Witty Witness

  Like a court jester, my wife juggles conversations and tasks better than anyone I've ever met. Many moms by necessity are forced into this unique skillset. To say my three kids enjoy a close proximity to Amber is the understatement of the year. It's as if they are tethered to her with some strange invisible rope, causing them to mirror her hurried steps all around the house, while taking turns saying, "mommy!" "mom!" "hey, mommy!" "mom!" At least I have the benefit of escaping to the office Monday through Friday, but for Amber I'm sure some days feel like a weird blend of house arrest and Uber driver. After a particularly trying day, Amber would no doubt say too much close proximity can be quite frustrating. However, the proximity and closeness of my kids to my wife, is really the tangible expression of their love and affection. It may not feel like that as she wears what they ate for lunch, but it is. Isn...

I could feel the cold winter ground beneath me as I laid motionless on the sidewalk. Not immediately certain if any bones were broken, my pride was no doubt shattered. Then again, anything can embarrass an 11 year old boy, it doesn't take much. We were running a few minutes late to my Boys Club Basketball game, so as mom searched for a place to park the car, I ran inside to the gym. More accurately stated, I ran to the point where I slipped on the ice, then I ceased to run any farther. I proceeded to limp into the gym after that. It wasn't until I found myself in mid air that I realized running on an icy sidewalk with my hands deep inside my short pockets wasn't the best of ideas. As I felt my feet give way underneath me, hands tucked securely in my pockets for warmth, I was defenseless against the inevitable fall. Ground:1, Adam: 0. As if falling and landing flat on my back weren't enough, I had to listen to the groans of others that witnessed the less than athleti...

I still remember the nervous excitement as I walked into the kindergarten wing of Woodland Elementary School for the first time. We were the "mustangs" then, apparently they are the "hawks" now. Sadly, I must have missed the vote for the mascot change. At any rate, getting back to kindergarten, my socks were pulled up to my knees, and my empty backpack was strapped loosely around my shoulders. I had a fresh haircut from Ross the Boss and I sported a buck toothed smile. The same goofy smile my 9 year old son now flashes at me from time to time (Sorry about the big teeth, J.B.)  When I learned during the summer before kindergarten that my teacher's name was Ms. Thompson, I remember lying in my water bed (Don't you judge me, you had one too) and wondering what kind of teacher Ms. Thompson would be. Would she be strict? Would she be fun? Would she be kind? Would she like me? It turns out, she was a wonderful lady, who had the keen ability to m...

"This mask hurts my face" I mumbled, almost unintelligibly through the absurdly small mouth hole cut horizontally in the cheap plastic mask. The mask which was strapped firmly and tightly to my face and held somewhat (emphasis on somewhat) in place by a thin white elastic band that wrapped around the back of my head, pulling painfully on my hair in the process. I asked my cousins if this was something I was battling alone or if their costumes were as poorly manufactured as mine. Had I lost some kind of bet I was unaware of? Was this my mom's punishment for me acting a fool again at school? At the risk of sounding like someone's disgruntled grandfather, kids now a days have no idea the torture and torment that was involved in wearing a 1980's Halloween costume. Can I get an amen from all 30 something's? It was all for the candy though. Man I loved that candy. I know that comes as a surprise to those of you that know me personally. I'm normally such a ...

 Everything in my mind told me I shouldn't do it, but the cheap beer and a few friend bought shots from "Poor Richard's" bar dared me to climb the flag pole outside of my fraternity house on Maple Street. Not being one to shy away from a challenge, I slowly started my ascent. A man my size and condition should never have engaged in such shenanigans that night, but never the less, there I was like a retired, out of shape fireman, clinging to the pole. As I slowly and strategically placed one hand above the other, I was making headway. I thought it was a shame that there wasn't a single soul present in the yard that night to witness the amazing feat. The reality was everyone else was either too smart or too intoxicated to be a willing spectator. I gave a quick eyeball to the top of the flag-less flag pole above. I knew the very top was the goal, the end-zone, the final destination, the promised land. Like Moses however, I never made it to the promised land. ...

"I'm drowning, Amber. I can't do it. I can't keep my head above water." My voice cracked and I tried not to cry on the phone. How humiliating would that be? A grown man breaking down like a child talking to his fiancé. I was nearing the end of my first semester of law school. I was living alone in a small one bedroom apartment, and my closest family member lived four hours, and one state away. I didn't attend the most prestigious law school in the country, not even by a long shot, which made my struggles with the curriculum all the more frustrating. To give myself some credit, it wasn't really the curriculum, as much as the volume of the curriculum. The reading assignments never let up. Never. In undergrad, I could "buckle down," read ahead a little, and be just fine. In law school I felt like "Johnny 5" from the 1986 movie, "Short Circuit," and I still couldn't keep up. See the video below if you've not seen that c...

"Hold still, it's going to hurt just a little," the nurse tells me while the needle tears a hole through my skin and buries itself deep into the muscle of my shoulder. Ok, maybe "tears itself" is a little dramatic. This is my annual flu shot routine at work, and I've done this many times before. My head always turned away because it would be a shame for a man my size to watch what's going on and pass out. Plus, how many medical professionals and co-workers would it take to pick me up off the floor? Wait, don't answer that. Even at 37 years old, I hate needles. Hate them. They hurt. As a kid I would pepper my mom with questions every time we went to visit Dr. Clary, our hometown Pediatrician. "Am I getting a shot today?" "Are there going to be shots?" "I'm just here to get my ears looked at, no need for a silly shot, right Mom?" As if some how knowing pain was coming, would make it hurt less? I dunno, I guess it...