I am not a big sports fan, partially due to growing up short and slightly overweight and partially due to growing up in a city without any professional sports (Wichita, Kansas).
A few weeks ago, people yelled at me because of my appearance and clothing choice. It was Saturday, the 30th day of the month of May, and I was overdressed.
I can tell you from personal experience that being a Jewish senior citizen in the summer back in the day was pretty fantastic. And you're probably thinking to yourself, how would a 24-year-old even know what it was like to live like a Jewish senior citizen from firsthand experience? And to that I would say, I'm 30 and thank you.
My dad's most special quality lies in the ongoing development of our "language."
Behold the midlife crisis: a stark realization and critical time of change. Most dads turn in their sedan for a motorcycle and their North Face for a leather jacket. Some dye their hair and join the local band. But not my dad.
When my 1-year-old son, Johnny, was born I remember lifting him out of the basinet at the hospital for the first time. Completely swaddled in a hospital blanket, he was a fussy 8-pound burrito. I was in love with and in awe of him. We all had high hopes for him and our newly started family.