act – and to some extent you should – but no one has ever said you're entitled to a prescribed number of years on this planet or with your significant other.

You could live to be 100, you might get hit by a bus at 50. Who knows?

Only God does. So it's probably wise to enjoy the here and now at every opportunity for as long as you can.

I've given a lot of thought in recent years to when I might retire. If all goes according to plan (and again, it rarely does), I probably have another decade or so in the full-time workforce.

It's a balancing act between the financial math and maximizing the time you have to enjoy your nest egg and focus on things other than your job, bills, young kids, etc.

Our financial guy ran some numbers suggesting I might retire as early as age 62. Depending on market performance, the math does check out, but I'm not sure the intangibles do. I don't know if I'll be ready at that point to move on.

The point is that, however things play out, I have someone at my side with whom I share life's joys, its challenges, its frustrations, and its revelations. We'll celebrate this fact on Saturday with the traditional anniversary dinner somewhere nice, probably followed by an hour on the couch watching "Blindspot," a TV series we both enjoy.

And then it will be off to bed to rest up for another day of whatever comes our way. If that's not the definition of "as good as it gets," I'm not sure what is.

The only 3 things I don't like about summer

When you live in the Great Lakes region of the U.S. as I do, you spend a good chunk of the year looking forward to summer (which as far as I'm concerned begins today).

We only get four months of truly warm temperatures, so it's a big deal when they finally arrive.

And by the way, referring back to the opening paragraph, I live in Lake County, Ohio, about 3 miles from the southern shore of Lake Erie. Thus, I live in the Great Lakes region and not in the Midwest.

Yes yes, I know we're considered part of the Midwest for purposes of the U.S. Census, but I firmly believe we are more accurately classified as Great Lakers in geography, accent and temperament.

Anyway...

We here spend so much time looking forward to warm summer breezes that we idealize the season to an unrealistic degree. As if summer is the perfect state of being and there is no more desirable plane of human existence.

I'm almost onboard with that perspective except for a few things:

(1) I'm a regular walker. One of those arm-swinging fast walkers, in fact. I'm on the road four and sometimes five mornings a week. In the winter when I get home from a brisk walk and shed my hat, gloves and sweatshirt, it feels good. In the summer, I have nothing to shed at the end of a walk besides my reflective vest, and I sweat. I keep on sweating, even after showering. Doesn't matter if we have our air conditioning on full blast, I'm going to sweat for an hour after a summer morning walk. I don't like that.

(2) Summer means the return of Compost Paul. Compost Paul is the name of the plastic bin we keep on our kitchen counter in the warmer months. It holds food scraps destined for our outdoor compost bin ("Compost Paul" being a slight variation of "Compost Pail"). Compost Paul fills up fast, and quite often I'm the one who fills him up. Which means I need to be the one to carry him out to the bin, empty him, and rinse him out. I dislike this chore, and I consider it a black mark against the whole summer season.

(3) I spend an inordinate chunk of the summer worrying about the end of summer. I'm not kidding. The calendar turns to July 1st and all I can think is, "Summer is already half over. School starts next month. Oh no!" This is insane, and I realize it's the very definition of a me problem. Still, a big black cloud seems to hang over my summers, as if every day is a Sunday and I'm going to back to work the next morning. I may need some therapy.

All the same, welcome back, summer. You were (mostly) missed.

Why does everyone around me suddenly seem so young?

I feel a lot like this white-haired guy each time I announce a baseball game.

Recently I was chatting with some of my Lake County Captains co-workers. (I say "co-workers," though it should be noted I'm not a full-time employee of the team. I'm just there on most game days to serve as the public address announcer.)

Jack, who directs game operations and is my boss, was celebrating his 25th birthday. He was born in 2001, about five months before September 11th. One of two young women in our conversation mentioned that Jack was "a pre-9/11 baby," while they were both born in the months after 9/11.

I casually noted that I was nearly 32 years old on September 11th, 2001, had been married for nine years at that point, and already had four kids and a mortgage. Which they all thought was pretty funny.

I did, too, though my laugh was a somewhat half-hearted one as I realized how often this sort of thing happens.

As you enter the later stages of your career, you find yourself with increasing frequency to be the oldest person in the room. You look around and think, "I literally have a pair of jeans older than him."

Which is somewhat jarring, though I still manage to find the humor in it. Even the absurdity.

Those three kids on the Captains staff have lived in parts of three decades. Me? I've touched seven decades, having been born in late 1969.

The great thing is, they don't treat me like the old guy. I get the same in-game feedback they get whether I do something well or I screw it up.

That is, of course, how it should be.

I will also say this: The young people working for this minor-league baseball team are impressive. They're smart, driven, and focused on delivering the best experience possible for the fans in attendance. I learn something from them every game.

I also like to think they learn something from me, though often that "something" is only the name of a random 80s song playing through the ballpark sound system.

Hey, if I have to be the most chronologically gifted person on the game day staff, so be it. I'll crank up the hearing aids, polish my cane, and do my best not to worry about the fact that almost none of my co-workers were around when Ronald Reagan was president.

Or George H.W. Bush.

Or Bill Clinton, for that matter.

Sigh.

Everything can change (for the better) with a single phone call

It was a Thursday in late April. I was working from home and had come downstairs to spend a few minutes with my daughter Chloe and grandson Cal. They were hanging at our house that day while son-in-law / husband / dad Michael was out of town for work.

I was holding Cal and talking to Chloe when her phone rang. She looked at the screen and said, in a tone of excitement, "That's a 216 number!"

It took me a second to realize what she meant.

Chloe had been accepted into The Ohio State University College of Medicine a few months earlier. She had visited the school a couple of times, and she and Michael were already making plans to sell their house and move to Columbus.

The only thing that could keep them in Northeast Ohio was if Chloe were to gain admission to the Cleveland Clinic Lerner College of Medicine.

Or should I say "the highly selective Cleveland Clinic Lerner College of Medicine," as that's sometimes how you see it referred to.

Chloe had been waitlisted at Lerner, which essentially means, "At the moment, we're not accepting you. But we're not rejecting you, either."

She had also been accepted to one other med school and waitlisted at yet another, but ultimately, this was a two-horse race. It was either going to be Ohio State or Lerner. She had told the Lerner folks that, if she were to be admitted there, she would absolutely attend, no questions asked.

The problem is that only 32 students are admitted to the Lerner College of Medicine each year. That's 32 out of about 2,000 applicants.

There is no doubt Lerner is an outstanding medical school. Elite, even. But for many, one of the main draws is the fact that it's free.

Completely free. A five-year medical degree without charge.

Even with its relatively affordable tuition, Ohio State can't compete with free.

So before diving in and making full preparations for a move south, Chloe wanted to hear one way or another from Lerner. She needed closure, which is understandable.

As a frequent participant in online medical school applicant discussion forums, she knew exactly when the Lerner folks were likely to make their "yes" or "no" calls to wait-listers.

Which is why the appearance of an unknown 216 (Cleveland) number on her phone in late April gave her a jolt of adrenaline.

She answered the call with a cautious "Hello?"

You know how, if a room is relatively quiet, you can hear someone on the other end of a cell conversation? I made out just enough to decipher that the caller was Dr. Christine Warren from the Lerner College of Medicine.

I heard Dr. Warren say she was calling with good news that they were formally going to offer Chloe admission. I saw Chloe's eyes go wide and a smile start to play across her face.

I began silently jumping up and down in celebration while still holding Cal, which made him a little nervous. He obviously didn't know what was going on.

When Chloe got off her call, I ran over and hugged her, and we both started jumping up and down.

Cal cried a little, scared by all the commotion. I cried, too. Only my tears came from the realization that all of our lives had changed in an instant.

Not only did that phone call mean Chloe, Michael and Cal would continue living relatively close to us, it also meant that Chloe was going to save herself a few hundred thousand dollars in med school tuition.

Terry was out of town at the time, and I enjoyed listening in when Chloe called her mother and told her the good news.

Terry, bless her heart, always had faith that Chloe would get into Lerner. Both of us wanted whatever was best for Chloe and family, but we also wanted them to remain local so that we could continue seeing our little grandson as often as possible.

I had already resigned myself to the idea that Chloe was going to Ohio State. We would undoubtedly make the drive of 2+ hours to Columbus regularly, I figured, which was certainly better than nothing.

But Terry never wavered. She said Chloe was going to get in, and she did.

Which in retrospect makes sense, I suppose. I mean, she is already DOCTOR Chloe Edmonds, having earned her PhD in neuroscience two years ago. I don't know how many Lerner applicants can say they hold PhD's.

Then there was the fact that Chloe is an experienced researcher who has been published in multiple medical journals. The Lerner College trains physician-researchers, which is right up Chloe's professional alley.

And ultimately, there's the fact that she's Chloe. Chloe does big things. She decides she's going to do them, and she does them.

And now Dr. Edmonds is on her way to becoming Dr. Dr. Edmonds. Well, actually, if all goes well, she'll be Chloe Edmonds, MD, PhD.

Amazing.

She starts the program July 6, with the traditional white coat ceremony scheduled for the following Sunday.

You can bet we'll all be there to see her get that well-deserved white coat.

And you can bet Cal is going to continue getting all the Grammy and Grandpa time he can handle.

All because of one two-minute phone call.

Nothing beats the hotel pool when you're traveling with kids

 

A video clip of us in a hotel pool, somewhere outside of Philadelphia, 2006.

We used to take a couple of road trips every year when the kids were growing up. One was always to our church's annual Bible school, while the other was often to one or more cities in Pennsylvania.

I don't know how or why Pennsylvania became our destination of choice, though I suspect it was because it was close, it was relatively inexpensive, and it had a lot of places to choose from.

I know we went to Hershey multiple times, but over the years we ended up covering other parts of the state as well. Wherever we went, we looked for two things in a hotel:

1. A sufficient number of beds to accommodate the seven of us
2. A pool

And that was about all we needed.

The pool, in particular, was a big attraction. No matter what we had spent our day doing, the kids were often more excited to jump into the pool that evening when we got back to the hotel.

Which was fine. It gave Terry and me time to rest, and it allowed them to work out whatever energy they had left before it was time for bed.

Actually, Terry and I didn't always get to rest, as evidenced in the video above.

This was shot 20 years ago during a family trip to Philadelphia. As you'll see, I'm in the pool with the kids holding little Jack, who I don't believe was even 5 months old yet. My job was to carry him around so he could watch his siblings play while not getting splashed in the face.

I miss those days, but I don't miss the level of tired I know Terry and I were feeling at that moment. Family vacations were equal parts fun and fatigue for us.

Which again was fine. We were making memories, and we had enough sense to realize it.

You know, I can't remember the last time I was in a pool with all of my kids, but I do know one thing...The next time it happens, I probably won't be carrying Jack, who is now 20 years old and half a foot taller then me.

I think he can handle getting splashed in the face now.

When people say nice things about your kids

This is going to sound strange, but when Terry and I used to go to our children's parent-teacher conferences, it was always somewhat uncomfortable for me to hear a teacher talk at length about how much they enjoyed having one of our kids in class.

Don't get me wrong, I really did love hearing the compliments. We were blessed with good kids who worked hard to do well in school.

My son Jared worked particularly hard at figuring out the bare minimum effort he needed to do well. Like, if 90% got you an 'A,' he would inevitably clock in at 90.2%.

But hey, it was still an 'A,' and we'll get back to Jared in a moment.

I don't know the exact reason why effusive praise of my kids made me feel somewhat awkward, but I have two theories:

(1) I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop: "Chloe is a great student, BUT..." Rarely did this happen, but I always assumed it would happen.

(2) Being born and raised in Ohio – which I don't consider a Midwestern state but which does have certain Midwestern sensibilities – there is a part of my brain that assumes you should always do your best and not expect anyone to say too much about it. And the same holds true for your kids.

Returning to Jared, following are two videos I posted on Facebook last fall that illustrate the point. Both are taken from Cleveland Guardians baseball broadcasts, and both feature Hall of Fame play-by-play man Tom Hamilton saying very, very nice things about my eldest son.

As mentioned here before, Jared works in communications with Major League Baseball's Tampa Bay Rays. He's good at what he does and puts a lot of time and effort into keeping it that way.

He has matured greatly since his teenage years and is a good example for any young person looking to get into the sports business.

Jared did a one-year internship with the Guardians early in his career, and during that time he got to know Tom. Now, whenever the Guardians travel to Tampa to take on the Rays, the two of them always catch up.

That resulted in this clip from September 4, 2025, in which Hammy (as he's known) gives Jared a shout out and calls him "one of the bright young stars in media relations."

That was so nice of Tom and very much unexpected. And it could have ended there with a nice memory.

But a few days later on the broadcast, Hammy was at it again. This time he not only mentioned the birth of our grandson Cal, he also heaped more praise on Jared (listen to the very end of the clip).

When Jared received this second mention, I started to wonder if people thought we had compromising photos of Tom or that he owed us money or something.

Again, I loved it, but...I also squirmed a little. And knowing Jared, I think he probably did, too.

All of which is to show that either I need to loosen up or maybe you really can have too much of a good thing.

Now, you could argue this whole post was just an excuse to share these two videos and brag about my son. And you would be right.

But in my defense, my joy over Tom Hamilton's comments is mixed with just enough discomfort to make the whole thing feel OK.