Tag Archives: personal story

April 28, 2020 · 5:57 am

The Moment I Knew Puberty Began For Me

In life, there are certain moments when you know you’ve reached a certain milestone. Sometimes, it’s obvious. From the first time you drive a car to the first time you kiss someone who isn’t your mother, they stand out in your memory. It’s not always pleasant. Some moments are more awkward than others, but they mark a major change in your life.

Going through puberty is one of those things that generates more awkward moments than most. I challenge anyone to recount their transformation from kid to adult without at least one part being awkward. I’ve shared a few stories from my youth, some being a lot more awkward than others. I can laugh about them now, but they marked critical points in my life that have only become more relevant as I’ve gotten older.

For most of us, there’s no one single point when we know we’ve entered puberty. You don’t just wake up one day and know that you’re a teenager now. All those crazy mental and physical changes don’t happen all at once. If they did, few of us would survive the process with our sanity intact.

That said, there are some moments that, in hindsight, mark a particular point in your life when you realize that this transformation has become. You’ve crossed the point of no return. You’re becoming a teenager now. Eventually, you’ll become an adult. It can be daunting, but it’s a part of life.

In that spirit, I’d like to share a particular moment that still stands out to me after all these years. It’s a moment in which I realized that I wasn’t a kid anymore. Puberty has begun and there’s no going back. At that moment, it was just a strange realization that I discounted. However, over time, it became a turning point.

It happened while I was in the fifth grade. It was late spring. We had just come back from Spring Break. The weather had finally gotten nice enough to enjoy recess without heavy jackets. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I was just glad I could stop dressing in layers.

On this particular day, though, it was very humid. Coming back from recess, everyone was a lot sweatier than usual. Being kids, we didn’t care. We were just glad to get outside and away from book reports. I don’t remember much else about what happened that day, but I can vividly recall what happened the moment we returned to class.

As soon as we sat down at our tests and my teacher got to the front of the room, she made an impromptu announcement that will forever echo in my memory.

“You all, stink.”

I swear I’m not paraphrasing. That’s exactly what my teacher told us. She was an credibly blunt, straightforward woman. She didn’t mince words and this was one instance in which they couldn’t be sugarcoated.

She took a good five minutes of class time to give an impromptu lecture on how much we smell. She wasn’t polite about it. She just said in every possible way that we really smell and we need to start using deodorant. Past teachers have told us we smelled before, but never like this. It was the first time in which I became mindful of body odor.

I was really taken aback by this, as were plenty of classmates. Keep in mind, we’re all just 5th graders. We still see ourselves as kids and not teenagers. Some were more mature than others, but we were still kids at heart. I certainly felt that way. After this, however, that changed.

When I left class that day, it started to sink in. I was going through puberty. At that point, I knew what it was. I’d taken a health class. My parents also told me about it, too. I just didn’t think it would happen for another couple years. When I looked in the mirror, I still saw a kid. Now, I took note of some very real changes.

Body odor was just one. At the same time, I started noticing acne and body hair. It was very subtle. It didn’t happen all at once, but after that day, I became much more aware of it. By the time I got to middle school, I couldn’t deny it anymore. I was a teenager at that point. That fateful day in the 5th grade was just the first time I realized it.

I’ve come to appreciate that moment more and more over the years. I still had many difficulties, as most kids do when they become teenagers. Some were more manageable than others. I probably could’ve handled it better, in hindsight. However, it’s still remarkable to think that it all began with that one fateful day.

Do you have a day like that? Is there one particular moment in which you realized puberty had begun for you? If so, please share it in the comments.

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April 16, 2020 · 6:02 am

Cutting My Own Hair: My Experience (And Mishaps)

These are strange, difficult, and incredibly frustrating times. The COVID-19 pandemic has undermined many big things in our world, from major sporting events to movie releases. Between that and the egregious death toll, it’s easy to be overwhelmed by the big effects of this pandemic. However, sometimes it’s the little things can be just as impactful.

Just recently, I experienced one of those little impacts. For the first time in my life, I gave myself a haircut. I want to say I’m proud of it. I wish I could say it turned out just fine. Unfortunately, I don’t have the energy to be that dishonest with the fine people who read this blog.

It’s true, though. I did cut my own hair this past weekend. I’d genuinely hoped I wouldn’t have to, but my timing with respect to haircuts couldn’t have been worse. I typically get my hair cut every two months. It’s nothing fancy. I just get an overall trim that insures my hair looks neat, classy, and well-kept. It’s rarely that much of a hassle.

Then, the mass shut-down came and every barber shop within a 100 mile radius was closed. At that point, I was well past due for a haircut and it showed. My hair started looking less and less kept. I learned back in college that if I don’t cut my hair regularly, I end up looking like an extra in a grunge band from 1993. If I let my beard grow, I’d look like a mountain man with dandruff.

I really resisted the inclination to cut my hair on my own. Finally, after waking up one morning and seeing my hair in the mirror, I decided it was time. I didn’t have much to go on, so I just bought a cheap pair of clippers from Walmart, put a paper towel over my sink, and went through with it.

I wish I could say it was simple. I’d hoped it would be simple. It wasn’t. In fact, it took longer to cut my own hair than it would have if I’d gone to a barber shop. That’s because cheap clippers and messy, oily hair don’t exactly complement one another. I had to keep buzzing over the same areas on my head multiple times because the clippers always seemed to miss something. It got so tedious my arms got tired.

Eventually, I cut my hair to a point where it’s at least somewhat presentable. I wish I could describe it. I’ll just say it’s somewhere between a crew cut and a buzz cut, but with some messy spots in the middle. Just getting it even was way harder than it should’ve been. It’s still not even, but at least it’s manageable.

I won’t say it looks ugly, but it’s not exactly flattering, nor is it professional. If I walked into a job interview with this haircut, I’d probably get docked a few points. It was enough to make me hope I don’t have to cut my hair again. It also gave me much more appreciation for the barbers and stylists of this world.

Seriously, we miss you. My hair misses you. I hope this quarantine ends soon so you can get back to making us all look good.

For those of you in my position who badly need a haircut, do yourself a favor. Either find someone else who can cut it or use videos like this one to make sure you still look presentable.

 

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April 13, 2020 · 5:57 am

Weddings, Alcohol, And A Story About Me Dancing (Badly)

I’m good at a lot of things. I take pride in the skills and talents I have. I’m also self-aware enough to know when I’m genuinely bad at something, no matter how hard I try. With that, I’d like to openly admit one of my major shortcomings.

I can’t dance.

I know that’s not the worst shortcoming a man can have, but it’s not just that I’m lacking in talent when it comes to dancing. I’m genuinely bad at it, often to a hilarious degree. Any friend or relative who has been with me to a party will attest to that.

As bad a dancer I am, though, I don’t let that stop me from enjoying a major celebration and making it special. Sometimes, that requires some minor alcohol intake, but that can actually make it even more memorable. I know because I have a personal story that definitively proves that. In the interest of giving everyone something fun and uplifting to read, I’d like to share it.

This story actually took place fairly recently. A close relative of mine was getting married in upstate New York. It made for one of the largest family gatherings we had in years. People I hadn’t seen in a long time had gathered in this beautiful old church that the wedding planners turned into a perfect party venue. It was an amazing setup for a beautiful wedding.

Being a fan of romance, I already have an inherent love of weddings. I’m also a fan of big family gatherings because my family knows how to throw an awesome party. In essence, this wedding had everything necessary to have a good time. I certainly did, as did everyone who attended.

There were so many wonderful moments at this wedding. Granted, most came from the bride and groom, but there were a few others that stood out. I like to think I was one of them and this is where my terrible dancing skills come in.

Now, I need to add a little context here with respect to my dance style. Most of the time, I avoid it because I’d rather not make a fool of myself or anyone nearby. However, this wedding had an ample supply of free beer and beer tends to effect my willingness to make a fool of myself, among other things.

I don’t consider myself a big drinker, but I’m very aware of what I’m like when I get a little tipsy. I’m a very happy, affectionate drunk. I’ll hug random strangers and laugh for no reason. I’ll also start randomly dancing, even when there’s no music. At a wedding where music is constantly playing, I need even less incentive.

I don’t recall having more than two beers before my usual reservations went out the window. After all the romance and festivities from earlier, everyone was in a jovial mood. I certainly shared that mood. The beer was just the catalyst that accelerated the reaction.

As the sun is setting, I make my way to the dance floor. I’m moving and grooving with the grace of a headless chicken, but that doesn’t stop me. I’m having too good a time and I’m too intoxicated to care. I remember more than a few relatives laughing. I’m not sure if they were laughing at my dance skills or if they were drunk too. It was probably a combination of the two.

It all eventually culminated in a moment that I hope the bride and groom remember fondly for years to come. It happened near the end of the reception. The song “Living on a Prayer” by Bon Jovi was playing. For reasons I still don’t understand, my brother and I jump up on an empty table and start dancing to the song.

We dance fairly poorly. We almost fall off a few times, but that doesn’t stop us. Then, people started cheering. That just makes us dance even more.

I’m fairly confident we both made fools of ourselves. I’m just as certain that we didn’t care and neither did anyone else. We had fun. For a brief moment, we were the stars of the post-wedding celebration. My mother still can’t recall that story without laughing and I don’t blame her in the slightest.

It was a brief, but memorable moment from a day that many in my family still cherish. I certainly will. While it didn’t make me a better dancer, it showed that I didn’t have to be in order to make fond memories with the people I love.

During times of crisis, having memories like that are both powerful and therapeutic. If you have some you’d like to share yourself, please do so in the comments.

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April 11, 2020 · 9:40 am

Recounting My Fondest Easter Memories

As a holiday, Easter tends to be somewhat forgettable. Unless you’re a member of a religious sect that really emphasizes the religious aspects of Easter, it’s probably not on your list of favorite holidays. It’s on a Sunday, which means nobody gets a day off school. It doesn’t involve fancy presents or decorations, either. I imagine some people didn’t even realize that Easter is tomorrow.

That’s understandable. I certainly don’t fault anyone who only knows Easter as the holiday that inspires egg-shaped candy. For me, however, Easter has a more personal meaning. It’s not for any religious or cultural reasons. It has everything to do with how I experienced it with my family.

As I’ve noted before, and will likely note many times over, my family is awesome. It would take days on end to list all the reasons why, but Easter is among the more unique reasons. That’s because my family rarely needs a major excuse to throw a party.

Whether it’s a holiday, a major life event, or a combination of the two, we jump at the chance to make it into a formal get-together. Even after various family members have moved away for one reason or another, we still make an effort to come together and enjoy each other’s company. Easter was just one of them.

With that in mind, I’d like to share one particular Easter memory that has always stood out for me. It happened when I was a young, overly energetic kid. At the time, everything was still new to me and I didn’t entirely understand the Easter holiday. I just knew that it involved going to my grandmother’s house and having a big dinner with my many relatives.

That may not sound like much, but trust me. For a kid, it meant a lot. That’s because my grandmother was an incredible cook. She took to cooking Easter dinner the same way most take to cooking Thanksgiving dinner for a football team. From the crack of dawn to sunset, she was in the kitchen, cooking up something delicious. Some were entrees and other were deserts. No matter what it was, I just remember it being delicious.

It eventually culminated around dinner time in the mid to late afternoon. Once my father made the announcement, the rush was on. The food was ready and by then, everyone was starving. I certainly was.

However, there was no way my grandmother’s kitchen table was big enough to handle all the food. Instead, my dad and other relatives set up a this big buffet table in the basement of her house. It was like a shrine to my grandmother’s cooking prowess and everyone congregated to admire its splendor.

To this day, I still remember the amazing smell of that buffet. I can close my eyes and remember the smell of meatballs, ham, ravioli, and sweet potatoes. Beyond the quality of the food, I also remember how happy everyone was as they fixed their plate, found a place to sit, and just hung out to enjoy each other’s company.

It might not sound like much, but as a kid, it left an impression. It showed how powerful it was for family to come together, catch up, and enjoy some great food. You could feel the love, the bonds, and the connections that spanned multiple generations. The fact that people would drive hundreds of miles just to taste my grandmother’s cooking certainly helped.

That Easter really set the tone for how great a family gathering could be. It gave me a lasting impression of who my family was and why the bonds we forged matter so much. I don’t remember much else from that part of my life, but I’ll always remember that Easter.

Sadly, my grandmother is no longer with us. I miss her every day, but I miss her even more whenever Easter comes around. I can’t speak for everyone in my family, but I bet they’d agree that she made every Easter special. Some were just more special than others.

I know this year might feel like a lost year for Easter, but that only makes those bonds we cherish more precious. Even if we can’t come together in a formal gathering, we can still connect. Whether it’s just for a ham dinner or for hiding Easter Eggs for the kids, it’s a chance to come together and it’s a chance worth taking.

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April 7, 2020 · 6:03 am

Recalling (And Thanking) My Favorite Teacher In High School

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I’ve made no secret of how much I hated high school. I’ve also made no secret of how miserable I was as a teenagers. I know most teenagers are inherently moody. It’s as unavoidable as acne, body hair, and homework. I was just a lot moodier than most teens and for piss poor reasons.

However, my teenage years and high school experience weren’t all purified misery. There were indeed a few notable bright spots. Since this is the time of year when high school students are preparing for their last round of tests or planning for college, I thought it would be a good time to share one of those bright spots.

It’s not a single event, moment, or achievement. It’s a person. Specifically, he was my favorite teacher out of every teacher I had up to that point in school.

Out of respect for my teacher’s privacy, I won’t use his real name. I’ll just call him Mr. Lee. If I were to list all the things that made Mr. Lee such a great teacher, it would take me all week and that’s if I skipped meals. There are some teachers who just read from books and assign homework. There are also teachers who genuinely care and genuinely love to teach. Mr. Lee was the latter.

I had him for two classes. First, I had him for a computer science class. Then, I had him for AP Calculus. In both classes, his skill and passion for teaching shined. That’s not easy to do when you’re teaching something like calculus to a bunch of hormonal teenagers, but the man made it look easy. He even seemed to have fun while doing it.

It probably helped that Mr. Lee was incredibly smart. By that, I don’t just mean he was qualified to teach those subject. Mr. Lee graduated from Harvard with honors. He had a masters degree in computer engineering. He could’ve easily gotten a job at a big tech company and earned six figures by the time he was 30. Instead, he decided to teach immature teenagers how to write computer code and do calculus.

That, alone, speaks to the kind of character this man had. He was the kind of teacher who had an answer for every question and he never needed to check a book, phone, or computer. When you asked him something, he wouldn’t just give you an answer. He’d give you a damn good reason as to why it’s the right answer.

Despite how smart he was, Mr. Lee still carried himself with uncanny humility. He never acted like he was better than everyone else for being so smart. He was actually very approachable. You could talk to the man about anything. I once had a 10 minute conversation with him about how to make the perfect pizza. I still smile whenever I recall him explaining how carefully he spread the cheese on every pie.

Mr. Lee didn’t just demand your respect. He earned it. More importantly, and this is what set him apart, he made you want to earn his respect. Nobody slouched in his class. Nobody disrespected him or tried to nap through a lesson. That was the one class you really couldn’t sleep through because Mr. Lee made every lesson so engaging.

Again, this man taught AP Calculus. That’s not an easy subject to make engaging.

He still found a way. He always found a way to make a concept easy to understand. It’s because of him that I passed every exam, including the notoriously difficult AP Calculus exam that every student dreaded. I don’t think I’ve ever been more confident taking a test that didn’t involve an essay question.

I owe that success to Mr. Lee. Without him, I would’ve been even more miserable in high school. His classes, as difficult as they were, made me feel like I was learning something valuable. I still appreciate that value to this day.

You don’t always know which teacher will impact you the most over the course of your life, but when they do, it’s worth cherishing. I doubt Mr. Lee will ever read this or remember me, but during a less-than-pleasant time in my life, he was a breath of fresh air. For that, I sincerely thank him.

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February 13, 2020 · 6:01 am

A Rant About Going To The Dentist

I hate going to the dentist.

I know that’s not a very controversial statement. Most people who go the dentist don’t go because they want to. They go because they have to. It’s about as fun as getting a colonoscopy, although I would argue a colonoscopy is preferable. At least you’re not expected to undergo that literal shit show at least twice a year.

I say this after having just come back from my latest six-month checkup. While going to the dentist has never been an overly pleasant experience, this was more frustrating than usual. It’s not just because it’s inconvenient, uncomfortable, and distressing, although that is a big part of it. This trip was a special kind of annoying.

It’s an annoyance that has been building and compounding over the past several years. In the past, going to the dentist was just a formality. I’d go, get my teeth cleaned, and make an appointment for six months later. It’s still never a pleasant feeling, having a hygienist poke your teeth with metal for a half-hour. It was still bearable, at the very least.

These past few trips have changed things up and not in a good way. Now, every time I go, both the dentist and the hygienist seem to find something wrong with my teeth or come up with some new, exceedingly uncomfortable procedure.

Last time, it was X-rays. I’ve had them done before, but something must have changed because I swear the hygienist tried to X-ray every individual tooth. Doing so required me to bite down on this uncomfortable contraption that made my mouth feel like someone was punching it from the inside. It didn’t help that the hygienist seemed unfamiliar with the technology.

Then, there was the exam itself. For the past several years, this dentist has been telling me to do all these elaborate things to prevent cavities, tooth decay, and gum recession. As a result, I’ve tried to be responsible and follow his professional recommendations. That includes the following:

  • Buying an expensive electronic toothbrush that has equally expensive replacement heads
  • Switching toothpaste to a pricier brand
  • Flossing more regularly, both with regular floss and an expensive water floss pick
  • Regularly using special mouth wash to prevent cavities
  • Undergoing gum graft surgery that was so uncomfortable that I would not wish it on my worst enemy

I did all of this over the span of the past five years. I’ve invested time and money to ensure that I maintain proper dental care, just as he asked. It should pay off, shouldn’t it?

Apparently, all that money and time was totally wasted. At my last appointment, the dentist tells me I still got a cavity. On top of that, he didn’t even make clear that it was a cavity.

He used some weird dentist jargon that I didn’t understand. He never even told me I had to come back into the office, get my mouth numbed up again, and have it filled in a procedure that ruins at least half of your day. I didn’t find out until the receptionist asked when I wanted to schedule a filling.

I was pissed, to say the least. It took a great deal of restraint to keep myself from yelling at her and my dentist. At this point, it feels like they’re just plundering my dental insurance and seeing how much I can endure hours in an uncomfortable dental chair. I don’t know if it’s just my dentist, but if I keep having experiences like this, I’m going to find someone else.

I know it’s impossible to get around.

I know dental hygiene is important.

Even so, I’ll say it again.

I hate going to the dentist.

Fuck going to the dentist.

I just needed to get that off my chest.

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January 25, 2020 · 8:15 am

Recounting An Awkward (Yet Hilarious) Boner

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For men, awkward boners are kind of like pranks that go horribly wrong. They’re either funny in hindsight or so embarrassing that you’d do anything to forget them. Get any man talking about the awkward boners he’s had in his life and chances are there will be a little of both. Most will be reluctant to share the really embarrassing ones, but they’ll gladly share the ones they know will get a good laugh.

In that spirit, I’d like to share another personal story about an awkward boner I had in a public place that was embarrassing, but hilarious in the grand scheme of things. It won’t be the first story I’ve shared involving an awkward boner. If people enjoy hearing these kinds of awkward, yet revealing stories, it might not be the last.

However, the previous story I shared was very different. That incident was mostly embarrassing because I was a teenager at the time and it took place at school, a place where things get awkward enough. This one is different. This one occurred while I was a mature adult who had largely survived the chaos of puberty, high school, and acne. In some respects, that’s part of what makes it hilarious.

To set the stage for this awkward exchange between me and my genitals, I need to establish a little context. This incident took place about five years ago. Around that time, I was trying to get into shape for the first time in my life. I’d just started running regularly. I’d also started going to the gym on a routine basis. I was past the point where I was figuring out what to do. At this point, I had developed a regular routine.

A big part of that routine involved spending at least a half-hour on a treadmill, burning off whatever excess calories I’d consumed. I even came to enjoy that part of my workout because it was a chance for me to put on my headphones, listen to music, and lose myself for a while. Sometimes, I would also listen to audiobooks. It helped get me thinking and sweating at the same time.

That part of my routine is how this incident took shape. Most of the audiobooks I’d listened to ranged in genre from mystery novels to political topics to romance. On one particular day, I decided to listen to a new romance audiobook. It was billed as a sexier, seamier love story. I’d listened to those stories before, but not while exercising. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.

In hindsight, I probably should’ve known better. On this day, which happened to be a chilly Saturday morning in the middle of winter, I arrived at the gym in my gym clothes. I had my audiobook loaded up. It was fairly crowded, so I found an unused treadmill and started my routine. I also began playing the audiobook.

The first 10 minutes went by without incident. I had already worked up a good sweat. Things were going well. Then, the plot of the audiobook took a very sensual turn. I knew when I bought the book that there would be graphic parts. I didn’t expect for them to happen that soon, but it happened.

I’m listening to these very graphic, very sexy depictions being read by an alluring female voice. Naturally, my body reacts. It doesn’t matter that I’m jogging. If anything, that accelerates the process. My heart is pumping and my blood is flowing. This just got it flowing in a specific direction. On top of that, I wore loose gym shorts that day. That meant my body had plenty of room to work with.

What unfolded next was an exercise in tact. I know almost immediately that this isn’t going to be one of those incidents that I can shake off by thinking about football. The dam has already burst. There’s going to be some spillover. All I can do is wait it out.

Keep in mind, this is a crowded gym on a Saturday morning. It’s full of people, young and old. Some of them brought their kids to use the indoor pool. If I were to walk around with a fully-pitched tent in my pants, it’s going to get noticed. Granted, some might just stare for a moment and look away. It’s still not a glance I wanted to attract.

I have to wait this out, hoping that it passes before anyone notices. That’s not easy because, as most men will tell you, jogging with a boner is more than a little awkward. It’s like trying to tap dance while juggling flaming torches. It sends all sorts of mixed messages to your body.

At this point, the best I can do is stop the audiobook and switch to music. I also slow the treadmill down so that’s just a brisk walk. I also tactically adjust my shorts to ensure the tent in my pants isn’t too noticeable. From there, it’s just a matter of my body catching up to my thoughts.

I’m still mortified, but I’m also laughing to myself. I’m still new to this gym and regular workouts. I imagine I’d make quite an impression if people noticed me getting erections while working out. They might find it funny. They might even be curious as to what the hell I was listening to.

Eventually, it passes. My heart is still pumping, but the blood flow finally shifts. I don’t even stop my workout. I continue my routine and go about the rest of my workout, as though it didn’t happen. To my knowledge, nobody noticed that I’d spent a good five minutes on a treadmill with a raging erection. I was relieved, but I remembered leaving the gym laughing hysterically at myself.

As awkward as it was, I don’t see that incident in a negative light. This wasn’t at a time in my life when my hormones were raging and my body was betraying me at every turn. I was a healthy adult who had since developed healthier attitudes. If anything, getting an erection in the middle of a gym showed just how healthy I was at that point.

I still go to the gym regularly. I’ve grown fond of it in the years since that incident. I just know what not to listen to when I’m working out. There’s a time and a place for listening to sexy audiobooks. A crowded gym on a Saturday morning isn’t one of them. It’s a lesson I had to learn the hard way, but in hindsight, it’s a hilarious lesson that I doubt I’ll ever forget.

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January 17, 2020 · 6:07 am

How I Made My Morning Cup Of Coffee More Awesome (By Accident)

As I write this, I have a fresh cup of coffee right next to my keyboard. If you’re reading this early in the morning, chances are you have some coffee too. We’re in good company. A nice cup of coffee is a great way to start your day. Whether you have a full time job, are an overworked college student, or retired, coffee is one of those magical elixirs that gets us going in the morning.

It’s not just a multi-billion dollar industry. It has real health benefits. Most functioning adults can’t imagine getting through their day without it. I didn’t always drink coffee, but I’ve come to appreciate it as I’ve gotten older. It’s one of the best parts of my morning.

For that very reason, I’d like to share a brief story about how I made this routine, yet enjoyable part of my day more awesome. Moreover, I did it by accident and I hope it inspires others to find new ways of making their morning coffee even better. Consider it a gift that I bought by complete accident.

It happened a while back around Halloween. It was around a time when everyone was stocking up on candy. Some friends of mine had more than done our part. We had a big bowl of candy in the kitchen that everyone picked at for days on end. I was one of them.

One morning, I grabbed a few peanut butter cups while brewing my coffee.  Typically, I drink my coffee black. I never use creamer or sugar. Sometimes, I will pour a little cocoa powder into the mix, usually around holidays or social gatherings. I wasn’t planning to do that on this particular day.

Then, something amazing happened.

After setting my cup of coffee down, I accidentally dropped a peanut butter cup right into it. At first, I felt stupid and clumsy. Then, I looked down at the frothy, chocolate-laden mixture forming in my cup. I soon realized that this might be the greatest accident I’ve ever had.

I took a sip of my coffee with the peanut butter cup now floating within it. A strange new convergence of tasty joy followed. It was like a revelation. It took two wonderful things and combined them into something that was even better. It made my morning and the rest of my day.

Again, this was a complete accident, but one from which something beautiful emerged. If you happen to love coffee and peanut butter cups, I highly recommend you give it a try. Just one or two cups will do. Give if a few minutes to melt and froth. You’ll be glad you did.

If you have another way of making morning coffee even better, I’d love to hear it. Just know that the sweet, potent combination of peanut butter cups and coffee will be hard to top.

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December 13, 2019 · 6:03 am

How I Learned A Powerful Life Lesson From “Goldeneye” (The Video Game)

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I grew up during a strange time. I know every adult could make that claim with the benefit of hindsight, but I think I have some substance to back it up. It was a time when the internet barely existed, Saturday morning cartoons were still a thing, video games were still mostly toys, and MTV was the ultimate evil in the eyes of parents, priests, and teachers.

There were a lot of transitions that were just starting to happen. As a kid, I didn’t understand them. I barely even noticed them until years later. I still feel their influence and have learned many lessons as a result. Some lessons were more critical than others. I still remember the day I got my first email address and I made the password so easy that my little brother guessed it. That was a small, but critical lesson I had to learn.

Another one took place a few years before that and it involved a video game that is still near and dear to the hearts of many. That game is “Goldeneye” on the Nintendo 64. For some, just mentioning that game should bring back fond memories of countless hours spent in the basement, yelling at anyone who dared to pick Oddjob in multiplayer. Those were good times.

During that same time, I went to school in an era where things like the self-esteem movement and DARE were still a thing. It seems so archaic now, given how well-documented the failures of both initiatives have become in recent year, but it was a serious issue when I was a kid.

I remember seeing all sorts of platitudes and motivational messages on TV, in movies, and at school-sponsored events. They all conveyed the same sentiment.

You’re all special.

You’re all equally good at everything.

You can achieve anything if you’re determined and work hard enough.

It all sounds so nice, but there’s just one huge problem and it’s one my awesome, wonderful parents went out of their way to teach me. It’s not entirely true.

Yes, we’re all unique, which is not the same as being special.

Yes, we all have equal worth, but we’re not equally skilled.

Yes, you can achieve a lot with hard work, but you can’t achieve anything.

These all seem like rational, reasonable lessons to teach a kid. I’m certainly glad my parents made an effort to give me that perspective because it was hard to ignore the whole “you can achieve anything!” mantra that kept playing out every day. I admit I got caught up in it at certain times. I also got upset when I felt like I didn’t achieve something that I felt I’d worked hard enough for.

At some point, I had to learn that all this idealized encouragement was flawed. My parents did their part, but it took a particularly memorable experience to really hammer that point home. This is where “Goldeneye” comes in.

There was one summer in which this game basically dominated our entire day. I would wake up, meet up with my friends, and we’d start playing the game for hours at a time, much to the chagrin of our parents. These were good times. That, I cannot overstate. However, there was one issue that often came up over the course of that summer.

One of my friends, who I’ll call Shawn, was just too damn good at the game.

By that, I don’t just mean he won more multiplayer matches than most. I mean he always beat me. It didn’t matter which character I used. It didn’t matter which maps we played in. Aside from a few lucky shots, he pretty much kicked my ass every time I played him. Some of my other friends did challenge him, but he was still the best. That much, we all knew.

I thought he was good because he played more often than me. I thought I could eventually get to his level if I practiced enough. For a good two weeks in July, I essentially trained myself with match after match in “Goldeneye.” I tried to memorize every map. I tried to get a good feel for every character and weapon. I tried to hone my aim so that I made every shot count.

While I did improve, especially compared to some of my friends, it didn’t change the outcome. Shawn still beat me almost every time. It wasn’t that he played or practiced more. Shawn just had a natural talent for gaming. His reflexes were a lot quicker than most. He had a visual acuity that most couldn’t match. He could also concentrate in a way that was downright Zen-like.

To his credit, Shawn was humble about his skill. He didn’t brag or rub it in my face, although he certainly could have. He didn’t have to in order to get the point across. In certain activities, be they sports, video games, or underwater basket weaving, there are just people who are inherently more talented. It doesn’t matter how hard you work or how much you train. You just aren’t going to reach their level.

I eventually came to accept that. It was the first time it really sank in. Hard work and dedication won’t help you achieve everything. It can help, but there are going to be people who just have more talent and you can’t always work around that. It was a hard truth that I’d tried to avoid up to that point, but after that summer, I came to accept it.

Coincidentally, this is around the same time when I stopped taking those self-esteem messages at school seriously. As I got older, my perspective became a bit more realistic. In the long run, that probably served me better than just blindly believing I could do anything if I worked hard enough. I genuinely worry how much I would’ve crushed my spirit if I had to learn that lesson the hard way later in life.

Again, I got lucky. On top of having two great parents who kept me anchored, I had a friend who was just naturally talented at kicking my ass in “Goldeneye.” While all those losses were annoying, they taught me a valuable lesson and one that still helps me to this day.

To Shawn, who I hope reads this one day, I sincerely thank you for that.

Also, I apologize for all those times I threw my controller at you.

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November 22, 2019 · 6:01 am

Movember Memories: A Story About Sweat (And Other Manly Issues)

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Greetings and I hope everyone is in the Movember spirit. Last year, I decided to become a part of this effort. I feel it’s an objectively good cause that aims to help real people in need. I sincerely hope others join that effort over time.

For those who are unaware, Movember is a movement that started with the Movember Foundation. This foundation works to raise awareness of and donate money towards major issues that predominately impact men. Those issues include research for prostate cancer, mental health treatment, and suicide prevention. These are all wonderful causes to support and I encourage everyone to donate to the foundation.

As part of my effort to help with this cause, I shared a personal story last year about the time I grew a thick beard in college and some of the colorful lessons that taught me. This year, I’d like to do something similar and tell another story. However, this is a different kind of story and one I think offers a more relevant message to the Movember spirit.

This particular story comes from right from one of the most respectable men in my life, my father. He told me this story a few years back when he recounted the time he’d spent in the military. It’s a story that, at the time, we just thought was funny. I still think it is. I also think it has a deeper message that’s more relevant today, especially for men.

Before I continue, I want to make clear that I may not get all the details of this story correct. My father, who I know occasionally reads this site, might reach out to me and note a few corrections. If that’s the case, I’ll gladly update it. That said, I recall enough to ensure I can capture the heart of the story.

The setting of this story is fairly simple. It’s the mid-1970s on a military base in the Midwest. At the time, my dad is done with basic and is officially on active duty. However, he hasn’t been deployed so much of those duties involve basic grunt work around the base. It’s a typical, standard military life for a young man at the time.

One unique part of that life, however, involved a grizzled old officer who, out of respect for this amazing American, I’ll just call the Colonel. The Colonel is basically the senior officers of senior officers at the base. He’s been in the military all his life. He fought in World War II. He probably knows General Patton’s shoe size.

He’s also old enough and has enough seniority to not have a filter. He does not give a damn and won’t hesitate to say the things that would get a typical private punched in the jaw. As a result, he has a special kind of respect and admiration from young soldiers, like my dad. They would gladly share a beer with the Colonel and joke with him without the fear of push-ups.

While that lack of a filter made him popular with soldiers like my dad, it made the Colonel a nuisance to the other officers. Most were content to just overlook his charming personality and chalk it up to being a cantankerous old man. However, that same jaded charm sometimes caused a spectacle.

This one particular spectacle occurred on a day in which the officers and recruits had another regular meeting in the barracks. This was standard for active duty soldiers and my dad had gone through it many times before. He sat in his assigned seat with the rest of his unit. The officers, including the Colonel, sat in the back.

These meetings were often tedious, but a big part of what made them such a drag was the heat. These barracks did not have air conditioning and were not well-ventilated. It was basically an over-sized locker room, full of several dozen men in full military gear. Needless to say, it got uncomfortably sticky at times.

However, since this was the military and good soldiers were conditioned not to complain, nobody said anything about it. My dad certainly didn’t. No one in his unit did, either. They all wanted to. It was one of the most common complaints among his unit.

Finally, one day, the Colonel spoke up. His exact words were as follows.

“Hey! How come no one wants to talk about sweat?”

For other young soldiers, like my dad, who had sat through one too many sweaty meetings, it was a true Spartacus moment. This old guy who hadn’t given a fuck since the Kennedy Administration finally said what they all were thinking. It still earned him an irate look from the other officers, but he got the message across.

This was an issue. It mattered to them. It was taboo to bring up so the one guy whose filter died years ago broke it. It might not have solved the problem, but acknowledging it was a good start.

I wish I could describe the grin on my dad’s face when he first told this story. I could tell it was a fond memory from a strange time in his life, but it’s a story that still resonates with me. It’s also one I think we can learn from.

One of the chief goals of the Movember Foundation is to raise awareness of issues that affect men, but that’s tricky these days, given the current state of gender politics. When the topic of men’s issues come up, it often gets cast aside as rabid anti-feminism or cloaked misogyny. Even if there are legitimate issues, such as prostate cancer and mental health, it still carries negative connotations.

I get the sense that has changed somewhat in recent years. I think there has been somewhat of a backlash to the more extreme elements of gender politics. Issues that effect men are being taken more seriously and I think the Movember Foundation is helping with that. The challenge is being the one to stand up in a hot, crowded room and asking the questions that others are afraid to ask.

How come no one wants to talk about sweat?

You could just as easily apply that to other issues involving men.

How come no one wants to talk about the disparity in cancer research between prostate cancer and breast cancer?

How come no one wants to talk about men committing suicide at higher rates?

How come no one wants to talk about men falling behind in pursuing higher education?

How come no one wants to talk about male victims of domestic abuse?

These are all real issues that effect real people. At the end of the day, regardless of what our gender is, we’re still human. Even issues that effect only part of us ultimately impact all of us. I hope we can all channel the spirit of the Colonel and ask why we’re not talking about these issues. While that old man might not be with us, his message still is. It started with sweat, but it can apply to much more.

Again, in the spirit of Movember, please consider donating to the Movember Foundation and supporting the meaningful work it does.

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