The Final Classic Story From My Nana's Life

Social media has been a part of my life since 2003, when I created my profile on Friendster. It has been mostly a blessing as it allows me to keep in touch with family and friends while also sharing my work, thoughts, and random moments from life.

In one major way, it has been a blessing because it serves as a makeshift journal chronicling my life. Anything on Friendster has long since been lost. Anything on Myspace, at least from its heyday, has also been lost. The biggest storage container of the memories of my life on social media is Facebook.

Since the spring of 2007, my life and the events of it have been shared on Facebook. Every day I look at the ‘Memories’ page, and it brings me back to different chapters of my life. It’s amazing to think that I started on Facebook at 29, and later this year, I will turn 49. It’s getting very close to half of my life.

A recent post from the memories page is what spurred this article on. When it comes to my grandparents, the three who were alive during my lifetime at least, my final memories of them are different. Not so much the very end. They were all sad, but in a small way, also a relief because they were all old and suffering to a different degree. I am looking at the final full years of their lives.

My Grampa’s final year, May 2018 through May 2019, is burned into my mind. He was trending downward from the effects of dementia. The older memories still remained, but ask him about present-day, and it was a lot of stammering and blank stares.

My last truly wonderful moment with my Grampa was sharing a photo of his childhood home in Fitchburg, Massachusetts, with him in November 2018. From then on out, it was a rapid decline and an end that was sad, but a relief because, as I said, he was suffering.

My Grampa's childhood home in Fitchburg, MA

My Nina’s final year, March 2020 through March 2021, was awful. I am sure most of you see the timeline there and know what was going on. My Nina’s final year was spent in lockdown at the assisted living facility she had been at.

The sad irony was that I had been working at that same place and had access to her every day I worked. I would visit every day, bring the foods she liked, including raising toast and bacon. If anybody questioned it, I said I was family, and I was giving her what she wanted, and basically, they couldn’t stop me.

Mere weeks before the COVID pandemic shut the world down, I left that job. I was looking for part-time so that I could start getting back into personal training. It was a huge mistake. The new job was a terrible step down, with or without the pandemic. Leaving my Nina on her own when I had been there has left me with guilt that I might never live down.

When it comes to my Nana, things are a bit blurry. Her last year was December 2008 through December 2009. With my Nina and Grampa having lived until much more recently, I have found that their lives remain fresh in my mind. Having been nearly 17 years since my Nana died, it can be hard to form a clear picture of her last year.

My last real memory of my Nana in a normal sense was around my birthday in early November 2009. I would always visit her even as I grew older into my 30s. It wasn’t until after she had ended up in an assisted living facility at the end that a few things became clearer.

Her memory was slipping, but at 85, that was to be expected. Physically, she had much more trouble walking. It became more of a shuffle. This actually led to a funny story during those final months.

I was sitting at the dining room table as I had done hundreds of times in my life. I believe that I had my laptop open and I wanted to show her something. Sitting on the floor next to me was Nana’s cat Mittens. She was a black and white striped cat who, by that time, had to have been 15 years old.

Nana came over to look, but in doing so stepped on Mittens’ tail. She screamed out and tried to run away. My Nana, with her legs weak and heavy now, couldn’t lift her foot fast enough. It ended up looking like a cartoon with Mittens jumping into the air with all four feet elevated, but stuck by her tail under Nana’s foot. Eventually, she lifted her foot, and Mittens ran off. Her anger only lasted until Nana opened a fresh can of cat food for her. This video is from October 2009, just over two months before my Nana died.

The social media aspect of this post comes through when I had a memory pop up from May 2009. A story I had totally forgotten about. I will share it, but it also made me want to take a trip back in time and see what other sorts of stories I might have shared during my Nana’s final year.

The final hurrah in terms of classic memories with my Nana actually has little to do with her. She was more of a background player in what turned out to be a typical event in my life.

It all began with a car accident. I was at a pretty rural intersection in Yarmouth. I had never before, or since, had anything remotely odd happen at that meeting of the roads. On this date, August 27, 2008, I stopped, looked both ways, and started through the intersection. Then I saw it.

A car came barreling around a bit of a blind corner. It flew through the intersection. I had a moment to cut my wheel and turn away before the car t-boned me. It hit me on the driver’s side just in front of the tire, spinning me around. My airbag didn’t deploy, which was great. If I hadn’t cut the wheel, who knows what types of injuries I would have had?

My totaled Saturn

I was fine and stepped out of my car only to see the other vehicle slowly, very slowly, driving away. I chased after it, yelling and swearing because this jerk had slammed into me and was trying to sneak away like they were a naughty child. It turned out I wasn’t too far off.

A neighbor ran out and chased the car down while another man came out to check on me. It ended up being the same man who was our school police officer at my high school back in the day. He’s asking me if I’m okay, and I’m getting excited to see him because it has been 20 years.

The man who hit me ended up being 95 years old. Insurance took care of everything, but unfortunately, my Saturn Ion was considered totaled. I ended up having to get a rental car for a few days while beginning the search for a new car. The tie to my Nana was that I was heading to her house after work on that day. So I ended up not making it due to my car being totaled.

This time, instead of choosing a smaller sedan that was good on gas, I went with a Jeep Liberty SUV. 4X4, heated leather seats, moon roof, terrible gas mileage, but whatever. I loved it.

The winter was great. I didn’t have to worry about getting stuck in the snow or sliding on ice with my Jeep. I figured that the accident with my previous vehicle was an anomaly and a story I’d be telling for years. It turned out that there was a sequel on its way.

Flash forward to May 25, 2009, and the reason for this entire post. Thanks for making it this far.

I was at my Nana’s house. It was getting dark, so it must have been closing in on 8pm. I was probably watching a rerun of The Simpsons with my father while Nana was sitting at the dining room table.

From outside, I heard a crash. Thinking there had been a collision, I jumped up from the chair and looked outside. I spotted a sedan to the right side just at the edge of my Nana's yard. Its front end was smoking, but it was still trying to drive off. There was no other vehicle until I realized what had collided with that car: my parked Jeep.

This vehicle had slammed into the rear end of my Jeep while doing a U-turn in the middle of the road. Then they tried to sneak off, much like the old man the previous August. I knew that my rear axle had to be trashed from the collision.

I ran outside yelling at the other car. This scrawny guy steps out. He was probably around my age, then early 30s. I could tell he must have been on something by the way he was speaking in stuttering phrases while being very jittery.

Flashbacks of my Saturn popped into my head, and I started going off on the guy. How could he be so reckless as to slam into my parked car? I wasn’t in the middle of the street. I asked him if he was drunk, and suddenly his demeanor changed.

He started begging me not to call anybody. He begged to be able to go inside and talk to the people in there. So this tweaking weirdo wanted to go inside and talk to my 85-year-old grandmother? No way.

By this point, my Nana had come to the door to see what was up. This bag of bones sees her and starts calling out to her. He’s begging to be allowed to go in and talk to her. Why? Honestly, what did he need to speak to my Nana? To plead his case? You hit my car, pal. Plead your case to me.

I stood between him and the front door, telling him explicitly that there was no way I was letting him near my Nana. I demanded his insurance info. Now my father had come out, and the other guy finally relented. Granted, he was still pleading his case, but what could he say? He hit a parked car like a moron.

I remember being so mad. Part of me was mad that I had stayed a little longer at my Nana’s. The whole situation could have been avoided if I hadn’t been there. That was just misguided anger. It was a random coincidence that nobody could have predicted.

I believe I drove my Jeep home, but then I didn’t dare to drive it. The sketchy other driver continued to bat 1,000 by ducking his insurance company for days. I had to think seriously about going to the police to get this guy to cooperate. I was also shopping around for a good, reliable mechanic to fix the Jeep.

A few days were spent chasing the guy down and getting his insurance company to handle the claim. I did a lot of walking until I got a rental car, which ironically ended up being the same model as a friend at work. That should be where the story ended, but it wasn’t.

A rare photo of that rental car.

You’d think that it would be as easy as bringing the Jeep to the mechanic and getting the rear axle fixed. Nope. Come on, why would it be that easy? From the day that the accident happened to the day that the Jeep was 100% again was two months.

Not only did it need a new rear axle, but a new fuel tank as well. There was also confusion from both insurance companies as to the actual place where my vehicle was. I had to deal with the idiot who hit my car, calling me angrily, asking about where my Jeep was. In reality, the guy was pissed that he had caused way more damage than he thought. It’s like, hey dude, don’t drive like a moron, and things like this won’t happen.

After five weeks of rental cars, walking, and even riding bikes, I got my Jeep back. Almost immediately, my battery died. It was a comedy show, as anytime I wanted to go somewhere, I had to pop the hood and jump my battery. I believe I had borrowed a portable battery charger. This was every single time I needed to start it. So back to the mechanic it went.

As I mentioned, it was two full months before the Jeep was purring like a kitten again. I loved that vehicle, but an issue would rear its ugly head. Gas prices. Shortly after my Nana died in the last week of 2009, I started doing road trips to cope. I took photos and wrote articles about the places I saw. Those articles are actually way, way back in the archives of this blog.

Gas prices were nearly as high as they are in 2026. Each trip I took got further from home and cost more. I knew I had to make a choice. It was either the road trips that were soothing my soul after my Nana’s death, or the Jeep that up to that point had been my favorite vehicle I had.

In the end, I chose the road trips. I sold the Jeep and got a Ford Focus. Great gas mileage, average looking, but it allowed me to keep logging loads of miles. It worked out for the best.

Me parking my new Ford in some odd places.

Only when going through my Facebook archives did I come upon this story of the Jeep accident. It makes me glad that I have shared as much as I have on social media. I have a great memory, but some things slip through the cracks.

Besides that accident and her standing on Mittens’ tail, there aren’t many memories I have from my Nana’s final year. Luckily, in her case, and the case of all of my grandparents, I have more than enough memories to keep them alive inside my mind for as long as I live.

That is a big reason why I choose to share stories like this. Sure, it’s kind of funny, but it’s also a way to keep my Nana’s memory alive. She might have been gone for going on 17 years, but she created a legacy, and I am a part of that. It is partially my duty to her that I keep the legacy going. I take great pride in that duty.

Initial Impressions 2.0 Blog #121: Aging Gracefully, Mall Dreams, Fox Family Fun, etc.

1. I am now at the point where I feel weird if I am not actively involved in watching a show on Netflix. I finished the Stranger Things animated spin-off and rolled right into the thriller series His & Hers. That was also really good. It was only 6 episodes, though, so I ran through it in less than a week. Now I have moved on to another suspense/thriller series, The Beast In Me, starring Claire Danes. I already like this one as well. I must admit it’s different seeing the same Claire Danes from My So Called Life as a middle-aged actor, but it can’t be that strange since she and I are basically the same age. It must be something about aging. Like when I was 15, seeing someone near 50, they looked old. Now at 48, I look at Claire Danes, who is 47, and she looks great. She looks her age but has aged well. Not sure how to describe it. Is it something in our minds that makes us look at age differently when we reach those same numbers? 48 doesn’t look old anymore because I am it. I guess I’ll have to wait and see if I still think Claire Danes looks great when we’re both in our 80s.

2. I have gotten a lot of positive feedback on my driving videos on social media. I extend my selfie stick up through my moon roof and lock it into place while I take a drive to somewhere on Cape Cod. I typically drive to a beach. Luckily, there are a lot of beaches for me to showcase on social media. The question remains though, what happens when I run out of beaches? I suppose I could just drive every random road. It would be the law of diminishing returns, though. I got from driving to a beautiful beach, and then it goes to me driving to the nearest Cumberland Farms or Dunkin’ Donuts. The more I think about it, the more I believe that there would be an audience. It would likely be old-time Cape Codders who would want to comment by mentioning what used to be located where I was driving. We’ll see if it comes to that. I still have a long way to go until then.



3. I have vivid dreams quite often. I also am pretty good at lucid dreaming, which is when you become aware you are dreaming and basically can start to control and manipulate things. That being said, I can’t tell myself before I sleep that I will dream of X, and then it happens. So when I have had a pair of vivid dreams over the last few weeks that include me hanging out with family and friends at some sort of 1990s mall, it must mean something. Either I miss hanging with certain people, or I miss standing around in the mall with nothing to worry about except whether I can afford something from the food court and a new CD. The first dream had family, including my three sisters, but also my Nina, who passed in 2021. We were out in front of where Filene’s used to be in the old Cape Cod Mall. The second one was weirder, including one sister and another good friend. The weird part was that the mall was a circle with five long hallways extending out from the circle. This is where the stores were, including Kmart and a Hallmark store. To top it off though, there was a kiosk that was selling pretzels stuffed with buffalo peanut butter. I am assuming buffalo like the spice, not like the animal, but I didn’t try one, so who knows?


4. Over the last 30 years, I have tried pretty much everything when it comes to supplements and energy drinks. There have been some that I have really liked and thought that they were well worth the price, and possible risks. I have tried some things that have been banned, like Ephedra Tea. I have tried things that have had their formulas changed, like Jack3d and NO Explode. I have tried things that have been discontinued, like Speed Stack. That being said, I have never tried an energy drink because its name made me laugh. That changed this week. I am sure some of you have heard of BUM Energy. I had never had a desire to try it until I saw one of their flavors. Dr. BUM. Just its name makes me laugh. It sounds like a name that should be reserved for a superhero proctologist. If you have it, you will quickly notice that it’s a take on Dr. Pepper. I like it, but the name bumped a 6/10 drink to an 8/10. Ha ha, Dr. BUM.


5. It was a comedy of errors this week, one day at work. The rest of the staff was done early, but I had more than an hour to wait for my last client to show up to train. I wasn’t sure if she was going to make it, so a text was sent to try to confirm. I didn’t want to sit around and wait for nothing. Unfortunately, mere minutes after that text was sent, an auto text went out to remind her of the appointment, so she never saw the previous one. So I waited. Another patient had forgotten their coat, and they were coming in to get it. I had to wait by the front door since there was nobody at the desk. While I was chatting and handing off the coat, my computer decided to install updates and restart. It took way too long to come back on, and then when it did, I had trouble remembering the password since we recently changed it. I was figuring the client would have responded to the text by then. By the time I was back online, my last client was late. I needed to take the trash out, but didn’t want to have her show up to an empty office while I was outside. In the end, she did show up, 25 minutes late, as I was reaching for the front door to lock it. We still did the full training session, plus I was getting paid, so it was no big deal.


6. After seeing a pallet of sod rolls while out on a walk this week, I am suggesting that we change their name to ‘grass Yodels.’ You can’t look at a roll of sod and not tell me it looks like a green, far less tasty, version of the snack cake. If you want to call them Swiss grass Rolls, I will accept it as well. Not sure how much more expanding on this random, foolish idea I can do. It made me laugh, and of course, I have photos so that you can now not unsee the similarity. I will say, don’t try to eat a grass Yodel. Hey, I can’t stop you if you’re really determined to eat grass, but I can say I tried.

7. It was seven years ago this week that my hero, my Grampa, passed away. He was the epitome of strength right up until the last several months when dementia finally got its claws into him. Despite being gone for so long, I do my best to keep him as a part of my life. Upon his death, my mother gave us kids each a green Irish Beanie Baby, sort of representing Grampa. I have that on hand at all of my author events. I also have his old compass. It is about a hundred years old and makes for a great photo prop. This week, to remember him, I went past my grandparents' old house on my walk. They lived there back in the 1990s, but outside it still looks the same, so it’s a nice flashback. In the afternoon, I took the compass and my new large crystal ball and went for a photo trip to the local beaches. I know one particular beach where there is a cherry blossom tree. My Grampa was a jazz singer, and we kids all remembered him singing ‘It looks like rain in Cherry Blossom Lane.’ I like combining the cherry blossoms with the compass. The photo session mostly consisted of me trying to balance the giant crystal ball and the compass on branches in the tree. The last thing I wanted was having the compass fall and the ball drop on it, and both smash. It ended up going well, as you can see in the photo.



8. I always admire and get a bit jealous of nature photographers. I can’t afford a $10K zoom lens, so typically I have to settle for long-distance shots. Then again, sometimes I get lucky. While at the same beach where I was shooting the crystal ball and compass, I noticed something, actually several somethings. I was trying to set up a photo when I saw a fox sitting on the other side of the parking lot. Even better was that behind the fox I spotted three little kits, or pups. My crystal ball photos immediately took a back seat to filming little foxes jumping and playing. It was the type of video I’d always hoped for but never expected. During the half hour or so that the foxes were around, the babies played, and the mother left and then returned with dinner for the little ones. I think it was a rabbit. At one point, the mother circled me, but not menacingly. She had spotted what looked like a chicken leg that some dumbass had just left in the grass. So I had the mama fox behind me and the babies in front. The only thing I didn’t get that I wanted was the babies coming and inspecting my camera. I kept leaving my camera on the tripod in different areas where the babies were hanging out. I had my remote shutter and was hoping they would be curious. Nah, once the mother brought back dinner, they all retreated. I plan on going back to that spot next week to see if I get lucky again.



9. I returned to the new Parker’s River Landing in Yarmouth this week to visit my Uncle Eric’s memorial plank on the boardwalk. This time, though, it was a family affair as his son, my cousin Patrick, and a few longtime family friends, went to toast to him. It was a beautiful sunny day, and we shared a few stories and laughs, but it was bittersweet. My uncle’s death three years ago wrecked me. Most don’t know how badly. This is mainly because I don’t talk about it since I believe nobody would listen or care. I have learned as I get older that few people will actually listen to you. For the most part, people wait for you to stop talking so they can then try to one-up you with whatever issue is going on. ‘You think that’s bad, well I have X going on.’ So I just keep it to myself, or blogs like this. I look to my cousin and aunt and see how they hold it together, so I owe it to them to do the same. I mean, if they can pull through after losing their father and husband, what right do I have to feel so bad about losing my uncle, right?

10. After visiting my uncle’s plank it was time to venture over to his favorite restaurant, Capt. Parker’s. Luckily, it is literally right across the street from the park. We walked over, having to wait for kind drivers to let us cross the busy Rt. 28. Hopefully, they will put a crosswalk in there because we aren’t the first, and sure won’t be the last, to try to walk across to Capt. Parker’s. The food was great. The prices were fine, depending on what you got. Fried chicken sandwich, $17, I guess that’s to be expected in this day and age. Fisherman’s Platter? $45. Nah, I’ll pass. I could get myself food to make 6-7 meals for that price. The best is the several items that were listed as ‘market price.’ This basically means they can charge as much as they want and say it’s because of how much the product costs, typically lobster. Thankfully, I can’t stand lobster, so I’d never have to play the guessing game of ‘market price’ before having to make a car payment on a child’s handful of lobster in a roll. We enjoyed our food and then, to make sure we got our money’s worth, stayed an extra hour chatting and laughing, all while the waiter kept walking by. Hey, we paid, and you got a good tip, so relax.

11. It is mid-May, so to no surprise this was the week to get my first sunburn. It wasn’t bad. The day was sunny and low 60’s and breezy by the water, so I had a thin long-sleeve shirt on. Plus, now that I have hair and don’t shave my head weekly, I don’t have to worry about sunburns on my scalp. Those sucked, I probably could have fried eggs on my head. This time it was just my forehead and the back of my neck. Well, and one other area. The long sleeves covered just below my wrists for the most part. At the end of the day, I ended up with half of my hands red. It literally looked like I had stuck my fingers in boiling water. I guess that’s not as bad as getting the driving tan where one arm is red, and the other is not, from resting your arm on the open window while driving.

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 #91: Weird Sneezes, Hot Dog Head, When Henry Met Henry, etc.

1. Have you ever noticed how some people have odd-sounding sneezes? Like most people typically have a sneeze that sounds like what you’re probably thinking of right now. Every now and then, though, you come across a sneeze that stands out as weird. I was in my car in a parking lot when I heard a man start sneezing outside his car. Well, either sneezing or coughing. Anyway, it sounded like a human/bird combination. I was able to get a good read on it since the guy stayed outside of his car, sneezing loudly for several minutes. It got to be pretty disturbing because of how loud it was. I couldn’t tell if he was sneezing or having some sort of fit. Other people were looking, but nobody said anything. The guy ended up driving away without incident, but left us all with a strange story to tell.


2. It’s interesting how life comes full circle sometimes. In 1999, I’d go to the beach and listen to new(ish) Toad the Wet Sprocket on CD. All the while being inspired to write poetry in a notebook. In 2025, I’m listening to new(ish) Toad the Wet Sprocket streaming on Spotify while being inspired to write poetry in a Word document. From Quarter-Life to Mid-Life, some things still remain.


3. This is a bit of the weird and random stuff that I caused myself. In New England, we got a massive Nor’easter for a good 3 days. In all, we ended up with something like 4 inches of rain in total. I was out for a drive surveying the damage when I got an idea. My car is white, therefore it is almost always dirty. With the rain still falling at a good clip, I got an idea. I decided to stop at the store and buy some cleaning wipes and paper towels. You see where this is going. Since there was nobody else on the roads, I stopped at a park. I then proceeded to ‘wash’ my car using the cleaning wipes, rain, and paper towels. I ended up with a pile of wet garbage that I had to throw away. It wasn’t as sparkly clean like a proper car wash would have given, but all in all, my car looked much better after that. Laugh if you want, I know I did as I realized how crazy I looked. I would have died if someone pulled up and saw this idiot using a roll of paper towels to ‘clean’ his car.


4. Some people are an enigma wrapped in a riddle. Some are just idiots. There is a guy at my gym, probably early 50s. He works out in jeans, whatever that says about him. Anyway, he comes into the gym and exclusively uses the elliptical machine. He makes sure to thoroughly clean the machine before using it, which is great. Then he sweats all over it and never cleans it afterward. What is up with that? To top it off, I passed him at the grocery store, and upon entering, he put hand sanitizer on. I was confused. So this guy cares about getting germs from others, but not about sharing his? Okay, buddy, oh, and your head looks like a boiled hot dog in shape and shininess.

Yup, pretty much like that

5. An update from last week. The cute girl came back into my work. I had a client scheduled while she’d be there. As luck would have it, my client rescheduled to an earlier time, meaning I’d be free when she showed up. She ended up arriving 10 minutes late and mentioned being really tired. So even though I was able to speak to her, I knew I needed to keep it shorter since her appointment was behind. It ended up being good, brief but good. I guess I just have to keep practicing patience and persistence. She’ll be back in a few weeks. That’ll give me plenty of time to have some witty lines and try to make sure my schedule is open.


6. In October, as the weather starts to get cooler, we more often see an invasion at my work. Crickets begin to get inside and set up shop in the baseboards and dark corners. Their chirps echo off the cement floors and can drive you crazy. I began stalking one this week and swore that it was a ventriloquist because whenever I got to where I thought it was, the sound started coming from somewhere else. At one point, it slipped out from a baseboard, and I tried to catch it, but it went right back in and chirped like a jerk in my face. The next morning, I came in and there was the cricket sitting in the middle of the bathroom floor. I caught it in a paper cup and put it outside. It didn’t even try to escape. I wonder if it felt bad for humiliating me the day before and gave itself up?


7. I don’t know if this is embarrassing or not, but I only this week discovered that there are two different cookies, macarons and macaroons. I thought there was just the coconut macaroons, and that people sometimes misspell it as macaron. Nope. A macaron is what looks like a fluffy, soft Oreo in different colors. How is this something I’m just realizing? Next, you’re gonna tell me Hellman’s and Best Foods mayo is the same thing. Or that Carl’s Jr. and Hardee’s are the same restaurant.

8. While at the grocery store, I bumped into my Uncle Steve, whom I haven’t seen in months. He was my running mentor since he became a marathon runner in his 50s. Now he’s retired from running and work in general, so it has become harder to bump into him. I was caught off guard a little by just how much he looks like my Grampa, just with shorter hair. I mentioned it to him, and he said that he looked so much like his father that people were mistaking them. The only problem is my Grampa died 6 years ago. My uncle joked that people must have thought Grampa’s ghost was haunting the nursing home where he died, which is also where my uncle worked. I laughed loud enough that people started staring at us, but who cares? I always leave a conversation with my Uncle Steve feeling better about myself. I never take that for granted.


9. This week marked what would have been my Grampa’s 100th birthday. I was thinking of him a lot, and when visiting my mom, we shared stories of him. My sister Ashley arrived, and we all were chatting. I noticed the sunset as the pink sky continued to grow. It wasn’t until my mom called for us that we saw the incredible sunset rainbow from the backyard. It had been raining, but never did I think I’d see a sunset rainbow. As we all took photos, we realized how symbolic it was that the rainbow was on Grampa’s birthday. Maybe it was a gift to him, or for us from him, but it made the day even more special.

10. A good chunk of this week’s blog will be dedicated to the When Henry Met Henry short film project. I had put together a fundraiser to allow us to hire cast and crew. This weekend was the big filming day. Being that in total it will likely be somewhere between 6-8 minutes in length it took us about 4 hours to film it. There were 5 of us total at the shoot, and things went as well as we could have hoped. So there’s a little overview.


11. They say you never get a second chance to make a first impression. I had promised to arrive at the filming location, a beach in Wellfleet, with a Box O’ Joe from Dunkin’. Yes, I did that part. As the crew trickled in, half of us walked the roughly 1/3 mile to where we’d be shooting. Only when we got there did one of the crew ask where the cups were for the coffee. Yup, I forgot the cups. Well, in all honesty, the people at Dunkin’ didn’t give them to me, as it was so busy, but I still should have waited and asked. That was my first impression. Hey, how about we all just chug scalding hot coffee from a box? Nah, I’ll pass.


12. Speaking of the location. It was perfect. A very secluded sand dune that went off the beach and into nearby woods. But as you just read, it was about 1/3 of a mile from the parking lot. Not too bad if you’re out for a leisurely stroll, but when you’re lugging equipment and making 3 trips each way, it can become a chore. I ended up walking well over 3 miles in the sand. All I can say is that it was a better workout than many I have had recently. After eating something small at 6am, and doing all of that walking, I was able to eat a big McDonald’s dinner and still was 400 calories below my allotment for the day.

13. They say the greatest accomplishments come when leaving your comfort zone. I definitely did that. I had no idea about directing, producing, or anything like that. I was dropped into the deep end on this film. Our sound person couldn’t make it, so I was tasked with that. I had to learn on the fly. I think I did all right, but it’ll be determined during the editing. While the actors and director were very loose and chatty with each other, I spent a lot of my time listening and learning all I could. My hope is that with each experience in film, I learn more and more until maybe one day I can lead my own project. We’ll see.


14. Oh, and by the way, just because it’s mid-October and summer is long gone doesn’t mean you can’t get sunburned. Take it from me and my red face. Well, except for the whiter areas around my eyes since I was wearing sunglasses. The only good thing about a sunburn in the fall is that the temperatures dropping into the 40s at night make sleeping easier than if it were 70 and humid at night.


15. Fun fact: we filmed When Henry Met Henry on the same weekend as the famed Wellfleet Oysterfest. It typically brings 10-20,000 people to the town over the weekend. Luckily, we all got to the beach way ahead of the crowds, so we didn’t worry about parking. Not too long after, several school buses showed up as they would be shuttling people over to the festival. When we headed out to the shooting location, there were maybe a dozen cars in the parking lot. When we returned at the end, not only was the lot full, but cars were lined down the street. On my drive home, going through Wellfleet, the vehicles were lining the streets in a lot of places. It just shows how luck was on our side with the film.

The cast and crew

16. To wrap it up, I plan on making a video where I go over more of the behind-the-scenes of the making of the film. I decided to get a jump on that this weekend. I was about 7 minutes into recording the video when my recording software froze up and I lost it all. Obviously, I was mad, but what made it worse was that this was the 2nd straight time I’d tried to record a video on that software only for it to glitch out mid-record. I was so blinded with rage that I nearly shattered my webcam slam dunking it on the floor. It took several rounds of embarrassing fail videos on YouTube for me to feel better.

Initial Impressions 2.0 Blog #82: Summer Sprinting, Rock Band Formation, Retired Mall Rat, etc.

1. I used to be a borderline-elite runner in my heyday. An injury to my right hip when speed training for a 5K in 2017 caused a slow decline in both my speed and distance until I basically retired from running races for 7 years. I have mentioned several times in this blog about Monday Runday with my friend Mike. We discuss how simply being there motivates us to try to run longer or faster. I typically try to go easy on myself as I’m not training for any race. I have noticed over the last few weeks that something is changing. I don’t want to walk, and I can’t run long distances, really, currently. I have found the sweet spot with long sprints. I walk ¼ mile and then sprint the next ¼ mile. Each week, I get one of those sprints faster. This week I had 2 ¼ mile sprints dip under 7-minute pace, topping out at 6:45. For me, it was the fastest I’ve run since probably 2019. It was a big accomplishment. Of course, my body said enough was enough, and I ended up having to walk most of the rest of the time, but next week I’ll be there trying to top it.


2. For way too many years I worked in restaurants. The summertime was a particularly rough time. It would be super hot, always busy, and it felt like as we got into the beginning of August, everybody was in some stage of burnout. I assumed that not being a part of the unforgiving restaurant industry would put an end to the summer burnout feeling, but I was wrong. I have it now. I don’t know if it is the heat, the amount of brain-dead people I encounter, or maybe just a general unhappiness enhanced by both of those other things. Either way, I feel a general fatigue. I have seen that summer burnout is a real thing, but there’s not much I can do to overcome it besides just being patient. My yearly vacation starts on August 22nd and I won’t be back to work until after Labor Day, so I just need to hold out a little longer.


3. Speaking of that vacation. I had grand plans of a several-day road trip through Northern New England, much like last year. However, that summer burnout has made just the thought of driving 4 hours north too much. I’m not saying that I’m not going to do some sort of road trip this year. I just might end up doing a more spontaneous trip, or a series of shorter day trips. It’s funny, I read that the ‘summer burnout’ feeling can come from pressure to enjoy summer while it’s here. I almost feel a little pressure to do lots of stuff on my vacation. In reality, it should be more about relaxing and enjoying a lot of free time, more than where I go to do it. Man, that sounds lame.

How I currently feel.

4. My Grampa was my hero and role model. He is the man I try so hard to emulate. As much as social media can be a drain on people mentally due to the abhorrent behavior of some people, it does give me a gift I will always treasure. When my Grampa died 6 years ago, his Facebook page went into limbo. There is nobody there to remove it so it stands frozen in time. It is a forever memory of him that I can go to visit every now and then. I just went and took a trip through our chats. It was nothing earth-shattering, mostly me asking him questions about his old donut shop or potential people to interview for my restaurant book. That doesn’t matter. For a few moments, it felt like he was still here. I was almost tempted to send him a message.


5. I might have witnessed the beginning of the next big rock band. I was in a grocery store where there is a guy who works nights. He’s got to be around 20, but he stocks shelves and tends to scream/sing songs as he does it. This is complete with a denim jacket with various metal band logos stitched into it, and copious B.O. that seeps through said jacket. On this visit, I saw him meet another man, probably early-30s, in the soda aisle. They began discussing the instruments they played and planned to chat later. The employee was so excited by the prospect of starting a band that when he didn’t have a pen and paper to give his number (he did so because the other guy said his phone was in his car), he basically ran to the service desk to get one. So if these two form a band that becomes the next Iron Maiden, I’ll know I was there to see the beginning of their journey. Maybe I’ll be in the biopic!


6. It’s no secret that fall is my favorite time of year. Basically, from Labor Day to the end of the year is my jam. I mean I already mentioned it in this blog. So when the Halloween products make their debut, I am all about it. One favorite pastime is getting to eat the famed ‘Monster Cereals.’ For those who don’t know, these are Count Chocula, Boo Berry, and Frankenberry. I had spotted them a few weeks back in a grocery store but didn’t take the bait. That changed this week. I just had to snag a box of Count Chocula, which is my favorite. Yes, there is still a month of summer left, but what could be better than enjoying Count Chocula while summer is still going strong? How about some sort of pumpkin spice-flavored treat as well? That’s next on the list.

7. August feels like the month where we lose the most daylight. Well, besides November, when we do the stupid Daylight Savings Time. I checked, and at least here on Cape Cod, the sun sets on August 1st at 7:58pm and at 7:15pm on August 31st. So we lose 43 minutes. Not sure if that’s more or less than any other month, and I don’t feel like doing tons of research. Maybe it’s because all of the Halloween and deals are everywhere in August and kids start going back to school. It is a reminder to all those who love summer the most to get out there and enjoy it because before you know it, we’ll have sunsets at 5pm and frost on the ground.


8. I have several ‘favorite’ run/walk routes near where I live. I am very lucky to be able to put on sneakers and just go to some amazing places. One such route leads through a historic district. The back roads eventually bring you to the busy stretch of beaches along the south coast of Cape Cod. The scenery along this route truly is the stuff that people come from hundreds of miles away to vacation here for. Along this route is one of my favorite houses. It just speaks to me for some reason. It is all red but nothing overly luxurious. It had been sold probably 15 years ago and I made the joke that next time it was for sale, maybe I’d be able to buy it. Well, as luck would have it the house it currently for sale again. Unfortunately, the prices of houses everywhere, especially on Cape Cod, have gone up exponentially. This means that nope, I can’t afford to buy it. In fact, according to Zillow, it’s valued at $1.2 million. This is even with a $50K price cut. To showcase how ridiculous house prices are, this exact house is worth more than double what it was in 2016. The bottom line is that if I ever want to own a home, it’s likely not going to be in the place where I grew up, which basically sucks. Nothing else to say.
https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/181-Pleasant-St-South-Yarmouth-MA-02664/55930971_zpid/?utm_campaign=zillowwebmessage&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=txtshare


9. It’s funny how times change. When I was in high school in the 1990s, I loved spending Friday evenings just hanging out, walking the corridors of the Cape Cod Mall. I might not have been the most prolific ‘mall rat’ but I still was one. I can count on one hand with fingers left the number of times I’ve been to that mall this year. I added one this week only because I was jonesing for some Chinese food from a scoop and serve spot in the foot court. I will admit I did stop for a moment and debate taking a little stroll. Maybe when summer is over, I will revisit my youth by wasting time and money there but not right now. The Chinese food was great as always, though.


10. I had a day this week where I ate really poorly for lunch, like fast food poorly. The guilt and shame crept up and I ended up forcing myself to go for a walk. I have a certain route I can take, which is roughly 3 miles each way to get to the doors of my old middle school. It is now closed down. In reality, the first 3 schools I attended are no longer in operation but that’s a different story. I decided to try to remember the old route my friends and I would occasionally take to walk home through the woods. It coincides with the trail the cross-country team would run. I started down this empty wooded pathway, unsure of where I was going. All the while I was listening to an episode of True Crime Obsessed, the podcast co-hosted by my old school friend Patrick Hinds. It was fitting as I kept looking over my shoulders to make sure I wasn’t being stalked. After feeling lost for a bit I did eventually make it to the school grounds. It was a very meta moment to be at the front doors of where I went to school in 6th through 8th grade, while listening to the voice of someone I’d see in those hallways all the time as he talked about Cape Cod and his high school best friend. I enjoyed that until I had to walk the 3+ miles back to my car.

Class is not in session.

Initial Impressions 2.0 #14: Foolish Cars, Band Attacks, Grampa's Donuts, etc

1. I don’t know what made me laugh and shake my head more, an old Chevy Suburban with small tires so it’s a few inches off the ground or a typical sedan car with huge tires. Both are equally stupid and cry out ‘Please look at me!’

2. Hashtags on social media are supposed to help people find relevant content. #sunrise #food #weaselseatingstrawberries #etc. If you use a hashtag to basically write another sentence maybe just write that sentence. #wenttothestoretobuydinnerandforgotmywallet

3. I have been listening to relaxing music on YouTube before bed for many weeks now. It does help my brain start to shut off and get ready for sleep. The downside? Because I play these types of videos almost every night my suggested videos section is nearly all relaxing music. Literally dozens of videos that are almost identical. I don’t want to stop listening to the music though so I guess eventually my entire feed will just be calming music.

4. Only recently have I realized that I have had the same wallet for at least 25 years. Is this common? I don’t think wallets expire so I’d assume that people just keep them until they literally fall apart. Does anyone out there have a wallet they’ve owned for decades? Maybe I should finally get a new one even though my current one is still surprisingly durable.

Is it time for a new wallet?

5. A local supermarket had its automatic exit door shut off due to it needing repairs. There was a sign saying to use the entrance door and sorry for any inconvenience. The entrance door is literally 3 feet beside the exit. I appreciate the sentiment but if someone is inconvenienced by taking 2 steps to the side they might need to think about InstaCart.

6. From the 1 In A Million department. I was cleaning the gym where I work at the end of the shift. I had a thick red band tied around a pole and quickly grabbed it and pulled it as I was trying to get done before a meeting. Well, the band decided to slam me right in the nuts. I let out a nice gasp and a few groans while I held the pole to not collapse. All in all a great ending to the work day. Stupid band.

7. I am hoping that 5 years from now I am looking back on the New England Patriots drafting North Carolina quarterback Drake Maye with the #3 pick as a watershed moment that led the team back to prominence. However, I also thought that about Mac Jones in 2021, and now he’s in Jacksonville. Fun Fact: Of the first 5 QBs picked in that 2021 NFL Draft, only #1 pick Trevor Lawrence is still on the same team. All the other 4 QBs, including Mac Jones, have been traded. Crazy.

8. I am excited for a new location of Hole In One Donuts to open less than 10 minutes from me. There are 2 other locations on Cape Cod in Eastham and Orleans. The reason I will always have a soft spot for them is not just because their donuts are great, but because their first location used equipment purchased from my Grampa’s donut shop, Sullivan’s. When he had to close the shop in Hyannis in 1993 the four sisters who own Hole In One bought some of the equipment. Not only did they use his equipment, but they also made the donuts the way he used to. So to me, it’s like having Grampa’s donuts still after all these years.

Soon to be Hole In One(Google Maps)

9. My USB core to charge my iPhone was old, frayed, and shorting out. Needless to say I needed a new one soon. The cord was so bad it would flip from charging to not charging nonstop which drove me nuts. Especially in the car when it would affect my music. I finally had enough while driving. It kept shorting out so I yanked it out of my stereo and whipped the cord out of the window. Because it was the sane, normal thing to do.

Get out! Stupid USB!

10. Irony is the fact that when I got my last iPhone a few years ago I got a pair of those Air Pods earbuds. I prefer the big old-school over-ear headphones so I just tossed them in the closet. I don’t want to get funny looks at the library wearing huge headphones so now I’m tearing apart my closet looking for those damn earbuds because if I don’t find them it costs like $100 to buy new ones. Boo.

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