I hesitated. The front desk attendant noticed, so she asked again, “Would you like an appointment with this doctor, or do you want someone else?” The thing was, I wanted someone else. My first interaction with this individual wasn’t bad per se, but it didn’t leave me very inspired. But I hesitated. I showed my cards, and now I had to decide if I was going to be nice or lie. So I lied and said yes, I would take the appointment.

Me and two of my best friends are huddled close, walking as a unit through the forest. It’s after midnight, the small glowing slit in the sky proving no moonlight. What are those sounds to the left? Was that a branch breaking in the distance? How far away is the cabin? Will it be any safer once we get inside?

One of my favorite shows growing up was Boy Meets World. You remember, with Cory and Topanga as the fated couple from middle school on. And of course there was Shawn as the best friend, and Mr. Feeny as the wise teacher who miraculously ends up at every school and institution they journey through. If you were young when you started watching, you grew with the characters. Every new season followed those kids through the same stages of development you were dealing with at home. Dating, puberty, family dynamics, morality - it was all there. As you experienced speed bumps at school, you got to compare notes with Cory’s choices. It was relatable.

This story starts on a foggy winter day. A thick layer of ice had formed on our driveway, and the continual driving in and out had only hardened our tracks. It looked like train tracks coming out of the garage, with our vehicles locked onto a oneway path.

Christmas means presents - presents mean Lego - Lego means building on the floor. Or at least it used to. When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time bent into all kinds of positions while constructing castles and spaceships. I must have looked like some sort of child yoga instructor. As time passed, the bricks stacked higher, my instruction books got to the last page, and I bounced up like a rabbit catching the distant smell of carrots.

“Maybe we should just tear this off and go back to what we know.” That was the day’s opening line from my dad as we stood frustrated in a room littered with stone. It was the second day on a new job, and ambivalence filled the air. We were trying something different, and it wasn’t going well. 

Pulling out of the bank parking lot, I stop at the sidewalk, waiting for a pedestrian to cross the road. Only he is taking his time. That glitch happens in my brain that flips me from endless patience to immediate annoyance. Then I notice why he is lingering. His eyes scan the ground left and right in no particular pattern, but obviously looking for something. When he spots it, he bends over to pick it up, then holds it daintily like a handkerchief in the hands of an old Duchess. It’s a sticky piece of trash.

Rather unexpectedly, I checked something off my bucket list. Maybe not a full cross-off, but I got as close as I think I ever will. I saw Malala Yousafzai speak in person at the Moore Theater. I read her first book about ten years ago, and have been intrigued ever since. She became an internationally recognized figure in 2012 after she was shot by the Taliban on her school bus at the age of 15. Why was she targeted? She refused to stop speaking up for girls' education rights in the Swat District of Pakistan. At 17, she became the youngest Nobel Prize laureate in history.

Stepping out of my truck at the grocery store parking lot after work, I pause and grab my headphones. Then I stop completely, my feet on the pavement, my hand resting on a pair of AirPods. Do I want to interact with people or not? Tired from slinging rock, I would love to tune out the rest of the world. On the other hand, I just had headphones in at work all day. Wouldn't small talk with a random acquaintance be better?

Kids are scattered across the beach like driftwood. Some run back and forth with the waves, tempting the fate of wet shoes on the walk home. Others have removed their footwear and socks, unable to resist splashing their feet in the water. Small pods of children move slowly with their heads down, looking for crabs and treasures washed ashore. A few premature contractors build a fort with logs softened by the water’s pounding.

“I would send you a bouquet of newly-sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address.” This is part of the opening voiceover in You’ve Got Mail. Remember that movie? It stars Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan as internet pen pals who don’t know each other, but slowly fall in love through the written word. It’s a modern twist on an old plot, although the use of AOL makes it seem like the Stone Age. Besides being one of my favorite romantic comedies, I always remember that line when the summer fades. School shopping means fancy writing utensils, which inevitably reminds me of Mr. Hanks being cheeky as a big box store owner.

“You are one of the old-timers.” I was surprised and honored when a friend called me this. He was in his seventies, I in my thirties. We were having a discussion about the development of land and business in the valley we call home. It’s the same conversation happening in every small town across the country. If population and production are declining, what went wrong? If they are exploding, where did all these damn people come from and when will it go back to the way it was?

My daughter likes to tell me to calm down, but she doesn’t use that phrase. She tells me to “chill the beans.” I had no idea where this saying came from. Was it some whimsical cartoon she caught after school? Perhaps it was one of those Disney or Nickelodeon shows where the kids overact in a way that only connects with young’uns on this side of the screen? So I asked her, and it has no origin. A unique expression. How fresh.

During a recent fundraising event, a man was introduced and brought to the stage. He was described as a singer, songwriter, and musician. A local gem with talents ready to share with his community. Wearing a black, short sleeve, button-up shirt and jeans, he ascended the stage and stepped to the microphone. Then he spoke.

I spotted them from the upstairs deck of a hotel. The father looked in his sixties, his daughter around thirty. They were in the parking lot, standing on opposing sides of a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Even from a distance, I could tell they had a close relationship. They were all smiles and chuckles. They could have been rehashing the day's travels, or distant memories from childhood. Either way, they were happy.

As an adult, why do bad dreams still scare so thoroughly? Granted, they happen less frequently as you age, but they still carry a lot of bite. That feeling of terror, and the inevitability of something heading toward disaster seem written into every screenplay. Heck, once in a blue moon I still wonder if a monster may be under the bed. If only it were Sully from Monsters Inc!

How do you feel when finally arriving at a moment you have been anticipating all year? I couldn’t wait to experience something similar to my favorite stretch from last year - traveling with my wife and daughter. We thought our road trip to national parks was special even as it was happening. A few months later, we were still talking about those invigorating weeks. Fast forward a year, and I was getting nervous.

The summer vibes have been as hot as the midday sun for our family in July. Swimming, camps, fresh cut grass, more swimming, barbecues with friends, late evenings looking at the stars, and even more swimming. I feel like my summer bingo card is almost completely checked off. Here are some of my favorite scenes.

Stopping at my wife's favorite sandwich shop, I observed something that made me pause and smile. I witnessed two employees flirting. They were the only two working, and I think they were happy about that. The scene started innocently enough. Only the guy was out front when I walked in, and I could tell he was a good employee. Kind words floated toward me as I approached the counter, where I was greeted with a warm smile.

“How long have you known the bride and groom?” Whenever I hear this question, I feel like I have done a good job officiating. Usually the intonation of the questions bends toward a belief that I have known the couple for a long time. It is poignant when it comes from a family member, especially a grandparent.