Nincompoop November

 Each day we try to take a moment and express gratitude. This family practice has occurred at the dinner table, at bedtime, and frankly anytime when opportunity strikes or memory serves. Recently, when asked the "What are you thankful for?"question my 3-year-old said without hesitation and with conviction...

"I am thankful for nincompoops."

And a blog was born. Here is the Top 10 Nincompoop Moments of this November:

#10  Hardhead Hardware

Last week I went to a hardware store to buy light bulbs. This was a welcoming opportunity to illuminate my social life. In 2020, light bulb shopping classifies as a social event. I got to converse with a teenage cashier. He asked me, "Do you want a bag?"  I said "Yes" with a little bit too much enthusiasm, as if I had been cave dwelling and this was my first light bulb. Then, I said something that I immediately regretted. After he bagged my bulbs, I blurted out, "AWESOME!"

Walking out, I was overcome with embarrassment. Did I just give a creepy smile to a high school kid, exclaim "AWESOME" and go on my merry way with fresh light bulbs? 

I was left to wonder what that kid thought of me and what has 2020 done to all of us. 

#9  The Zoom Boom 

On some weekdays, our 5-year-old is zooming from 8 to 10 A.M. Then, my 3-year-old zooms from 10:00 A.M. to 11:00 A.M. Then, my 5-year-old re-zooms at 11:00 A.M. Meanwhile, we, the parents, are attempting to eat/work/live/teach/battle. Our dining room is a minefield of worksheets, folders, crayons, scissors, snacks, passwords, glue sticks, actual sticks, and angst. We also received notice that our 5-year-old is expected to wear her uniform Monday-Thursday for Zoom academia. 

And to that I said profanity. 

#8  Casper Prayers     

At some point this year, we acknowledged that Casper the Friendly Ghost was eating supper with us. Since then, we pretend to hold his hand and allow him to join in giving thanks. 2020, the year of poltergeist prayer. Correction - we don't pretend to hold Casper's hand. We hold Casper's hand. Cold as ice. 

#7  Shawnee Showdown

On a gorgeous November Saturday, our family of four traveled to Shawnee Park in Bedford County. We participated in an impromptu 2-on-2 football game on the sand. Dad and 3-year-old vs. Mom and 5-year-old. There were illegal blocks, false starts, and a hip injury (Mom) that did not require medical attention because there was no one to give medical attention. 

Everyone won. Immediately after, I went for a run and left my ailing wife with our children. Survival of the fittest.  

#6   Bison Boom

On the way home from the Shawnee expedition, we stopped to see bison in Schellsburg. I believe there was a part of each us that wanted to run with the bison. To roam free, free from distancing and disease. Susceptible to trampling or being charged yet free. 

Maybe I was the only one daydreaming union with the bison. 

#5  Gutter Check 

My wife held the ladder while I cleaned the rain gutters. I cleared debris. While executing my task, she asked me if I cleared a path so the rain spout could do its job. I was perturbed by the question. "I'm not up here painting the Sistine Chapel." 

At no point did I say "AWESOME" when cleaning the gutters. 

#4  Gut Check 

My wife and I attended an outdoor mass at Our Mother of Sorrows on a November Sunday. Our children stayed at their grandparents' sanctuary. The sun shined on a socially distanced lawn of Christians. I admired a family of 5 as they prepared for mass. Lawn chairs folding. Conversing. Children crawling on grass. And then, the Dad almost tripped on one of the crawlers. It was a Looney Tunes sequence where the Dad buckled and then did this heroic Dad acrobatics to avoid crushing his offspring. Blindside shot from a toddler. 

I prayed for them and was grateful that our kids were not with us. Amen. 

#3 Sic'em on a Chicken

There is a song by Zac Brown Band called Sic'em on a Chicken. It is a ballad, a power ballad, on the pursuit of a chicken. We've summoned this song in times of need. Under the light of the moon and the warmth of a fire, we danced wildly on our back patio to Sic'em on a Chicken. 

A family of 4 brought to life by a song describing the death of a chicken. 

#2  Zimbabwe 

I have an alter-ego named Professor Diddums. I have been making up educational lessons for my girls since March when the virus hit the fan. I had to step my game back up in November after months of relying on traditional schooling. I was particularly proud of my lesson plan centered on the letter "Z". We learned about zebras, our 12th President Zachary Taylor (was not a Republican or a Democrat), and we each colored the national flag of Zimbabwe. 

Take that Zoom. While you locked us in our house, we learned that Zimbabwe is landlocked. Eat your heart out. 

#1  Happy Thanksgiving 

My 3-year-old does not know what nincompoop means. It is a funny word and who knows where she first heard it. She does have an understanding of what happy means. I hope her growing brain is full of happy moments from 2020. I think we have done our best to emphasize happiness and gratitude. We will Sic'em on a Turkey this Thursday. 

And if the 4 of us are together, I'll be happy. 

Happy Thanksgiving, Johnstown. 

Express gratitude daily - somehow, someway. 

What Counts

One of the breakthrough moments of childhood is learning how to count. In adulthood in the United States of America, we have taken counting to new ridiculous heights. We are counting in-person and by mail and by conspiracy theory and by the hour and getting updates by the hour even when there are no updates to give. Adults are outbabbling toddlers from coast to coast in a sleep deprived annoyance that is all too familiar.  

For the record, The Count, resident of Sesame Street, is the best representative of this great nation. When the 2024 election rolls around, I want The Count Live, counting every single vote. I don't care if it takes 2 days, 2 weeks, or 2 months. He will announce each and every vote with joyous and rhythmic patriotism. With no affiliation and a pure love for counting, there will be no controversy. He just counts. Every network and every website and every social media platform is restricted until The Count is done counting. All eyes and ears on The Count. We don't need opinions, predictions, projections, and red and blue maps. 

Absurd? Considering what has transpired in 2020, I think this is realistic. In fact, it is brilliant if I could highjack mass media, ensure one unbiased voice, and subject the populous to simplicity. 

And if there is one thing kids get right, it is being simple. And if there is one thing adults get wrong, it is being simpletons, which by definition, centers on foolishness.

First, we are all winners today. We all wake up winners tomorrow. We live in the United States. Yes, we are divided, but "our" here is a blessing that bypasses so many adults and strikes so many children. My daughters gleamed over seeing a herd of bison today off of Route 30. Were the bison social distancing? No. Did my 3-year-old want to jump the fence and enter their herbivore world? Yes. 

Kids do not define their existence by a person. Or a party. Or a social media account. At least not at the age of my youngsters. I do fear that Faceplant, Instabook, and TockTic will slowly and painfully eat the innocence of youth like ravenous zombies, but this is Positive Johnstown...we shall overcome!

So, this blog is for the kids too young to read blogs. Too young to give a flying squirrel about what I have to say. Too young for left/right, Democrat/Republican, and anything other than macaroni and cheese. Let the good kids of this earth pee their pants while the grown ups poop on each others' political parties. 

And adults do not need to grow up. They need to go back. Go back to experience. Go back to wonder. Go back to an identity shaped by love and learning. 

But, as the bison graze, "we" will undoubtedly babble and bite each other in the field. And it would be offensive to say that in doing so "we" are acting like children. 

Children are still learning. Let's show them "we", the adults, can still learn too. 

To understand that division is not final. That a President - no singular person - defines us. 

The Count, 2024. 

Count your blessings. 

God Bless America.