Good Days

The word "old' has squeezed its way between good days with generational consistency. Each generation has a way of looking back and describing a time when things were better; or at least one believes that things were better. The old bad days surely existed yet they rarely attract an audience. If you are fortunate enough to live a long life, there is a hope that you can look back fondly; recall goodness from yesteryear. That's pretty much this blog's intent - to capture some goodness that eventually will be days of old. 

In 1990, I was a co-founder of a lemonade stand meaning I was a 6-year-old who had to walk across the street to the neighbor's house, smile, and stand behind a table. There is entrepreneurial power associated with lemonade sales that has stood the test of time. There is no bad lemonade stand. Children customer service for potent yellow or pink sugar liquid is golden. In 2022, ambitious kids and kids at heart popped up a stand. 

This stand was special because the founding members of that 1990 stand were once again behind the table, 32 years later. A different neighborhood, a different generation, the same lemonade magic. Our collective kids (7 in total), blended marketing and antics for 3+ hours of business. I got to relive glory days with my old neighbors while my kids experienced lemonade glory in their neck of the woods. Glorious all around. The Brownstown community responded generously and graciously to the cause. The memory made will surely outlast the money. 

The following afternoon, my girls took to another stand - on the baseball field for the Johnstown Mill Rats. As part of their choir, Inclined to Sing, they belted out the National Anthem. It was a harmonious home run on a sunny afternoon. On that same field many sunrises before, I ran wild in parochial football majesty. Goosebumps pride watching my daughters sing and remembering pigskin pageantry. 

Watching Mill Rats baseball was enjoyable as youngsters played America's pastime sport. My eldest daughter retook the field in the 7th inning for a dental promotion - she cleaned third base with a gigantic toothbrush. This was the most thrilling dental work of her 7-year-old life. Thanks to the Mill Rats for providing Sunday afternoon entertainment. 

That evening we sat out on the Boulevard Grill deck, toasting to our weekend achievements. We have had many celebrations at this Southmont institution and now get to enjoy The Great Outdoors from their new perch. Same great food and service, new view. 

There is a belief that good news travels fast. Let's just keep it moving without worrying about speed. The kids will grow up fast enough. Us adults can benefit from slowing it down. Sip on some lemonade and let these good times roll.  

Our Sensational Saturday

The transition from 2021 to 2022 was full of tremendous community experiences; however, I was in literary hibernation. Bogged down, blogged down. Alas, a sensational springtime Saturday to burst back on that worldwide web. 

It is a Saturday I have spoken about and written about many times before. The Memorial Day weekend Saturday in downtown Johnstown has beautifully ballooned in recent years, thanks in large part to a volunteer and small business brigade. My wife, master and commander of our household, also serves on that volunteer frontline while captaining a small business (and serves as unpaid editor to this blog). In her free time, she sometimes sleeps. 

When Memorial Day Saturday arrives, my wife puts on her Taste and Tour hardhat and I lace up my running shoes. The sun rises and we feel a communal adrenaline rush. The 8-mile challenge in the Path of the Flood Historic Races is how I respond to that rush. Each winter, I question whether I will be able to run 8 miles by May and then I will my credit card number into this machine. 

Riding on the school bus to the Staple Bend tunnel, I was united with the racing community that I am grateful to be a part of. Like always, my mind starts racing before my feet. The thought of Texan children who will never get this chance; images of my daughters on the move - running, laughing, screaming, and adventuring up-down and all-around; channeling my inner-kid kinetic energy while filtering through fatherhood brain. Inspired, I get off the bus to conquer miles and divide up those inspirations. 

Then, I bolted back to the bus. Emotional brain waves = forgot my car keys on board. I was the Dad who sprinted from the Porta-Potty to the bus for a race warmup.  Nothing like a pee-your-pants wind sprint before an 8-miler. Why do I run with my car keys? Because I am a Dad and I feel more secure with them on my person. Leave me alone. 

The race's rolling start was a 2021 Covid preventative measure that continued in this year's campaign. This means that runners do not have to all start together; race bibs, a mat, and computers capture individual start times and finishes. It prevents stampeding /herding out of the gates and it provides uncertainty on how you stack up with your competitors. For the ultra-competitive, this is probably maddening. For the mildly-competitive, this is fine. With a light rain falling, I lone-wolfed my way across the start line. 

After the race, fellow mildly-competitive runners questioned my race tactics. You run long distances with no music? Are you a psychopath? I listen to Mother Nature. I do not work. I do not parent. I do not stress. I just run. If it sound psychotic to you, then lunacy it is. I am the conductor of my cranium's circus music. It is my personal therapy alongside my community and it only gets better - and harder - with age. 

When I crossed the finish line, it was instant gratification in that sea of finishers. The race director got on the microphone and asked the crowd to look around. It is the crowd that makes the race what it is. There is no celebration or comradery without each other. Family and friends gather to toast, relive the race that was, and discuss the day ahead. 8:30 AM and grandeur accomplished and then envisioned. Thanks to those who dedicate time and energy to make the Path of the Flood a smashing spring success. 

Onward to the farm. In a stunning turn of events, my 5-year-old graduated on Thursday only to have a finale field trip scheduled for Saturday afternoon. My leg muscles shrieked in unison at the barnyard - a chicken coop cool down. The youngsters got to plant pumpkin seeds, pot flowers, and learn about life on a farm. A gracious family - with twins in the preschool program - welcomed the class on this excursion. I had a daydream where I was a farmer and had twins. It centered on me having no idea what to do. 

The Geneva Preschool experience has been one of the greatest blessings of my journey as a Dad. Our daughters thrived in a creative and nurturing environment that reinforced faith, family, and community engagement. In a turbulent health crisis, the teachers were phenomenal - more relentless than the virus, they taught us parents a thing or two. Creativity and humor is ageless. Restrictions do not have to limit insight. Music plays beyond any barriers. Thanks to a teaching triple threat - Mrs. Kane, Mrs. Mood, and Mrs. Curry. Phenomenal dedication and leadership that served as a foundation for our girls and for many grateful Johnstown families. 

By the time I stepped foot downtown for Taste and Tour, my steps were well into double digit miles. Imagine hunters and gathers learning about us pampered folk who "count steps". To the pioneers, purely preposterous. I never have counted steps. I don't even listen to music when I run. I'm a modern day barbarian with a good old-fashioned Timex watch.

Five solid hours of tasting and touring was a delightful and dynamic recipe. 700 tickets sold out in minutes for one night of downtown glory. The weather cooperated as the businesses boomed. A crisscrossing community patterned the streets as music decorated the town. I gratefully walked side-by-side with my wife, proud of her hard work and the community she so intensely loves. My walk was equally intense due to gradual tightness. A militaristic gait was not in honor of our troops. It was in response to muscular grief. 

Alas, we made it home. My Dad picked us up. When in doubt, call Dad. For now, I don't want my daughters to have phones, so save the calls for later in life. Get yourself a Timex. Don't worry about your steps. Be a kid. There is nothing better. Love the land and learn from it. I am no farmer, but appreciate the sunrises and salute the sunsets. Never stop learning. Be grateful to teachers. Race on. When your legs get tired, rely on your head and heart. The music need not stop.

The blog is back. 

Thanks, Johnstown.

A Saturday in the City

On the first Saturday of this December, exploration would be essential. When there is sunshine in a Johnstown December forecast, you must seize thy sun. To the Johnstown Heritage Discovery Center we shall go. 

We arrived early to ride scooters in the parking lot. With the sleds still in the garage, it was ecstasy to strap on helmets and scoot. Mind you, I did not scoot. I stood tall in the parking lot in a Dad stance, protector of the scooter sisters. At one point, my 4-year-old wanted to foot race her older sister yet keep her helmet on as a safety precaution. Broad Street bypassing vehicles had the pleasure of seeing this peculiar parking lot chase; 6-year-old scooting powerhouse versus a 4-year-old flash wearing a loose helmet. Everyone was victorious. 

Once inside the Discovery Center, we returned to familiar fun. Over the course of the past two calendar years, this place has helped us maintain our collective sanity. Our girls have mastered the immigration process on the 1st Floor and have become Master Chefs on the 3rd. As the pandemic rages on, we have unleashed the imagination immunity. Stay together. Play together. Support each other during mental breakdowns. On this occasion, our 6-year-old banished a friend after she was allegedly kicked in the head by this boy. There was no surveillance video to review as this occurred on the mine shaft slide. I provided talk therapy as my eldest daughter requested that this 7-year-old be booted out of the Discovery Center for his boot-to-skull infraction. 

Minutes later, they were rolling around on the ground together. She a dolphin. He a shark eating her. The hoopla and harmony of childhood. 

After a two hour conquest, it was time for grub. Ryan's Artisan Goods has also served us well in 2020-2021. Breakfasts and lunches at this small business have sustained us. The great big window offers a view of the world going by while we cram food and Crayola create. Ryan's had a nice lunch crowd on this Saturday as we sipped and slammed everything that was placed before us. My 4-year-old colored her hero, The Hulk. His pants are her favorite color and they share a love for aggression. 

My wife took the brigade home post-food frenzy. I stayed in Cambria City for a Dad workout. Most trainers would not recommend a Mocha and a sandwich immediately before lacing up. Well, Dad life need no trainer and requires gut check decision making. You just need a full cup of ambition and a dash of stupidity. With the sun on my face and a full belly, off and running twas I. 

I crossed over the Stonycreek bridge and made my way to downtown. My mission was to circle around the colossal Christmas tree and make my trek back; it would be a spirited 3.5 miles of glory. When I got to Central Park, tis the season was all around;  music playing, youngsters tossing a football, and dozens of community members crisscrossing in Christmas contentment. Then, there was me, a Yukon Cornelius type athlete bursting on scene. Upon making it back to my starting point, I was quite proud of my achievement. Mileage down and no throw up. 

I did a cool down hike in Stackhouse Park to embrace just a little bit more of that sunshine. I have logged hundreds of hiking miles in Stackhouse Park over my time on Mother Earth. It has been my go-to-refuge since the word "Covid" invaded our consciousness. Amongst those trees, my brain has benefited from all that nature provides and everything it doesn't - news, conspiracy, opinion, judgement. I can just watch the scamper of a squirrel and believe it will all work out in the end. 

When I got home, my kids put on a show in the front yard. Their stage was a leaf pile. Their audience was Mom and Dad. The sun was starting to fade as those two little girls shined bright. A perfect final act. 

Thank you Discovery Center, Ryan's, Oh Christmas Tree, and Stackhouse - a collection and connection of community. Thanks to my wife and daughters for providing a jolt of inspiration at every starting line and coloring page. 

See you soon Santa. Deliver more sunshine. 

Dad Movie Review: Ron's Gone Wrong

 On the second Saturday of this November, my girls and I watched the first snowfall. A gentle howl of wind captured jumbo flakes. From our dining room window, we stared at these snow swirls. My 4-year-old gleefully stepped out onto the porch. She shimmied around as if she was in her own snow globe. She reentered our home energized and finished breakfast. 

Hours later, our family of four ventured to Westwood Plaza Theatre with special guest, my mother. The matinee of our day was Ron's Gone Wrong, an animated adventure in a technological age. Zach Galifianakis voices Ron, a robot that puts into question the ways in which we connect...and more importantly the way kids are losing connection. The connection thief - screens. 

Ron's Gone Wrong is a film that would not have resonated a generation ago. If my grandfather were alive and in attendance, he probably would have pulled a handgun out of his jacket and put an end to the movie. This absurd premise deserves a pistol. Much like Wreck it Ralph and Big Hero 6, Ron's Gone Wrong challenges the audience to weave in and out of the technological forces that rule our day. To us humans of 2021, absurdity it is not. 

The story ultimately is about friendship between Ron and a boy named Barney. No spoiler here, yet I will contend that the bot and the boy most came alive in one place - the wilderness. That was my takeaway as I ran home from Westwood Plaza Theatre. I waved goodbye to my mother, wife, and daughters. There is nothing like being inspired by a kid's movie and abandoning your family in a parking lot. 

I ran through the streets of Westmont and entered into Stackhouse Park. The leafy trails and rocky terrain made for their own theatre - Hero Dad trying not to face plant (I fell once on Whispering Trail and have a sore left palm...HERO DAD. Shhh, don't tell anyone).

As I hurdled fallen trees and blasted beyond branches, I thought of Ron and Barney playing in the woods; about my 4-year-old trying to catch snowflakes in her mouth; about my 6-year-old's Girl Scout hike in this park a day earlier. The unrivaled connection that Mother Nature provides. 

When I got home, my shoes were joyously muddy. In those few miles back to base, I thought about all my years in Stackhouse; of adventures gone by; of adventures ahead with my daughters. I had not blogged since early summer. Technology (film) inspired me to wilderness and back to technology (computing). Connected some dots powered by electricity and ecology - family and friends generate true power. 

As I bring this blog to a close, my 4-year-old is taking a nap. She crashed hard post-movie. After doing some living room sprints where she repeatedly rocketed into the couch and laughed wildly, she needed to reboot.  

I'd like to believe she is dreaming, catching an endless flurry of snowflakes. A big smile. A hearty laugh. 

Summer Wonderland

 The word combo "endless summer" has resonated for decades. It was a documentary title, a Beach Boys album, and a youthful hope not to return to academia. We break, beach, and bask in summer. From solstice to bummer, it is an emotional gauntlet of a season - often going shockingly quick. We question where the time has gone as if we were victims to calendar thievery. July does a fly by. Thus, we must eat up the August sunshine. Before we know it, we will be in embattled September - a month that mostly claims summer yet sometimes feels all fall. 

This is my first official blog of the 2021 summer. I have not taken the time to type simply because summer has demanded my presence. And after the time warp that was 2020 to Spring 2021, our family has shot out of an activity cannon, swimming, splashing, and scootering back into the mainstream.  

To fully appreciate 2021, our family had to travel back to 1865. Yes, it was 156 years ago when Lewis Carroll authored Alice in Wonderland, arguably the greatest literary nonsense of all-time. The bizarre nature of our modern times goes quite nicely with this rabbit hole. Inside the Community Arts Center of Cambria County on the last Friday of this July, we had a mad and wonderful experience. Two outstanding young ladies performed a 45-minute tour-de-force, capturing the nuttiness of a classic novel.

Bright Star Touring Theatre, a North Carolina based production, adventured to Westmont, treating dozens of kids and adults to Alice's antics. My 6-year-old and 4-year-old girls are captivated by live theatre, having attended multiple local plays and musicals over the years. Their mother usually has led these conquests. Their father usually is doing heroic things like cutting the grass, golfing, or blogging during showtime. I was front row with my leading ladies this time around. Quite simply, it was an enjoyable performance - clever, humorous, and demanded audience participation. 

Following the show, there was a Q&A where my 6-year-old exploded her right arm into the air. She asked the performers how old they were. I'm almost positive the question was asked because my daughter was counting down the years when she can travel the world as an actress extraordinaire. The question would have been a lot weirder if I as the front row Dad asked the same question; goes from cute to creepy in a heartbeat. 

Speaking of hearts, the Queen of Hearts character was tremendous. There is no better theatre magic than "off with your head". The threat of being decapitated brought a smile to my face. Warm my heart, Queen of Hearts...

After the Q&A, all the kids got to participate in acting lessons with the performers. A circle of talent was formed and the rest was history. It was improv, exercise, and education wrapped into one silly shape. Special thanks to the Bright Star superstars who inspired imagination. 

Alas, it is August - the eighth month in another eventful year on Planet Earth. Sometimes it is nice to escape; to attend a fantasy tea party and forget about what we have survived and what is to come; to let kids be kids; to welcome and thank others for making our community brighter. 

Summer will surely end. 

Let Alice and Wonderland and all of us shine on. 

Weekend Warriors

 Memorial Day weekend in Johnstown has become a celebratory sequence of events. In 2021, it felt even more celebratory based off of 2020 being shall I say...cruel and unusual. Our family fired back this year like an asteroid of gratitude crashing to Planet Earth. Survival of the fittest, at its finest, for us four. Without further ado, this is our ball of red, white and blue fire over the final weekend of May. 

I initiated the sequence with the Path of the Flood Historic Races. I'm a veteran of this race series yet this was my first attempt at the newly routed 8-mile adventure. The forecast was looking ideal for a race commemorating a flood. I could not recall the last time I laced up for mileage of this distance so I really did not need precipitation adversity. Thankfully, Mother Nature was kind, blessing runners with a mist instead of a muddy massacre. 

Upon reaching the Staple Bend tunnel, I made a familiar dash into darkness. I have become a part of that unique breed; the community that pays to run. Sometimes into darkness. Sometimes in beatdown heat. Always supported by a local band of brothers and sisters. My favorite supporter this year had a sign that featured the mushroom from Super Mario Brothers. According to the sign, I could slap the mushroom to "Power Up". I recalled that legendary game of my youth and emphatically extended out for the power up. I was hoping to transform into Donkey Kong. I remained a man and had under two miles left.

Running toward Peoples Natural Gas Pavilion, the site of our wedding reception, I locked eyes with my wife. She has been my #1 supporter on all kinds of trails and terrain. I voiced my love for her as I sprinted to the finish. But, the anatomical assault was far from over. I joined two of my fellow runners at Coney Island for breakfast. An 8-mile run followed by a sundowner is a recipe of destiny. 

Feeling the glow of a sunrise run and a sundowner, there were more miles to log. Each year the Path of the Flood Historic Races teams with Discover Downtown Johnstown Partnership's Taste and Tour to complete a gauntlet spring day. My wife has championed the tour since its humble beginning. 2021 marked the 7th tour and the event is a homegrown wildfire that showcases small businesses. This year had the added bonus of a Johnstown Tomahawks playoff hockey game. My wife and I were cheering for the Hawks while my calves were screaming after a day of trail and pavement pounding. Special thanks to all the businesses who participated in the 2021 Taste and Tour; all the volunteers who make the event what it has become; all the community members who poured into downtown Johnstown. 

On Memorial Day, we attended the parade in Westmont. This has become an annual tradition where we venture to a chum's house on the parade route. It is the combining of two families, mixing together a 6-year-old, 4-year-old, 3-year-old, 2-year-old, firetrucks, and explosives. There is nothing quite like the flashing lights of emergency vehicles followed by the spark of cheap fireworks. The 3-year-old in particular had a pyromaniac warmth on this Memorial Day morn. He captured the spirit of America with every deep breathe of firework fume. The parents celebrated another successful parade day without any serious injuries. 

On Tuesday, our 6-year-old graduated from kindergarten. It was also our 8th wedding anniversary. From mileage to milestones, it was a grand transition from May to June; a celebration of our city, our health, education, commitment, and the resurgence of socialization. When Tuesday night rolled around, I was not rolling much in my bed. I had fallen asleep in my daughters' chambers. 

Run and rest gratefully, Johnstown. Spring into action as the weather and events around town heat up. 

Celebrate community, rain or shine. 

Evolution of Education

The school year is almost over. And what a year it was or was not. Academic and pandemic share letters yet I think we can all agree that they do not mix well. The anti-peanut butter and jelly. Education in 2020-2021 will be remembered for a lot of things and attempted to be forgotten for a lot more. Graduations will be sweeping and some will be zooming. Keynote speakers will reference the sky as the limits even if there are limits to how many can fill the auditorium. In the end, in one way or another, we all move on. 

And while school sessions come to a close, Mother Nature has started to call. In Pennsylvania, the freezing rain of Mother's Day weekend is countered by a mid-May heat wave. The frost and the furious weather of a Keystone State spring. You can get hypothermia and heat stroke within the same 7-day forecast!

In the book There's No Such Thing As Bad Weather, a determined mom makes a great case for embracing the elements...all of them. Life is not sunshine and rainbows. I think we all learned that over the course of the last 12+ months. Life is sometimes overcast and rain boots, yet treasures can be found in the clouds and in the puddles. 

In Stackhouse Park this spring, I got to watch my 6-year-old participate in her first bridging ceremony with the Girl Scouts. A small community army gathered at the park's central pavilion. Deprived of social interaction for what felt like all of eternity, this Girl Scouts ceremony felt like Woodstock. There were people everywhere. Any by everywhere, I mean in the same field. I've never been more excited to lay on a blanket by other humans. 

I was proud of my daughter for being a part of the ceremony. She looked official. She looked ready to take on the world. We listened to a fellow Girl Scout, an impressive young lady, describe her experience within the organization. Her speech was her bridge to adulthood; a final thank you, a fantastic message to young people, and an attention grabber to the adults. In summary, overcome the odds. Be yourself. Be grateful. 

Her words inspired me to return to the park. This time, to held build a trail, a bridging of sorts in the woods. Stackhouse Park volunteers are beginning to assemble to build a connecting trail for mountain bikers. With the Inclined Plane shut down for repairs, wilderness warriors are attempting a reroute. Definitely not as luxurious as riding a monstrous vehicle up a mountainside yet it will be an alternate climb nonetheless. I was one of three volunteers that day. One guy was the brains. One guy had the chainsaw. I was the guy that cleared debris. Every team needs a debris clearer. I don't have the brains for navigation nor the safety skills to operate a chainsaw but I can chuck wood. I can break branches. I can pretend to know about tools. Bottomline - the thing that brought us three together that morning - we were building a path. Simple yet requires a lot of hard work and dedication and also true for anyone who teaches - thank you educators of 2020-2021, the silliest syllabus ever, the path of most resistance, the most technologically maddening year in the history of mankind...

And before us, there were the dinosaurs. There was no Zoom in the Mesozoic Era. You didn't have time to TikTok because tick tock you'd be eaten by a velociraptor if you let your guard down. Our whole family attended Dino Day at Stackhouse Park and I happily returned to the dinosaur days. The instructor - my former teacher and neighbor - brought us all the way back to when the dinosaurs walked our world. His enthusiasm for dinos is infectious. You know you are good when you wow the crowd with fossilized poop. 

There you have it, 2020-2021 school year...it will one day be remembered as the fossilized poop of academia. We - kids, parents, teachers, communities - made it work. It was a war path. The dinosaurs are extinct and we are still here. Find a path and offer up some gratitude. 

To teachers everywhere, thank you.