The final two weekends of this July gave two parents a lot of perspective. The first was spent a time zone away. The second was in our hometown.
For the first time as parents to two young daughters, my wife and I had a weekend away. We flew to Chicago for the wedding of one of my graduate school friends. While driving to the Pittsburgh airport, it was weird not having the backseat babbles. Our children are blessed with grandparents who welcomed our parental escape. It was a smooth ride to the Windy City.
We used Uber to ride around one of the country's most populous cities. At first, our Uber effort was unsatisfactory. We took a $2.00 cancellation charge on the chin. My oldest daughter would have used the term "silly goose" to describe this first go-around. By the time we booked our last pick-up, my wife and I were confident Uber-bodies.
For a weekend, big city life is fine, but I know I am a small town USA Dad. I was ready to come home, smell the grass, and complain about having to cut that same grass. My wife and I have traveled across the country and off the mainland. Our goal is to see all 50 states and maybe find our way to an island every now and then, but Johnstown is home. Our Pennsylvania hometown is far from tropical, but it's where we want to be.
The next weekend - on one of those rainy, summer Johnstown nights - we escaped once more. Escape Rooms Johnstown on Clinton Street is where our Elite 8 saved the world. The Virus is a complex and catastrophic challenge. There is nothing like family and friends trying to prevent a deadly disease from spreading. The architects of The Virus are sick people - genius level mindbenders who provide puzzle after puzzle, panic after panic. With 4 minutes left on the clock, we found the cure. It was a mix of jubilation, relief, and shock that we pulled it off.
As my wife and I ran through the rain back to the car, we smiled and savored saving the human race. Somewhat soaked, we started the Subaru and drove back to see our kids. We didn't tell them about our Escape Room heroics; they wouldn't understand. Those girls were just happy to have Mom and Dad back.
Escaping is great, but there is nothing like coming home.
Saturday, July 29, 2017
Tuesday, July 18, 2017
July Traditions
Over the course of last week, four Johnstown events spiraled into the blur that is July. It is a month that always seems to blast by. Luckily, there is always next summer to jump on board for a July tradition.
On July 13th, the VFW golf tournament was held at Windber Country Club. If I signed up for every golf tournament flyer that landed in front of me, I would be driving a cart more than my car; thus, it is important for this working Dad to pick and choose wisely when it comes to golf sign-ups. Scramble formats will forever be the most alluring due to the team concept and not having to calculate my personal score. At this year's VFW scramble, my team was my family.
Golfing with the wife, brother-in-law, and father-in-law sounds like a sitcom episode. Our 18-holes together definitely could classify as comedy and our scorecard was tragic. There was a ceremonial raising of the American flag before we made our first bogey. In their 2nd annual scramble, the VFW did a commendable job and Mother Nature deserves some recognition as well. The forecast looked ugly, but only a few isolated rain drops fell to the earth. If only more of our putts fell into those ugly, round holes in the ground...
On Saturday, I prepared myself for a drastically different athletic endeavor. Since 1994, Barnball has combined barn, basketball, and blood. It is a 2 on 2 tournament that basically goes from sunrise to sunset and has been passed on from fathers to sons. When I made my debut, I was a giddy high schooler ill-prepared for the madness of the barn where grown men battle between hay bales. In this year's edition, I was more like the elder, and I was eventually eliminated by the much younger and much bigger.
The uncle of a high school friend is the reason why Barnball exists. He transforms his property into the showcase that is Barnball - the barn court, live bands all day long, tents, hula-hoops, hammocks, kids running through the grass, a Hall of Fame, a barn couch for past champions... I overheard a rookie standing at the foot of the barn state, "I've played basketball all over the world, but I have never seen anything like this". Welcome to Coon Ridge Road's summer classic.
Ultimately, this day is not about the basketball. It is about a family tradition that evolved into a community event. I've battled my younger brother and I've watched dozens of family members go sneaker-to-sneaker in the barn. In this year's version of the double elimination saga, my teammate and I had the strength to win our first 2 games. We did not have the same strength for Game 3 and Game 4. Satisfied and sore, we headed for the barn yard.
I couldn't stay for the championship because I had children to put to bed. I thanked Uncle Bill for another Barnball. He said he wished he could have those days back - putting the kids to bed. It all goes by too fast. A lot has changed since my first Barnball, but the tournament has endured because the same families get together. Some Dads retire and some sons step into the barn. It is something to look forward to each Johnstown July.
The Sunday after Barnball is not something I physically look forward to. Walking into church with battered bones and bruising is an expectation. This year, our family of four attended the Saint Clement Parish Festival and a polka mass served as physical therapy for my Barnball body. My 2-year-old responds well to the combination of polka and mass. She's sees how everyone in attendance seems a little more lively and loud. If she had the Pope in her clubhouse, there is no doubt in my mind she would ask for polka mass to be the one and only.
After the mass, this annual spectacular has food, games galore, and the family favorite - a bouncy house. The bouncy house can be delightful, it can be dangerous, and it sure is bouncy. It unifies brave children and scares the parents who created them. Being on holy ground, I felt better about my daughter's rampage to bouncing freedom.
The final installment in our week's event calendar was something new. Maybe, a tradition in the making. The Dillweed Bed and Breakfast and Trailside Shop sits on Route 403 and offers rest and refreshments for bikers on the Ghost Town Trail. The shop is an Americana escape with pizza by the slice downstairs and Christmas decorations on the second floor. But, the real reason we were in Dilltown was for the outdoor music in the garden behind the shop. And who better to play than a duo called The Evergreens.
Sitting on a blanket with my wife and daughters, we were flanked by family to the left and right. Our oldest daughter did not maintain a singular position while the girls played. She eventually made her way behind the drum set during an intermission. From the moment she met Animal, she has aspired to drum. In our numerous run-ins with The Evergreens, we have built a friendship. If ever the drummer goes down, our Animal is the drummer-in-waiting.
From course to barn to church to garden, Johnstown traditions are well-established or well on their way. August will be here before we know it. By then, the bruises should be gone and the memories will be a blessing.
The Sunday after Barnball is not something I physically look forward to. Walking into church with battered bones and bruising is an expectation. This year, our family of four attended the Saint Clement Parish Festival and a polka mass served as physical therapy for my Barnball body. My 2-year-old responds well to the combination of polka and mass. She's sees how everyone in attendance seems a little more lively and loud. If she had the Pope in her clubhouse, there is no doubt in my mind she would ask for polka mass to be the one and only.
After the mass, this annual spectacular has food, games galore, and the family favorite - a bouncy house. The bouncy house can be delightful, it can be dangerous, and it sure is bouncy. It unifies brave children and scares the parents who created them. Being on holy ground, I felt better about my daughter's rampage to bouncing freedom.
The final installment in our week's event calendar was something new. Maybe, a tradition in the making. The Dillweed Bed and Breakfast and Trailside Shop sits on Route 403 and offers rest and refreshments for bikers on the Ghost Town Trail. The shop is an Americana escape with pizza by the slice downstairs and Christmas decorations on the second floor. But, the real reason we were in Dilltown was for the outdoor music in the garden behind the shop. And who better to play than a duo called The Evergreens.
Sitting on a blanket with my wife and daughters, we were flanked by family to the left and right. Our oldest daughter did not maintain a singular position while the girls played. She eventually made her way behind the drum set during an intermission. From the moment she met Animal, she has aspired to drum. In our numerous run-ins with The Evergreens, we have built a friendship. If ever the drummer goes down, our Animal is the drummer-in-waiting.
From course to barn to church to garden, Johnstown traditions are well-established or well on their way. August will be here before we know it. By then, the bruises should be gone and the memories will be a blessing.
Sunday, July 9, 2017
Strengthening the Core
On Saturday, my 2-year-old daughter and I scrambled around the playground and shared an apple. With each bite, we got closer to finishing the fruit. Eventually, all that was left was the core.
"The core" is often referenced when it comes to values and key members of a team. The inner core is at the center of Earth. While we share this planet, what is at our individual core is unique and harder to define. Over time, I think that core changes. At this point in my life, I'm finishing apples with my daughter and feel pretty good about my "core" - Faith, Marriage, Family, Community. That apple and stops along the way this weekend helped me come to that conclusion.
Before our playground pursuit, I did yoga for the first time in 2017. My wife introduced me to the exercise long before we got to the altar. I had some hesitancy that first go-around. I did not doubt my athleticism. It was more about stretching into uncharted territory. Flexibility was and is not my strength. Yoga can make a man satisfyingly sore. I found that out after my first yoga and this last one.
At Riek's Country Store in Brownstown, there is a dedicated group of yoga people that gather every Saturday morning. These people are all women. Over the years, I have made a cameo appearance and have my own studio of masculinity. It is not reserved, but I know my place. I'm close enough to hear the instructor and far enough away that if I fall, no one will fall with me.
Yoga is challenging then calming; rigorous then relaxing. Tresa, the instructor, has a voice that flows right with the meditation and restoration that yoga is designed to provide. I always leave a yoga lesson in a Gumby-like state with a smile on my face. Thank to Tresa for building up my physical core and to those faithful ladies - Brownstown's core yogis.
When Sunday rolled around and I rolled out of bed, I felt yoga. As a parent to two small children, yoga pain is not a symptom to disclose. It would be silly and no sympathy would fall upon me. Alas, I walked it off and hiked it into Stackhouse Park. Before that hike, my wife and I enjoyed Cafe Sunday with a core group of people in this community.
Sitting in that cafe, I was appreciative of the many blessings in my life. My soon-to-be-4-month-old daughter sat peacefully in her car seat. Her sister roamed wildly at her grandparents'. My wife sat beautifully by my side. And, everyone else that was in that room was someone I did not know before coming to the cafe. It has become a unique fellowship; much like that unique core that is in each of us. That fellowship is centered on faith and it feels like it is growing.
Shortly after Cafe Sunday, the 2-year-old hiker was strapped to my back as we headed for the trails of Stackhouse. Her mom and sister zoomed there way home in the Subaru. We chattered and chugged our way back. As the birds chirped, we passed an apple back and forth. This time it was a green one.
Every step of the way was worth it. I eventually threw out that apple core, but I know what to keep; what to hold on to; what to never let go.
"The core" is often referenced when it comes to values and key members of a team. The inner core is at the center of Earth. While we share this planet, what is at our individual core is unique and harder to define. Over time, I think that core changes. At this point in my life, I'm finishing apples with my daughter and feel pretty good about my "core" - Faith, Marriage, Family, Community. That apple and stops along the way this weekend helped me come to that conclusion.
Before our playground pursuit, I did yoga for the first time in 2017. My wife introduced me to the exercise long before we got to the altar. I had some hesitancy that first go-around. I did not doubt my athleticism. It was more about stretching into uncharted territory. Flexibility was and is not my strength. Yoga can make a man satisfyingly sore. I found that out after my first yoga and this last one.
At Riek's Country Store in Brownstown, there is a dedicated group of yoga people that gather every Saturday morning. These people are all women. Over the years, I have made a cameo appearance and have my own studio of masculinity. It is not reserved, but I know my place. I'm close enough to hear the instructor and far enough away that if I fall, no one will fall with me.
Yoga is challenging then calming; rigorous then relaxing. Tresa, the instructor, has a voice that flows right with the meditation and restoration that yoga is designed to provide. I always leave a yoga lesson in a Gumby-like state with a smile on my face. Thank to Tresa for building up my physical core and to those faithful ladies - Brownstown's core yogis.
When Sunday rolled around and I rolled out of bed, I felt yoga. As a parent to two small children, yoga pain is not a symptom to disclose. It would be silly and no sympathy would fall upon me. Alas, I walked it off and hiked it into Stackhouse Park. Before that hike, my wife and I enjoyed Cafe Sunday with a core group of people in this community.
Sitting in that cafe, I was appreciative of the many blessings in my life. My soon-to-be-4-month-old daughter sat peacefully in her car seat. Her sister roamed wildly at her grandparents'. My wife sat beautifully by my side. And, everyone else that was in that room was someone I did not know before coming to the cafe. It has become a unique fellowship; much like that unique core that is in each of us. That fellowship is centered on faith and it feels like it is growing.
Shortly after Cafe Sunday, the 2-year-old hiker was strapped to my back as we headed for the trails of Stackhouse. Her mom and sister zoomed there way home in the Subaru. We chattered and chugged our way back. As the birds chirped, we passed an apple back and forth. This time it was a green one.
Every step of the way was worth it. I eventually threw out that apple core, but I know what to keep; what to hold on to; what to never let go.
Sunday, July 2, 2017
My Brother is Married
It was 1:00 P.M. yesterday when my brother entered into the married club. Before, during, and after the vows, pairs ruled the day:
Coffee and Pizza
It might sound like an unlikely pair to start a wedding day, but that's how the wedding men kicked it off. My brother and I shared a Jamaican Paradise coffee from Mill House Cafe before the rest of the goof troop arrived at my humble abode. When the groomsmen /goofmen made their entrance, Clark's Corner Store breakfast pizza was devoured by one and all. I am thankful for the two local businesses that provided the morning fuel for the day's journey.
Flowers and Girl
Our 2-year-old daughter was assigned to the petals. The Grand Halle has an intimidating track to the altar and my daughter is not real big on staying on paths. She's a party animal. She's a singer. She's a trooper. At times, she's a clinger...to her mother.
So, her procession was not perfect, but neither is marriage. The flower petals were distributed and then the real show began. I think I was more nervous viewing my daughter at my brother's wedding than being the soon-to-be-husband at my own celebration. As Pastor Dave read from the heart, my beautiful flower girl was losing her mind. I stood sweaty and silent, like a proud Dad and good brother should.
Let the magic happen.
Music and Bus
After eclipsing the age of 30, you start to realize some things. On a bus full of 20-somethings, my wife and I were the lost generation. For a few hours, we did not have to parent our small children and got to hear songs we never heard before. We were used to the Trolls and Zootopia soundtrack. Seated on the bus, we were in a different type of zoo. I did not know some of the newer, hip-hop songs. I still use the term, hip-hop. My wife used the term, "jazzy beats".
We had a great time. Referencing another movie...from Wedding Crashers:
"We are not that young."
No, no we are not. Good for you, you 20-somethings. Thanks for letting us crash your bus.
Coaches and Players
There was a decorated group of Westmont Hilltop basketball players at the wedding. My brother's senior year was a historic season and many of his teammates suited up on this day. As the older athlete, I endure the commentary from far and wide on basketball legacy. Critics contend my brother's basketball resume and records give him the upper hand.
Rather than debate, I simply took a picture of that decorated group. Everyone was smiling. I reminded then that I was in the stands when they lost in the playoffs.
Cheers.
Young and Old
The dance floor does not care about when you graduated high school. It does not discriminate. My brother and his beautiful bride did a choreographed number to turn that floor into lava. From there, it was a volcanic mix of slides and shakes. As I type this sentence, my left knee is a little bit sore.
I could still beat my brother in 1 on 1 basketball.
Husband and Wife
I hope my brother and my new sister enjoyed their day. I certainly did. I got to see family, friends and neighbors celebrate. We celebrated in the community where my brother and I grew up. The same community where my daughters are growing big and strong. I danced beside the first kid I ever babysat. She just finished her first year in college. I took a picture with my high school basketball coach. The behind-the-scenes guy that gets everything rocking and rolling at the Grand Halle has a son who was on my Little League baseball team.
People and weddings come and go. On this Sunday, I'll hold on to some great memories. Johnstown has blessed me with a lot. Congratulations to the new husband and wife. They are quite the pair.
And some day, they'll be in their 30s.
Every day is an adventure and there is always something to celebrate.
Be grateful for your family, friends, and neighbors.
Coffee and Pizza
It might sound like an unlikely pair to start a wedding day, but that's how the wedding men kicked it off. My brother and I shared a Jamaican Paradise coffee from Mill House Cafe before the rest of the goof troop arrived at my humble abode. When the groomsmen /goofmen made their entrance, Clark's Corner Store breakfast pizza was devoured by one and all. I am thankful for the two local businesses that provided the morning fuel for the day's journey.
Flowers and Girl
Our 2-year-old daughter was assigned to the petals. The Grand Halle has an intimidating track to the altar and my daughter is not real big on staying on paths. She's a party animal. She's a singer. She's a trooper. At times, she's a clinger...to her mother.
So, her procession was not perfect, but neither is marriage. The flower petals were distributed and then the real show began. I think I was more nervous viewing my daughter at my brother's wedding than being the soon-to-be-husband at my own celebration. As Pastor Dave read from the heart, my beautiful flower girl was losing her mind. I stood sweaty and silent, like a proud Dad and good brother should.
Let the magic happen.
Music and Bus
After eclipsing the age of 30, you start to realize some things. On a bus full of 20-somethings, my wife and I were the lost generation. For a few hours, we did not have to parent our small children and got to hear songs we never heard before. We were used to the Trolls and Zootopia soundtrack. Seated on the bus, we were in a different type of zoo. I did not know some of the newer, hip-hop songs. I still use the term, hip-hop. My wife used the term, "jazzy beats".
We had a great time. Referencing another movie...from Wedding Crashers:
"We are not that young."
No, no we are not. Good for you, you 20-somethings. Thanks for letting us crash your bus.
Coaches and Players
There was a decorated group of Westmont Hilltop basketball players at the wedding. My brother's senior year was a historic season and many of his teammates suited up on this day. As the older athlete, I endure the commentary from far and wide on basketball legacy. Critics contend my brother's basketball resume and records give him the upper hand.
Rather than debate, I simply took a picture of that decorated group. Everyone was smiling. I reminded then that I was in the stands when they lost in the playoffs.
Cheers.
Young and Old
The dance floor does not care about when you graduated high school. It does not discriminate. My brother and his beautiful bride did a choreographed number to turn that floor into lava. From there, it was a volcanic mix of slides and shakes. As I type this sentence, my left knee is a little bit sore.
I could still beat my brother in 1 on 1 basketball.
Husband and Wife
I hope my brother and my new sister enjoyed their day. I certainly did. I got to see family, friends and neighbors celebrate. We celebrated in the community where my brother and I grew up. The same community where my daughters are growing big and strong. I danced beside the first kid I ever babysat. She just finished her first year in college. I took a picture with my high school basketball coach. The behind-the-scenes guy that gets everything rocking and rolling at the Grand Halle has a son who was on my Little League baseball team.
People and weddings come and go. On this Sunday, I'll hold on to some great memories. Johnstown has blessed me with a lot. Congratulations to the new husband and wife. They are quite the pair.
And some day, they'll be in their 30s.
Every day is an adventure and there is always something to celebrate.
Be grateful for your family, friends, and neighbors.
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