Tim made a big mistake and shaved his beard. Jenni and Tim discuss the family’s reaction to this extreme change. They also discuss their weekend getting rid of junk, day drinking, and watching The Masters. They finish things off by diving into their memories (or lack thereof) of infomercials. We’re glad you’re here to laugh with us.
This is shaping up to be a flawless travel day, is my first thought as I step off of the shuttle bus into the drizzle and chilly early spring air at the rental car lot next to the Philadelphia Airport.
As a sports fan, I know better than this. You are not supposed to talk about the perfect game or no-hitter with the pitcher in the dugout, as it guarantees a hit next inning when he’s back up on the mound. When the sportscaster talks about the incredible streak of made shots at the free-throw line, the next shot is sure to clang off the iron.
To be fair, it wasn’t a typical travel day.
My son had been asking to see my sister and their kids in Maryland since we saw them when they came to Minnesota in September. When my wife, Jenni, and I looked at the calendar and discovered Spring Break rolled into Easter this year, it seemed like a fantastic opportunity to book a trip to the East Coast.
We decided it would be fun to surprise our children with the trip when we got to the airport. Lucky for us, our daughter had been asking to go on an airplane… anywhere, so the surprise would land with her just as well as it would with him.
*Advice for parents planning to surprise their children with a trip: don’t pack your suitcase the morning of your flight. Yes, you will easily convince yourself that you aren’t procrastinating. You’ll think you’re preserving the surprise by not leaving the clue of a half-packed suitcase lying around. Unfortunately, this will make you panic every time you hear a noise while packing and cause you to question your mental capacity when you look at the random assortment of clothing in your suitcase when you open it at your final destination.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for a more significant reaction from my children. It’s not as though they weren’t excited, but I was hoping for utter shock. What percentage of people have had the experience of being surprised with a trip to the airport on the day of their departure?
The surprise could be the worst destination in the world, say… Madison, WI, and still, I would be in a puddle of tears if I got surprised with a vacation at the airport.
We checked our suitcase without issue despite Jenni packing a bag for her and my daughter that weighed nearly half as much as their combined body weight.
Security took about ten minutes despite the fact we forgot to take tablets out of two of our carry-ons. We found food the kids and Jenni would eat before the flight, right before the hangry river of rage started to flow out of my wife; the Prosecco helped, too.
If your significant other gets “hangry,” do not ask them, “Are you hungry?” When you notice the hanger level starting to rise. I nearly derailed our trip by making this observation about my wife as we stood in line for pizza.
Our flight was on time, and we landed ahead of schedule. When we got to baggage claim, I immediately saw our overweight suitcase making its loops around the carousel and snagged it.
This is why I had the guts to allow myself to take a breath and pat myself on the back in the rental lot.
I walked over to look at the board to find my name and where my rental card would be parked. Instead of a parking space number next to my name, I saw “see desk.”
Most days, I would have been panicked by this message. On this day, it didn’t occur to me that I could ever have an issue traveling ever again.
I entered the small yet clean rental car office. I waited in a short line to talk to one of two representatives helping other customers.
I gave my name as I approached the kiosk and started to wince in preparation for bad news. After some quick clicking on the keyboard, the woman smiled and said, “You reserved an electric car; that’s why you needed to come in here today.”
I did, in fact, reserve a Tesla. It was a secondary surprise for my son and a treat for me. Before you start calling this a humble brag, I will let you know it cost ten dollars more than renting a Toyota Corolla or “something similar” when I reserved the car.
Once everything was settled, the rental car company representative told me they would immediately pull the car up for me.
My family was waiting on the curb when I joined them.
“Daddy, what if they gave us a Tesla?” My son asked as he saw our car weaving through the parking lot.
“Yeah, I don’t think we will get a Tesla, buddy.”
“Yeah, that would be, like, so expensive.”
I smiled and winked at Jenni as we silently acknowledged how perfect that was for the surprise to land even better.
Moments like those make you forget the whining, the fights, and the worry of having kids. Like a stack of napkins that have been blown to the ground by the wind, some of the moments are carried away before you have a chance to remember they existed; others hit the ground and stay put just long enough for you to bend over and grab them, almost as if they were holding on just for you.
If you’re a parent, chase those moments and stomp them to the ground before the wind whisks them away. Pick it up and shove it into your back pocket with the snot cover tissue and fruit snack wrappers because someday you’ll pull it out. It will be the most valuable napkin you have ever held.
When the Tesla pulled up, my son had the look of shock you’d expect to see on someone who just found out they were going on a flight halfway across the country for Spring Break at the airport.
As we pulled up to the booth at the exit of the rental car lot, the attendant scanned the barcode on the dash and said, “It’s not letting me check you out; there is a problem with the car.”
“What does that mean, ‘there is a problem with the car?'” Jenni whisper-shouted at me from the passenger seat.
Twenty-four and a half years of experience with this woman had taught me that the question was not rhetorical, so I repeated it to the attendant.
“I don’t know. Sometimes, there are errors with the car, but we don’t know what they are until a technician looks at it. Let me call my manager.”
“What the fuck does that even mean? Why would they drive a car up to us that wasn’t working?” Jenni continued from the passenger seat, making sure I was seeing the injustice of the situation we were in, and making sure I didn’t fold to the pressure in an effort to make the interaction as smooth as possible.
Usually, that would be a fair concern. However, I rented this car for my son, who had, just a week earlier, counted every Tesla we saw on the road throughout a thirty-minute drive. Leaving the rental car lot in something other than a Tesla was impossible.
The attendant wrapped up the call with his manager, “Yeah, you are going to have to bring the car back in and pick a new one. Good news, you’re getting a complimentary upgrade to any sedan in that row.”
“This is a Tesla… upgrade… Tesla!” is all I can hear from the whisper-yelling from the passenger seat.
“So, you’re saying there’s a problem with the car, not with my reservation?”
“Right. I know you really want to drive the Tesla, but you’re not going to be able to today.”
I hadn’t said anything about being excited to drive the Tesla, so this comment convinced me I would need to have a conversation with someone else. He directed the line of cars behind me to back up so I could return the vehicle.
“Do you want me to go talk to them?” Jenni asked. I would typically respond with an enthusiastic “yes,” but since going with the flow would have ruined my son’s day, I let her know I would handle it.
I returned to the rental car office and approached the woman who had assisted me the first time. I told her I wasn’t allowed to leave with the Tesla. She looked as confused as I was by this news and told me she would investigate. She went to the back room to discuss the situation with her manager.
I stood in the empty office waiting and rehearsing how I would get ‘tough’ if the answer was anything other than renting us the Tesla when my phone rang. I looked at the screen to see a call from an unknown number in Philadelphia and answered.
“Hi, Mr. Severson. This is Janet with Delta Baggage Services. Did you take the wrong luggage after your flight from Minneapolis today?”
I didn’t have to think about it as I closed my eyes and tilted my face skyward, “Most likely.”
“Have you left the airport, sir?”
“No, I’m at the rental car lot right now, but I can be back as soon as I have my rental car.”
She told me where to go to return the stranger’s suitcase I had in my possession and get my actual suitcase while I apologized profusely.
My anxiety, which is typically paired with my travel, was finally served. I had to jinx it by slowing up before I crossed the finish line and was now facing my punishment.
The woman returned from the back room, and I readied myself for battle. Fortunately for me, there would be no battle as she explained that she had missed a step in renting an electronic vehicle out to me.
As Jenni and our kids had never gotten out, I returned to the car to see “On Rent” written with white car chalk on the two back windows. The attendant from the booth had come around and written this to ensure we didn’t leave the lot in the Tesla. Having that written on both the windows took some fun out of driving it, but I had a suitcase to return.
We parked near the Philadelphia airport’s arrival doors in an area with few cars, hoping no one would walk through to tell Jenni she needed to move the vehicle.
I ran down the sidewalk and through baggage claim like a former Heisman Trophy winner to return the stolen luggage, convinced I was about to get an earful from an Eagles fan.
I found the Delta Baggage office and was relieved not to see anyone obviously waiting on their luggage. I found Janet, who assured me this kind of thing happens all the time.
“You have morons flying in from Minnesota all the time?”
Janet stared at me, not getting my joke. A hand reached from behind me and rolled what I thought was my suitcase away.
I turned and stood face to face with the man whose luggage I had taken. He looked to be in his late twenties. He stared at me with a vacant look. He wasn’t mad, but he didn’t have a look of understanding either.
“I am so unbelievably sorry.”
No change in expression.
I then did something I had never done before in my entire life: I pressed my palms together in front of my chest and started doing these twenty-degree bows as I repeated, “I’m so sorry,” multiple times.
Still nothing.
I was about to turn to Janet to gauge how this interaction was going from a third party’s vantage point. Before I could do that, a younger man leaned his head through the door and, with a thick accent, said, “It’s okay.”
“Are you sure? I’m so sorry, I was trying to figure out where to catch the shuttle for the rental cars and I grabb…”
“It’s. Okay,” the second man interrupted. The other man flashed me a quick grin before he turned, and they walked away.
Turning toward Janet to grab my bag, I said, “I’m just going to get out of this airport before anything else goes wrong.”
“It really happens all the time,” Janet called after me as I walked away.
“I really doubt that,” I said to myself as I began my way back to the rental car with the correct suitcase this time.
People often use hyperbole when discussing what they would do for their children. Parents make statements like, “I’d step in front of a bus for my child” or “I’d take a bullet for my kids,” and I always think: but would you?
It’s not that I am questioning their love. Instead, it’s usually because those statements are uttered after something mundane occurs. It’s easy to claim you’d do anything, but we don’t get to know what we would do until those moments present themselves.
Now, I can tell my kids, honestly, “I would have a stern conversation with a rental car agent for you.”
Because even though it didn’t happen, I was ready. I was prepared to say what needed to be said to ensure my son got to ride in a Tesla.
I had a short time to come up with what I would say, and it was good. If said with the correct tone of voice, I would have gotten the Tesla and most likely gotten a discount. It’s a short statement that is to the point and could get me out of even the stickiest of situations.
Since I didn’t use it, I figured here is as good a place as any to share it:
This week, Tim and Jenni talk about the early spring blizzard in Minnesota. Then it’s time to get wild because it’s Spring Break 2024! Tim and Jenni talk about their plan to surprise their kids at the airport with a trip to Maryland to visit Tim’s sister. Then they talk about airports and airplanes: when to arrive to the airport for your flight, traveling with kids, Jenni getting through TSA, and Tim’s biggest airplane passenger pet peeve. They talk about their vacation plans, and Jenni reveals just how much she loves Old Bay. We appreciate you being here! Don’t forget to subscribe.
Join Tim and Jenni for some laughs on Episode 7 of The Kids Are In Bed. They recall some stories from their most recent date night: live music, trivia, and Tim being awkward. Then, they direct their attention to this week’s topic: Driving. The pair discuss driving pet peeves, Jenni’s abysmal driving record, and Tim’s alleged traffic violation. Thanks for being here. Don’t forget to subscribe to one (or both) of the links below!
Tim and Jenni give a quick Oscars recap before they find out that, for the first time in podcast history, the kids AREN’T in bed. Next, they talk restaurants: they’re early experiences as parents, the neverending search for the perfect “family friendly” restaurant, and Tim’s big ideas to improve the restaurant industry. Don’t forget to Subscribe!
Tim and Jenni opened bottles of LamarcA to record their Oscars Special, and it showed. We recommend opening your own bottle to join them in discussing all things Oscars and movies.
In this episode, Tim and Jenni discuss their love of the Academy Awards, how becoming parents added a gap in their movie knowledge, their favorite movies and performances of previous winners, their predictions for this year’s awards, and Tim’s impromptu acceptance speech.
This week, Tim and Jenni discuss getting up early, Tim’s chase for a speedwalking world record, Jenni’s hilarious practical joke, the best age for Disney, and their weekend at Grand View Lodge. Make sure to subscribe and find out where Tim will have a breakdown next!
The Kids Are In Bed Episode 3 – Tim and Jenni discuss Tim’s latest piece, “Letting Go,” their latest strategy for keeping their kids in bed, what couples most commonly fight about, and all things “Grease.” Don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe. New episodes every Wednesday!
He feels the warm morning sun on his face through the blinds in his bedroom, followed by her warmth as she presses against his back, draping her arm over his shoulder. He takes a deep breath and catches a faint scent of her perfume from yesterday.
“I think today is the day,” she whispers, gently into his year.
With that, his eyes open, and he is awake. He rolls over to see the bright, smiling face of his wife, Catherine, framed by her long blonde hair. He is always caught off guard by how the smallest moments remind him how lucky he is to have her in his life, convinced his heart will explode out of his chest.
I can’t wait to tell my Dad; he is going to be thrilled, Daniel thought.
“Have you felt any contractions?” He said, trying to disguise the concern in his voice.
“I think I felt one a little while ago. It was faint, but something tells me, today is the day,” she said with a smile, then concern flashed across her face, “Regardless, I think you need to do it today.”
“I know,” he said, rolling to his back and wiping the sleep out of his eyes.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay. You’ve been preparing, and just think, once it’s over you’ll get to meet your daug…” Catherine said, cutting herself off when she realized what she had started to say.
“Wait. Daughter? We’re going to have a baby girl?”
“Don’t be mad. When I went in for my last check, the nurse accidentally told me and…”
“Mad? Mad?! How could I be mad? We are going to have a baby girl, a little you. I have never been more excited in my entire life.”
He gave Catherine a kiss, got out of bed, and made his way to the shower. He needed to get in touch with his Dad; the sooner, the better.
Sharing big news with his Dad is one of his favorite things to do in life. He had a knack for providing a reaction that matched the moment’s gravity. Never underwhelmed, never too much enthusiasm, always just right.
He smiled as he rinsed the shampoo from his hair, recalling the day he got his first hole-in-one. On a late August evening, he got off the golf course just before sunset. He ran to his car to call his Dad, ignoring the yells from his friends reminding him he had to pay for drinks inside the clubhouse.
“Hey buddy, what’s up? Your Mom and I are out for dinner in one of those restaurants that consider it rude to have a conversation above a murmur,” he whispered.
“Oh, uh, sorry, maybe we can just talk tomorrow,” he said, hoping the disappointment wasn’t evident on his face.
“Hmmm, something tells me I want to hear this news right now.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt.”
His Dad stared at the phone with a knowing look.
“Alright, alright. Well, I just got off the course, and I got a hole-in-one on fifteen,” Daniel said, trying to keep his voice at a respectful volume. He realized his Dad hadn’t moved as he broke the news and said, “Dad, are you there?”
Then he saw the corners of his Dad’s mouth start to curl into a smile threatening to touch his ears as he said, “Gotcha.”
Then he stood up, knocking his chair over backward. Then, in the middle of the quiet and crowded restaurant, he yelled, “Woooo! Attention everyone: my son just got his first hole-in-one, and the next round is on me. Let’s go!”
The once-silent restaurant erupted into cheers as Daniel heard his Mom attempting to tell the other customers it was a joke, but it was too late. That would go down as the day Daniel hit a hole-in-one, and his Dad ran up a two thousand dollar bar tab.
He dressed, made himself a cup of coffee, and sighed dramatically.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to call your Dad with you, sweetheart?” His wife said.
“Yeah. I need to do this on my own. Your focus should be on your contractions, and if anything changes…”
“Go straight to the hospital, and don’t interrupt you.”
“Very funny. I mean it. If anything changes, I want you to come get me. You and our baby, our Daughter, are all that matter today.”
“Yes, sir,” she said with a salute.
She watched him walk into their home office and shut the door. She immediately grabbed her phone and made a call.
“Hey, it’s me… Yes, they started about an hour ago… About 20 minutes apart… No, no, not too painful yet… Listen, he just went in to make the phone call, and I think it would go a long way if you were here when he finished… Yes, a theatrical sigh… Okay, great, see you soon,” she said, hanging up the phone.
She stared at the closed door, hoping it would turn out better than expected.
He sits in his office, staring at the cursor hovering over the New FaceTime button, mentally preparing himself.
“You can do this,” he said to himself, finally clicking the button.
As usual, the call connected after two and a half rings, and his Dad’s face appeared on his screen.
“Hey buddy, how’s your day going?” His Dad said.
“Good, Dad. Really good, actually.”
“That’s what I like to hear. What is making my son’s day so great this morning?”
“Catherine started having contractions about an hour ago. They are still pretty far apart, but it seems like today will be the day I meet my Daughter.”
“Daughter? Daughter? I thought we would have to wait until the baby was born to find out.”
“Me too, Dad,” he said with a smile, “a nurse accidentally let it slip at one of Catherine’s appointments a few weeks ago. She told me this morning.”
“You know, I wanted you to be a girl. I was so sure you were a girl. I bought all sorts of pink clothes and toys and hid them from your mother. It wasn’t until you were a few weeks old that I broke the news to your Mom. The look on her face when I told her I didn’t save the receipts was priceless. Of course, I wouldn’t change a thing now. Being your Dad has been the absolute best part of my life. I am so proud of you, buddy. You’re going to be an amazing father.”
“I learned from the best,” he said, fighting back tears.
“Who? Me? Oh, c’mon, keep going,” his Dad said, beckoning his son to keep the stream of compliments flowing.
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, buddy. What’s wrong? You seem far too sad on such a special day.”
“I just, well, I’ve got to…”
“You’re nervous, aren’t you? It’s okay. I remember the day you were born. I was so sure you were a girl…”
The same story. This had become a more common occurrence and one of the primary reasons that today would be the last day he spoke to his Dad. He read his notes about how to do this properly as his Dad continued his story.
Be direct. Don’t worry about feelings. Irrational lashing out is to be expected.
“… anyway,” his Dad continued, “I know you will be an amazing father. And I am going to be an even better Grandfather. I cannot wait to meet my Grandaughter.”
“That’s the thing, Dad. I have to tell you something.”
“Uh-oh, this doesn’t sound good.”
“You’re not going to meet her,” he said, bracing himself for the reaction.
There was a long pause as his Dad’s face cycled through emotion from devastation to fury. It looked as though all of his facial muscles were working independently of one another, trying to find the rhythm.
“I. Don’t. Understand.”
“Here’s the thing, Dad, you actually…”
“I don’t understand,” his Dad interrupted, his voice filled with anger and hurt, “how my own son. The child I raised… No, the man I raised has the balls to tell me I can’t see my own Grandaughter. Do you know what this is going to do to your mother? Did you ever stop to consider…”
“Dad, Mom is going to be fine. She will come to the hospital first thing after the baby is born.”
“So,” his Dad began, chin quivering, “I don’t get… What did I do?”
“Dad…”
“No,” his Dad interrupted through a sob, “Just tell me what I did. Tell me what I did wrong, and I will fix it. I will do whatever it takes. Please, I am begging you, buddy, don’t do this to me.”
“Dad, I can’t… there isn’t anything,” he tried to get the words out, but the dam had burst, and tears began to stream down his cheeks.
“Hey, buddy, don’t cry. Whatever it is, we will fix it. I’ve got your back. I’m always here for you, no matter what. You know that, right?”
“Of course. I ju- I think I hear Catherine calling for me; I’ll be right back. Just a sec.”
He walked out of the office and right out the front door. When he was on the front step, he took out his phone and dialed.
“AI Love You, how may I assist you today?” A friendly woman answered.
“Hi, this is Daniel Wilson. Will you connect me to Devon Wright, please?”
“Just a moment,” the woman responded, placing the call on hold.
At AI Love You, we believe in love that lasts forever. Losing a loved one can take a toll on your health and well-being, but it doesn’t have to. Stay on the line, and a representative will help you keep that special someone in your life for…
“Hi, this is Devon. How may I assist you today?”
“Hi, Devon, this is Daniel Wilson. I am ready to terminate my membership.”
“Hi, Mr. Wilson, I’m so sorry to hear that. Are you sure there is nothing we can do to keep your bus..”
“Save it. Like I said the last time we spoke, I am done. You took advantage of me when I was most vulnerable, and I have been stuck in this purgatory, pretending a computer program is my Dad for over a year now. I am having a baby, and I must move on with my life,” he said, trying to avoid yelling into his phone, “and now, your fancy program is making me despise my Father.”
“My apologies, Mr. Wilson, but as I explained the last time we spoke, our AI rendering of your Father has limitations. Since you never disowned him in real life, there is no data to predict how he would have reacted,” Devon explained, attempting to sound sympathetic but missing the mark.
“For the last time, I am not disowning my Father. That thing is not my Dad. I want to terminate my membership.”
“I understand. Just bear with me one moment. My system is a little slow today… must be a Monday,” Devon said, keyboard keys clicking in the background, “aaand, just have to make sure… yep, there we go. Alright, Mr. Wilson, when you return to the call, you will now see the END MY RELATIONSHIP button. As a reminder, once you have ended the re…”
“Stop saying I am ending the relationship. Cancer killed my Dad sixteen months ago, so I am not ending the relationship with my Dad. I am terminating my membership with your company.”
“Yes. My apologies. Please remember that once your membership has been terminated, all your supplied data will be permanently deleted. There is no recovery process.”
“I understand,” Daniel said.
“Excellent. Your account is ready to be terminated. I want to thank you for calling AI Love You. If you have the time, I would appreciate it if you would stay on the line to complete a brief surv…”
Daniel ended the call. It took every ounce of self-control not to throw his phone into the street. He took a deep breath and went back inside.
Catherine was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking concerned.
“Hey,” he said, moving toward her with his arms open for a hug, “I’m okay. We knew this was going to be complicated. I just need a couple more minutes, then we can focus on finally meeting our baby girl.”
He gave her a kiss and walked back into the office. His Dad’s face remained on his computer screen, blinking every three seconds, expressionless.
“Hey, buddy,” his Dad said happily when Daniel walked into view, “What took you so long?”
“Look, Dad,” Daniel said, “I need you just to listen now, no talking, okay?”
“You got it, buddy. Whoops, this doesn’t count. My lips are zipped.”
“I love you so much. I miss you every day. I hate that my Daughter will never get to meet you and have fun with you the way we did when I was little. When you died, I thought my world ended too. The world turned into this drab place of existence for me, and I was desperate to get you back. Signing up for this thing was a mistake. I see that now. I need to focus all of my attention on Catherine and our Daughter. I can’t keep talking to a ghost in my office. I want to be the Dad to her that you were to me, and losing you taught me not to waste a moment doing anything else other than watching her grow into the wonderful woman she is sure to be,” the cursor was hovering over the END MY RELATIONSHIP button, “I love you so much, Dad.”
“Not as much as I love you, buddy.”
Daniel clicked his mouse, and the call ended. A survey was on the computer screen where his Dad’s face was just moments ago.
On a scale from 1-10, how likely would you be to refer a friend to AI Love You based on your call today?
He clicked ‘1’ and put the monitor to sleep. Rubbing his eyes, he stood up from his desk, ready to meet his Daughter.
He opened the door to see his Mom waiting for him.
“Mom? How did you…”
“Catherine called. She thought it would be a good idea if I came over, “she said, “Don’t worry, I’m not coming to the hospital until the baby is born, but I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
With that, he buried his face into his Mom’s shoulder and finally cried the way he should have sixteen months ago. She pulled him in tight, shushing in his ear and making him feel safe the way only a Mother can. Once he settled down, she pulled away.
“I brought you something,” she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a flash drive.
“What’s this?” Daniel said, grabbing the flash drive out of her hand.
“As soon as your Father got his diagnosis, he started making videos for you. We would sit in the living room reading or talking, and a thought would hit him. He would drop everything, go to the office, and record a video for you,” his Mom said, a single tear falling down her cheek, “he was so worried you would be sad, so whenever he thought of anything, stories, advice, or even just a joke, he wanted to record it so he could be there for you in case you needed him.”
After a moment to compose herself, she continued.
“I planned to give it to you the day you told me about AI Love You. It was probably a mistake, but I thought it better to let you grieve in your own way. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to get in the way. There are hundreds of videos on there, but there is one that he would want you to watch today,” his Mom said with a knowing smile. They called for Catherine to join them in the office.
Daniel sat in front of the computer and plugged the flash drive in. He opened the folder when it appeared on his screen, and it expanded to dozens of sub-folders for different occasions. “Golf Tips” and “Don’t Do This” were some of the folder names. His Mom pointed at the folder that said: “How to Dad.” He opened the folder to over a hundred videos for parenting milestones and challenges.
“This is the one,” his Mom said, pointing to the first video title, ‘If it’s a Girl.’
He double-clicked the video, and the Quicktime application opened. There was his Dad, his real Dad, sitting in his old office chair with a lit cigar in his mouth.
“Hey, buddy! Sho I her itsh a girl,” he said, the cigar making it hard for him to annunciate. He took it out and placed it in an ashtray as he clicked his tongue, trying to rid his mouth of the taste, “ugh, I’ll never understand why people like these things.”
Daniel looked at his Mom as they both began to laugh.
“Congratulations, buddy. Did you know that I wanted you to be a girl? I was so sure…”
I am a big fan of small acts of kindness – gestures that may appear insignificant but potentially alter a stranger’s day.
One of my favorites is holding doors open for people. I live for the moment when a stranger’s eyes light up at an act that takes so little effort. I like to think the light I see in their eyes will, at the very least, carry them through whatever they might be going through. They may be more patient with their children or significant other or find their own small gesture that allows them to pass the light to someone else.
Because I have chosen door-holding as one of my favorite hobbies, I often find myself separated from my wife, Jenni, when we enter restaurants when I am out with her.
I do my best to beat my wife to the door so that I can hold it for her. This gesture rarely brings a light to her eyes or even a ‘thank you,’ for that matter. Sometimes, I worry Jenni walks into doors when she is alone because she assumes all doors will open for her.
Once, I opened her car door for her, thinking it would be an unexpected romantic gesture sure to score me big points. Jenni stopped short of the door and glared at me when she said, “Don’t do that.”
“I thought women find it romantic?”
“Well, I don’t.”
“K,” I said, retreating to the other side of the car.
My point is, if she’s out there walking into doors when I’m not around, she deserves it.
When we get separated entering a restaurant or bar, it typically leads to an interaction inside the building with the strangers I have already held the door for as they want to aid me in reuniting with the person I arrived with.
As with so many things in life, these interactions have a pattern. I hold the door for my wife to see another person or people following her to the door; I continue to hold the door for them. They act as though they can’t believe the sacrifice I have made for them. When we are safely inside, they will say some variation of, “I suppose you want to be with her,” as they make room for me to rejoin my wife.
We are never as unique as we think we are, are we?
Whether they speak or not, there is always a look of realization that I am not with the person I arrived with.
Historically, this would be my cue to make a joke at my own expense (my favorite kind). I agree it is hard to believe a knockout like my wife is in public with me. And historically, I would get a laugh from strangers and an eye-roll from my wife.
Jenni and I recently went out on a date, just the two of us. This is a rare occurrence with a seven-year-old and five-year-old at home.
As I held the door for her to enter the cocktail bar, two women were approaching behind her. They thanked me profusely as they hurried inside to escape the below-zero temperature outside. I followed them in as my wife asked the hostess for a table for two. The women for whom I held the door were momentarily distracted as they took in the live music from the piano man right inside the main entrance.
They both looked at me when the hostess said, “Please, follow me,” to Jenni.
“Ope, you probably want to go with her,” one of them said as they split apart, allowing me to pass between them.
If you’re not from the Midwest, “Ope” is a colloquial term used to merge “oops” and an apology. If you need help remembering this, an excellent mnemonic device is Oops, Please Excuse me.
“I know, I know, it’s hard to believe she’s with me,” I said with a smile.
There wasn’t a laugh, smile, or even the patronizing sound of air being forcibly exhaled through the nose. Instead, I was met with two looks of confusion bordering on contempt.
I followed my wife and hostess to our table, trying to sort out what had gone wrong on the short journey.
Did I not say what I thought I said? Did I misunderstand what they said to me?
“You can’t get away with that anymore,” Jenni said, reading my mind as we sat at our table in the dimly lit bar.
“What do you mean?” I asked, genuinely curious about what she picked up on that I didn’t.
“Your joke. It doesn’t work anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Because you sound like a dick.”
“Thank you. How so?”
“You can’t say that anymore,” Jenni began, with the patience of a mathematical savant being forced to explain arithmetic, “because it doesn’t work when you look the way you do now.”
“The way I look now?” I asked, attempting to seem genuinely confused so she would continue to turn the explanation into a compliment.
“Look at you in that sweater with the jacket and man-bun looking all handsome. When you look like you do now, those jokes don’t work because it sounds like you’re suggesting I’m the lucky one for being with you.”
“So, they think I’m a douchebag?”
“Probably.”
At that moment, I felt my reality tilt slightly. It was like noticing a small detail in a painting that has hung on your wall for years that you can’t unsee but changes the way you view forever.
My entire personality is based on a version of myself that no longer exists. I have spent my life building a sense of humor based on making fun of how I appear to the outside world, or at least how I believe I appear.
When I look in the mirror, I still see this guy:
I took this exquisite photo on May 19, 2021, about a month after I started my journey to lose weight and look the way I do now. I didn’t have the guts to take one on the first day of my journey, so believe it or not, this is me after losing twenty-six pounds.
After looking at it that morning, I immediately saved it into my iPhone’s password-protected, hidden album. An album I assumed was for attractive people to safely store the nudes they are sent from other attractive people.
I swore to myself no one would ever see it.
I had hallucinations of what the reactions would look like on other people’s faces, ranging from outright laughter to complete disgust. I considered deleting it because I didn’t want someone to find it if I ended up dying in a car accident that day.
Clearly, there was no fatal car crash that day. Instead, I looked at that picture at least a dozen times during the day with a continuous loop of the most hateful, nasty criticisms running through my head.
I considered reverting to the lifestyle that led to that… physique. I was riding high when I grabbed my phone to snap the photo. The scale showed 239.2, the first time I had been in the two-thirties since eight years prior. I felt attractive, proud, and like I was making progress. One look at the picture left me devastated.
I hated the guy in the picture. I despised him and every shitty lifestyle decision he had made since October 8, 1984. I wanted to hide. I wanted to be cast away and left alone to live my remaining days in the misery I deserved.
In the past few months, I have discovered that the guy in that picture is not someone to hate.
I now see a guy desperate to feel good about his appearance, even just once. He wants to put on a shirt without closing his eyes, terrified to see and be disgusted by how the shirt fits his body when he looks in the mirror. He wants to eat a meal in front of someone else without trying to calculate exactly how much he can consume before people start to think to themselves; no wonder he is so big.
Now, that picture is on the Internet.
Strangers worldwide can stumble across it; their reactions will run the entire spectrum of possible responses.
I’m okay with that. Not because I had a glow-up but because I now love the guy in that picture. He worked his ass off, literally.
He believes that he is on the path to a better existence.
His only error is assuming that losing weight is where the work stops. God, how I wish he was right about that one.
It turns out reinventing ourselves is a lot of work, and I am still a work in progress.
I may not know everything about who my authentic self is, but I do know a few things:
If you see me jammin’ in my car on a Tuesday morning, singing at the top of my lungs, know that I am trying to turn that Tuesday morning into a Friday morning vibe with the likes of Taylor Swift, Sia, or Ariana Grande.
I like the idea that strangers might think I’m an attractive douchebag, as Jenni suggested. Still, I will do everything in my power to let my kindness be why people are drawn to me.
I will never stop making fun of myself. I am far too easy of a target.
I have found my place in this universe where I previously thought there might not be one for me. I have discovered what life can look and feel like when you are happy, and I will not give it up for anything.
I want to spread that feeling. I want to provide a break, whether through my writing, podcasting, or ridiculous videos, for anyone who needs a Friday morning vibe.
Like so many others, I have been conditioned to believe life must be a slow, miserable grind five days a week to earn two days of happiness. If you feel duped the same way I do, I would love for you to join me in staring that notion directly in the eye while enthusiastically encouraging it to get fucked.
While it doesn’t always feel like it, we are in control of how our lives play out. If there is something in your life, whether it be big or small, that you don’t like, change it. Turns out you are allowed to do that.
It won’t be easy, but the things in life worth doing rarely are.
