What a busy week, school started, Gabe is turning 21 and Dad turned a few years older than 21. Sierra kicked off her fourth grade year and Jackson began his academic career with the start of kindergarten. I have fond memories of kindergarten, best two years of my life.

That isn’t a joke. It seems my kindergarten teacher made some sort of unfounded claim that I wasn’t mature enough for first grade. How mature do you have to be for first grade? I mean I wasn’t shaving yet if that’s what she meant. The teacher in question told my parents that all I did all day in class was talk about baseball.

To me a kindergarten kid who can recite Ted Williams philosophy on hitting is much more mature than the ones playing Bert and Ernie on the playground. Anyway for whatever reason it was recommended I attend kindergarten twice.

My second year it was me and 13 girls. Great if you’re on spring break in Cancun, not so great when you’re at the age that you would rather have the stuffing ripped out of your favorite teddy bear than touch a girl. A side note: My favorite teddy bear was named CBS, it was one of two channels we had in Lignite.

So anyway, those thirteen girls are responsible for teaching me the joys of running….fast. My recesses all involved two things, them chasing me, me running from them. One day I thought, “you know they’re just a bunch of little girls. How much harm can they do?” So I stopped running.

I must have passed out from the pain because when I came to the playground was empty, and I was covered with hundreds of little girly finger pinch marks. From that point on I made sure I was limbered up and ready to zig and zag my way around playground equipment for the duration of the recess.

Enough about the abuse I was forced to endure because of a baseball hating kindergarten teacher. I mentioned that my little brother, Gabe is turning 21, and I will tell him the same thing Uncle Buck told me on my 21st birthday. “It’s all down hill from here, you don’t have anything else to look forward to from here on out.” That’ll put a tear in your beer.

Dad has turned 21 a couple of times now and to commemorate this year’s birthday I would like to submit his “70-0 Timeout” to Parenting Magazine.

Growing up we had a 1978 Ford Econoline van that weighed approximately 18,000 pounds. Car manufacturers are always bragging about their cars going 0 to 60 in 3.4 seconds. Well this behemoth could go from 70 to 0 in 2.8 seconds, depending on road conditions and anger level of the driver.

This was a very effective way to put an abrupt halt to a disagreement between two punks in the back seat who are out of arm’s reach. It’s hard to land a good solid punch on your brother while you’re hurtling towards the unpadded side of the seat in front of you.

In those brief seconds before impact I had to make a choice, should I close my eyes and brace myself or briefly enjoy the sight of my brother’s face sliding across the vinyl making that distinctive “vrrrrup” noise. Nothing like a low grade concussion to make a trip go by a little faster.

Here’s to happy birthdays, happy schooling, and fresh brake pads.