Sleeping in until 6:00am is suddenly one of my favorite parts of the week

I know a few people will read that headline and ask, "Since when is 6:00am sleeping in?"

And you're right. For most, a 6:00am wake-up time isn't exactly an indulgence.

But I am, and for most of my life have been, an early riser. Not because I've had to do it for work or anything, but mostly because I love getting a head start on the day.

Since I began going to the gym five mornings a week, I've been getting out of bed around 4:45am. I like to make it to Ohio Sports & Fitness just ahead of what I call The 5:30 Crew, which is a small but dedicated contingent of fellow pre-dawn exercisers.

Whenever I have a session with my trainer Kirk, I stay in bed until 5:15, since he and I don't meet up until 6:00am anyway.

But on those two rest days a week, I get lazy and sleep all the way until the big hand on the clock points straight up and the little hand points straight down.

Scandalous!

I could probably stay in bed even longer, but my body is always ready and raring to go by 6:00. Plus I really have to pee by that point, so there's no use fighting it.

Still, I can't tell you how much I enjoy those "sleep-in" days. I always feel like I've earned them after three or four days in a row of early gym-going, then scrambling to come home, shower, change and head to the office for a full day of work.

I should point out that in order to get a decent amount of rest, I'll sometimes ingest a couple of 5mg melatonin gummies the night before. I recently blogged about how I need to have my wife in the room in order to fall asleep, but the gummies have changed that situation drastically.

Now I rarely even notice when she comes to bed, that's how deeply asleep I am.

Interestingly – and don't ask me why I remember the exact date, I just do – I got almost no sleep 28 years ago last night because I was so worried about starting a new job the next day at a company called Self-Funded Plans. That sort of anxiety-induced insomnia used to hit me several times a year.

But these days? Never. My heads hits the pillow, and within a couple of minutes I'm out.

I wake up when it's technically still night time, of course, but there's always those 6:00am sleep-in days to make me feel like I'm living a life of luxury.

When the time comes for grandchildren, fine. Right now? I'm good.

We have five children and zero grandchildren, and I'm absolutely OK with these numbers.

My wife, on the other hand, while not quite chomping at the bit for one of our kids to have offspring of their own, is probably a little more anxious than me for it to happen.

To clarify, I'm sure that if and when we get grandkids, it's going to be great. All of the grandparents I talk to tell me how wonderful it is.

And I believe them.

For the moment, though, I don't need to be anyone's Grandpa.

Or "Grampy," or "Gramps," or "Grandad," or "Grandpap," or even "Granddude," which is apparently gaining in popularity.

I have been "Dad" for many years, and it's still my favorite title. I'm going to stick with it as long as I can (which is presumably the rest of my life).

It has nothing to do with getting or feeling old. I'm nearly 55, which is still middle-aged but creeping inexorably toward senior citizenhood. I'm not fooling anyone anyway.

I just don't feel the same sort of life milestone momentum I used to feel in my 20s and 30s when I got married, bought a house, had kids, progressed in my career, etc.

These days, I'm somewhat more of a go-with-the-flow, take-it-as-it-comes-and-don't-rush-it kind of guy. Or at least much more than I used to be.

It really does feel like the best approach to life, and it only took me a half-century to learn it.

When grandchildren do enter our lives, we will fawn over them and spoil them in the finest Grandma/Grandpa tradition. We will give them things Mom and Dad don't. We will take them on trips and send them presents for no reason and attend every single one of their little league games and school concerts.

I have no doubt Terry and I will be A-1, top-of-the-line grandparents.

But not now. Not quite yet. There's simply no hurry.

For the moment, my focus is going to the gym five days a week so that, when those grandbabies do arrive, I will have the energy to play with them, wrestle with them, take them places, and generally keep up with them.

When it's my time, believe me, I will not be Rocking Chair Grandpa. I'll be Superhero Grandpa.

Or Granddude. I haven't decided on my title yet.

Generational labels: Accurate or useless? Helpful or harmful?

As someone born in 1969, I am considered to be part of Gen X (birth years 1965 through 1980). We're tucked neatly between the larger Baby Boomer and Millennial generations.

Though I'm not sure that really means anything.

When we were younger, we Gen Xers were defined in pop culture and in the media as being cynical, disaffected slackers. We were associated with alt rock, hip hop, punk, grunge and heavy metal music. We were typically seen as "latchkey kids" whose moms worked outside of the home and who were often victims of soaring divorce rates.

None of that was true for me. I'm not a cynical person, I didn't really get into any of those genres of music, and I'm the product of a two-parent household in which my mom only worked outside of the home when I was much older.

Placing someone in a box labeled "Baby Boomer," "Millennial," "the Silent Generation," "Gen X," "Gen Z" or whatever can be fun, but I've never found it to be particularly useful. People are individuals, and while they're affected by the era in which they grow up, they are not defined by it.

Newsweek recently published an article headlined "10 Ways You'll Know Someone is Gen X, According to ChatGPT" in which they used artificial intelligence to come up with a list of tell-tale Gen X characteristics. I measured myself against this list to see if I was in any way a prototypical Gen Xer.

Spoiler alert: The results were mixed but at least somewhat accurate, as I might have suspected.

Here is Newsweek's (or ChatGPT's) list of Gen X descriptives and a quick analysis of how well each describes me:

(1) "Nostalgia for 1980s and 1990s Pop Culture" - This is half-true for me. I have great fondness for all things 80s but little regard for the 90s. As I've mentioned, I was too busy raising kids in the 90s to care what else was going on. So we'll split the difference. Result: Half-yes, half-no. 0.5 points.

(2) "Preference for Analog Media" - My generation is said to have a preference for vinyl, cassettes, CDs, and VHS tapes. Me personally? Good riddance to all of them, I say. Long live digital music. Result: No. 0 points.

(3) "Independent and Self-Reliant Attitude" - This is sort of a yes for me, I guess? I'm not a DIY guy for most things. I'm quick to call in a professional, which I would like to think has saved me a lot of time and trouble over the years while also depleting my bank account. But when it comes to non-home-repair-related activities, yes, I'm pretty self-sufficient. Again, let's split the difference.  Result: Half-yes, half-no. 0.5 points.

(4) "Cynical Sense of Humor" - Yeah, OK, they got me here. My humor was largely shaped by 80s stand-up comedians, who tended to be cynical and sarcastic. Result: Yes. 1 point.

(5) "Fashion Throwbacks" - According to Newsweek, we Gen X types have a fondness for the clothes of our youth and incorporate elements of them into our current wardrobes. Not me, boy. I had enough neon in the late 80s. Result: No. 0 points.

(6) "Language and Communication Style" - To quote Newsweek's ChatGPT-generated article, "They might use phrases like 'whatever,' 'totally,' 'cool,' or 'dude' naturally in conversation. They may also roll their eyes at newer slang like 'lit' or 'yeet.'" Sadly, I can't help but speak like an actual grown-up. Yet I don't roll my eyes at a new generation's slang because I'm not a cranky old person. Result: No. 0 points.

(7) "Technology Adaptation" - Again, they got me. From the article: "While they are tech-savvy, having adapted to the digital age, they may still exhibit a degree of caution or skepticism toward new technology. They might fondly remember the time before smartphones and social media dominated everyday life." Yeah, that's me. I embrace new tech while reserving the right to be skeptical of some of it. Result: Yes. 1 point.

(8) "Media Consumption Habits" - OK, the Newsweek folks and their AI allies are on a roll now. "Gen Xers might still consume traditional media like newspapers, magazines and cable TV. They are likely to enjoy reruns of their favorite old shows or listen to classic rock or '90s playlists on the radio." That would actually be 80s playlists for me, but broadly speaking, they nailed it. Result: Yes. 1 point.

(9) "Work Ethic and Career Outlook" - Gen Xers, they say, value work-life balance, partially in reaction to the burnout often seen among Baby Boomers. We are said to appreciate flexibility. True and true. I have to hand it to them, they're starting to get me. Result: Yes. 1 point.

(10) "Political and Social Awareness" - Newsweek says we "may lean toward centrist or independent viewpoints, often skeptical of extreme ideologies." The magazine adds that Gen Xers "tend to be pragmatic and open-minded." I would like to think that's true of me. Result: Yes. 1 point.

FINAL TOTAL: 6 out of 10 "yes"

The article captured my personality better than I thought it would. But I think my point still stands: We are all unique, and no overarching label will usefully describe a person no matter when they were born.

A lifetime ago, I used to walk home from school to eat lunch and watch game shows

I logged countless episodes of "Card Sharks" growing up.

I am repeatedly reminded of the fact that I grew up in a very different time. I guess anyone above a certain age (say 30) can say the same.

When I was young, for example, game shows were a thing. All the networks had them, and they were particular staples of the daytime TV lineup.

I also attended a neighborhood elementary school where many of the kids walked home for lunch. I think there are still schools that allow this, but it felt far more prevalent when I was growing up.

It was many years before I understood how good I had it. When I arrived home, my mom would have lunch ready for me on a TV tray. It was usually a sandwich and canned fruit.

I would turn on the TV, find a game show to watch, and dig into Mom's delicious repast. The game shows varied over the years, though "Card Sharks" is the one that comes most readily to mind.

I would happily wolf down the food (that 10am elementary school snack never quite satisfied) while playing along with the contestants on TV. I knew exactly when I had to leave to make it back to school before the 1pm afternoon bell.

I was rarely, if ever, late, though I sat in our living room until the last possible minute. I wanted to fully enjoy my mid-day break at home before heading back to good old Mapledale Elementary.

In later years (5th and 6th grades), lunch times were more about playing football or baseball with my classmates. While I still came home to eat, those lunches were suddenly rushed affairs in which the goal was to eat as quickly as possible and dash back to school before the other guys had made it outside for recess.

None of my kids were ever able to come home from school for lunch, and the TV game show lineup of today pales in comparison to what it was in the 1970s and 80s. All of which is OK, but man, what I wouldn't do for a chance at one more baloney sandwich/fruit cocktail lunch and a rousing 30 minutes with host Jim Perry and those random, middle American contestants on "Card Sharks."

It was, as I often say, a simpler time.

What I remember from my daughter Melanie's birth: I only missed an inning and a half of a baseball game on TV

I'm kidding, of course. I mean, we really did have the Cleveland Indians-Boston Red Sox doubleheader on the TV in the labor and delivery room. And Terry was so good at birthing babies by that point (Melanie is/was our fourth) she made the whole thing happen really, really fast.

But it's not like the baseball games are my #1 memory from the day's proceedings.

Melanie's full head of hair and beautiful face when she came out. And the amazing strength Terry showed in bringing this beautiful little girl into the world. Those things are what I remember most.

The Indians were a close second.

Maybe third.

Anyway, Mel turns 24 years old tomorrow, which seems impossible, but the calendar does not lie. I was not, of course, the one who birthed her on September 21, 2000, but I seem to remember Terry's labor that day being just about the easiest among all of our kids.

As was the case with four of our five children, they hooked Terry up to a Pitocin pump to induce contractions, since all of our kids except Chloe had to be coaxed out of the womb (it must have been really comfortable in there). And I know that at some point Terry was experiencing enough pain to make the whole thing less than enjoyable.

But really, relative to the other times I watched her do this, Melanie's birth seemed like such a breeze.

I remember Terry calmly informing the L&D nurses and her doctor (the great Dinkar Rao) that it was time for Mel to make her appearance. And they took Terry seriously and made the necessary preparations because, when it comes to matters like this, veteran moms like my wife know what they're talking about.

I took a lot of pictures of Melanie in the moments after she was born. Like, before they even had a chance to wipe the goo off her and she was still connected to her mother via the umbliical cord.

The child was literally seconds old and all I could think to do was play photographer.

The other thing I remember about Mel's birth was bringing her home and all of us – all six of us – getting sick at the same time. It was a stomach thing, I believe, because our living room was lined with old blankets to catch any misdirected puke.

In time we all recovered, of course, and Melanie turned out to be such a wonderful addition to our family. She's a smart, successful, beautiful young woman, and I'm so proud of her.

For the record, the Indians and Red Sox split that doubleheader. I only wish the Tribe could have won both games in Mel's honor.

BLOG RERUN: There are times I really wish I had the wisdom of Solomon

NOTE: This post originally ran here on the blog on September 18, 2013. I bring it back 11 years later, noting that while I still don't have the wisdom of Solomon, I am thankfully no longer called upon to settle these sorts of kerfuffles among my kids.

When you have multiple children, one of your chief roles as a parent is to serve as mediator for arguments, disputes and disagreements of all kinds.

Most of the time this is a fairly easy job. One child hits another? Punishment is duly meted out to the hitter. Two little ones want the same toy at the same time? You immediately devise a system of sharing while extolling the virtues of compromise. Someone uses someone else's hair straightener without asking? It only takes a few seconds to figure out who's in the wrong.

But then there are times when my children come to me with a problem I simply can't solve.

Case in point: Child A and Child B approach me to resolve the question of who should have control of the living room TV for the next two hours. Child A will argue that she wants to watch a movie and Child B has been playing Xbox on the TV for the past hour.

Which seems pretty clear cut. You take the TV, Child A, because it's rightly your turn. Enjoy your movie.

But not so fast. Child B will counter that his sibling had the TV for two whole hours yesterday, so he still has at least one hour of television control coming to him. Which also seems fair.

And suddenly the jury is deadlocked. Both parties make convincing cases and I have no idea how to rule. It's at this point that I have three options:

(A) Make a judgment call and recognize that one child is going to feel slighted (and perhaps rightly so)

(B) Sit with the two combatants and negotiate a deal

(C) Slowly sneak away and hope that my wife will step in and solve this riddle

More often than not, I choose "C." Which I realize is unfair to my overtaxed wife, but "A" and "B" both involve a level of effort to which I'm not necessarily willing to commit.

I also enjoy it when one of the kids blatantly does something wrong to his/her sibling, then argues that the sibling did the same thing to them yesterday or last week or whenever.

While this may be true, I point out that just because he/she did it to you, it in no way allows you to do it back to them. This is not how our justice system works, yet this concept repeatedly baffles them. My children are the ultimate purveyors of "an eye for an eye."

Then there are the habitual offenders in our house. And here I'm thinking specifically of my 15-year-old son Jared. He constantly teases and torments his little brother Jack. I tell him not to do this, and he stops. But he does it again the next day. I administer some form of discipline, so he stops. Then he does it again soon after.

This goes on and on. Whatever I do to him, whatever I take away from him, it seems to have no long-term effect. Jared is evil, and his evil nature forces its way to the surface whenever he's in the presence of his younger brother.  (2024 UPDATE: Jared has grown into an outstanding young man, it should be noted.)

Which is a shame, really, because in those times when Jared gets along with Jack and does things with him, Jack loves it. Little boys desperately want and need the approval of their older brothers, and I see that in Jack, yet Jared continues his evil ways.

Short of having him thrown into prison – which I HAVE considered – I'm not sure how to get Jared to stop acting this way. I'm hoping he grows out of it soon. And by "soon" I mean "by the time he's 30." But I'm not holding my breath.

Sometimes I stop by the library just to visit my books

Last year I published a book, but I don't really talk much about it here anymore because I figured it has sold just about all of the copies it's going to sell.

Which, for the record, is something like 230 total sales when you count paperbacks, Kindle versions and the audiobook recording.

Not exactly Danielle Steel territory, but then again, I never did it for sales or money or anything like that. I did it as a bucket list item, and because I found the whole experience to be so cool.

You know the best part? It's the fact that our local library carries four copies of my book.

I want to note that initially there were five copies on the shelves at the Wickliffe Public Library, but now there are only four. Presumably someone borrowed a copy and lost it, which I assume happens all the time.

Whatever the case, having a book I wrote on the shelf at my childhood library is something I never imagined would happen. I just love it.

Sometimes I will look it up in the electronic card catalog to see how many of the four copies are actually in circulation. As I type this, for example, two are sitting on the shelves while two others have been checked out.

I like when they're checked out, of course, but I also like stopping by the library to see the available shelf copies.

Every time I'm there I sneak over to the appropriate stacks (call number "248 TEN") and stare at "my" books for a minute. It never gets old.

Do you think Stephen King ever does that? I'll bet he did when he was first starting out.

Let it be known that on the day two of my books were checked out, both copies of Mr. King's "Pet Sematary" were also in circulation.

Which, as far as I'm concerned, means Steve and I are pretty much on the same level, as far as famous authors go.

The dilemma of the unjust Facebook ban

A screen shot from my apparently illegal Olympic field hockey video

Last month while in Paris, I took a short video clip of an Olympic women's field hockey match and posted it on Facebook. It was less than a minute long and showed the Netherlands team on the attack against Great Britain.

The idea was to share this unique experience with family and friends. Watching an Olympic event live, particularly a sport with which I was only passingly familiar, was thrilling.

I wanted others to be able to enjoy it, too, if only vicariously.

No big deal. People post video from live sporting events all the time.

Yet within a day or two, I received a notice from Facebook that my clip "violated community standards" and was an infringement of copyright owned by the International Olympic Committee. I filed a formal appeal and requested an explanation as to why my short personal clip, shot on my iPhone, was in any way violating the IOC's copyright.

I never received a response.

I tagged Meta (Facebook's parent company), Facebook itself, and the IOC on Twitter to see if they could explain the situation to me there.

Again, no response.

Being banned from Facebook for four days isn't the end of the world, I realize. I rely on FB to drive most of my blog traffic, but it's not like I'm making a living from this blog anyway.

It was more the principle of the thing.

Nowhere on our tickets or in our official Olympic emails did I find a ban on videography or photography. The ban notice from Facebook even admitted it was discovered "using our technology" (i.e., a bot) and that no human had actually reviewed the video.

The whole thing seemed patently unfair.

Yet I might argue it was also necessary.

As both a content creator and a content consumer, as well as a corporate communicator and former newspaper journalist, believe me when I say I get the need for tight enforcement of copyright law. People who write, photograph, shoot video and otherwise provide the stuff that makes the Internet interesting need to have their content protected if we expect them to continue doing what they do.

It's impossible to police copyright over the entire vast universe of the Internet manually, so bots are needed. There aren't enough people available to do it the old-fashioned way.

I'm guessing the vast majority of what the bots find really is copyright violation, which is good.

But as my own experience suggests, they also get it wrong sometimes. Or at least, they got it wrong in my situation as far as I know. I may simply not have seen a sign prohibiting the taking of video when we entered Stade Yves-du-Manoir for the field hockey match.

This might just be a case of having to break some eggs if you're going to make an omelet. Some people will be unjustly banned, and that may be unavoidable. On balance, automated copyright enforcement is probably effective the vast majority of the time.

So I'm torn.

In the end, I don't believe I did anything wrong. And a four-day ban from being allowed to post, comment or even "like" someone's Facebook content is absolutely no big deal.

There's no foolproof way to protect copyright online, or even to stop the spread of blatantly untrue political and social content. So if a relatively small percentage of us get the shaft, that's probably a fair tradeoff.

That doesn't mean I'm not still annoyed by the whole thing, though.

I give blood for the wrong reasons, but the end result is still positive

He looks so happy, doesn't he?

Donating blood is one of those things you really should do if you're able, but I get why many people don't.

Some have less-than-cooperative veins, others have had various medical conditions that render them ineligible, and many others simply can't do it without passing out.

For whatever reason, I am built to give blood. I have what one Red Cross phlebotomist termed "amazing" and easily accessible veins running the length of both inner arms. I have no fear of blood or of needles, nor do I pass out.

Interestingly, once the needle goes in, it rarely takes more than 5 minutes for my donation to be complete. The red stuff comes out of me quickly.

Thus, giving blood is something I have done with some regularity since 1987 (or maybe it was 1988), when I made my first donation as a senior at Wickliffe High School.

In the early 90s I used to go to the Downtown Cleveland Red Cross Donation Center and give platelets, a process that would take upwards of two hours and required needles in both arms (one to take the blood out, the other to put it back in once the platelets had been stripped out).

For the most part, though, I just do run-of-the-mill whole blood giving. I try to do it every 8 weeks, which is the minimum time interval that must pass between these types of donations.

As I type this, I have given blood 116 times in my life, which works out to a little more than 14 gallons. I know people who have given far, far more than this, but I'm proud of my total.

In fact, it's the act of pushing my donation number higher and higher that most motivates me. I want to tell you the main reason I give is to help people in need, and that obviously IS the best reason, but foremost in my mind is that my personal total ticks one notch higher with each donation.

Recently I tried giving during a blood drive at work but was deferred because my iron level was slightly too low. I was miffed, but not because it meant that one fewer pint of blood would be available to someone in need of it. Rather, I was annoyed that donation #117 would have to be put off for a few weeks while I worked on upping the iron in my blood.

This is silly in many ways, not the least of which is that I'm competing only against myself. It's not like I'm in a race with anybody to see who can give more blood. I just want to win against...me, I guess?

This competitive streak extends to the actual blood-giving process, as well. Sometimes I'll schedule a donation at the same time as my co-worker Mary Ann, and we will frantically squeeze the little foam balls they give us over and over in an attempt to suck the blood from our veins faster and finish before the other person.

One time she beat me by one second.

One second.

I was so angry.

Oh, but someone lying in a hospital bed eventually received my A-positive blood, which is obviously the real goal.

Or at least that's what I have to keep telling myself.

You can really take the convenience of summer for granted

It's only around this time of year, with the beginning of autumn just a couple of weeks away, that I realize the best thing about summer is the convenience.

Like, for example, when you want to go somewhere, you just throw on shoes and leave. No jacket, no boots, no hat and gloves. You just go.

And when you're driving around Northeast Ohio like I do, you don't have to add any extra travel time for weather delays. If it's normally a 15-minute trip, it will be a 15-minute trip.

That's not to mention the fact that I never have to worry about small cuts caused by excessively dry skin on my fingertips in June. That's a January thing, as are chapped lips. I keep a steady supply of lotion and Chapstick close at hand during those winter months.

Even on the hottest and most humid days, summer is generally just easier for those of us living in temperate regions.

I suspect this will soon be brought home to me during my five-mornings-a-week trips to the gym.

I started working out in early June. To date, that has meant leaving the house in just my workout clothes and gym shoes. Nothing else.

In a few months, that same excursion will also involve:

• Bundling up in appropriate outerwear
• Driving on potentially slippery roads to the gym
• Walking into the gym and taking off my coat, hat and gloves
• Also taking off my boots or other winter-proof shoes
• Replacing those with gym shoes
• Putting everything back on as my sweaty self leaves post-workout, likely soaking the inside of my coat and gloves.
• Driving back home on those same slippery roads

All of which suggests a move to warmer climes sometime in the future to avoid all of the winter hassle.

But I can't imagine that ever happening. After all, where's the fun in that?

Happy birthday, Dad

My dad and me, circa 1980. Nice bowtie, Scott.

Next month my dad will have been gone for 25 years, which is strange to me.

On one hand, it feels like 25 years since he passed away. So much has happened since that terrible night in October 1999, not the least of which were the births of his last two grandchildren (my daughter Melanie and son Jack). So many milestones missed, so many sporting events I would have loved to watch with him.

At the same time, it doesn't feel like 25 years ago at all. I can still picture him. I can still hear his voice clearly. Heck, I can still smell his post-shower Aqua Velva aftershave! (I am a frequent shower-taker just like he was.)

I think he would be pretty proud to see how his family is doing now. My mom, his wife of 48 years, is gone now, as is my sister and his oldest daughter Judi. But the rest of us are doing OK.

My sister Debbie and brother Mark are the most youthful 69- and 67-year-olds (respectively) you will ever meet. You would have no clue of their chronological ages just by looking at and talking with them. I love them a whole bunch.

Dad's oldest grandkids, Mark Jr. and Jessica, have children of their own and are among the best people I know. They've both lost their moms but soldier on with their wonderful families.

And Terry and I can certainly count ourselves blessed not only by all of our kids but also by the lives we get to lead. Speaking for myself, at least, I don't feel I especially deserve any of it, but I know our situation would have made Dad very happy.

In fact, if he had somehow made it to 95 (the age he would have turned today), I'm sure his life would still revolve around his kids and grandkids, as it did up until the day he died.

This is the point where I'm supposed to tell you to hug the people around you and tell them you love them, but you know that already.

You also know to count your many blessings, but it doesn't hurt to be reminded.

Helping your kids navigate the job hunt

There are certain things for which you go to Mom when you need help and certain things for which you generally go to Dad.

In our family, the kids approach Terry for assistance on a myriad of topics, especially anything having to do with cooking, owning a home or tackling the day-to-day challenges of domestic life.

The list of things in which I specialize is perhaps not as long, but I like to think it's equally impactful.

One of my areas of expertise is the world of work. Often when the kids create or update a resume, write a cover letter or fill out a job application, they ask me to review it.

I'm happy to do this. I also coach them on job interviews and proper methods of follow-up.

"What do I say if they ask me about my salary expectations?"

"What am I supposed to tell them if they ask me what my biggest weakness is?"

"How do I get across all of the reasons I'm a good fit for this position?"

I have ready answers for all of these questions because I've been involved in dozens of interviews in my life, both as an applicant and as an employer.

My daughter Melanie recently got a job working with a financial services firm. We talked through each step of the process, and I hope what I told her along the way was helpful. Well, either that or she managed to impress the firm's owners despite my counsel.

I don't think I've been quite as helpful getting my children to understand the realities of work once they actually get the job. That part I suppose you have to learn on your own.

I've just not been able to bring myself to tell them, "Hey, congrats on the new job! Now all you have to do is work full time for the next 45 years or so, try everything you can to save up enough money to retire, and live out your remaining years in more or less decent physical shape until you die and your kids pick up where you left off."

I have a feeling Terry would deliver a more positive message there.

I'm a confirmed headbanger, but not in the heavy metal sense

I hit my head on stuff a lot.

Getting in and out of my car, walking past a protruding shelf, trying to adjust the weight on a machine at the gym. Whatever the activity, I manage to bang my noggin on some inanimate object (and occasionally animate objects like, say, other humans) at least once a week.

The result is often a gash or welt around my scalp that my barber Tom will notice and ask, "What happened there?"

So I have to relate the story to him, and it's usually embarrassing.

There are two possible explanations for my tendency toward inadvertent cranial smashing:

(1) MY HEAD IS LARGE: It's not freakishly large, but it's big. I remember when I played football having the second-biggest helmet on the team. The only person with a larger helmet was Jermaine Porter, and he was half a foot taller and 60 pounds heavier than me.

(2) I AM NOT ESPECIALLY COORDINATED: This feels more likely. Quite often, my sense of where my body is in space does not align well with the reality of where it actually is. I'll be striding through the house thinking, "I have plenty of clearance to get past the refrigerator!" Then BANG, the refrigerator will jump out and painfully smack me in the head.

Whatever the cause, I blame continuous skull thumping for my failing memory. It has nothing at to do with the fact I'm almost 55 years old and everything to do with the mini-concussions I sustain each week.

Somehow, that part of it at least makes me feel better.