I typically get caught up in many of the same topics while writing. Maybe it’s because my life is somewhat one dimensional and I can only write about beer, kids, music and skateboards. I don’t profess to be an expert on anything other than applying obnoxious and irreverent updates to my Facebook status. Here today, I’m going to begin a three part stretch in things I’m thankful for. Yes, last month was November, and as most people do and practice, they conjure up some lengthy list of things they are so thankful for and can’t live without. Not me. I’m thankful for one thing only and it’s the topic of my trilogy. Without further adieu; Ears.

So now that there’s a collective let down with all of my readers, hear me out on this one (no pun intended).

And it’s nothing to do with the fact that ears hold up my hat and sunglasses, or that they give my earrings a place to ride when I’m out. It’s about their functional purpose for being; and that’s hearing. Some things I have no choice in hearing. Like when my wife is nagging me about painting a room or remodeling a wing of the house before a Hallmark holiday. But some things I do have a choice in hearing. It’s those things that I don’t want to hear when they first sound. But in retrospect, I can’t imagine not hearing them. That’s why I’m thankful.

PART I
Son #1 has a penchant for dropping incredibly irreverent yet totally appropriate details of an event at the most uninteresting and/or annoying times. The recent winter snow storm brought out not only cold weather and snow flakes but Son #1’s innate ability to verbalize some of the most unique snapshots of his view on life and the world around him.


I was trapped at home due to the nature of the weather-disturbed roadways and the inability of local NW drivers to successfully negotiate the challenging conditions. I opted to stay home in the internal chaos. During my home office ‘break’ time, we opted to gear up and play in the snow covered back yard. Outside, Son #1, using his cunning expert tracking skills, made the obvious observation of the animal tracks left in the virgin snow-covered yard. The tracks vaguely resembled some sort of small mammal such as a raccoon, cat, or other form of varmint puntang.

However, leave it to Son #1 to earnestly describe in colorful accuracy the source of the footprints.

Son #1 had discovered these footprints the day before so he had ample time to formulate his hypothesis on how they originated. Stretched from the front gate to the back corner of the yard, he analyzed the size and shape of the footprints. But it would take two inspections to truly uncover the nature of Son #1’s conclusion on his findings.


First, he discussed his National Geographic findings with his younger brother in an effort for possible conference. “Because the foot prints are small and round, it could not have been a lion or tiger.” Of course, it couldn’t have been a lion or a tiger due to the footprint size. It has nothing to do with the climate why it couldn’t have been a ferocious cat. His logic, I suppose isn’t all that flawed.

In science, to prove your hypothesis you must unsuccessfully attempt to disprove the theory by some sort of substantiation method. Next, we were out in the front of the house shoveling snow out of the driveway for my sensationalist roommates. Wandering through the arctic tundra of the front yard, Son #1 found the entry point where the varmint entered our back yard.


Son #1 correctly ascertained that it scurried below the gate. Once again he reminded me of the size and shape and how it couldn’t have been a predatorial wild cat. I agreed. It’s easier than trying to explain that large cats are not indigenous to Washington and are not fond of sub-freezing temps. Apparently, he has some sort of wildlife tracker in his blood and now he’s convinced that no four legged animal on Earth could’ve made these tracks.

According to Jack Hannah, err..my son, they’re too far apart to be a raccoon or a cat. Therefore, it must’ve been something with “two legs.” Something like a kangaroo he concludes. Yes. Something like a kangaroo. The mysterious, yet elusive, Northwestern gray wallaby of Washington. Who would have known.


The thing is, he always has some sort of interesting anecdotal comment or story for everything. Like hugging his mom while she is wearing a fluffy bath robe, “I fee like I just at blueberries.” But I am truly thankful that I have ears to hear the strangely creative commentary. Next…Part II.