In my childhood, only one thing could rival the ice cream truck.

During the summer, another vehicle rolled into our neighborhood, much quieter than the circus-music van of frozen sugar. And it offered something maybe even more satisfying. Some of the treats were sweet, while others stirred a different kind of hunger.

What was this mysterious wonder?

The bookmobile.

Oh, the memories of climbing those steps into the cooled interior and breathing in the scent of paper. The library-on-wheels handed out books like candy, feeding our imaginations during the vacation months.

I remembered that experience today when I read about the Traveler Restaurant in Connecticut.

The original owner, an avid reader, ran out of space at home. So he brought a few thousand volumes into his restaurant and told diners they could take one with them.

New owners kept the tradition, and now every guest can choose up to three free books with their meal. They give away around 100,000 a year.

Yes, the magic of reading is still alive.

And the best part… paperbacks melt a lot slower than popsicles.

This moment in my dorm room changed everything.

Graduation loomed. I had nearly finished my undergrad degree in Georgia, but I wasn’t sure what lay ahead. The future awaited like a thick fog.

Do I go back home to North Carolina? Take a leap to a big city like New York or LA? Every blurry option contained possibility.

And then one night I was alone in my room. Playing soft music from a CD, I knelt in the middle of a rug and whispered a simple prayer.

God, I don’t want to get up until I know what to do next.

Somewhere in those moments, maybe an hour later, a deep clarity settled in. And for the first time, with certainty, I knew.

But it required moving to a place I had never considered (or even visited) and doing the unexpected….

Virginia Beach, Virginia for a graduate program.

It was crazy risky. More classes. Few connections. No source of income. But somehow, I felt it in my bones.

So I went. And that one decision sparked a chain reaction of events… jobs, conversations, twists… which miraculously led me to Jess, five children, and 28 years of marriage.

Today I thought about that experience when I came across this quote:

“When we’re not sure how to decide, we should choose the bigger life.”
– Gretchen Rubin

Over the years, I’ve shared this wisdom with my kids, trying to live it myself, though imperfectly. And I’ve repeated something along these lines to them:

When you have the choice between watching a game on TV or hanging out with friends?
Hang out with friends.

Staying in an unsatisfying job or making a change?
Make the change.

When you can sit it out or dance?
Dance.

That last line is from a country song, but you get the drift.

Pick the path with more possibility, the step that stretches, the scarier road, the move that obliterates the pros-and-cons list. The one full of life.

It leads to amazing places.

2 → 1 > 2

At first glance, it defies logic. How can subtraction mean addition, or even multiplication?

Today, we listened to the story of Jesus feeding a large crowd, when one lunch expanded into thousands.

Then we witnessed another miraculous moment. Our friends, Ethan and Karylin, spoke their vows and entered into marriage.

As two became one, something greater was born. With their union, strengths combined and weaknesses found cover.

In the world’s math: 2 becoming 1 is loss.
In God’s math: 2 becoming 1 multiplies love and purpose.

Here’s to a lifetime of joy for the new Michaux family.

Divine arithmetic at its best.

I know what I was doing at 10:32pm, exactly 25 years ago today.

Some memories blur over time. This one never faded.

In that instant, something big happened. Everything changed. The emotions hit like nothing I’d known, and even now, they remain just as powerful. Maybe more so.

On June 21, 2000, we welcomed McKenzie, our firstborn, into this world. My first three words: She’s so beautiful.

This afternoon we visited with her and Will. We strolled through a museum, talked over lunch, celebrated with gifts, then smiled for photos.

Happy Birthday, Kenz!

You made me a dad. I’m still proud to be yours.

These groups of four achieved amazing things:

John, Paul, George, Ringo
Jordan, LeBron, Magic, Bird
Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, Raphael
Bert, Ernie, Big Bird, Cookie Monster

So, here’s another to add to the list:

Luke, Sam, Jake, and me

My sons and I played a round of golf today, with sunshine overhead and lots of laughter between our carts. Some shots soared, while others (mostly mine)... not so much.

But none of that mattered.

Times like this are rare now. Luke lives out of town, and Jake and Sam are away at college. Getting all of us together takes effort, which makes it even more special.

Yeah, history won’t remember our scores, but we weren’t chasing a trophy.

We were after something better.

As a kid, this strange fascination never let go.

For a while, I fell under its spell and became completely obsessed. I practiced and got pretty good. Even all these decades later, I still have a soft spot for this skill.

So, what took up so much space in my head?

Magic.

I perfected sleight-of-hand and loved visiting dusty magic shops filled with wonders. Over time, I had all the cool stuff… coin illusions, foam rabbits, black wand and hat.

I put on full shows for my family and friends and even owned a hardback bio of Harry Houdini, the legendary escape artist. On certain weekends, I watched David Copperfield TV specials at my grandparents’ house, especially his Statue of Liberty vanishing act.

But out of all the illusions I mastered, one act always stole the spotlight. And it's the easiest of them all.

The Magic Coloring Book.

The set-up is simple. When I first flip through the book, the pages are blank. A second pass reveals black-and-white outlines, then finally — voilà — full color illustrations appear before vanishing again.

Audiences go nuts about it. As a substitute teacher, I’d whip that trick out and instantly tame the wildest beasts: middle schoolers. My bargain? With good behavior, they would learn the secret at the end of class.

My bribery worked every time. Better than candy.

This week, I remembered my old routines when I read about an American magician who fled to Brazil after receiving death threats.

Why? Because he revealed the secrets behind famous illusions, like sawing someone in half and levitation. The danger came from fellow magicians, trying to protect their intellectual property.

So far, no one's come after me for exposing the Magic Coloring Book.

But I’m ready to vanish if things get dicey.

A moment that stopped us in our tracks.

Years ago, hiking deep into a rainforest in Belize, our guide promised a spectacular view if we kept going.

After a long stretch walking under thick canopy, there arose a sound. A rumbling, maybe thunder. When we finally pushed away the last cluster of branches, there it stood.

A waterfall, tall and wild and alive.

Crystal blue water poured into a natural pool, surrounded by forest, as if nothing else existed. For an hour, our group swam, took pictures, and shook our heads at the beauty. Like stepping into a movie.

This week offered a similar experience, only a short drive from home. Leaving an evening event, with the sun dipping low, something breathtaking filled the sky.

A double rainbow.

Brighter and bigger than any I’d ever seen, our car followed after it, trying to get closer. But rainbows shift based on perspective, forever out of reach.

Still, we chased the colored lights until finding the perfect spot. A quiet bridge on a back road gave us an unobstructed line of sight.

And there it towered above us, in a massive twin arch, painting the horizon and glowing over the river, enormous and perfect and majestic.

Once again, our jaws dropped in awe.

The brush of our Creator is always moving, whether we notice or not.

My favorite album of the 80s.

A big statement, since this marked the golden age of pop music legends. Michael Jackson moonwalked. Prince draped the world in purple. Madonna ruled MTV, and Springsteen gave grit in a red bandana.

But one band lived in my Walkman.

Their popular single described craving a hardcore drug — oooooh, scandalous — until I realized the illicit substance was just love.

I’m talking about Huey Lewis and the News.

Their smash LP, Sports, landed in 1983, and I played it so often the cassette tape practically fell apart.

Today, I learned three facts about that iconic cover which shows the group crammed inside a dive bar.

1) There’s a guitar made from a toilet seat hanging on the wall
2) The TV in the background displays Dwight Clark’s legendary 49ers catch
3) Huey Lewis had a hangover during the entire shoot

Takes me back to those pencil-rewinding cassette days.

I’ll never look at them the same again.

Why did I memorize 20 random objects?

This weekend, I stood in front of a room at our local library and led a memory workshop.

The goal? Teach folks how to remember a speech without fumbling with notes. Also, how to conquer the grocery store using no list. Or both. There are countless uses in between.

Before the event, I asked ChatGPT to create twenty unrelated items, as if shopping at WalMart. Then I gave myself five minutes to memorize them.

On Sunday, I stepped up with the list projected behind me and rattled off each object in order. Then backward. Then every other one.

The group leaned in.

I told them I could easily retain double or triple the amount. Give me a little more time, and I could manage over a hundred. And believe me, I’m not some brainiac.

Naturally, they wanted to know how. And turns out, there’s a method. A couple decades ago, I read about a strategy used by ancient orators. And I learned it.

I wondered if I could deliver a thirty-minute speech without relying on notes. I nervously tried, and it worked. My talks sounded more natural, so I kept refining the technique, which I’ve now used for years.

Sometimes people ask, “How do you remember an entire presentation?” The same way I did the shopping list.

It’s called the Memory Palace.

The idea is simple. You recall things by placing them inside a mental map of a familiar place: your house, your office, or your childhood school.

You walk through that space in your mind and “store” each item at a specific spot. Then, when you’re ready, take a stroll through the palace and collect the memories like you left them on a shelf.

The crazier the visual cues, the better. Your brain recalls visuals much easier than abstract information.

I walked the audience through a sample exercise. And judging by their faces, they embraced the concept.

Now if I can just remember where I put my reading glasses.

This wasn’t supposed to take so long.

At Christmas, Sam gave me a present he chose carefully, knowing my preferences. It felt heavy and solid inside the wrapping paper. Like a brick, only thicker, as if lifting a dumbbell.

And after opening, a book was revealed: The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson.

This epic fantasy novel isn't a flimsy, bargain-bin find. With 1,007 pages, it’s a whopper.

So, I dove in. A few sections here, a chapter there, usually at night before sleep took over. The plot sprawled across cities and timelines, slowly unraveling characters like a mystery bundled in armor and swordplay.

And today, on Father’s Day, I finally reached The End.

The story earned its weight, right up there with the other biggest book I’ve ever finished (besides the Bible) — Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings compilation.

Amazing what can be accomplished, one bite at a time.

Bonus: I now have biceps strong enough to lift Volume Two.

What was I walking into?

Years ago, my family got invited to a party. Not a birthday bash, cookout, or even a graduation.

A next-door neighbor mom threw a get-together to celebrate... the end of her breastfeeding.

Since we were good friends with her, I knew we’d be going. But it felt a little awkward. Hand me a Happy Birthday cupcake and I’m your guy, but toss me into a weaning party, and my brain freezes.

What do I say? A simple “Congratulations” or a “You did it”?

You see? Aaaawwwkwaaard.

When we arrived, it was full-tilt. Streamers and balloons everywhere.

And on the kitchen table, centered like the crown jewel of the kingdom, as if a spotlight illuminated it, sat a massive Boob Cake.

Frosted. Perky. Proud.

The gathering, however, turned out to be incredible, especially witnessing a special moment between a mother and daughter.

Saying the right words didn’t even matter. Just being there meant more than enough.

That came to mind as we hung out tonight with friends at a luau party. Jess and I dressed in tropical attire, leis around our necks, while performers from a tiny Pacific island sang and danced.

So here’s my philosophy:

Life is short.
Find things to celebrate, just for the heck of it.
Who cares?
Laugh.
Bake a cake.

And remember, if the cake’s got nipples, you’re in for a good time.

I can’t believe I bought them.

In high school, I splurged on a flashy purchase. The kind of thing you show off but then second-guess. It got plenty of attention — maybe too much.

Every glance and comment made me more self-conscious, so I tucked them away, saved for special occasions. Sunny days only. Never with a chance of rain. I wanted to avoid scuffs, even if that meant they rarely left the box.

I’m talking about the original black and red Nike Air Jordan 1s from 1985.

Those bad boys cost me a whole sixty-five bucks, a lot back then, double the price of other footwear. But I scraped together all my birthday and lawn-mowing cash.

These shoes put Michael Jordan on the map. The NBA fined him $5,000 per game for breaking their fashion rule. But it’s now considered the most influential sneaker in history.

This week, while watching the NBA Finals, they came to mind again.

For the first time since the mid-2000s, Nike and Adidas aren't dominating the spotlight. Instead, Converse and Puma have made a comeback with star players Shai Gilgeous-Alexander and Tyrese Haliburton.

I can’t remember what finally happened to my Air Jordans, but I recently learned a pristine set now sells for $20,000 - $30,000.

So, my biggest regret other than barely wearing my pair?

Not keeping them.

The news spread about her.

Growing up, I played trumpet. Started in fifth grade with hours of scales and lip slurs, enough to earn “1st chair” through middle and into high school.

Then a new student arrived, recently moved from out of state. The band director placed her midway in our brass section since no one knew much about her skill level.

But whispers began.

“You have to hear her.”
“Incredible.”
“Wow, she’s great.”

Turned out, they were right.

This newcomer wasn’t just good, but jaw-dropping amazing. Technical and powerful, she made that horn sing in her hands.

We soon developed a friendship, and I handed over the lead chair with no regrets. She belonged there.

Time passed. She kept climbing the music ladder and went professional. Her peers now regard her as a “glass‑ceiling‑shattering” musician.

She became the first woman to hold a lead trumpet spot in a premier U.S. military jazz ensemble. These days, she’s lighting up Broadway, performing in hit productions.

This week, while browsing the library, I spotted a CD for the cast recording of Some Like It Hot. Something clicked. I flipped open the case and scanned the credits.

There she was, 1st trumpet. Again.

So yes, proud friend moment. Here’s to you, Liesl. Glad our paths crossed all those years ago.

If you ever want to duet again, give me a call. My embouchure’s rusty, but my heart’s still in it.

Three simple words somehow captured everything.

When I graduated high school, my yearbook had a cover slogan that stopped me in my tracks. Just three words. And after seeing it, I thought, Absolutely perfect.

Over the decades, the phrase popped into my head, especially when my kids brought home their own annuals.

Then came Jake’s last year at Jamestown High School when he joined the yearbook staff. One evening, he walked into the kitchen and said, “Dad, we’re stuck. Our team needs a slogan. Got any ideas?”

Well… funny you should ask.

I told him the memorable line from my senior cover, and he got excited. After he pitched it to his classmates and teachers, they loved it, too.

So, history was made. If you compare the 2023 Jamestown High School publication to the 1988 Williams High School edition — yes, you’ll find the SAME SLOGAN.

A father and son full-circle moment.

What were those magic words? Maybe I’ve hyped them too much. Picture a stage, spotlight dimming, the curtains closing, and then…

FADE TO BLACK.

To me, those three words perfectly capture the end of an era. A farewell to a season of life. A quiet goodbye.

And this afternoon, on the last day of public school in our city, I remembered that phrase again.

Fade to black.

One chapter ends, another begins. Cue the sunscreen and 80’s music.

That game in 2023… nothing else comes close.

It was the greatest soccer moment our family ever experienced. And the odds? Barely two percent.

Jake and Sam spent years on the field, playing in rec leagues before moving to club soccer. This brought a decade of tournaments, road trips, and dinners on the fly.

But then came high school. Club league was clinical, but varsity matches got rowdy with music blaring and roaring crowds.

Then, during Jake’s senior year, magic struck. The team stormed through the playoffs and won the 4A Virginia state championship.

And somehow, this happened the one season Jake and Sam played together.

Suddenly, there were newspaper headlines. Title rings. Team merch. For two brothers who had kicked a ball since being barely big enough to walk, this was the peak.

Hard to beat that memory. Especially since both have officially hung up the cleats, unless you count college intramurals and hallway trick shots.

Today, Sam went to the arena to watch his old squad in the quarterfinals. They won. He believes they have a chance for another trophy.

I can picture the parents in the stands, their hearts pounding and hopes high. I’ve lived that life. Maybe there’s some more magic left.

Go Eagles.

===

6-14-25 UPDATE: They won the state championship.

I didn’t realize this song’s true meaning for years.

Back in the early 80s, Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” ruled the airwaves. But it exploded into legend during a 1983 live performance, when he debuted the moonwalk on national TV.

I studied the move for weeks until I finally nailed it. And yes, I can still pull it off today. Give me socks and a slick floor and... Hey, Hey. (add in sequined glove here)

For a long time, though, I missed the song’s real message. MJ slurs and stylizes his lyrics so much I thought it was only a dance track with a killer groove.

Turns out, it’s about a false paternity accusation. Well, okay.

This week I learned something new about another classic: “Yesterday” by The Beatles.

Artists around the world have covered the tune over 2,000 times, making it one of the most recorded hits of all time. Everyone from Elvis to Boyz II Men has sung it.

But that’s not what surprised me. I never realized… there are no drums. Just Paul McCartney’s acoustic guitar, alongside gentle piano and a string quartet. I hadn’t noticed before.

An incredibly popular record and not a single beat. Which explains why Paul never moonwalked.

I guess some songs must be felt before they’re fully understood.

These eight words can help conquer nerves.

I love a brilliant book title, but it’s hard to pull off, like squeezing 300 pages into a fortune cookie. The perfect phrase helps sell books, but a wrong one can leave them gathering dust.

Recently, a cover stopped me cold:

Everyone In This Room Will Someday Be Dead

Eight words. Instant perspective.

So, when anxiety creeps in before you speak to a group, whisper that line. This might be the secret weapon against stage fright. Even better than deep breathing or imagining the crowd in their underwear.

Yeah, it’s kinda morbid. But also... freeing. Everything we stress about feels smaller next to the reminder that all of us are on a ticking clock.

Today, Jess showed me a number: most people get about 4,000 weeks of life. Whoa, sounds small. When I say yes to something, I’m spending a sliver of my limited pie.

This is why managing time matters. It’s not about doing everything, but choosing wisely. The quiet, everyday moments are where the good stuff hides. And where life adds up.

4,000 weeks isn’t a warning but a gift.

Look around the room. Nothing deserves your dread.

This memory still haunts me.

In high school, I traveled with a group that performed at Disney World. Ahead of the show, we were led behind-the-scenes, down an alley, toward a hidden door covered by leaves.

Just before it opened, our guide turned serious. “No cameras,” he warned. “If you’re caught, we take the film.”

My pulse jumped. I couldn’t wait to behold all the top-secret wonders.

We stepped into a place most guests never see. All the staff gathered there, relaxing, getting ready for their shifts.

And then I spotted Mickey Mouse. Well, half of him.

The person inside the suit strolled by in costume from the neck down, head off, casually puffing a cigarette.

And hello… it was a woman.

Who knew? Mickey is really a lady who smokes Marlboros. No wonder they banned photos.

Yes, the image lives rent-free in my brain, and I think about it every time Disney pops up in the news. Like today, when I read that Rivers of America, Tom Sawyer Island, and the Liberty Square Riverboat will soon close down.

These attractions date back to the 1950s, and they’re making room for Piston Peak National Park, a Cars-themed land inspired by the movies.

I guess change keeps coming, ready or not.

And sometimes, it wears fuzzy gloves in the form of a headless, gender-bending, cigarette-smoking mouse.

Ah, the Disney magic.

What made them say “Yes”?

One afternoon as a kid, I saw an infomercial featuring a unique item. I didn’t just want it, I needed it. Badly.

I campaigned hard. And somehow, ranking up there with the great mysteries of the universe, I convinced my parents to fork over their credit card.

The thing cost about ten bucks, with high odds it would end up buried in a pile of toys within a month.

But this gadget survived constant use and never broke.

And that’s why I still have it today, decades later. In fact, this childhood treasure works perfectly and doesn’t need batteries or charging.

It sits on a shelf in my office, ready for action, if necessary. This week I showed a coworker and told her the story.

What is this magical marvel?

The Bakka.

A frisbee with wings. Dubbed “The American Boomerang,” the Bakka debuted in the early 80s.

Spin the disc clockwise into the wind, and the curved blades take over, slicing through the air and circling back like a heat-seeking missile. Chuck it as far as possible, and physics takes over. The breezier, the better.

For years, I brought it to every beach trip. Strangers always watched, jaws open, as the winged wonder looped through the sky and dropped into my waiting hands.

Apparently, the company stopped making them, probably after someone took one to the face. Razor-edged toys and children don’t really mix. But remember, safety wasn’t a top priority in those days. We didn’t wear bike helmets, either.

Yessir, the Bakka still soars like the morning it arrived in the mail. Impulse buys usually land in a thrift bin, but this one keeps flying back.

Thanks, Mom and Dad.

It started a domino effect.

Back when the kids were small, we owned a television the size of a boulder. A monstrosity from the pre-flatscreen dark ages.

Then came the upgrade. A new model, sleek and thin.

We mounted it in a front room no one really used. Within hours, the area morphed into command central for movies, video games, and sporting events. The whole orbit of the house shifted.

So naturally, we needed updated furniture. Sofas, shelves, lamps. And once that spot felt complete, we turned and stared at the sad little space where the old TV had been. Another required makeover.

Yes, a single television purchase transformed our entire downstairs.

This week, we hauled our bedroom dresser into Jake’s room. Now our place feels much bigger and lighter, but also somewhat bare.

Jess paused in the doorway, scanned the walls, and declared, “We need to redecorate.”

God help us. The dominoes never stop falling.