Who do you think you are?

So, this post was inspired by church over the weekend. You can skip the next two paragraphs cause I promise this will go someplace political. Oops. Okay. Yeap. See many of you later. It's been real. Sunday's scripture was Galatians 3:26-28. It says:

• In Christ, you are all children of God through faith, for all of you who are baptized in Christ have clothed yourself with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ.

Okay, bear with me. We go to a fairly liberal church. While it wasn't our pastor who preached this week, but a gal who did a great job who is going through seminary, a point she brought up is that is text likely predates Paul's letter to the church at Galatia. It's essentially saying that in choosing to worship Christ, we are all equals.

However, the sermon started simply with the pastor asking each of us to close our eyes and think about how we identify ourselves. What words do we use? I came up with tall, skinny, athletic, husband, father.

As the sermon went on, I realized three things I didn't think of: straight, white, male. This, my friends, is where this becomes a privilege conversation, and an unintentionally themed Pride Month post.

Why didn't I think of any of those three things? Well, because those are the privilege trifecta. Never have I had to worry that my race, gender, or orientation would have a detrimental impact on my station in life. I'm going to work backwards here.

Being male means that historically, my gender has had the "power" as it were. Now, I hope I've never been one to abuse this power, but I know I've been a damn moron at times in my life, so I apologize for my actions, not if people were hurt by them, but rather I apologize for actions that I took that offended people. I should've been better.

This particular categorization shows up in athletics. Picture this: high school basketball game, your kid's team is down. They can play with this team, but they've had a bit of a run in the last, say, five minutes, and the other team clearly has the upper hand. Coach calls timeout. When the players get to the sideline, the coach lays out what's happening technically, then says, "And most importantly, smile! Look like you're having fun out there."

Now, did that coach say that to a team of male or female basketball players. You having a hard time picturing a bunch of sweaty dudes being told to "smile" in the heat of battle? Yeah, me too. In fact, I'm guessing a lot of you would probably have words with the coach after the game if he'd said that to your son's team.

However, we'll yell that from the sidelines of a girls' sporting event. We might even expect the coach to say that. Why? Well, smiling does two things. 1) It helps instill confidence and overall positive feelings and 2) Makes a person more attractive (except for me in pictures, but that's a whole other post...). We don't say that to male athletes. I don't say that to female athletes. I tell the girls to get in there, shoulders back, chin up, and believe they can outplay their opponent.

In my chosen career, the payscales are probably more balanced than most, although I can't say that with certainty and I won't research it THANK YOU VERY MUCH! And while studies are all over the map on the gender pay gap, the reality is that it does exist, and it's something that needs to be fixed.

Next up: White. I'm white. You know why I never think of myself that way? Because white Europeans founded this country and ever since that day, many have decided that we're superior to other skin colors because...? Actually, I don't know. I don't know how you can look at any other person of any other skin color and decide that the thing, the thing that makes you better than them is the color of your flesh that you've worked SO HARD to achieve. Wait. No, actually, you haven't. To quote Lady Gaga, "You were born this way." (I love that song)

History books used in American schools have a very western-centric bias. Seems like people like Copernicus really helped push science forward. Except that was the 16th century. You know what we needed to even start to figure that out? Algebra which was invented in the 9th century by Muhammad ibn Musa al-Khwarizmi in what is now Baghdad. Irrigation, a staple of western, especially American, agriculture, was first used by the Egyptians around 3100 BCE. Did western cultures invent and discover a lot of cool stuff? Yes! What is disproportionate to other parts of the world? NO!

Finally, straight. I am straight. I was terrible to some of the kids in my high school who were either brave enough to be out, or dealing with the pain of staying in the closet at a time when acceptance of LGBTQ+ was not near what it is now, which is terrible. I realize those people may not read this, but I'm deeply sorry for the actions that I took that caused pain. There is no excuse.

One of the refrains you here frequently during Pride Month is, "Why isn't there a straight pride month?" The answer to that, I think, is pretty simple. That's dumb. Being straight has been not only societally acceptable, but even expected, for nearly all of human history. We all know how recent steps toward equality for members of the LGBTQ+ community have been. The first steps. There are many more needed.

Why isn't there straight pride? Because we don't need to walk around declaring who we are. We haven't had to fight to have our love legally recognized and all the benefits that come along with that. While I don't, for a minute, think being LGBTQ+ is a choice, I frankly don't understand what difference it makes. Love as thou wilt. And don't come at me with the bathroom debate. That entire discussion is based on falsehood.

My takeaway from the pastor's sermon on Sunday was that the idea of equality, true equality, dates back to pre-biblical times. It also drives home the idea that Christianity is a faith based on love and loving equally. I've never been perfect, I never will be, but I'm trying to be better everyday. Church just got me thinking the other day.

Brutally Honest and Honestly Brutal

Alright y'all. You might remember my "The Audacity of Honesty" post from a couple of months back. Some might've noticed it has gone missing. I did that of my own volition. Both my administrators at my former school (which I will not name here, but y'all know) were getting a lot of people asking about it. They both also said I hadn't done anything wrong, but I didn't want to be one more thing on their plate, so I removed it.

This may be part one of a two-part post. We'll all find out at the end of this. It might just be a really long post. Either way, this post is going to catch you, my wonderful readers, up on the last month of my life, with parts about my family as well. It's been about as tough a two months as I've ever faced.

I also want to add that I'm glad it mostly happened to me, and that my wife and family could just be there when I needed them. That's been an unexpected blessing.

Okay, so back to square one. While we were in Toronto (jump back one post to see the adventures, as mundane as they might be, of traveling with a toddler who was a rockstar), I got the call that my uncle had completed suicide. Not a call you ever want to get. Obviously it rocked my, and our, whole world. He'd fought depression for years, but had insisted he'd never carry it to this point. I'd tried, unsuccessfully, a few times over the last couple of years to talk to him, but had always left a voicemail and never heard back. I felt terrible that I'd not tried harder to get ahold of him, but depression's a beast that doesn't afford logic.

Needless to say, that's been unbelievably difficult to deal with. My mom and aunt, Uncle Noble's sisters, have been handling everything with his estate and have been incredible. I know they've barely let us see how much they've gone through, but I'm so grateful for what they've done while going through what I can only imagine is just about hell. I pray daily for their strength in all situations I face.

Here we'll rehash my "Audacity of Honesty" post. As I mentioned, I was looking to find a new teaching gig. I wanted to be closer to my wife and son. I know it's beyond trite to say, "Having a kid changes your everything," but it does. That hour each day I spend in the car is an hour I don't get with my family. I felt the best move was to be honest with both my superintendent and principal. Now, my principal was one of my references, so he obviously knew. I felt, professionally, that I should let me super know as well.

Just before we left for Toronto, it was abundantly clear (oh hindsight...!) that Dorchester was my place to be. I'd thrown quite a few applications out there, and had only one 15-minute phone interview. I'd told both my administrators, and I'm confident this is a direct quote, "You're getting what you wanted, I'm staying! I'm ready to get after it. Fate's telling me I'll be here and I'm re-committed!"

Heh. HA! The... irony?... is really kind of hilarious now. When we got back from Toronto, I reserved my team a spot at the Colorado Buffs team camp. The next day, a Friday, I learned that the new Kindergarten teacher would be the assistant volleyball coach (I typed my initially but changed THAT!). When I approached the superintendent about it, he confirmed that (I saw it on Facebook) and said we needed to meet about it at 3:30. I had NO INKLING about what was coming.

Now, the next part of this can kind of sound like a bitter man, something that was pointed out by the community to administration when I published the original honesty post. I see how people would draw that conclusion. I do. In fact, I'd likely think the same thing. However, I'm going to say that I'm not bitter. I'm not. I don't have time for grudges and bitterness as a general rule. Also, that's something that has a detrimental effect on my mental health. I'm painfully optimistic most of the time. That's a choice.

When school got out that day, I walked do to my super's office like nothing was wrong. I strolled in expecting to lay out the next few years of the volleyball program. He said they'd decided to go a different direction with the volleyball program. I wasn't committed enough to the town (and maybe the school, I don't remember. I just remember thinking that telling me I wasn't committed to the town was ridiculous), as was evidenced by my job search.

First, WHAT?! I mean, he was right, I wasn't committed to the town. That school had kids whose address was in many different towns, and many not from a town at all. I was committed to the kids and everyone in that school. THAT was important to me.

Secondly, what about my teaching job? That's my livelihood and I was panicking about that. No, he said, teaching was safe. The principal was in charge of teacher's jobs, and every eval and walkthrough I'd ever had was positive.

I should add, this decision was made solely by the superintendent. The Activities Director, Principal, and School Board had no role in the decision. While the AD and Principal had been asked for some feedback, the decision was made without them, ultimately.

Did this have something to do with my coaching? The way I interacted with the athletes? I mean, I love coaching, I love volleyball, I want to make sure I wasn't doing something very wrong that no one had bothered to tell me about. Nope, he said, nothing to do with any of that. Just my commitment.

I was livid. I went to the weight room and probably lifted heavier than ever. It didn't make sense. I had no reason to disbelieve him, but it didn't feel right. Nevertheless, it appeared that I'd be working there for quite awhile longer, though in a slightly reduced capacity, so I had to find a way to get over it. It also felt like there was a bit of a "pushing me out" vibe, something reinforced by a couple conversations I had, via text, with other staffers over the subsequent weekend.

Well, back at school on Monday, it seemed like everything was fine. I settled and and thought, okay, this might suck, but started to look on the bright side: More time in the summer, more time in the fall. This can't be all bad.

Then I found out who they'd hired to replace me. As I understand it (and I'm not going to go back and clear up anything I might misunderstand), the new Kindergarten teacher, who is from town in Central Nebraska and is 22, will the be acting head coach, but her title will be assistant. No way to know about her commitment to the "town". The other assistant has a daughter who PLAYS VOLLEYBALL FOR THE RIVAL HIGH SCHOOL! That throws up a big commitment red flag for me, too. Finally, the woman with the title of head coach has a son who runs cross-country at another high school, so she'll almost definitely miss multiple events during the season. Again... I had proven my commitment for six years. Admittedly, the woman hired as the head coach is a graduate of the high school, but I know as a parent, I'D want to go to my kids' stuff.

So anyway, other little things happened that made it abundantly clear, to me at least, that it was time to seek opportunities elsewhere again. I cast a slightly wider net this time (and we again changed what we were looking for in a new home. Our agent, Melanie, was SOO patient with us!) and found a job quickly. The school where I'll be teaching fourth grade and coaching in the fall is a school that PLAYS AGAINST THE SCHOOL I JUST LEFT in our second competition of the year. The team I coached had won the match the last five years. I expect that to change this year.

So now, I've had to change jobs, I didn't mean to slip that bit about house-hunting in there without preface, but it's in there now, so I let's talk about that. We started looking back in the fall, but we'd spend time and find some okay stuff, but then (usually) I would pump the brakes a bit. Let's wait until this thing (whatever that may be) happens.

Well, on the first day that we scheduled multiple showings, we found the house right off the bat. First one we walked into. It's gorgeous. It's on the east side of Lincoln (making my drive from there to work about the same as it's been the last six years; much shorter than it will be from where we live now). It had only been on the market about four days, so we put in an offer, and they countered with a number that we could live with. They actually gave us a better deal because we signed the contract in May, but aren't closing until September.

At this point, a good part of my days have been spent cleaning, straightening, and packing. That leads to the hardest thing I've probably ever had to do. When Keya and I got married, we both wanted a pet, but a dog was out of the question based on schedules, and I'm not really a cat person, so we settled on a rabbit. He was a ten pound Rex named Thunder. Well, like mentioned earlier, when you have kids, your priorities change.

Thunder had not gotten NEARLY the attention in the last year and a half that he had before Everett. No one's fault, just life. He's neutered, so he probably has at least five years of good life left. On top of that, the giant bunny pen in the living room would NOT help sell the house. We made the incredibly difficult decision to surrender him to the humane society here in Lincoln. Y'all, seriously the hardest thing I've ever made the choice to do. We are both soothed by the fact that we know it was the right move for Thunder.

The overarching theme in this is change. Change can be brutal. I feel like some of these changes are forced on us, but overall, I know it will be good. It will SUCK to move out of this neighborhood, we've got neighbors that we just love and we know we'll see less of them.

There has been some good, though. We inherited my uncle's 2000 Toyota MR2 Spyder. Yes, it's a cool car, but it's made cooler by the fact that it was IN 2 FAST 2 FURIOUS! In the scene in the movie where all the cars are leaving the warehouse to confuse the police. It's not in perfect shape right now, as you can see, but I've done a fair bit of work to get it more up to speed, and the body and paint will be in the process the end of June. More pics later.

The picture that you see was taken in my uncle's driveway in Naples, Florida. That car needed to get back to Lincoln. I had three options: Drive down with my truck and trailer (changes there, too) and load it up, fly down and drive it back, or have it shipped. Well, shipping was going to be $1200, so that was out. Financially it didn't make sense to drive a truck and trailer down to load the car up and then drive back getting awful gas mileage over the course of 3200+ miles. We had credit card points. I flew and then drove.

Now, that car DOES NOT HAVE CRUISE CONTROL. So I drove, in two days, from Cape Coral, Florida, where I got to spend some wonderful time with Brian, Heather, and Ryelynn Huffman. God I miss those guys, back to Lincoln. Y'all, there's a muscle on the front of your shin. The best way to work it is driving 26 hours in two days without cruise.

Traffic in Atlanta is the worst. Cape Coral to Nashville should take 12 hours. It took me better than 14. Twenty miles SOUTH of Atlanta, before you're really in the metro, there was a lane of I-75 northbound closed. I think it was closed for about five miles. In that five miles, there were three accidents. At 2:30 in the afternoon, traffic in the Atlanta area added an hour to my trip. 

This car also meant that we had five vehicles. Our garage only has room for four. We traded in the pickup, which we loved, and the hybrid, which we REALLY loved, for a Nissan Armada. So far, we RE-HEALLY love that. 

I wanted to end this on a positive. Yes, the end is here. No, I didn't include everything that's made these last couple months brutal for me. It hasn't changed my outlook. I'm still obnoxiously upbeat, but that's due to a fantastic family, and spectacular friends who've taken time out to make sure I'm okay. I'm letting myself be the recipient of love and concern, something I rarely do. 

I just wanted to let you all in on this. I'd say that this is the reason that I've been more infrequent lately, but that's not the case. I plan to get back to this more regularly and am trying to figure out how to put some podcasting into my future. I'll focus on this first, though.

Thanks, as always, for reading.

Ty, Toddler, Toronto, Travel

Oof. I didn't mean to take this long. Frankly, a lot has happened. In short, when I last posted, I was teaching at Dorchester, though no longer coaching, we were looking at places out west of Lincoln a little bit, and life was... settling in.

Now, I'll be teaching 4th grade at Weeping Water Public Schools next year, and coaching volleyball. We are, tonight, working on putting together an offer for a house on the east side of Lincoln. Life's changing. I've another honesty post in my head, but I'm not there yet.

Anyway, awhile back, I mentioned that I wanted to talk about our adventures with traveling with Everett. At the time of the travel, Everett was 16 months old. We decided, possibly erroneously, to take him on his first flight. Out of the country. Yeah. He'll now think that flying always involves customs.

A little bit about Everett. He's really the chillest baby I've ever been around. I know every parent thinks their kid is the best, so hopefully by acknowledging that you'll take this with the grain of salt with which it can be (should be?) taken, but even daycare talks about how chill he is.

Nevertheless, we've probably all got a horror story from a kid on a flight. I am so hyper-aware of how others perceive me that I don't want to be the parent of that kid.

Add to that the fact that Everett was coming off an ear infection. Let's do the math. Pressure changes are already a pain for kids. Add in the possibility of still-infected ears... I was nervous.

We flew from Omaha. We scheduled it in such a way that we hoped he'd nap for the better part of at least one of the flights, either Omaha to Chicago, or Chicago to Toronto.

He was awake the entire flight from Omaha to Chicago. It was actually wonderful because a couple of people in the row ahead of us got moved up, so Everett and I jumped up there for part of the flight. It allowed me to get this picture, which is one of my all-time favorite pictures of him.

I put him in the seat next to me and strapped him in. He loved it. Quick pause. Yes, he's absolutely adorable. He takes after his mother. ANYWAY, he loved the first flight. He didn't fall asleep until we were on the ground in Chicago. Thankfully, O'Hare can be a long damn taxi. It was, so he got a decent nap.

He loved the airport in Chicago. He loved the people and spent a good part of the time just staring out the window at the airplanes (taking after his dad!). He made friends, and ate, and just generally did great. He really was a rockstar.

The flight to Toronto was completely full. He had to sit on our laps. He rocked it again. This time, he fell asleep on final approach into the airport, slept through taxi (Pearson Airport in Toronto is huge, too) and even through Keya trying to track down his car seat (which was at baggage claim, something we'd been told wouldn't happen). All told, he got a good nap.

Our stay in Toronto was our stay in Toronto. It was great. Everett did awesome in his temporary home. His naps ended up slightly limiting what we could do, but Toronto. was. awesome! I mean, seriously, go visit Toronto. Scared to travel internationally? Go visit Toronto. The people were awesome. The city was clean. We never felt unsafe.

We visited the CN Tower. Everett loved it. We saw the aquarium. Everett explored a playground for the first time. He rocked the time in Toronto. 

The trip back could've been eventful. April 10, 2019 was a bomb cyclone redux in Denver, the city we were scheduled to fly through on the way back to Omaha. Someday, I'll commit a blog to singing the praises of United Airlines for the overall way they handled our situation. Yes. United did a phenomenal job. I already reached out to UAL to let them know. Folks, if a business goes above and beyond, PLEASE tell them. When I was a retail manager, it was so uncommon when people told me about my staff going above and beyond, but when it did, it made everyone's day.

So anyway, after we did some finagling, we were on a flight that left Toronto at 2:20 in the afternoon. This is better than two hours after Everett normally takes his nap. We discovered that when he doesn't get his nap on time, he gets straight manic. And I don't use that phrase lightly. I really mean he's out of control happy.

There was a man working on his laptop. He was incredibly gracious with our son from time-to-time sprinting up to him and then screaming in joy! Over and over. I'm sure when our flight's gate was changed, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Everett's other jam while we were at the first gate was sprinting away from us and then running through the wheelchairs that were stored nearby.

After the gate change, Everett's favorite game was to screech and run away about 10 feet then turn around and screech again. He wasn't obnoxious. He didn't really disrupt anyone, but we couldn't get him to settle down. Needless to say, we were TERRIFIED he wouldn't sleep.

The flight from Toronto to Omaha (yes, it was direct. more on that later) is just a little over two hours. Everett slept for about an hour and a half of it. We landed about four Omaha time.

Some of y'all are waiting for the other shoe to drop. We were, too. It never did. I get being frustrated, pissed even, that it never happened. We were, for obvious reasons, thrilled. 

I don't know if I've said this before, but I've been incredibly blessed in this life. Our son is an example of how kids get younger siblings. He will, at some point, no we're not pregnant right meow, have a sibling. 

He'd always traveled beautifully when driving places. We never imagined that he'd travel so well by air. Sorry if you're disappointed that it wasn't the greatest stressor in our lives this year. I'm sure there are a lot people who can identify, though. Sorry, too, if I'm not the type of husband or dad who falsely commiserates. I'm not going to pretend that my life is tough. I love my wife, my son, and my life. 

Maybe, just maybe, my next post will be more controversial. Maybe I'll get folk riled up. Maybe not. I don't have a theme for this blog.

Soon, you'll learn more about how to Ty One On.

Be well.

April 20, 1999

I saw on Instagram today someone commenting to the effect of "Have fun with all the posts of your friend smoking weed today!" It was clearly from someone who doesn't smoke weed. That's fine. And I get that, ESPECIALLY with today falling on a Saturday, it will likely be a well-celebrated "holiday." Cool. You do you. 4/20 has never been about that for me, and my senior year of high school changed this date forever.

I am from Lafayette, Colorado and a proud graduate of Centaurus High School. I am the class of 1999. Lafayette is north of Denver in Boulder County. Columbine High School is south of Denver.

Now please, I cannot and will not compare my experience on that day to those who were at Columbine. According to Google Maps, it's a nearly 40 mile drive from Columbine to Centaurus. For many, Columbine is a foot-note in history. For those of us who were in high school in the Denver area that day, it's a memory seared into our brains.

The Columbine attacks are more vivid in my memory of the 9/11 attacks. I suspect there are a lot of reasons for that.

I remember when I first heard what was happening. I was in my car. Centaurus was an open campus, which meant when kids didn't have class, we could leave. It was a Tuesday. I had classes first, second, third, fifth, and seventh periods. At some point during the day, likely during sixth period which was my girlfriend's lunch period, I left the school. The radio station we usually listened to was carrying live news coverage.

We were horrified. This was not the first school shooting in the country, but it was close to home and it was the biggest to that point. Some of us knew kids there. I'm fairly confident I didn't go to seventh period. I was glued to the radio in my car, or in my friends' cars.

We left school that day thinking that though a horrible event had happened, no one had been killed, but that was because at that point, the first responders hadn't gotten in to the school, so despite the fact that the kids who'd gotten out were reporting bodies, the news was running with the official story from the responders, which was responsible.

My closest friend on this earth, who really is my brother, but not blood, was at the doctor's office that day. The initial reports he saw said "CHS" without giving the name of the school. For the briefest moments, he thought his school had been attacked.

You might know this, but high school kids are notoriously selfish and narcissistic. For many of us, that was the first day we really felt deep empathy. Yes, we'd all had the capacity for sympathy and of course had given that to friends who'd broken up, lost pets, or lost loved ones. We weren't heartless. However, this really felt like this could've been us. We ached for those kids who went through this. Our pain, obviously, wasn't even close to theirs, but we grieved alongside them.

That day marked a turning point. Safety at school wasn't a given any longer. We'd always done fire and tornado drills. Now, as an educator, I regularly talk my students through drills that are related to Columbine and other similar attacks, of which we've seen too many. The reality is that as a teacher, I have to assure my kids that I will do everything in my power to keep them safe, even if that means sacrificing myself (Though I do joke with them that I will stand at the door to my classroom with a chair drawn back like a baseball bat. It always relaxes them as we talk about heavy things.).

I'm a liberal. I'll admit that. I don't think I've anything to apologize for in saying that. However, I don't think either side of the gun debate that erupts every time (again, far too many times) this kind of thing happens has it right. Or even really close.

More guns is definitely not the answer. We really should put the idea of arming teachers to bed. I know there are a few who would be fine with having them. Every teacher I know is responsible and would use it only when absolutely necessary. However, having that in the classroom isn't safe.

I'm not going to advocate for removing guns entirely. I know it'll get interpreted as such anyway. The reality is that the conversation NEEDS to involve tighter regulations on guns and destigmatizing mental illness so those who need help feel comfortable reaching out whenever necessary (no one would ever tell someone with a compound fracture to just shove the bone back in their skin and get over it).

The mental health aspect of this epidemic was brought into stark relieve this week with an 18-year-old woman flying from the Miami area to Denver who was "infatuated" with Columbine. Every district in the Denver-area, and many beyond, were closed out of fear for the lives of students and staff. She was, sadly, found after completing suicide. I cannot imagine the terror and difficulty faced by staff, students, and families in Denver over those 48 or so hours.

April 20, 1999 is a day that will haunt me forever. So many people talk about where they were when they heard and watched coverage of September 11, 2001, or Kennedy's assassination, or Pearl Harbor. The names of those 13 lives stolen that day key a visceral reaction in me and I think back to sitting with my friends in the library at Centaurus, making ribbons out of navy and silver ribbon as our way of standing with the Rebels of Columbine. I remember so many things that day.

I will never forget 4/20/99. I ache for those lost, and I ache each time something like this happens again. I wish we'd learned and applied all those lessons that day, but we didn't. I pray it never happens again, but prepare myself to pray, again, for those killed in acts like this that are carried out in places of worship, businesses, movie theaters, and other gathering places across the country I love.

I want us to do better.

Fatherhood

So, let's take a little turn. I follow politics and the general conversations in the world more closely than many, so I feel like my posts were heading in a somewhat political direction. That's not the intent of this outlet.

I've long toyed with how to address the fatherhood issue. Okay... long's probably the wrong way of looking at this as I've been a father now for *checks watch* fifteen and a half months. (Sidenote, Keya and I will not be those parents who are talking about their 26 month old. Months till eighteen, then half years). Even though it's been a little over a year of actual fatherhood, the idea's been on my mind a LONG time.

I always wanted two to three kids. It seemed like a perfect number. I also wanted boys and girls. In fact, if we're being really honest, I always thought I'd prefer to have girls. I really don't know why, but that was kind of my thought.

In college, my sophomore roommate and I had a plan. We'd have live-in girlfriends before the year in the apartment was up, then be on our way to getting married before college was over. We forgot to tell the women of Colorado Springs that was our plan. Needless to say, college went on and I had girlfriends, but nothing ever moving to the point of long-term.

Nevertheless, I got out of college without the prospect of marriage, let alone kids, so life went on. I could be a selfish, self-serving bachelor. Yes, again, girlfriends, a couple who I even thought were going to be long-term (some will tell you that was all of them in the first couple of dates...), but nothing stuck.

It's completely arbitrary, but by the time I hit 30, and there was nothing on the horizon, I began to allow myself to consider the lifelong bachelor life. I had a couple reasons. One, all my cousins and my brother on my mom's side were married (we hardly spoke to Dad's side), so ONE of us had to stay single, right? AND, it turned out as much as I fancied myself a Ted, I was much more Barney most of the time. (HIMYM reference)

It was that same time frame that I made the decision to move from Colorado to Nebraska. Wanna learn more? Go WAY back in these blogs (to, like, 2011). Now I've been a committed Husker fan for close to 30 years now, and many around me joked that I'd meet my wife within six months of moving to Nebraska.

I did. One problem, however, was that I was dating someone else at the time. Now, there were other factors complicating things but nevertheless it took us awhile to start dating. By the time we got married, I was 32.

Like I said, I'd always wanted two to three kids. But now, as I'm doing the math, I was down to two or fewer. The reasoning was simple, at this point, my parents would be in their late 80s or 90s when my kids graduated high school. That happening generation-after-generation isn't terrible appealing. And though I realize that men can have kids much later in their life than women can, I didn't want to be in my 40s with an infant.

Y'all are doing the math now. Wait, Ty. You're 32 at this point in the story. (Which is dragging on, BY THE WAY). You have LOTS of time to have three kids and not be in your 40s when they're infants. I should also add that one of the things that Keya and I agreed on when we were dating and engaged was that kids would wait until we'd had time to be a married couple. Travel, grow, establish ourselves. Oh, and she wanted to be done (or almost done) with her PhD.

So we went over four years before we had our first son. I was 36 when Everett was born. My dad was 37 when I was born. Keya and I are trying hard to make sure he's MOSTLY out of diapers when he has a sibling. (Before you start to get excited, no, this is not some announcement about another pregnancy).

Now, that's a lot of background to tell you this: Being a father is the greatest thing that's ever happened to me. Ever. I know a lot of people say that. Let me tell you, that selfish bachelor never really went away (still hasn't). I was very worried about how having a kid would change our life. I was concerned that things I'd love to do, I wouldn't be able to do at all, or at least nearly as much.

I'll never forget the first time I saw Everett. If you've never had the pleasure, seeing a baby in the seconds after it's born is gross. It is. But it's the single most emotional moment of my life. I don't cry. Ever. It's cause I'm profoundly broken (a blog for another day), but I. Don't. Cry.

I didn't that day either, but it was as close as I've been since about sixth grade. That selfish bachelor had a whole new perspective.

As crazy as it seems to me, well, or it would have seemed to me before December of 2017, every decision now is based in Everett's best interest. I really don't have the selfish impulses I did.

I love coming home to this kid. He's a little over fifteen months old, and he's running everywhere, full of personality, picks up baby sign like it's his job, and has the cutest quirks. Also, he's completely adorable.

It's funny the way that even a fifteen month old plays differently with Mom and Dad. He and I roughhouse more than he does with Keya. Sure, that's relative with a baby so young, but it's true.

You might have some idea from, in particular, the last couple blogs about how Keya and I have talked about raising Everett. The reality is, even though he gets gifts that are mostly "boy" gifts, there will be very few things we won't allow him to try. Dance? Sure. Basketball? Absolutely. Gymnastics? Don't get too attached, you'll likely be over six feet tall, but sure. And there's no such thing as boy colors or girl colors.

Fatherhood's been the most incredible journey for me. Both getting there and now the short period of time I've been there. I know it's trite, but it's so much more than I had ever imagined. I'm so grateful that Everett is mine and I get to share this journey with Keya. I love fatherhood. I love my son more than anything, but don't look for the "to the moon and back" social media posts. I don't think I need to advertise that.

Scouts, Razors, and the Man Cold

Let me start this with a phrase that will turn some people off based on the content of this blog, "In the era of #MeToo"...

I will preface a good bit of the rest of this by saying that I do fancy myself somewhat of a feminist. I don't subscribe to the idea that women having the same rights and opportunities that I have somehow steals rights and opportunities from me. Admittedly, I'm also a white male, so privilege is stacked up here. Oh. Stacked up about 6'7". One has to note that there is a lot of privilege here.

So, on to the title of this entry. The title of this changed when I woke up with a brutal cold and I thought, what the heck? It kinda fits. The trope goes that men have a minor cold and cannot get out of bed, whereas women will be fighting three kinds of pneumonia, the flu, possibly meningitis, and gangrene, but still getting the kids off to school with lunches while tending to her barely ailing husband.

This has always annoyed me. In fact, there are quite a few things we'll talk about that have bothered me. This is probably because my dad, who is my greatest role model, rarely missed a day of work. While he'd tell us he was sick, he didn't act any different unless it was REALLY bad. My wife will tell you that I often will get sick and not even tell her until I'm over it. Often, I don't take medicine. That's not because I'm against meds, but I frankly want to know when my symptoms are subsiding, not be unpleasantly surprised when they come back six hours later.

DRAMATIC SUBJECT CHANGE WITH NO SEGUE

Hi. I'm Ty Peteranetz, Eagle Scout. When I was on my Eagle Board of Review as a 15 year old, two questions really stuck. One we were coached on how to answer. That question was, "What will you do after you are an Eagle Scout?" or something like that. The coached answer is, "Once an Eagle, always an Eagle."

The other one that has really stuck with me was something like, "Do you think that girls should be allowed to join Boy Scouts?" My answer was simply that I thought they should. Now, before you start accusing me of having 15-year-old boy reasoning for that, I did, but more important to me was the fact that the Girl Scouts don't have an award with the prestige of the Eagle award.

Now in the world where Boy Scouts has officially changed their name to Scouts BSA, and all levels of scouting are open to young women, I'm thrilled that this has been a topic of conversation within the scouting community for better than twenty years. I'm sad it took so long, but glad it happened.

Again, it absolutely doesn't dilute the award with more people now able to attain Eagle. I'd be proud to be in attendance at the first Eagle Court of Honor where a young woman is awarded the rank I've proudly held since 1997. In fact, Scouting BSA, if you're reading this, please get me in there.

Finally, the razors. NO I WILL NOT BE BOUND BY THE ORDER OF MY TITLE! That Gillette ad. Oof.

First off, I loved it. One of the phrases that has really driven me nuts since I became a teacher is "Boys will be boys." Here are my problems with that phrase: 1) It excuses behaviors that boys absolutely can control and 2) It makes it seem as though boys are not capable of doing otherwise.

K. So let's start at the beginning. What really happens with this is that behaviors that are inexcusable with girls or even less-masculine boys are allowed because "that's what boys do". Why? Why do boys do that? Because we allow it. Because boys, specifically certain boys, are expected to break the rules for some reason.

To the second point, there have been quite a few times lately where it seems like men are treated as incapable of self-control. I feel like it never struck people that the self-control men seem to lack is learned in adolescence when we say that boys will be boys, as opposed to teaching them correct decorum.

In that Gillette ad, we're suddenly rewarding men for acting human. As mentioned previously, I love the commercial. I actually love the run of corporations making social stands. When I first watched the commercial, I found myself actively rooting throughout. For what? I don't know. I was excited.

This isn't quite where I found this ending, but I never felt comfortable in the traditionally masculine stereotypes. I played volleyball and tennis in high school. I was also 6'5" and weighed less than 170 pounds when I graduated high school. Football, for example, wasn't really going to work for me.

Toxic masculinity is problematic. I'm not saying I haven't partaken in it from time to time, but it's not good. The fact that more and more you're seeing a wide array of examples of what it means to be a man, or woman, or whatever, means more and more people can be comfortable with themselves.

I'm glad these things are changing. I know I come from a unique perspective, but I'm glad that more and more people are finding opportunities. We're not even close to where we need to be, but each step can be celebrated.

Why Would You Say That?

So, this past weekend, the club volleyball team I coach participated in the Asics President's Day Classic in Omaha. I couldn't have asked for a better weekend from the team. Every single player got better, and I literally saw seismic changes in the course of just a couple of points.

It brings me, however, to the title of this entry. On two different times Sunday, an official or a coach who had been on the other side of the net told me that they were impressed that I coached my team all the way till the end. Huh?

My first thought was, that's literally my job. My job is to help these young athletes get better, learn from every mistake, and grow their competence and confidence in volleyball.

Then it hit me, and I've watched and commented on this a lot, but my humility (yes, I swear I have some), gets in the way sometimes. I felt like I was doing the bare minimum, but there are coaches I see ALL THE TIME who are doing so much less.

My style of coaching has always been super-engaged. It's the only way I think about it. I'm not trying to make a spectacle, though I know I sometimes do. I get caught up in the emotion of the match in much the same way my players do. Although I like to think that most of the time I can be calm and reasoned when need be, and I try not to get too hot-headed.

Though I've definitely not always been perfect, I try to take the lessons that I imperfectly use in teaching, specifically praise in public, criticize in private. The times I haven't stuck to this, I've tried to make sure I apologize to the athlete in question.

I certainly have tried not to scream at my players in front of a whole gym. I don't think that gets you any place as a coach and it sure doesn't fit my style. Again, the times when I have, I've tried to make it right with the athletes.

One has to acknowledge that all players respond to different coaching. There are absolutely athletes who thrive when getting called out in front of large groups. However, that's not my personality, and I know it comes off as artificial and contrived.

Rarely have I been without something to say to the players on the court. That's why it's so easy for me to coach all the way to the very last point. I've also seen some spectacular comebacks in my day, and don't ever want to deny the players that opportunity because it feels as though I've given up on them. It's not who I am.

Prior to now, did I think of my technique as teaching great lessons to my players? No. I really didn't. However, being engaged with your team every point conveys the message that they're still important, valuable, and can be successful, even if things aren't going perfectly.

One of the things I love about the club that I have the privilege to coach for is that's exactly what our club director expects. The expectation is that we coach the kids to improve every point and play the right way, and then winning will come. We know if we train the girls correctly in practice, and enforce that "We will get better every point" mindset, the wins will come in spades. The club season is a marathon, not a sprint. So far, every year I've coached with this club, it's been the case that the teams have been much better at the end of the season. I'm so grateful to still be part of the organization.

This whole, "Why Would You Say That?" thing got me thinking about something down the same lines that's always bothered me. The idea that dads "babysit" their own kids. I'm sorry, but that's unfathomably stupid to me, and kind of offensive.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized we say it for the EXACT SAME REASON as the coaching comments from the officials and other coaches I mentioned earlier. Other dads set the bar so low. The idea that dads only parent part time, or from time to time is sort of like babysitting.

If you read this and take issue with this last bit, that's fine. So far, in my marriage, the division of responsibility has been pretty good, I think (signs that I'm probably wrong....). I SO look forward to coming home every day and playing with Everett. In fact, I look forward to it more each day because I swear to God he learns how to do something new and fun daily.

I don't babysit Everett. I never have. I never will. He's my son. I parent him. Sometimes well, sometimes not as well, but I signed up to be his parent, not his babysitter.

Ideally, the type of coaching for which I received the compliments I did over the weekend would become so commonplace, no one would even notice me. Heck, I wish people didn't notice me coaching, because it takes the focus off the players who are putting their all on the line. I know, I know, I do stupid things on the sideline that naturally draw attention, but it's not to put the attention on me, it's to celebrate with my players; to show them that I'm with them.