Every weekend seemed to include a tent.

As a kid, I spent years in Boy Scout Troop 112. We had a tight group and an even better leader. Shout out to Monte Denson, who repeatedly took pre-pubescent boys camping without losing his sanity.

There are so many tales, but the best ones involved campfire cooking. Tin foil meals, to be exact.

Imagine beef, sliced potatoes, carrots, and a sprinkle of seasoning, all bundled in Reynolds Wrap, then heated over an open flame in the middle of the woods.

I ate that dinner dozens of times, and each time was a feast for the taste buds.

Those memories came back when I recently read an article titled “Why Does Food By The Campfire Taste Better?” Suddenly I was twelve again, smoke in my clothes and dirt on my face, stoking the glowing coals.

There’s science behind the magical taste. As the meal cooks over fire, a browning reaction adds complex flavors, and the smoke infuses everything with a unique richness.

The crackle of burning wood and the smell of pine awaken the senses in a way no kitchen ever could. And after a long day of hiking and swimming, hunger turns even this simple supper into a masterpiece.

But there’s another reason outdoor food is so good. The people. Sitting in a circle and swapping stories under the stars creates something special.

Thinking of you, Troop 112.

Still waiting on that Campfire Chef merit badge, though.

Oh my gosh, this bike ride.

As a kid during late summer, my friends and I pedaled our ten-speeds toward Grove Park Elementary. Taped to the glass doors were the class lists for the upcoming fall.

We would crowd around and squint for our names. A good teacher meant high fives. A mean one caused groans. Either way, that annual experience sent a signal…

Summer was winding down.

A mix of both excitement and dread.

Today, those emotions came back again, because for the first time, I felt Summer 2025 slipping away.

Yeah, the days are still warm and the pool remains open. But the sunlight tilts a little differently now, and the shadows creep longer.

Kate just returned to college, and Jake and Sam are getting ready. Halloween decorations are showing up at Costco. What the freak? And deep down, I know what comes next.

My childhood bike is long gone, but I can still feel the handlebars in my hands. Summer can’t be this close to being over.

Not yet.

I’m gonna keep wearing my flip-flops in protest.

It was 1988.

I stuffed my Honda Accord hatchback with everything I owned for a 100-mile trip to UNC-Charlotte for freshman year.

My family followed in other cars. After unpacking, they said their goodbyes and left me standing in a new chapter.

17 semesters, 4 schools, and 15 roommates later, I walked across a stage in Virginia Beach with a graduate degree.

Today, we helped Kate move in for her sophomore year at VCU. Her things went up quickly. No wide-eyed confusion or first-time jitters.

Now she returns as a Resident Advisor, ready to help others find their footing. We’re so proud of her for passing the interviews and taking a leadership role.

The second college drop-off is a different kind of milestone. After her freshman year, Kate's already navigated schedules, classes, dining halls, and deadlines. These days are markers of her independence and confidence.

We hugged. Snapped a few photos. Then said goodbye.

I can’t wait to see where life takes her.

One minute I’m barefoot sitting in a beach chair, suntanned and salty, laughing with the people who know me best.

The next, I’m battling traffic on I-95, wondering how the waves disappeared so fast. Vacations take months to plan and hours to pack, but only a blink to be over.

It’s so easy to get used to the togetherness. Relaxed morning coffee. The chatty dinners. The pile of flip-flops by the door. And for a while, time seems to suspend, lazy and endless, only to speed up again at the end.

There are the bookends: the first-day excitement of pulling into a beach cottage driveway, and then the last group hug in that same spot a week later.

In between, a sweet blur.

Almost without warning it’s over, because life doesn’t wait for slow goodbyes. The tide rolls out. Beach towels get packed, and everyone scatters back to separate cities and schedules. Like shells carried off by different currents.

I’m gonna leave the sand in the car for a while.

OKI 2025.

This year, we did something brand-new during vacation.

It required serious prep, including a game plan and a checklist of supplies. Once it kicked off, the event took nearly three hours.

We hosted our first-ever Family Olympics.

The lineup included a wild mix of skill and chance. A few highlights:

Ball toss into a can
Cup pong
Penny stacking
Paper airplane launch
Oreo face challenge
Balancing books on your head

Plus 15 more…

Each competition had a point system, from one to eight, based on performance. And then there was the prize. An actual trophy, engraved and gleaming, courtesy of Luke.

After the final round, a champion emerged: my son-in-law, Will. Now he’s got bragging rights for a year.

Planning is already underway for 2026.

Note to Will: check with McKenzie before placing that trophy next to the wedding photos.

What can make a vacation dinner even better?

Grilled steaks hit the table tonight at our beach cottage, joined by roasted potatoes, garden salad, and warm rolls. And then something unexpected happened.

Between bites, with Dean Martin crooning in the background, a question came up:

What’s your #1 hype song — one that helps you face rough days?

Which led to more:

What intro music would you play as you strut on a stage?
What’s your all-time favorite country tune?

Phones came out. A speaker got connected. Soon, we were casting songs one-by-one, trying to guess who picked what.

Some of the eclectic choices:

Ambrosia
Paul McCartney
Lil Wayne
Charlie Daniels
Young MC
Taylor Swift
Billy Joel
Chalie Boy
Adele
Janis Joplin
JAY-Z and Alicia Keys
Zach Bryan
Role Model
Childish Gambino

And just like that, steak dinner turned into a full-blown playlist party.

By the end of the night, we weren’t just stuffed. We had the ultimate soundtrack for our Oak Island vacation.

Check out the playlist here:

It was part of our story before we ever stepped inside.

Our kids grew up with vacations on Oak Island. Every day, we’d walk a familiar sandy path to the ocean and pass the same spot.

The Island Way restaurant.

Complete with white tablecloths, Island Way is one of the fanciest places on the island. The cozy building offers oceanfront views and an upscale dining experience.

When the kiddos were little, we never even considered it. Too formal, too expensive.

But time has a way of changing things.

Now they’re all grown. And as we returned to this nostalgic beach after a few summers away, their first request came quickly.

“We want to go to Island Way.”

So today, we did just that. After all those years passing by, we booked our reservation and stepped through the doors.

Seating for eight, next to the window. Seafood, steak, and pasta. Clinking glasses and funny stories.

We finally made it to the grown-up table.

A perfect day.

For our family, it often starts with a boat. Captained by Luke, ours launched today from Southport and glided down the Intracoastal Waterway past fishing piers and wild marsh grass. 

About an hour in, we dropped anchor at a quiet beach and jumped in, bobbing in the water while talking and laughing. We then cruised forward and moored at a marina restaurant for seafood and burgers. 

On the return trip, an afternoon shower caught us, but we just turned up the music and outraced the storm to our dock.

Back home, we enjoyed pizza from our favorite local spot and took an evening stroll by the Atlantic Ocean. As the night grew late, the living room of our glowing cottage buzzed with games.

I sank into sleep, smiling.

A perfect day.

What marks the true start of a beach vacation?

Not the walk down the pier. Not even that first ocean view or the nostalgic sunscreen smell. There's something better.

The beach grocery store run.

In our case, the Oak Island Food Lion.

This one blasts you with arctic air the second those sliding doors whoosh open. Inside, the aisles gleam with forbidden treasures. Popsicles and bright orange chips. Candy and cookies. Various treats that would horrify your non-vacay self. And of course, bottled drinks for miles.

In our family, everyone gets to grab whatever they crave. No judgment. If you want rainbow sherbet, powdered donuts, and frozen pizza bites, just toss them in.

Bonus points if you ride to the store on a golf cart.

Have you heard of the Shibumi?

Pronounced Sha-boo-me.

Not long ago, a strange sight began appearing along the shores of Oak Island. Flowing and flapping. Bright blue and teal. These coverings — half tent, half parachute — protect beachgoers for hours.

Shibumi Shade was founded in 2016 by three UNC graduates fed up with heavy umbrellas during Emerald Isle vacations.

So in 2015, they created a prototype using PVC pipe and hand-sewn material. A year later, they tested their first 32 handmade canopies on North Carolina beaches.

And word spread, fast.

In only four years, they left their day jobs to run the company full-time. Today, you’ll find their invention on over 800 shorelines around the world, with more than 300,000 sold.

This afternoon, sitting beneath a similar covering, we looked up and down the oceanfront at a parade of sky-colored fabric whipping in the wind.

A genius idea, rooted in the Carolinas.

Still waiting for a cooler that rolls easily on sand.

I remember visiting amazing places for the first time.

The electric chaos of Times Square
Sunsets melting over California beaches
The wonder of DisneyWorld
Holy ground in Jerusalem
Soul-stirring moments in Ethiopia
Snorkeling in Belize
Afternoon tea in London
Breezy views from Aruba’s cliffs
Tacos by the sea in Mexico

Every destination had its charms, but none stir my heart like a quiet island on the North Carolina coast:

Oak Island.

For years, the little coastal town has been our family’s refuge, where the clocks take naps and the only traffic jam involves beach bikes and flip flops.

We meander through powdery sand and stroll across the Ocean Crest pier. We bike sleepy roads and wave to strangers who always wave back.

Our time to unplug and breathe.

The best spots rarely need neon. Just rocking chairs and salt air.

❤️ OKI

I believe boredom is a gift.

Not the kind wrapped in shiny paper, but one that quietly shows up when your schedule clears and your phone dies.

Most people rush to fill the silence with noise or media. Boredom is a rare luxury in a connected world where every second hums with distraction. Maybe we need more of it, not less.

But… if your days have started to blend together, especially at work or school, here are a few tricks inspired by an article I read today.

Shake up your routine
Take a different route on your walk. Maybe bike to the office. Or use the stairs and pretend you’re in the Olympics.

Make everyday tasks a bit more interesting
Try an unfamiliar grocery store or turn cleaning the kitchen into a timed challenge. Bonus points if music is involved.

Stretch your creativity
Order a dish you can’t pronounce or sign up for a fun class. Give some glitter to those Tuesdays.

Why bother? Because spice rewires your brain. Surprises jolt the hippocampus and create new neural pathways. Plus, dopamine kicks in and sharpens focus and energy.

That’s all it takes. Small shifts, a little novelty. And suddenly the ordinary feels fresh again.

Turns out, your brain just wanted tacos from that sketchy food truck.

I probably watched too much TV growing up.

Most afternoons during middle school, I followed the same routine: backpack dropped, shoes off, television on.

Then came the sitcom parade that shaped my worldview more than any textbook:

Three’s Company
The Brady Bunch
The Jeffersons
Gilligan’s Island
Wild Wild West

I didn’t care for daytime game shows, and soap operas bored me to tears. Primetime didn’t hook me either, unless there was sports on.

But once in a while, magic cracked the evening lineup:

The Incredible Hulk
The Dukes of Hazzard
The Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday nights

On Friday evenings, I also watched the opening credits of Dallas for that cool aerial shot of Cowboys Stadium.

These days, streaming has scattered TV rituals, and everyone views things at their own pace. This week, I saw an article about the top series of 2025:

Severance
The White Lotus
Stranger Things
The Bear
Andor
The Last of Us

All great in their own way, and I’ve caught a few episodes here and there.

But nothing beats racing home after school, unwrapping a Little Debbie oatmeal cookie, and hearing...

“Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip…”

I heard a great quote today.

“Leaders bring the weather. Your energy is the weather at your company.”
-Mel Robbins

The most memorable leaders in my life didn’t just manage workflow. They shaped the atmosphere.

And two of my all-time favorites entered during my high school and college era.

Kathy Hayes ran camps for the Burlington Parks and Rec Department. I worked with her for several years, and she made every season a highlight reel.

She didn't hide in the admin office, but joined the chaos by playing games alongside the kids and checking in on the team, laughing with us, and treating staff like friends not subordinates.

Then came Mark Payne, my high school music teacher. Orchestra. Jazz. Marching band. He led them all with boundless energy and a sense of humor.

Before he showed up, our music program was forgettable. By the time he left, we were winning competitions and parading through DisneyWorld.

Attitude sets the tone. How a leader operates trickles down to the entire organization. It’s hard to stay grumpy in a workplace when the boss shows up buzzing with passion.

The strongest mentors push hard by challenging people in a supportive culture. And in place of using threats, they’re more prone to wild dares.

Kathy and Mark changed the weather.

When I think about it, true leadership is convincing people that giving 110% is a totally rational thing to do.

When I woke up, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

One morning years ago, I stepped outside and stood frozen. Our house resembled a Halloween prank on steroids.

Toilet paper clung to tree branches and wrapped around bushes. Two-ply strips dangled from gutters like streamers. Cars slowed down as drivers stared and pointed.

Eventually, we learned Dad’s friends had TP’d our property for his 50th. Although cleaning took several hours, he loved every minute.

Today, we celebrated a different milestone: Dad turned 89.

We mailed him a box of goodies, along with a shiny birthday badge to wear. I wondered if he’d even wear it, thinking he might feel too silly.

But he wore the ribbon proudly, all day long, as a medal of honor. He vowed to save it for next year.

Mission accomplished.

This time, he was decorated instead of the lawn. And no one harmed a single roll of Charmin.

Here’s to at least 89 more years.

In the 70s, I spent a lot of time in these places.

My grandparents and I would head there often, wandering through the endless aisles as if hunting for treasure. And we weren’t alone. These locations drew in huge crowds.

If you’re a certain age, you definitely remember… the old-school department store.

In my hometown, Belk was the big boy and ruled the mall. In that one spot, you could shop for apparel, jewelry, toys, tools, and furniture. Even seashell-shaped ashtrays.

Some memories are vivid, such as the cosmetic counters glowing under bright lights, and the smell of fragrance thick in the air. And those bulky seasonal catalogs. We would order back-to-school clothes by mail and wait weeks for the package to arrive.

Today, I read the old way isn’t working anymore. According to experts, the U.S. model has been in decline for decades, and the traditional department store no longer fits how we buy things.

Now, there are new ideas. Instead of rows of cardigans, retailers are offering restaurants, champagne bars, espresso cafes, and spa chairs. Some host immersive, after-hours plays at night.

Apparently, today’s shopper wants more than perfume and polyester.

But I’m still nostalgic for those past days. And nothing beats the thrill of hiding inside those circular clothing racks.

It’s a regret of mine.

I have almost no pictures from high school or college, only scattered snapshots in my mind.

The jobs I worked. Friends I made. Late night get-togethers and early morning meet-ups. No cameras. No smartphones. We were fully engaged in the moment and blissfully unplugged.

Today, the scene is reversed. Everything gets recorded. At events, a sea of phones rises to capture it all. Young people will one day have a visual log of their lives that makes me a bit envious.

But there’s a downside. When unsure what to do with our hands or hearts, we clutch the nearest distraction: the black mirror in our pocket.

In awkward situations, we retreat to the glow of a screen. Even at milestones, we’re busy filming instead of simply feeling. It becomes an easy escape when connection calls.

Technology isn’t the villain; it’s just a tool. And I remind myself these days to simply look someone in the eye. Being truly present might not always fill my camera roll, but it nourishes something deeper.

I’m challenging myself to sit quietly in waiting rooms without checking email seven times. These opportunities are everywhere. Boredom can be fertile ground for creativity or unexpected conversation.

In many cases, the phone shouldn’t be my first option because the best stories are often unfiltered and unposed.

Not every memory should be saved to the cloud.

My life-long obsession.

Friends who know me well could probably guess. High school meant two or three daily. By college, the habit grew so relentless a dorm friend called it "the only constant in life.” I took that as a compliment.

Reliable. Satisfying. Packed with protein and always ready…

The peanut butter sandwich.

Most days, I keep it classic and plain: soft bread with JIF, creamy never crunchy. When I feel dangerous, I might smear in some jelly.

I’ve devoured more PB sandwiches than anything else, and no other food comes close.

I read the average American kid eats around 1,500 PB&J's before finishing high school, and people consume about 3,000 total in a lifetime.

Amateurs. I’ve easily demolished those numbers.

Yep, just give me a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of sweet tea, and I’m happy.

Throw in some Doritos and it’s a party.

One of the best decisions we ever made as parents.

We did this for several years, during elementary and middle school, and the experience shaped our family more than anything else…

Homeschooling.

Each of our children eventually entered public school, which we also loved, but those early years gave us the gift of time together.

We discovered the freedom to shape our days. Unhurried conversations. Tailored instruction. The kids became naturals at talking to adults.

But the true magic came from active learning. Our motto: “The world is a classroom.”

So we explored. Poked and prodded. Asked questions in the minivan, over lunch, doing errands. Economics came alive while splitting a pizza at Costco. Marine biology surfaced at the beach. The neighborhood pool transformed into PE class, and Busch Gardens turned into a seminar of life lessons.

We traveled often, whenever curiosity called. No approvals or “excused absences.” Just packed up for new adventures.

That’s why I smiled when I read today about homeschooling families who turn DisneyWorld into a curriculum. Some go weekly, even daily, using the Magic Kingdom to enhance their schooling.

Science, language arts, budgeting, time management… all there inside Mickey’s gates.

Culture and geography? Epcot.
Architecture? Park design.
Economics? Pirates of the Caribbean.
Wildlife? Animal Kingdom.
Physics and astronomy? Space Mountain.

They even do math on the fly, calculating wait times and studying crowd flow like analysts.

People sometimes raise eyebrows at homeschooling. But for us, bending the rules unlocked something incredible.

Besides, who needs textbooks when you’ve got churros and a roller coaster?

There’s something powerful about this idea.

This week, I came across the “Two Token Theory.”

Here’s how it works. Picture two people locked in a disagreement, and between them sit two tokens on a table:

• “This is the End of the World”

• “This is No Big Deal”

If you’re the one who messed up, grab the “End of the World” token first. Beat them to the frustration and own the problem.

Suddenly, the other person holds only the “No Big Deal” token. You’ve hogged the drama, leaving them with nowhere to go but grace.

It’s a counterintuitive way to lower tension because an over-the-top apology sucks the oxygen from anger. Outrage disarms outrage.

But this approach only works if you mean it. Donald Miller calls empathy “shared pain.” A true gift is choosing to walk into someone’s pain instead of around it.

And to most people, being understood matters more than being right.