Initial Impressions 2.0 Blog #132: What’s Old Is New, Fire Lanes, Slow Demolition, etc.

1. Sometimes everything clicks and what’s old feels new again. This is about running. The week began with the latest installment of Monday Runday. The weather was perfect, but my legs were feeling like lead after two 5-mile runs in the preceding three days. But sometimes you just need a little motivation, and running with my old friend Mike did it this week. He has become the runner while I have regressed into a walker over the last few years. Granted, it’s due to injury, but still I look at him and wish I could magically morph back into my running peak. I pushed through the initial fatigue and ended up doing 5 miles in 52 minutes, my best overall run in probably three years. It gave me three 5-mile runs in four days. I know I haven’t done that since probably before Covid. I have no idea what my ceiling might be in the latest return to running. My knees were aching the day after Monday Runday, so rest was in the cards. That being said, I do feel pretty good about my chances of running a race again, maybe even before year’s end. I likely just jinxed myself and will fall down the stairs next week for daring to have hope.


2. At my age, when I start to feel momentum in life, I tend to keep calm and just let things play out. Sure, I get excited when my fitness ticks up, or I have great author events, or I have days with lots of podcast downloads, or even the growing anticipation surrounding my upcoming film The Cabin. I shudder to say I am ‘older and wiser,’ but even 10 years ago I’d have felt this positive trend and gone right on social media to post all about it. It was like I needed to let people know something good might be happening soon. Now, even though there might be some good things happening soon, I’d rather keep it to myself. It just means it’s more of a surprise when it happens. Plus, life can be a rollercoaster. If you post about every single good and bad thing that happens, it makes it look like your life is either very exciting, or very chaotic, or both at the same time. Rest assured, when good things happen, they will be in this blog above all else. The bad stuff will too since it will make you feel better if you’re having a bad day.


3. If you enjoy the wacky comedy of Will Ferrell, you will like his new Netflix series The Hawk. I am a big fan and thought it was hilarious. It is about a washed-up former great golfer who is attempting a comeback to the PGA tour. I will admit that I initially thought it was a movie. I was excited to see it was a 10-episode series. You also get SNL alums Molly Shannon as Hawk’s wife, and Chris Parnell as his rival. There are tons of classic Will Ferrell scenes. I won’t spoil them, but I will say watch for the storyline with his hand, as it’s pretty damn funny. I wasn’t surprised that it’s gotten subpar ratings. Like I said, if you like Will Ferrell, you will like The Hawk, but if you don’t, this series won’t do anything to change your mind. This won’t be at the top of my list of shows I’ve watched since returning to Netflix in December. That honor probably goes to Dark, or 11.22.63 because of my little crush on Sarah Gadon. Think of The Hawk as a 10-part SNL sketch, and I mean that in a good way.

4. I take every opportunity that I can to promote my podcast on social media. It is the main way to try to bring in new listeners. That being said, I also understand that in addition to bringing in new listeners me promoting my podcast also can entice scumbag scammers to show up. Nearly every time I share my podcast to a few Facebook podcast groups, I end up getting followed by one of these jackass people. It never fails. They follow me on Instagram, or try to friend me on Facebook. At least on Facebook, I take one look at their profile and see that it says they will promote my podcast for whatever low sum of money they say. I know to immediately block them. This week I had some jerk follow me on IG, like 15-20 of my recent posts, you know, to look like they’re not a scammer. Then they commented on one photo to tell me they DM’d me to tell me how they can promote my podcast. The comment was deleted, and they were immediately blocked. These morons make it so easy. The funniest part is they go on about their prowess at social media marketing, but they have a handful of followers. I almost want to say, look dude, I have 100x your followers on IG. How about you give me money to promote your rinky-dink crap profile, or just stop wasting me time? I will never, ever, give one cent to some weak loser begging for money to promote my content.


5. Once and for all, is it illegal to park in a fire lane? I ask because I see all the time vehicles parked in clearly marked fire lanes in front of stores. Looking it up, yes, it is 100% illegal. It makes me wonder if anything is ever done about it. This week I saw some young guy in an SUV parked in a fire lane in the rain. The vehicle was blocking the rampway where you can easily roll your cart onto the parking lot. People had to go around and push the cart off of the curb. In the grand scheme of things, parking in a fire lane is not a huge offense. Still, why even bother having it as a law if 99.9% of people who do it have nothing happen to them? The fine is supposed to be up to $100 in Massachusetts. It might not sound like much, but I bet if someone got caught and fined, they’d think twice. They need to put some low-ranking cop on fire lane duty, either driving around to check, or watching security footage. Or just get rid of the fire lane altogether if the law is never enforced.

6. Having a mechanic that you trust and who does a great job is worth a lot. The trouble with that is once word gets out that you’re good and fair, everybody wants to get their vehicles worked on by you. I bring my car to Ormon Automotive in Harwich. They always do a great job, and their prices are better than fair. I’ve needed exhaust work on my car for a few months. There was no doubt I was going to Ormon. But like I said, they’re always busy. I dropped my car off early one morning and went to walk the bike trail, which is nearby their shop. I ended up walking 3.5 miles, which was great. However, they were only able to give me an estimate on my car. This was because of how busy and backed up they were. Sure, I could have left my car all day and gotten it the next day, but I had things that needed to get done. We set up a time for next Friday to get the work done. I don’t mind waiting because they are worth it, plus the things I need done aren’t going to destroy my car in the next week, so there was little risk. I highly recommend Ormon Automotive if you live in the Mid-Cape area. You will hear about them again in next week’s blog, I’m sure.


7. We all were kids once. I think as we age, a lot of us forget that. We see kids doing things that we used to do and chastise them for it. Obviously, if it’s something super heinous, then they should be stopped. I am talking about little mischievous things that in the grand scheme of it all don’t matter. I say this because I put that into practice this week. I finished a beautiful afternoon run and arrived at my car parked at a recreation area. There were loads of kids passing by on the bike trail or playing on the playground and fields. I sat at a picnic table stretching some and recovering. A few hundred feet away, I spotted a teenage boy. I could tell he was planning something. I watched as he sneaked over to a small power shed, which I think is used to turn on the large floodlights for the sports fields. Once hidden from view, except by me, he scaled the side and climbed up onto the roof. I lost sight of him but figured he was just sitting up there. Did I rat him out? No. Like I said, I was a kid once and scaled my share of things I shouldn’t have. Of course I was usually smarter and didn’t do it during the day at a crowded park, but hey, if he gets caught by someone else it’ll be his own fault.


8. It amazes me when someone else is clearly a bad driver but gets mad at you for pointing it out. At a busy intersection, there was a line of cars trying to turn left on Cape Cod during the summer. The thing about intersections and traffic lights is that they have intervals where they change to let people go in the other directions. I know you know this, but apparently some people don’t. There was an idiot lady who was three cars deep to turn when I got a green arrow to turn at the intersection. Rather than just wait for the next signal change, this jerk pulled right in front of me a good five seconds after she would have had a red light. Naturally, I beeped and yelled because she was an entitled idiot. Her dumbass reaction was to be shocked that I dared to call her out for her poor driving and lack of intelligence. She easily could have hit me, and it would have been her fault since she ran a red light. It doesn’t matter if she was next up to turn; this isn’t Human Centipede; you’re not connected to the car in front of you. These types of stupid people are a big reason that I don’t like summer. Before you say ‘it happens everywhere,’ I’ll counter by saying 99% of the bad driving I see on Cape Cod is during the summer.


9. This week saw the birthdays of my youngest and twin sisters Lindsay and Ashley. At my mom’s, we were able to have a little celebration for one of them, Ashley. It was a classic family memory. I sat with Ashley and my oldest niece, Kaleigh, and enjoyed a huge batch of garlic bread pizzas. It was both English muffin and Italian bread. Those were amazing. The festivities became legendary, though after. I got a small cake for Ashley. It was Cookie Monster, complete with googly frosted eyes and a cookie in his mouth. My mom put in several candles, probably ten or so. She wasn’t sure if they were old, but they ended up being the icing on the cake. My youngest niece Sylvie called in to be on FaceTime to help sing Happy Birthday. Once the candles were lit, we began to sing. A problem came when the candles decided they didn’t want to cooperate. Ashley blew them out, only they kept coming back. So the candles kept relighting themselves. Next, they started heavily smoking. We were all cracking up. The entire moment ended with the candles being pulled out of the cake and dumped into the sink where they finally stayed out. The cake was good; the birthday festivities were better, though.


10. It is okay to step back and relax every now and then. In fact, it is recommended. Days can blend together in a wash of productivity, rushing, hoping that you’ve done enough to justify a few moments of peace and quiet. Get up early, go to work, work hard, go home, or go to the gym; maximize every moment you have. It is good to have drive and determination, but doing it day in and day out without stopping to recharge leads to burnout. Over the summer, I have been getting better at forcing myself to take time to do absolutely nothing of consequence. I have content work I could be doing. Nope, it can wait. I really want to go for a run. Nope, let your body relax. At first it feels like you are wasting precious time. In reality, you are reclaiming it. It indeed feels like time goes faster the older you get. So why not stop speed running through life and stop to enjoy it a little more? Even writing this right now is doing too much, but since I felt this way, I thought I’d get it out. There are plenty of days to grind from sunrise to sunset. Just make sure that you make time to watch that sunrise or sunset rather than using it to light your candle that is slowly fading out.

Sometimes you just need to stop and go with the flow...

11. A fascinating story to watch over the coming few years is the slow demolition and replacement of the Bass River Bridge. It is located just down the road from me and allows traffic to pass over Bass River between the towns of Yarmouth and Dennis. The current bridge is not the original and is nearly a century old. It has needed replacement for years. The decay is so bad you could see exposed rebar. For the last few months, one side of the bridge has been closed, with traffic being squished into barely more than a lane of traffic. The actual demolition of the bridge has begun. They are starting from the east end of the bridge and very slowly tearing it down. The entire side will be replaced, widened, and have a multi-purpose path. Then the same job will begin on the other side. Before any Cape Codders get excited, this process isn’t expected to be finished until 2031. Until then, it’ll be interesting to watch the bits and pieces get removed and replaced. Here is a quick video I got while out on a run.

The Life of an Uncle

I am not a father. I am, however, writing this on Father’s Day.

It’s fitting because it is a bittersweet day for me due to the lack of a good father in my own life. I am blessed to have had several second fathers, though. Positive role models that showed me that although many men are awful, it is not all of them.

Although I have no children of my own, I have had experience in putting the lessons my second fathers taught me to use. For despite not being a father, I am a proud uncle.

I have six nieces and nephews. Kaleigh, Emma, Liam, Landon, Lucas, and Sylvie. Three boys, three girls. I have been an uncle for more than half of my life and cherished every moment.

I was there the day that most of them were born. I was there for many birthdays, holidays, and other important moments in their lives. I did my best to be a fun and positive presence any time I was around them. That deep emotional connection with them as children is a double-edged sword, though.

As I said, I am not a father. This means I am none of their fathers. I am an uncle. Sure, it’s an important role, but it’s not THE important role. Only time will tell if any of the three men who are the fathers of the six nieces and nephews turn out to be positive or negative. It doesn’t look great, but there is still time.

I don’t know the pressures or the life changes that come from parenthood. I do know that no child asks to be born. It is the responsibility of the parents to care for and nurture their children. You don’t have to be the greatest parent ever to be a net positive in your child’s life. You just have to start by showing up and showing you care.

As an uncle and the child of a terrible father, it hit me on two fronts. I wanted to show that I was a positive role model. I also wanted to show that I was a better uncle than my biological father was a parent.

The double-edged sword I mentioned a moment ago comes from attachment and remembering your role. For as much as I loved spending time with my nieces and nephews, it was always a bit superficial. Not like I was pretending to love being around them, but more that things were meant to stay fun and light.

I am not their fathers. I am their uncle. Growing up, my uncles were fun distractions from daily life. They didn’t tackle anything serious. Those problems were for parents to help with. An uncle needs to know his role and be a fun distraction, but in the end, that’s where their role typically ends.

When I was a kid, I remember fun times with my uncles, Bob, Eric, Steve, and John. As I grew up, though, I started seeing them less and less. Not because of anything bad, I just wasn’t their kid. They would be at holidays or other random occasions, but in my teens and early 20s, I was focused on getting my own life started. My uncles and aunts were seen far less than when I was little. That’s just the way it goes.

I was lucky that my oldest nieces, Kaleigh and Emma, lived in close proximity to me when they were growing up. They were either right down the street or right down the hallway. I was able to share probably hundreds of memories with them.

Walking the mall with little Kaleigh in her stroller. People would stop and mention how cute she was and what proud parents my sister Kate and I must be. I would laugh, Kate would be grossed out.

Sitting on the floor of my bedroom with my laptop open. Little Emma sitting beside me as I showed her classic McDonald’s commercials from the 1980s. In the days when she was hesitant to get close to anyone besides her parents, I took it as a major badge of honor that she liked spending time with me.

My nephews Liam and Landon were born at different times in my life. Liam lived further away. Landon was born as I was moving into a new place. Thus, I was more disconnected from them. This always made me feel bad. I wanted to be the fun uncle, the favorite uncle, to all of the kids. Feeling more connected to some than others was never something I intended. Life just happens that way.

When Lucas was born, I made it a point to set things right. I was there when he was born. I did my best to visit him and Liam at my sister Lindsay’s house, even though it was a bit of a hike to get there.

Time was ticking away. I was 33 when Lucas was born, and I had my doubts as to whether I’d ever have kids of my own. I tried to be the fun uncle. Always looking to make the kids laugh, do stupid voices, and tell funny jokes. These were the things I had learned from my Uncle Bob. He was and still is the gold standard of the fun uncle.

I always had to remind myself that I was the uncle, not the father. If I disagreed with something one of the fathers did, it wasn’t my place to say anything. I never wanted to hear someone tell me to mind my business because I wasn’t their father.

That reality led to my having less of a role in the lives of my nieces and nephews as they got older. Much in the same way that it happened with my uncles, and probably a lot of your uncles. You don’t lean on an uncle for answers to difficult situations as a teen and young adult. That is what parents are for.

I’d watch, so close, but so far away, as the kids grew up. They started and finished high school and college. They got their first jobs, cars, and relationships. As proud as I was, and still am, it comes back to that bittersweet feeling. I am not as important to them as they are to me.

That’s not unusual. It’s just something that uncles and aunts have to cope with as the kids get older. They stay closer to their parents because that’s how it should be. Being an uncle means your seat gets further from the stage, the older the kids get.

My youngest niece, Sylvie, was born when I was 41. She is almost 8 years younger than Lucas. It was like starting the clock over again.

Having children in your life can make you feel young and old, all at the same time. You feel young because you watch them learn and discover, and start to become who they will be. You feel old because, as they grow up, you feel your own clock ticking.

I try to be the best uncle I can be to Sylvie, who is 7. She’s my final excuse to be a foolish man-child for a little longer. I know that eventually she will drift away, not from anything bad, just because all kids grow up and develop their own lives. It might not be tomorrow or the next day, but it will come someday. I just have to enjoy each moment as they come.

It happened with Kaleigh, Emma, and Liam. It’s happening with Landon, who just graduated from high school. It’s like I want more time with them all, but I’m lower on the ladder of importance. Parents, grandparents, friends, partners, they all occupy more important real estate in the lives of my older nieces and nephews. That’s how it should be, and I have done my best to accept that.

Despite being an uncle for more than half of my life, I still don’t have a clue what it means or what I should be doing. I never went off on adventures with my uncles, except for rare times when my Uncle John took me to Friendly’s. I don’t know if I should have done more as the kids grew up, or less. I don’t even know if I was or am good at whatever an uncle’s role is.

What exactly is an uncle anyway? The brother of your parent. They are adjacent to the important stuff in your life. Maybe they were there a lot more than you remembered as a kid. Maybe they were more like a guest star who showed up every now and then.

Maybe it’s not about the quantity but the quality? I don’t remember meeting my Uncle Eric until I was 12 and my cousin Patrick was born. He went on to be someone whom I told I wished had been my father.

My uncles Eric and Bob have each attended more of my author events than my biological father. My uncle Steve was by my side for several grueling road races. These men showed up. Sometimes, as a human, no matter your age, you just want someone you care about to show up. They did, my father didn’t. I try to do the same for my nieces and nephews and hope that I have succeeded more times than I’ve failed.

I am not a father. I am, however, a proud and grateful uncle to six wonderful people. They are all different, unique, and special. They are all at different points in their lives, but all have blue skies filled with hope and opportunity ahead of them.

As an uncle, you have to know your role. It’s to be a positive presence above all else. You want the kids to be glad you were there and waiting in anticipation of when you’ll be back. That’s a big reason why I tended to rile them all up and then leave. Fun uncles gotta fun.

Decades from now, when I am old and worn out, I hope that my nieces and nephews reach out every now and then to make sure I am still alive. I hope they do a better job than I do at keeping in touch. Uncle Bob I hear from a few times a month. I haven’t seen my Uncle Steve in many months. My Uncle Eric sadly passed 3 years ago, before I could say goodbye.

You only get one life. I’d much rather be the fun uncle who gets steely-eyed glares from parents and grandparents because I let the kids do whatever they want. It beats being the lame, boring, or worse, absentee uncle that doesn’t know the kids' middle names.

I hope that my nieces and nephews know that even as my role in their lives gets smaller, I am still cheering as loudly from the nosebleed seats as I was on the sidelines. I think it is important to make that known rather than just hoping that it is.

I have been an uncle for more than half of my life. I will be one for the rest of it as well. Being a positive male presence in their lives is very important. If they need me, I am there. If they don’t, I will be first in line to hear all about how their lives are going when they do.

Kaleigh, Emma, Liam, Landon, Lucas, and Sylvie. I am so proud and blessed to be your uncle and to call you family. Just know that I am never far if you need me, and your fun, some might say crazy, uncle loves you very much.

I Appreciate You, Grampa

I appreciate you, Grampa.

When you’re young, you look around you for people to emulate. You don’t start life looking to be like someone you see on television or hear on the radio. It is typically those closest to you who form the first impressions of life and what you want to do and be when it comes to your own. If you are lucky, you have one or more good role models to choose from.

As a young boy in the early 1980s, I was looking for someone like that to show me the way. I needed someone to be the guiding light, to teach me how to live not just as a boy but all the way up through life as a man.

I looked to my father. My first memories of him are not those of a parent, nor those of a male role model. My first memories of my father are of a man who acted more like an older friend. He had funny jokes to share. In fact, he taught me a lot of what would later become my own wacky and sarcastic sense of humor.

He taught me about the Three Stooges. He introduced me to Foreigner, Steely Dan, Kate Bush, and, for some reason, called every cat he ever saw ‘Goot,’ which was the name of his cat when he was a teenager. I loved my cat Tigger when I was a teen, but don’t call every cat by that name, so it’s a bit odd.

We had cookouts on Sundays. Sometimes we’d go on trips to local playgrounds. Christmas and Easter dinners aplenty. It all sounds great, right? When compartmentalized, it does, but it was window dressing. The one thing my father never taught me was anything about how to be a man. The one thing he never showed me was love outside of awkward handshakes and pats on the back.

I saw him once or twice a week for most of my childhood. He and my mother had gotten divorced when I was very young. He was not interested in being a parent. Oh, sure, he enjoyed what creates a child, but couldn’t wrap his head around being there for said child.

The final straw came when he passed out on the couch and allowed me, as a toddler, to wander out our front door after dark wearing only a diaper. My mother, coming home from work, spotted me with my blanket walking under a streetlight. Sure, mistakes can happen, but the lack of responsibility from a parent was staggering.

That’s not to mention the times he would leave my sister and me, as toddlers, home alone so he could go out. Neighbors would tell my mother they’d hear my infant sister crying from her room.

There was the time my mother gave him a professional portrait of my sister and me, and he proceeded to tack it up to a corkboard at a bar. My aunt found it and called my mother. I found out when I was in my 40s that my father offered to waive all parental rights to get out of paying child support.

You read that right. He wanted to disown his children so he wouldn’t have to pay his fair share to help support the people he helped to create. What stopped it from happening? My mother told him my Nana would then not be able to see her grandchildren. This stopped him from disowning us, but didn’t make him care enough to pay full child support.

He would quit jobs abruptly when child support came calling. He would make plans with us kids and stand us up to go to a bar. Of course, none of this was wrong in his mind, and my mother was evil for daring to hold him accountable again for the children he helped to create. I was too young to see what a rotten excuse for a father he was.

As I got older and started working, my father was right there to be the first to ask for money. It is an odd feeling to have someone who is a parent in name only constantly wanting to use you as their own personal ATM. It was nearly every time I was in the car with him, he’d say his typical 'Do you got any dough?’ line. Still wanting his approval, I loaned him, sorry, gave him, money that likely ended up being somewhere north of $2,000 in total while in high school. He would tell me he’d pay me back, but I likely recouped little more than half of what he got.

Giving money to help out a parent who supports, feeds, clothes, and houses you is not a big deal. Doing the same for someone you saw a handful of hours a week at best was a damning indictment of what I thought a man was. He neglected me unless he needed money.

The older I got, the more I learned that my father had shown me a blueprint of how not to be a man. He was lazy, selfish, immature, a drunk, and a professional victim who, to this day, cannot accept that the fact that his children and grandchildren want nothing to do with him is his fault alone.

So I could not count on my father to show me the way as far as being a man. Hell, I had openly wished either of his two brothers had been my father. I then looked to his replacement, my first stepfather.



The first memories I have of my stepfather were confusion. I wondered aloud where my father was when confronted with this new man. I am not sure if my resistance to him caused immediate resentment toward me. He was around more and more. It became obvious that he was going to be in my life whether I wanted it or not.

When he was first around, my new stepfather was in the throes of alcoholism. He did give it up, and that is to be commended, as I know all too well how hard it is to slay that demon. However, that is where the commendation toward him ends.

If you look at it from a wide view, my life improved with my stepfather. He provided a roof over my head, helped with clothing, food, and medical care for my sister and me, despite us not being his kids. But the saying goes, ‘you don’t know what goes on behind closed doors.’ I know it because I lived it.

My stepfather was physically and verbally abusive to me, full stop. I don’t remember the first time I was hit or told I was nothing, but they became a part of my life in childhood up to midway through high school. Maybe it was when he had his own kids with my mother that he really began to look at me as an annoyance that needed to be kept in line. I don’t know what was in his mind and really don’t care.

I was an honor student. I never got in trouble. I did my best to be a positive example for my four younger siblings. Yet still I was routinely hit with belts, wire hangers, or just plain old hands when he was too lazy to grab something. I can only imagine my fate if I were a problem child. I guess in his mind, I was.

Things escalated when my brother and twin sisters were born. Now I was truly an outsider in his family. There was always favoritism shown toward my brother. If I told on him I got hit. If he did something and I didn’t tell on him, I got hit for letting it happen. There were times my brother got in trouble, and I got it too, maybe just to make sure I didn’t think I was special. There are times when I feel bad. My brother has caught strays in life from me because I hate his father so much, but that falls on his father and not me.

I was a witness to him abusing my mother when he thought the coast was clear. That night, she called the police. I, barely 10 years old, was hiding under the kitchen table. I listened to him deny things I saw. My mother was the one who always had my back, so I owed it to her to have hers. I stepped out from under the table and told the police what I saw, in full view of my stepfather.

I don’t know if anything came of it as far as the police went. I do know that I became his target after that. It came to a head in the basement, likely a few days later. The door was closed, and I was handed a miniature basketball. My stepfather said all I had to do was score one basket in my basketball hoop stuck to the wall. It was not so easy.

I was kicked, hit, tripped, and shoved by a grown man twice my size. Why? Because I dared to call out his spousal abuse to the police. Once I finally scored, he smugly said to me ‘nice shot.’ Then he left me in a puddle of shame and embarrassment on the basement floor. In his evil, warped mind, he likely thought he was teaching me to be a man. In reality, he taught me anger and hatred like nothing I have ever felt before or since.

For years, I was beaten down physically and emotionally. I was told my feelings and my problems didn’t matter. Things that meant the world to me were meaningless according to him. I learned the only way I could safely navigate life in that house was to make myself as small as possible. There are too many other incidents to speak of. Just know that most of my childhood was a constant fight or flight loop that made a day where I only got yelled at feel like I was getting an award on stage in front of adoring fans.

These things from childhood remain issues for me to this day. My confidence and self worth, they are tied to two men who are poor examples of that word. A father who didn’t care, and a stepfather who abused me.

Eventually, my mother had had enough, and my stepfather was kicked out of the house. It was one of the best days of my life. Where I kept giving my father the benefit of the doubt for decades too long, I was all too happy to begin erasing the memory of my stepfather. However, my simmering rage wanted revenge.

I began working out at sixteen. I had weights, a bench, and a heavy bag. I vividly remember scuffing up my knuckles, hitting that bag with all my might until it came crashing down from the beam. All I could see was my former stepfather’s face.

Sure, I could say I was working out to possibly play sports, but that was not the main reason. I didn’t want to feel helpless anymore. I wanted to gain strength to feel confident. I wanted to gain strength so I could get my revenge on him.

The bottom line is, I wanted to do as much physical harm to my former stepfather as possible. If I ended his life, so be it. He deserved whatever came to him because of what he did to my mother and me. He is still alive today. I did not follow through with any bad thoughts. It was my second stepfather, my current stepfather, who was able to get through to me. It was he whom I first confided my anger toward that former stepfather.

By this time, I was eighteen and could have been arrested and tried as an adult. It was that fact that stopped me. It was my new stepfather who showed me through words and actions that it wasn’t all men who were evil. I was just dealt a bad hand with the first two ‘most important’ men in my life being neglectful and/or abusive.



We come all the way full circle. I appreciate my Grampa because I was able to find the role model I needed. Where my father and first stepfather didn’t have the capacity as men to be decent husbands and fathers, my Grampa excelled. He worked hard. He stayed true to my Nina for over 70 years. He was firm but loving to his children. He was, and always had been, the example I was looking for.

It’s not that I didn’t appreciate my Grampa when I was growing up. When you’re treated well by someone for a few hours of cumulative time in a year, but the rest of your time is spent being ignored or fearing a heavy hand, the good times don’t make a dent. It wasn’t until I got out of my teenage years and my father and former stepfather became less relevant to my life that the light that as my Grampa started shining through.

Some could say that grandparents are naturally seen as angels compared to parents because parents are the ones who have to dole out the discipline. Grandparents are more apt to let the grandkids do whatever they want. That is usually true, but I’ll use my father as Exhibit A. He has three grandkids, and I guarantee he doesn’t know their birthdays or middle names. I am thinking he hasn’t seen them in many years, despite living relatively close to them all. So no, not all grandparents are made the same.

I felt seen and appreciated by my Grampa. He had genuine advice. He had genuine, kind words that made me feel worthy. In my 20s and 30s, it was my Grampa and my current stepfather, Serpa, who began to paint over my image of what I thought a ‘man’ was.

It was my Grampa who was at many of my author events, not my father. It was my Grampa whom I confided in about my struggles with self-worth and chasing my dreams, not my father. It was my Grampa who became my role model and the one I emulated.

I wanted to be at least half of what my Grampa was because I knew I could never be him, but if I was half, I knew I would have been a success as a human. I don’t want to be like my father. I don’t want to be like that first stepfather. They taught me what not to do.

I was devastated when my Grampa died 7 years ago this month. I reflected and decided that he had given me all of the lessons he could and that it was up to me to put them into action. Some days I feel like I get close. Other days, I feel like I am failing him in every way possible. But I woke up the next day knowing that anything is possible because he told me so.

I still have a handwritten note he gave me way back in 2015. It says, ‘it’s never too late to be what you might have been.’ Yes, the quote is from novelist George Eliot (real name Mary Ann Evans), but my Grampa wrote it for me when I was unsure of who I was supposed to be and where I was supposed to be going. So I will always associate it with him.

When I say that I appreciate my Grampa is goes much deeper than words or how he lived his life. He was there, setting the example for me throughout my life. I just was not ready to see it until I got older. Perhaps if I hadn’t had such terrible male role models in my father and first stepfather, I wouldn’t have found my Grampa to be the guiding light. I am glad I don’t have to wonder about that.

His teachings were never overt. He never said ‘here is how you act as a man.’ No, he simply lived by example. I saw his work ethic. He worked until he was 90. I saw his stability and love as a partner because I was witness to his marriage to my Nina lasting over 70 years. I saw his teachings as a parent through my mother, aunts, and uncles. I saw his importance to his friends and community. I heard the kind words people said to him, about him, when he was there, and when he wasn’t.

I don’t know who I would be without my Grampa. Would Serpa have been enough to break me out of that cage I was put in by those other two ‘men’? I don’t know. Maybe I would have been fine. Maybe I would have been so beaten down that I succumbed to alcohol, depression, or any other issue I have dealt with. You know, the issues that I’m sure that first stepfather would have said were ‘petty?’

I am still here, though. Closing in on 50 and trying to figure out my place in this world, but still here. When I feel like the answers are getting away from me, I look at that note my Grampa wrote me. I also just sit back and think of him, his life, his actions, and know that his DNA is in me.

Seven years have passed since my Grampa taught his final lesson to me. I will always keep his memory alive as often as I can. He deserves to be remembered, unlike other ‘men’ whom I will not shed a single tear for when they go. I put all of my energy into thanking my Grampa and Serpa, and while I’m at it, Uncle Eric, Uncle Bob, Uncle Steve, Uncle John, and Maui. Any successes I have in life as a man are reflections on you and your teachings.

I appreciate you, Grampa, and I appreciate all of those second fathers I just mentioned. You all filled the hole left by those other ‘men’ who let me down in every possible way. Thank you.

Initial Impressions 2.0 Blog #112: March Weather, Repeating Timelines, Cape Cod Adventure, etc.

1. It’s amazing how much warmer warm temperatures feel when coming out of a cold winter. This week, we touched 60 degrees on Cape Cod. If you had told me it was 75, I’d have believed you. Being stuck inside working all day, I was itching to get outside into the sun once the day was over. I had an important phone call to take, and I decided rather than sitting in my car, I’d hit up the famed Monday Runday track and do some walking while talking. It was almost perfect. The track had a few snowy patches that had not been hit by the sun, but otherwise it felt just like it did last time we did Monday Runday back in October. In all, I walked a little over 1.5 miles and burned around 200 calories. Not bad considering I could have sat on my ass in my car and burned nothing at all.


2. March is the most bipolar month there is in terms of weather. You can get days that are in the 60s and sunny, and within the same week, have temperatures hovering around freezing with the threat of snow. Obviously, that is what we got this week. I think growing up in New England has conditioned me to get out and fully enjoy the warm days of March since it can quickly go the other way. I think April is a bit like that as well, at least at the beginning of the month. It’s only when we get to around the first of May that we on Cape Cod can fully relax and enjoy spring without the looming threat of a secret frost or snowy day.


3. Incredibly, my story of the tough dealings with the editor of the short film I co-produced did not end last week. After agreeing to double the pay of the editor just to get the film finished, this guy decided to get greedy. The next day, he asked for more money again. He asked if I could get the donors for the When Henry Met Henry film to just cough up some more cash for his ‘expenses.’ Like what? We gave him instructions to use copyright-free music and find royalty-free b-roll footage. Not sure what his ‘expenses’ were. In the end, I set a hard line and said he’d get the money we agreed to for editing the film, or he’d get half if he sent me all of the raw footage and walked away. Not a bad deal. I don’t know if he thought I’d roll over at his attempts to hijack the film, but that didn’t happen. He ended up agreeing (yet again) to the money and to get the film done. I wasn’t a complete ass; I did give him an extension on the deadline until the end of March. I will say, it felt good to stand up to someone trying to screw me over. I might have to do it again sometime soon.


4. My niece Sylvie gave me a makeup case cell phone. It’s a cute pink plastic phone with different lip gloss inside. I began thinking of how I could use it in a video. I came up with a story of me being lost in the woods without my phone and remembering the phone she gave me, only to discover that it’s makeup. I went to a local conservation area with ideas for shots that I could then edit into a 2-3 minute funny horror video. Of course, shooting some scenes where I am scared and calling out for help would be best done with nobody around. I got some basic b-roll video as I walked the paths. Then I got set up for a shot of me wandering the woods while my phone was on a tripod, capturing the scene. Right on cue, came an older couple who appeared to be birdwatching. There I am, standing off in the woods, positioning my phone. They were curious, but I just said hello. Thankfully, I didn’t have to explain to them what I was doing. Shooting skits with my camcorder at 17 was cute and creative. Shooting skits, by myself, in the woods, at 48, might end up with a call to the nuthouse. 


5. One of my favorite things to do for my podcast is to craft unique alternate logos and cover art. I try to capture the nostalgic vibe of the 60s through the 90s while also keeping the basic layout of the logo. I made a pair of them in the past week. As you can see, they both have the classic, typical 70s avocado color palette. I went with two uniquely retro backgrounds. One was the faux wood paneling that I fondly remembered from my Nana’s house growing up. The other was one of the oddly paneled tiled kitchen floors. I believe we had this in one of our kitchens growing up. There is another tile setup that was super 80s, but I’m saving that one for a future podcast logo.




6. An interesting phenomenon that happens way more often than I think has to do with where I go for photography on Cape Cod. I will have an idea of a place I want to go shoot, and I’ll go there. No, that’s not the interesting part. What happens is that many times now I go to a place, and the next day I have photos of that same place in my social media memories. It’s like my subconscious takes me to the same places at the same time each year. It happened this week when I went to get some videos of the bridges at the Cape Cod Canal. The next morning, I was going through my Facebook memories, and there it was, a post filled with photos of the same bridges from 2016. I definitely don’t choose to visit the same places on the same days, but man, does it happen a lot.


7. On that photo trip I just mentioned, I came across a massive flock of Common Eiders, which are sea ducks that are usually black and white. They were hanging out in little crevices along the Cape Cod Canal as the tide was flowing out. When I say a massive flock, I’m talking a few hundred. They typically hang out in a cove at the western end of the canal across from Mass Maritime Academy. It was fascinating, and I found myself trying to get close-up video of these ducks. Naturally, they found me as a threat and would fly further down the canal. Once they’d realize I wasn’t trying to hurt them, they’d stop just far enough away. I kept walking toward them, filming them flying away and landing just enticingly close enough that I’d keep going. This game was repeated a few times. I ended up with several videos of duck wings slapping on the water. I guess it will be good for people who enjoy nature sounds and ASMR.



8. On this same one trip, I ended up with five or six great videos in probably half an hour. While filming a ship passing by, I noticed in the distance that the railroad bridge was lowered. It typically sits 135 feet above the water when raised. It gets lowered a few times a day for trains to pass over the canal. I saw it lowered and knew a train would pass by me in a few minutes since the railroad tracks run along the canal. I was at the Bourne Recreation Area, which sits directly under the Bourne Bridge. I had a minute or two to decide how I wanted to film the passing train. I wanted a cool perspective, but also didn’t want to risk damaging my phone or myself. I settled on filming from the platform where people could board the train. I set up my phone on a tripod in the perfect position and waited. I knew the train wasn’t stopping, so I didn’t have to worry about the conductor getting mad that I was faking them out like I was going to be a passenger. The train approached, blew its horn, and passed by. It rumbled with such force that the phone shook as it passed, maybe less than 10 feet away. The video was great except that I thought it was going to be a big half-mile-long train, but it was a little stubby one with maybe four cars. Oh well, I was lucky just to be there in that moment, so I’ll take it.


9. This week, for the first time probably since I was a kid, I had cream soda. Well, actually, diet cream soda, but still. Have you ever had something that you loved as a kid but got away from it? Foods, drinks, activities, maybe music? I can’t remember when I stopped drinking cream soda as a kid, but obviously, it happened at some point. I was at the store and walked past it, and wondered when the last time was that I had had it. Weird how something can be your favorite and then just not. I’m sure as a kid, I loved the sugar of the regular cream soda. I can’t do that anymore; it makes me feel terrible. That being said, the diet cream soda was good, so I’ll be making it a part of my drink rotation going forward. Who knows what the next thing from my youth will be that I bring back? My guess is something to do with a flannel shirt.


10. I constantly have to shake my head at the people who complain about a certain social media site from that site. Like, if you go on Twitter(X) and constantly mention how you hate it there, you know what you do? Delete your account and go somewhere else. It’s not hard. You didn’t sign a lifetime contract to remain miserable on a site you hate. You know how I know this? Because I deleted my Twitter account when I got sick of how much of a cesspool it was filled with toxic scum and bots. It’s the same with a job. Unless you’re under contract, you are not being forced to work somewhere you hate and are miserable. Just remember, you are not obligated to be on social media. I grew up in the 90s without it. If tomorrow all social media sites vanished, it would take a little while to get used to, but I’d be fine. It’s mostly just people who are so desperate for attention that they post how they hate whatever site they’re on for engagement farming.


11. Few things are more fun for me than exploring the lesser-known and hidden pathways of the Outer Cape in the offseason. Venturing out to Wellfleet and Truro in March allows you almost total freedom to go wherever and see whatever there is to see. I hiked through the downed branches to visit the Jenny Lind Tower located in the woods near the old North Truro Air Force Base. I wanted some video of the AFB, so I headed toward the chain link fence behind the tower that surrounded the base property. I thought I might be able to follow the fence back to my car. It was mostly true. I got some footage on my way, but also had to bushwhack through a lot of brush. I had a chance to slide under a gap in the fence to get onto the base property. After being sliced and diced by broken branches and thorns, though, I figured with my luck, I’d end up gutting myself sneaking under the fence. Despite it being March, I ended up with several small ticks on my pants. Thankfully, I noticed one and did a more thorough check. Those dang things are going to be a menace this summer.

12. Another adventure from the same trip was something on my ever-dwindling Cape Cod bucket list. Close to a beach in Truro, there is an FAA beacon on a hill. I am being intentionally vague about its whereabouts since I don’t want to get anyone in trouble if they go to seek it out. I ventured through a small but worn path that led up the hill and eventually to a clearing where the beacon stands. I had noticed the location on Google Maps and had wondered for years how to get there. I decided during this trip to wander the parking lot of the beach, looking for a path. Once I found it, I made my way uphill, making sure to stay low and as inconspicuous as I could. I made sure that when I emerged from the clearing, for as much footage as I got, I stayed far enough away. You don’t want to get too close, just in case cameras are rolling. Even if you just take photos from a distance, staying on the edge of the clearing is the wisest move. Getting to see this FAA beacon checks off one of the very few places I have yet to see on Cape Cod. The biggest one remaining is Monomoy Lighthouse in Chatham. We’ll see about making that happen.

Stranger Things Have Happened: A GenX Fairytale

The final episode of Stranger Things only aired a few days ago when I am writing this. I can say I have never had a television show, and more specifically, one episode of a television show, affect me so deeply.

I have realized that, as much as it is my connection to the show, I mean, we watched most of the main cast go from children to adults, it’s also how the show put a mirror up to me and to my generation.

I am a proud GenXer. Born in 1977. Stranger Things was set in the mid-1980s. I lived it, so seeing so many products, hearing so many songs, and feeling the vibe of my childhood was comfort food for the soul I didn’t realize I needed so.

The problem with any television show is that it inevitably comes to an end. With the final episode came emotions that I don’t think I had felt in forever. I am not alone. On social media, I have come across literally hundreds of posts from people my age feeling the same way.

The youngest of GenX will be turning 45 this year. We were the last truly wild and free generation. The way the kids are portrayed on Stranger Things is reality. My friends and I would be all over the place on our bikes. We’d get into adventures and maybe a little trouble, but never anything too overly dangerous. Many younger people wonder how we dealt with the lack of convenience and technology. I feel bad for them as they will never know that type of freedom.

We were the generation that rolled with the punches. We became adults early and have felt like we’ve been so removed from our childhood innocence for so long. I began working at age 12. That means, as of writing this, I have held a job for 36 years. Still, I always had time for my friends and our growing up together.

GenX were the people who said ‘whatever.’ Like it was a badge of honor to never feel or care. Hell, they even created OK Soda in the early 1990s to try to appeal to our sense of nonconformity. There was one problem, though. We only kept our love and emotions below the surface. It feels to me like Stranger Things opened a door we had thought was long-since closed.

I will say now that I am going to share some spoilers, so if you haven’t seen the final episode, just beware.

My high school

2026 marks the 30th anniversary of my high school graduation. I think my emotions were ready to explode; they just needed something to light the fuse.

Stranger Things fittingly ends with the main cast graduating high school in 1989. The way that Mike, Lucas, Will, Dustin, and Max all act and feel as their time draws near, I felt it because I had been there.

It’s a weird mix of peaceful emptiness and quiet desperation. When the final weeks were ticking down to graduation, it didn’t feel like anything was changing. We still had class, we still had homework. The difference was that many of my peers had college acceptance letters rolling in.

The peaceful emptiness comes from the sad reality that you cannot change what was coming. I couldn’t stop us from graduating. I couldn’t stop my friends from slowly being pulled from my orbit and into a new one. It was resignation.

The quiet desperation came after graduation. We didn’t all just vanish the day after we threw our caps into the air. There was a final summer. This is where I scratched and clawed, trying to get those last memories stuck under my fingernails. I still remember the days when my two best friends left. Barry left first, John left second. I can see those final moments of that chapter of our lives. I enjoyed them, yes, but I also desperately tried to memorize the last jokes, the last places we went. I knew it would never be the same again, and it wasn’t.

When the Stranger Things kids skip a party they are invited to so they can play Dungeons & Dragons, I felt that. I didn’t want new adventures with different people. I wanted final adventures with my ride or die brothers. Those tears they shed as they returned their D&D binders to the shelf were real, as that scene was the last ever shot for the show.

It was a symbolic leaving childhood behind and entering the unknown door of adulthood.

A confession. I didn’t apply to colleges in my senior year. I planned on skipping a semester and then going to the local community college. For someone who took his SATs when he was 13, it was a major step back. Why did I do it?

First, I had been going so hard trying to be the best student I could since I could remember. School got harder in my junior and senior years as I wanted less to do with difficult subjects like trigonometry, calculus, and chemistry. I wanted to craft funny (in my opinion) videos with my camcorder and my friends. That was my ultimate dream.

Second, I had a girlfriend who was still going to be in school. In my mind, I needed to stay behind since our relationship was obviously going to last forever. It didn’t. It lasted 2 ½ years. At the time, though, as I was losing my closest friends, I still had her. I hung on in quiet desperation to what was familiar.

Nobody told me that if you’re going hard for years and you take your foot off the gas, it can be tough, damn near impossible to get that momentum back. Once I went to college in the spring of 1997, it was like pulling teeth to get a 2-year degree. I resented my choice, I missed my friends, I felt like a child still, despite being told I was entering the real world.

As the years go by, you get bogged down with daily life. Job, bills, responsibilities, maybe a family, they all become your focus. As I draw closer to 50, there are days when 18 feels like yesterday. There are days when I think I turned 40 a thousand years ago. Time gets warped. I am sure that I am not the only one of my generation who feels like we packed away our childhoods like a bunch of torn garbage bags thrown into a garage. We never really went through everything to celebrate or grieve like we should have. But how could we have known that was necessary?




The finale of Stranger Things flung the garage door open and launched our bags of emotions out onto the lawn for us to go through, whether ready or not. I was definitely not.

That moment when the first chord of Prince’s legendary Purple Rain hit, as Mike and Eleven stood together, I shattered. I knew what was coming. There was no happy ending for them. Yes, I know, it’s a fictional show, but it hit me because I related to Mike the most.

In the final scene, he is regaling his friends with the stories of their futures, but in the guise of their D&D characters. Mike was the storyteller. I was the storyteller of my group of friends. I spent my savings on a camcorder so I could create stories with my friends.

As he shared their stories, I saw bits of my high school friends in them. Then it hit me, hard, I am Mike. The other characters all get happy endings. Maybe Mike does, but it’s not in the obvious way. He loses his love and falls into the hole of grief. Later, he uses that grief and the love he lost to formulate stories of his friends' adventures.

Mike is the character I related to most.

I am writing this blog as we speak because of my own lost love. Back in June 2025, I wrote a very detailed post about this lost love named Wendy. I called it peaceful emptiness, much like I described my feelings after Stranger Things ended, and after graduating high school. I’ll link to that post at the bottom, but of course will give you the Cliffs Notes.

I met a girl at my lowest. I was battling severe depression, and she dragged me out of it by being who she was. She rebuilt me and made me feel like a full human years after my graduation. Then, almost as suddenly as she arrived, she was gone. The time, and our lives, just didn’t match up. She was a supernova of love that made me feel a way nobody else has before or since. I went hard into my writing career as a way to cope with losing her. In a way, I continue on that path because it makes me feel connected to her still.

In Stranger Things, we see that very likely Eleven did survive but had to fake her death and travel far away without anybody knowing. For close to 20 years, I was where Mike ended the show. I had no idea where Wendy was. She was basically off the grid. All I had were memories. Then the timing lined up, and I found her last June.

It was that peaceful emptiness because I found her and got that closure, but in doing so, I saw that she was where she needed to be. She was living an important and fulfilling life. There was no chance of my swooping in as a white knight. There was also no point in reaching out, as there was no good that could come of it. So I got my closure and just had to be happy with that.

Wondering how high school ended 30 years ago.

Stranger Things ending held a mirror up to me, and probably to many other GenXers. It’s forced us to reconcile with the fact that our childhoods were so long ago and that maybe adulthood hasn’t been anything close to what we felt we were going to get. Ironically, the finale threw me harder into a midlife crisis than anything in my own life has.

I look in the mirror at my gray hair winning the war on my head, and I think to myself, Is it too late? I never found a love to replace Wendy. I never found a job that gave me the satisfaction that creating my skits in high school did. I see so many friends who are married, with kids, and houses, and living lives they deserve. What do I deserve?

Do I deserve to be the de facto storyteller of my friends? Do I deserve to be Mike, sitting and writing said stories and dreaming of the love he had but knowing he likely will never see her again?

Even close to 50, I feel like I’m walking the halls at Dennis-Yarmouth High School, looking at the different students and wishing I were them, or wishing I were with them. I am deep in that pit of emotion. It's both a good and a bad thing.

I wanted so badly for all of the characters on Stranger Things to get their happy endings. The fact that it was Mike, the one I connected with most, who didn’t, hit me hard. The show might be officially over, but that doesn’t mean the story is. Remember that years after Rick was presumed dead on The Walking Dead, he was reunited with Michonne, Judith, and RJ. Maybe years down the road, it happens for Mike and Eleven.

It comes back to my life. Certain chapters have ended, but books can be reopened. I firmly believe that I am where I am in my life for a reason. Unmarried, no children, the freedom that if I wanted to, I could go virtually anywhere. There has to be a reason for that, right? I go into each day thinking that it could be the day that the next amazing adventure in my life begins.



Circling back to where we started. Stranger Things made me, and a lot of my generation, feel things we hadn’t in a long time. It perfectly encapsulated our 1980s childhoods so much so that when the show ended, it felt like our childhoods did again. It shows the power of a well-crafted television show. It also shows that the peaceful emptiness and quiet desperation we have felt is the telltale sign that what we had was something unique and beautiful.

To my fellow GenXers, we had a good thing. I’m glad we got to experience it. Maybe we can never go back to our childhoods, but there are always photos, videos, and, of course, a Stranger Things rewatch.

Peaceful Emptiness: Finding Closure After 20 Years

In My Footsteps Podcast: Mixtape #1: Classic Mall Stores of the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s(7-23-2025)

 

Grab your portable tape deck. Make sure it has fresh batteries, and pop in this mixtape!

It's something new this week on the podcast: the first mixtape. We are bringing multiple segments from past shows together in one super-sized episode. Every now and then, these will appear as a change of pace from the typical show. 

Mixtape #1 is all about classic mall stores of the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s. In total, there are 30 stores that we will take a look back at. 

The indoor mall is still a popular destination today; however, its heyday was definitely the '70s through the '90s. 

You didn't need much money, as the 'mall rat' identity only required you to be inside a mall hanging out with friends. Kids of the day could spend hours sitting on benches or wandering the corridors, looking into some of the stores that will be mentioned on this show.

How many of these stores did you spend hard-earned money at?

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Helpful Links from this Episode

• Purchase My New Book Cape Cod Beyond the Beach!
• In My Footsteps: A Cape Cod Travel Guide(2nd Edition)
• Hooked By Kiwi - Etsy.com
• DJ Williams Music
• KeeKee's Cape Cod Kitchen
• Christopher Setterlund.com
• Cape Cod Living - Zazzle Store
• Subscribe on YouTube!
• Initial Impressions 2.0 Blog
• Webcam Weekly Wrapup Podcast
• CJSetterlundPhotos on Etsy

Listen to Episode 204 here