The attraction of violence and war to some non-violent men (like me)

I have two interests that surprise a lot of people who know me, or who at least think they know me:

(1) War

(2) Combat sports

The second of those is somewhat sentimental in origin in that it was my dad who taught me about boxing and how to appreciate it. He watched the Friday Night Fights religiously, and when I watched with him, I was always amazed at how accurately he could predict the outcome based solely on the first few seconds of a bout.

I still catch a boxing match on TV every once in a while, and when I do, I think of the things he taught me about what separates good fighters from also-rans.

My interest in military history is more self-generated, though my dad did serve in the post-World War II U.S. Army and later the Army Air Corps. While my main interest is World War I, it's really the psychology of all war that draws me in.

For what it's worth  – and admittedly it's likely not worth that much, given my lack of personal experience on both fronts  – my theory is that most men overestimate how well they would do in a hand-to-hand street fight and underestimate how brave they would be in combat.

Because that's what I believe attracts many guys to study war and to follow violent sports: the question of how you yourself would do if thrown into those situations.

If a guy came up to me on the street and started swinging, could I defend myself? If I was called to run into machine gun fire and try to take a trench 400 yards away, as the soldiers of World War I were often commanded to do, would I have the guts to do it? If I was challenged to a scrap by a bigger guy in the middle of a hockey game, would I be willing to stand in there and trade punches?

That, I find, is what many men want to know when it comes to these subjects. How did others react, and would I be able to do the same (or to avoid their mistakes)?

By the way, I'm referencing only men here because (a) I am one, and I can really only relate to my own gender when it comes to these questions, and (b) The wars I study most closely all happened decades or even centuries ago, when 99.9% of the combatants were male. I fully realize there are highly skilled female boxers and women in all branches of the military who take part in combat now. But what little understanding I have of these questions derives fully from a man's perspective.

I think it's important here to acknowledge some hard truths:

• War and violence in general are stupid. They are ugly and vulgar and should be avoided in all but extreme cases.
• Boxing and ultimate fighting are problematic. They have the potential to cause devastating long-term neurological and other damage, and in some cases even death. I don't disagree with those who see combat sports as barbaric.
• Street fights are incredibly dumb, driven as they usually are by fragile male egos, unrestrained machismo, and quite often, alcohol.

Yet at the same time, I find the following also to be true:

• There is a certain degree of nobility in the soldier who picks up a rifle and defends not only his foxhole buddies but also the nation standing behind him.
• To a far lesser extent, there is something to be admired in the hockey fighter who comes to the aid of a teammate, standing up for someone on the ice who cannot stand up for himself.
• No matter how "enlightened" I think I am about violence, the world is full of lunkheads who don't have the brain cells required to think through these questions, and who will start throwing punches at the slightest provocation. As a Christian, I am called to turn the other cheek in these situations, but as a male, the unfortunate reality is that I am probably not going to back down. I am going to fight back.

There is dichotomy in all of this. I will continue to study war despite its ugliness, and I still condone fighting in hockey and the sport of boxing despite the issues associated with both.

I'm not a fan of spontaneous street fights, but I know they will continue to happen for reasons that are as old as time.

The eternal question of "why," and the primal inclination of many men toward violent behavior, are puzzles that neither I nor anyone else is ever likely to solve. All the same, I can't stop myself looking for the answers within myself and from others.

Five knickknacks that have followed me from job to job and office to office for the last 20 years

I'm always interested to see how people who work in offices (at their place of business or remotely at home) decorate their desks, cabinets and bookshelves.

Photos are most common, it seems, and for good reason. I have a photo of Terry and me on my desk that I look at often and that serves to remind me why I do what I do 40-50 hours a week for the Materion Corporation.

But beyond the pics of kids, spouses and significant others, there are other little bits of office decor I always find fascinating. They provide some insight into what people value, what they do with their free time, and in general what their personalities are like.

I have worked in an office setting since 1988, if you want to call newspaper newsrooms "office settings." They are unlike traditional business offices in that they're generally loud, sometimes frenetic, and usually filled with what could most politely be described as irreverent conversation. I worked in newsrooms from '88 to '96 before moving into more genteel offices.

Since 2002 I've had something like 10 different offices at six companies. Each time I've switched jobs or undergone an office move, there is a core set of items I've smothered in bubble wrap and carried from place to place. They have stayed with me for most or all of these past two decades, and I can't imagine an office without them.

Draw whatever conclusions you will about me from these longtime office knickknacks:

The Laughing Buddha

In December 2005, I spent two full weeks in China meeting with journalists to pitch story ideas on behalf of the clients I represented as a vice president at Cleveland public relations firm Dix & Eaton. I picked this up at a Shanghai market for what I'm sure was a criminally low price, as the dollar was particularly strong against the Chinese yuan at the time. There's something about him that makes me happy, and I've always made a point of putting him in parts of my office where I'm sure to see him.

The Mexican Porcupine

Speaking of Dix & Eaton, about a year and a half after I joined the firm, we moved from Downtown Cleveland's Erieview Tower maybe a half-mile away to the 200 Public Square building. As people were cleaning out their Erieview offices, there was a table where you could discard stuff you didn't want to take with you, just in case others might be interested in it. This little guy was placed on that table (by whom I don't know) and I snatched him up for no other reason than I thought he was cool. A few of the toothpick quills have broken over the years, but he's still going strong and watches me all day long as I work.

The Globe

I always wanted a globe, and one Christmas Terry gave me this little beauty. It serves no practical purpose, but then again, what true knickknack does? Actually I take that back. In 2019, a day before we were scheduled to fly to Australia for a cruise, I spun the globe to North America then spun it to Australia, and it was the first time I realized how truly distant the two continents are from one another. It made the 15-hour flight from Los Angeles to Sydney a little more understandable, so I guess the globe provided some benefit in that one instance.

The Puck

I am an ardent fan of the National Hockey League's Ottawa Senators. Have been since they came back into the league (following a 70-year absence) in the early 90s. I think I bought this puck and cheap plastic display case in Niagara Falls when I took one of our kids there way back when. It's a good conversation piece when someone asks the valid question, "How does a lifelong Clevelander become a fan of the Ottawa Senators?"

The Appalachian Trail Rock

Some years ago, my neighbor Tim did some hiking on portions of the Appalachian Trail. Knowing that a through-hike of the trail is a likely-never-to-happen bucket list item of mine, he very graciously brought back a rock for me, just so I could have a little piece of the 2,150-mile pathway I would love to traverse at some point before I get too old. I always thought that was really nice of him, and it serves as a reminder that we all need to have dreams.

What I'm willing and not willing to do to live a healthy lifestyle

I like to read books about longevity and health. Dr. Michael Roizen is my favorite author in the space, though there are many others – Drs. Joel Fuhrman and Neil Barnard come to mind – who are also go-to sources for this type of information.

Of course, there's a difference between reading about healthy living and, you know, actually following through on it. If you were to ask people who know me well, they would say I am generally a fairly healthy individual. But I'm more acutely aware of the areas in which I fall short than those in which I'm compliant with the latest recommendations around diet, exercise, stress management, etc.

And now in my early (rapidly approaching middle) 50s, I am largely at peace with it all.

At some point, you have to decide what you're willing to sacrifice in the name of better health and what less-than-healthy indulgences you want to maintain in your life. And connected with that, you have to be ready to accept the consequences of those less-than-healthy choices.

I don't mean to suggest that healthy = boring/difficult/burdensome, by the way. That's not necessarily the case.

But the fact is, many of us naturally prefer the bag of chips over the carrot sticks, and sitting on the couch over getting out and walking.

Over the past 15 years, I've had four what I would call "significant" weight losses of 20 or more pounds each. The biggest of those came in 2016, when I started around 217 and got down as low as 166, which in retrospect was way too low for me.

Yet, if you go by the BMI charts – and believe me, I'm well aware of the limitations of BMI as a measurement of overall health – 166 pounds for someone my height is within 10 pounds of being "overweight." So what's the answer?

As I type this, I'm approaching significant weight loss #5. I've dropped about 17 pounds since the first of September through my method of choice, Weight Watchers. It's a system that works well for me whenever I make up my mind to follow it.

I also benefit from the gender biology of weight loss, in which men generally have an easier time dropping pounds than women do. You ladies get screwed in a lot of ways, and this is one of them.

Last Saturday when I weighed in at the local Weight Watchers studio, the scale read 187.2. My official WW goal weight, as prescribed by my primary care doctor a decade ago, is 185. Once I get there, I'll switch to maintenance mode and try to stay around that number for...well, for the rest of my life.

Because you see, when you're someone who has had a number of successful weight losses, it also means you're someone who each time has put the pounds back on. I have never in my adult life been able to maintain a healthy weight for more than a year at a time. So my next big challenge is learning how to keep myself where I should be in terms of overall body mass.

I'm willing to make the mental and physical sacrifices necessary to do that. In fact, here is a complete list of the things I'm willing to do to live as a healthy person:

• Cardio: I power walk (usually just over 12 minutes/mile) five days a week, generally covering a total of 12 miles every seven days. I'm very consistent with this, and it's largely because I love getting out and moving.
• Eat leafy greens, beans, nuts, fruits and veggies: These are all staples of my daily diet, as they should be.
• Don't smoke: Not a problem. True story - I've never even tried it. Not even once. I have never inhaled smoke from anything and have no desire to try it.
• Keep my weight down: See above.

Those are admirable, but they do not cover all of the bases, health-wise. There are other habits we should be forming if we want to live longer, happier lives, at least from a physical standpoint. Here are the things I should be doing that I'm not:

• Strength training: The truth is, I hate lifting weights. I just despise it. I know I should be doing it, I know it has amazing benefits. Yet I can't seem to get myself to do it with any regularity. It's the one thing on my "bad" list that I hope to change. Maybe it will be my 2023 resolution.
• Meditation: I don't "feel" like I'm stressed, but the recommendation is that we should all be doing something to manage stress in our lives. Deep breathing is another popular technique. I don't make the time to do any of it.
• Getting enough sleep: I rarely sleep more than 7 hours, and most of the time it's more like 6 to 6 1/2 for me. I feel OK, though, or at least I think I feel OK, since there may be a higher level of "OK" of which I'm not even aware that I would experience if I just went to bed earlier. But as well as I sleep, I just don't love it as much as a lot of people do. I would rather be up and doing stuff. If there was a way to live without sleeping, I would jump on it. As it is, I should be getting more shuteye.
• Inserting even more healthy foods into my diet: I love fish, but I rarely eat it. Too much trouble buying and cooking it. I also don't do a good job with the "healthy gut" foods like yogurt, kimchi, etc., nor do I drink nearly enough water.
• Having a social life: I hang out mostly with Terry and my son Jack, the two people with whom I live. You're supposed to have a wider social circle than that, and men in particular tend not to be very good about building and maintaining friendships. I don't know, there doesn't seem to be enough time, though I know the reality is that I could make time if I really wanted.

I could go on, but the point is, I miss the mark on more items health-wise than I hit. That doesn't bother me as much as it used to. I'm doing what I can manage, and if that means a few years off the end of an otherwise healthy and happy life, so be it.

Or at least that's what I say now. Check back with me in another decade or two.

I maintain the illusion of control through the use of daily checklists

As much as I like to think of myself as someone who handles ambiguity well, I find my left brain demanding structure, order and a general feeling that "I've got this," even when I don't, in fact, "got this," and even if I don't quite know what "this" even is at any given time.

Thus, I play this game with myself whereby I make to-do lists. Every day of my life, virtually without exception, I have a to-do list. Sometimes I have two to-do lists: one for home and one for work. And as I tackle individual tasks, I check them off the list.

If you are a list maker, I don't need to tell you the immense satisfaction (it's almost a rush, really) of checking things off the list. When you get to the end of the day and every box is ticked off, you are master of your universe, king/queen of your domain.

Or at least that's what I tell myself. In reality, for every one thing I check off, a part of me knows there are five other things I should be doing that don't fit comfortably on a list.

"Love wife," for instance. I don't put that on the list because, you know, it's just something you do, in ways both tangible and intangible.

"Enjoy nature." It would feel silly putting that on the list and then saying to myself, "From 12:35 to 12:40, I'm going to stand in our backyard and enjoy nature."

The truly meaningful things in life are not things you "complete." You can't write them next to a checkbox and then "do" them in a way that suggests you're ever finished.

I know this to be true. Yet I don't want it to be true because it causes two things to happen, neither of which is particularly enjoyable:

(A) I start to think my insignificant to-do's are just a way to keep from making the effort to really live.

(B) I take less pleasure in those checkmarks that usually give me so much satisfaction.

Yes, eventually the grass needs to be cut, the laundry needs to get done, and the oil needs to be changed. Those things aren't going away, and part of being a responsible adult is ensuring they're taken care of. But they're not a substitute for "living," however you define it.

Which brings me to the illustration at the top of this post from one of the popular Frog and Toad children's books. In this particular story, Toad makes a list of everything he wants to do that day, including "wake up" and "go to sleep."

At one point, a strong wind comes by and Toad's list blows away. "Help!" he cries, "my list is blowing away! What will I do without my list?"

Frog suggests they run and catch the list, but Toad points out he cannot do that because "running after my list is not one of the things that I wrote on my list of things to do."

One time this story was brought up in our family text chat to point out how much like Toad I am and to (gently) make fun of me. I laughed right along with everyone else because, let's face it, I am him.

But I get it, Toad. Oh boy, do I get it. Without the list, there is paralysis. It's laughable, I know, but it's also true.

I could probably use a Frog in my life, though I'm not sure whether I would need him to chase after my list or show me I don't need the list in the first place.

Maybe both.

After 13 years on Facebook, I guess I'll stick around

There is a certain cool factor these days to walking away from Facebook. People give any number of reasons for why they dislike the platform, from censorship and wonky algorithms to privacy concerns and the very existence of Mark Zuckerberg.

There is merit to each of these. Facebook is not without its (deep) flaws.

When I joined in 2009, it was at the suggestion of my wife. As I recall, she said something like, "You would know a lot of people there, and it's interesting to see what everyone posts."

And she was right, I did (know a lot of people on Facebook) and it is (interesting to see what people post).

Every morning I use the Timehop app to look back on the things I've published on various social media sites over the last decade-plus. It cracks me up when I see my early Facebook posts from 2009, because they all looked like this:

"...is boarding a plane for Wichita, Kansas."

Not "I'm now boarding a plane" or "I'm heading to Wichita." Everything I wrote during my first month or two on Facebook followed the same format: ellipsis-verb-object.

As I recall, that was because the prompt in the Facebook posting box in those days was something like, "What are you doing right now?" I somehow assumed it would automatically post my name, and that all I had to do was provide the rest of the sentence.

I was naïve. I still am, but I was particularly Facebook-naïve. By the end of 2009, Facebook had changed its prompt to "What's on your mind?" I believe it stayed that way for many years until recently, when they started using variations of "How's it going?" and "How are you feeling?"

Anyway, I've been a regular FB user for 13 years and I don't see myself abandoning it any time soon. My 1,800 connections include far-flung family, friends and former co-workers, many of whom I would almost never hear from if it weren't for the 'Book. That's just a fact.

I'm also endlessly interested in people's opinions on various topics pertaining to religion, sports and politics. I almost never engage in debates on any of these subjects (I've found that most people are going to believe what they want to believe, even if it's demonstrably untrue), so I end up being more of a lurker than a participant.

And honestly? I genuinely want to see pictures of that new puppy you brought home. And your kids. And your vacation. And even what you're having for dinner.

Even if I don't comment – even if I don't throw a "like" your way – please know I'm reading and looking. Even if it's an artificially idealized version of your life, I still want to see what you're up to and generally know how you're doing.

There are other ways of achieving this, I understand, but Facebook is fun and efficient. And I don't find it to be nearly as impersonal as many others do.

You also can't beat the price, which remains $0.00 a month. I don't think I would be willing to pay for the privilege of seeing someone's uninformed opinion that, for example, the Cleveland Guardians should have started Shane Bieber over Aaron Civale in Game 5 of the American League Division Series (because it wouldn't have made a difference...I know I'm right about that despite any factual evidence to the contrary, which makes me the perfect Facebook user.)

It's that time of year when I have to deal with skunks on my early-morning walks

I'm out power walking most mornings these days. I usually hit the road by 6am and follow a 2.3-mile loop around Miller and West Miller avenues.

It's a beautiful time for morning walks, too, given the conditions. I love 50 degrees and dry, as it often is in Northeast Ohio in early October.

The flip side is that this is also the time when the skunks come out.

I don't know why, but while I never see a skunk in my neighborhood over the summer, they're suddenly out in full force every morning come, say, mid-September. For the next couple of months, there will be more mornings when I see a skunk than mornings I don't.

I assume they're foraging for food. I don't begrudge them that.

But I'm still terrified of them.

I know, I know, they eat insects and small rodents that can wreak havoc. And they're valuable members of the food chain and it's the Circle of Life and blah blah blah.

None of that changes the intrinsic evil of the skunk.

Many of the skunks seem to congregate on the West Miller part of my walk. Once I set foot on that street, I tense up and start scanning the sides of the road for the tell-tale white stripe and low-to-the-ground ambling of Mephitis mephitis.

It's dark when I walk, so there have been times when I've come within 10 feet of a skunk before we both realize the other is there.

I stop in my tracks, while he/she lifts his/her head and raises his/her tail.

Ten feet, you see, is the range a skunk can spray. I back away from the encounter much faster than I walk into it, believe me.

My biggest fear is being right on top of a skunk before I know it's there and getting blasted.

One time, back in my running days, I was cruising down Euclid Avenue at 5:30 in the morning on garbage day, which meant everyone's trash cans were set out on the sidewalk, just a foot or two from where I was running. A skunk looking for breakfast came out from between two cans just as I passed by and my foot grazed his head.

I saw him at the last possible second and took off sprinting. When I came back through that area 15 minutes later on the return part of my loop, the smell of skunk spray was intense. He had reacted to our surprise encounter with the best defense nature had given him.

So anyway, I've taken to changing my walking route most October mornings, though that doesn't guarantee skunk-free status. They can be anywhere this time of year (and it doesn't help that many of the streets in my neighborhood have minimal street lighting and/or street lights timed to turn off while it's still dark).

"Walk later in the day, then," you might say. That would help, but my schedule doesn't usually allow for it. I work all day, and evenings are almost always taken up with some sort of activity. Early morning is my exercise window, so I've got to take advantage of it.

I'm not at all a fan of treadmills – though I'll use them in a hotel when I'm traveling – so I don't consider that an option.

The only thing I can do is stay alert and pray Terry will let me back into the house should I ever end up on the unfortunate end of a skunk spraying attack.

I would rather wear a Pittsburgh Steelers jersey than have that happen. And believe me...that's saying something.

(NOTE: It occurred to me after I wrote this that, while skunks can be a nuisance for walkers and runners, I still don't have to deal with the fear of being assaulted by another human being as my female walking and running counterparts do. They have to live with (and prepare for) that possibility every day, while the chances of it happening to me are much, much lower. They undoubtedly have it worse. I'll take the possibility of a skunk encounter any day over that.)

Sometimes in life you have to do crazy things...and sometimes you have to think twice

When I earned my master's degree from West Virginia University two years ago, I made a solemn vow that I would never again be a college student.

While I am immensely proud of my M.S. in Integrated Marketing Communications, it was a struggle to get there. Anyone who has ever worked full time while going to graduate school and trying to maintain some semblance of a life will tell you it's a challenging and exhausting business.

So imagine my surprise when I recently found myself on the phone with an admissions representative from the University of Kansas inquiring about their online MBA program. 

And when I came this close to applying.

It has only been 27 months since I finished my capstone project at West Virginia and collapsed in a tired and emotionally drained heap. Granted, some of those drained emotions stemmed from losing my mother and mother-in-law in a span of 18 days that summer of 2020, but school still had an awful lot to do with it.

My reasons for considering an MBA as I near the ripe old age of 53 were many, including:

• I love learning. I really do. As physically and mentally draining as an MBA program would be, I embrace the thought of becoming more well-versed in finance, accounting, statistics, management, ethics, etc.
  
  
• I've never been formally trained in business. My undergraduate degree was in English and History, and I really only entered the world of corporate/business communications in 1999. I've learned a lot since then, but an advanced business education would likely do wonders for me professionally.
  
  
• I'm reading a book by my favorite health expert, Dr. Mike Roizen of The Cleveland Clinic, called "The Great Age Reboot." The book's premise is that we are right on the verge of incredible medical breakthroughs that are likely to extend our lives significantly, i.e., in many cases well into our 100s.

To that last point, I've always hoped I would live a relatively healthy 85-90 years then fade away quickly and quietly. And that may end up being the case. But given recent advances in gene therapy and treatment of what were formerly fatal chronic diseases, there's a possibility I'm only halfway through my time on this mortal coil. Which means I may need 30 or more years' worth of savings once I retire. Which in turn means I may need to work longer than I realize.

And if I have to work into my 70s, I'm going to need all of the knowledge and professional development I can get. Thus the notion of getting a second master's degree in the form of an MBA.

Materion Corporation, my employer, has a generous tuition reimbursement benefit. And Kansas' online MBA program is not only highly rated but also highly convenient with its asynchronous classes, eight-week terms and willingness to allow students to take semesters off.

I could probably do the whole thing in about 3 1/2 years.

But ultimately I chose against it. I'm still relatively new in my job, and while it has been an absolute dream so far, there's a lot of mental effort that goes into doing it well. And my side hustle of sports PA announcing – which is more of a hobby than a "side hustle," really – gets more time consuming with each passing year.

Then there's the matter of spending time with my wife of 30 years. Not so long ago, we were a household of seven people, with all of the attendant chaos and effort. Now it's just Terry, our youngest child Jack, and me. And in a few years, it will just be Terry and me.

I hitched my wagon to the Terry Train decades ago, and it remains the best decision I ever made. It's a connection that demands time and attention, both of which would likely suffer if I pursued that MBA, even if only for a few years.

All of which is to say I'm fine with the life I'm living right now, thank you very much. I can always read books, attend webinars and pursue other avenues to gain business knowledge.

Over the years I have jumped feet first into a wide range of personal and professional experiences, and I don't regret any of them. Sometimes we benefit most from saying "yes" to the seemingly improbable, or even the impossible.

But other times we have to consider the risk-benefit ratio and whether it's worth getting into something over our heads. In this case, I've decided the status quo is best, and it's a decision I imagine will be permanent when it comes to getting an MBA.

Of course, two years ago I thought my heartfelt "never again" in regard to grad school was also permanent, so who knows?

Sometimes crazy is good. And sometimes crazy is...well, crazy.

Learning (finally) to appreciate the memories while you're still making them

Thank you, Ron Kotar, for one of my favorite shots of drum major Jack!

We are in the midst of a 10-week period during which Friday nights in our family can only be described as chaotic.

For many years now, our Friday evenings from late August through the end of October have revolved around high school football games and halftime band performances. All of our kids have been members of the Wickliffe Swing Band at one point or another, and my son Jared also kicked for the football team for three years.

At the very least, that has meant hastily consumed dinners, getting kids to the school on time before a game, and dressing up in our finest Blue Devil gear.

But this year the chaos—I can think of no other appropriate word—has ratcheted up by a factor of about 10. To wit:

• Jack, who is enjoying his senior year victory lap, is both co-drum major and band president. These roles encompass a lot, not the least of which is trotting out to the center of the field at halftime along with his fellow drum major Clare, flinging a baton high into the air, and trying to catch it when it comes back down. All with 90% of people in the stadium watching the two of them. I don't know how nerve-wracking it is for Clare and Jack, but it's terrifying for me.
  
  
• Terry, who has long volunteered her time to the Swing Band, has taken her involvement this year to a new and presumably unprecedented level ("unprecedented," at least, in Wickliffe band history). She is not only in her second year as Band Booster president and her ninth year as chair of the uniform committee, she also recently took on the official title of "assistant director." Like, she's now an official Wickliffe City Schools employee and everything. It is risking gross understatement to say she is invested in the success of this ensemble.
  
  
• My Friday night contributions pale in comparison with Jack's and Terry's, but I'm in my ninth year as the Swing Band announcer as well as my first year as the full-time Wickliffe football PA announcer. The poor people who come to our games cannot escape the reach of my voice without running to their cars and driving home.

So fall Fridays are a production. They're also fleeting. If Wickliffe doesn't make the state football playoffs this year, after tonight we only have six games to go. Then, just as suddenly as it began, it will be over.

This time next year, Jack will be in college. Terry may or may not continue her involvement with the band, but it will be at a scaled-back level if she does. And while I still plan to announce, it won't feel quite the same as it does this year.

All of which is why I'm enjoying every second of this season. You would think, with five children (four of whom are out of high school and in their 20s), I would have learned long ago how quickly it all passes and to appreciate it. But until this year, I really hadn’t.

For the past decade and a half, we've always had at least one child at the high school, with the promise of more to come. Even last year we knew Jack still had his senior season ahead. So I just jumped from one event to the next without ever stopping to take in the moments and savor each one.

Now, with something of a life transition staring us in the face, I find myself pausing on Friday nights and just looking around. I listen to the crowd. I watch Jack march. I observe Terry in her element, doing everything she can to make sure the band is put in the best position to succeed. And I smile at all of it. I take a breath and acknowledge what a special time this is for us.

And how, in no time at all, it will have passed us by.

As recently as a month ago, I dreaded the thought of it ending. But now I don't really mind that much. Just being present in the moment and knowing it's a memory in the making changes the whole dynamic. It will end, yes, but that's OK. It's special BECAUSE it's going to end.

At the beginning of every halftime show, I get to announce Jack's name as co-drum major and Terry's name as assistant director (she's only just now getting comfortable with me doing that...not much of a spotlight-seeker, that one). Even counting upcoming band festivals, there are fewer than 10 such opportunities remaining.

With each one, I lean into "Jaaaaaaaaaack Tennaaaaaaant!!!" and "assistant director MRS. Terry Tennant!" just a little bit more.

What an incredible blessing this has been. And still is. And always will be.

The last go-round

 

The bandana'ed trumpet player pictured above is my son Jack. He is 16 1/2 years old (just had his "half birthday") and on the verge of his senior year in high school.

School doesn't officially start for another two weeks, but parents of kids who do fall extracurriculars know how this works. Jack is in band and runs cross country, both of which have been practicing for a month. His senior year started in earnest four weeks ago.

Terry and I have of course known this was coming for a long time. We've been through the senior experience with our four oldest kids and loved all of it. And we figured we would love it when Jack got to this milestone.

We'll do that, of course, but this time it's different. Jack is our youngest. Just as everything with Elissa was a "first" so many years ago, everything with Jack is a "last." Last cross country and track season, last marching band season, last first day of school, etc.

There is every reason to celebrate what is sure to be a fun 12th-grade year for a kid who does so well in school, plays the heck out of his trumpet, is serving as co-drum major and band president as well as a class officer, and is generally one of the funniest and fun-to-talk-with people I know.

It is, as they say, all good.

Yet there's something about the finality of it that is only just now starting to hit me. For a long time there was always more to come. A Tennant kid graduates? Yay! We'll do it again with the next one. Year after year, we had kids in Wickliffe sports and band.

But this is the final lap. And it's starting to smack me right in the feels.

We've had kids in Wickliffe Schools continuously since 1999. Before that, Terry and I were Wickliffe students ourselves. And before us, our siblings were also Blue Devils, stretching all the way back to 1963 in my family's case.

When Jack walks across that stage and picks up his diploma next May, it all comes to an end. It's not a tragedy or anything, of course, but it is bittersweet.

And I didn't necessarily expect that.

Terry and I are enjoying the semi-empty-nest life, believe me. We've put in much time and effort over the years ensuring that our kids' various activities provided the best experience possible, and that they themselves learned what they needed to learn to become independent, accomplished adults. You never "stop" being a parent, but the idea of moving into the next phase of our lives is alluring.

Yet...as I said, there are seriously mixed feelings.

If I were someone trying to make me feel better about this whole thing, I would say something like, "Hey, you have to enjoy it! No need dwelling on the negative side. Celebrate it! Live in the moment!" Which is spot on, though it doesn't remove the specter of every event, every accomplishment and every experience being the last of its kind for our family.

It's all about attitude, I suppose. And I'm going to do my best to embrace individual moments as they come. "The end" is really more a transition than a full stop. It's inevitable, and it doesn't have to be a bad thing.

It just got here a little faster than I anticipated, is all.

He was my friend

Last night we lost our cat Fred. He had been very sick and was scheduled to be put to sleep this afternoon, but he decided to go on his own.

This is not especially remarkable, I know. It happens thousands of times every day in homes, veterinarians' offices and animal shelters around the world. We're certainly not the first people to go through it.

But that doesn't make it any easier. There's nothing mundane or routine about losing someone who has been part of your life for a long time, whether they're human, feline, canine, rodent, bird, etc.

Fred and his brother George have been members of our family for 14 1/2 years. We got them from the animal shelter in 2007 when our kids were all 13 and younger. Terry and I went out that day saying we were going to get a single female cat, and instead we came home with these two snow white goofballs.

At some point, and I really can't say when it was, Fred decided I was his human. He got along with everyone in the house – every human anyway...I don't think he ever really liked another cat besides George – but for whatever reason, he loved me most.

For years, Fred would jump into bed at night and lay right up against me. He was gone every morning when I woke up, but most of the time when I was falling asleep, he was right there.

When I had Lyme Disease in 2012 and was laid up for the better part of a couple of weeks, he spent most of his time in bed with me.

He would purr (loudly) for anyone willing to pet him, but he always seemed to find an extra degree of volume for me.

In some ways, Fred lived his life in perpetual angst. A lot of that had to do with the other cats who came into our home after him (Charlie, Ginny and Molly, along with the now-gone Bert). But he had his brother, with whom he often snuggled in the winter months so that both would be warm. Together, Fred and George got through everything life threw at them.

There were a few times over the years when we thought we had lost Fred, including once less than a year into his time with us when we were going to put him down before Terry discovered a wad of dental floss wrapped so far around the back of his tongue that the vet had completely missed it.

Suffice it to say, he went through all nine of his lives and probably a few more.

He started to develop urinary tract issues over the past couple of years, and it got to the point that he had to sleep in the basement storage room at night because he couldn't be trusted not to pee in random places.

A few times he started peeing blood, and each time the vet would give us antibiotics. The blood would eventually clear up, but I'm not sure the medicine had anything to do with it.

We had it all but confirmed yesterday that Fred had some sort of cancer. Could be bladder, could be kidney, who knows? He had so much fluid in his abdomen that it was difficult to see other organs on the x-ray the vet took, which we're told is a pretty good indicator of cancer in a cat.

In the last couple of weeks, he had been lethargic and not eating, and the bloody urine had come back in full force. He was miserable, and there's no doubt it was his time. Putting him down would have been the right thing, had he not beaten us to the punch.

Because even when it's hard, that's what you do for your friend.

To those who don't have pets or who have never been especially close to an animal, it probably sounds silly to talk about a cat as your "friend." After all, apart from his very expressive meows, I did most of the talking in our relationship. There wasn't a lot of dialogue there.

And yet somehow I think there was. I loved him and he loved me, and that was pretty much all that needed to be said or understood.

You know the day will come when a pet will be gone, but you're never quite ready.

I wasn't even sure how to say goodbye. I think he already knew I was a big fan of his, but I told him so anyway, just to make sure.

A proper sendoff is the least I could give the poor guy.

After all, he was my friend.