A riddle of epic proportions.

Back in the 70s, a cartoon commercial mesmerized a generation of kids. Featuring a popular lollipop, the ad asked, How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?

The world, the commercial said, might never know.

Determined to find out, I grabbed one and sat down with paper and pencil. After each lick, I’d make a mark.

This seemed to take days.

But when I finally hit the brown tootsie middle, it felt like winning a gold medal. Then I counted my scribbles. And the grand total came to…dramatic pause...

429 licks.

Excited about my groundbreaking discovery, I mailed a letter to the Tootsie Roll Company, telling them the secret info. Satisfied with my accomplishment, I didn’t think about it again.

Until a few weeks later.

That’s when a large, important-looking envelope arrived, addressed to me. Inside, a fancy certificate stated these words:

TOOTSIE POP AWARD
Be It Known To All People
The world may never know how many licks it takes to reach the center of a Tootsie Pop... but a few strong-willed young men and women know. The bearer of this AWARD is one who KNOWS.

A company official had signed the bottom.

One of the proudest moments of my young life. And to this day, that certificate is kept in a scrapbook.

Curiosity starts most great adventures.

Ask questions and see where it leads you. The best learning will always require some work, but the process is part of the prize.

Bonus points if the ending includes chocolate.

This day’s for you, Will.

Today we celebrated his birthday with a surprise lunch at a waterside restaurant in Hampton. Our big table included me, Jess, McKenzie, Will’s parents, his brother and sister-in-law, and sweet niece.

Long ago, when McKenzie was small in my arms, I started praying for her future husband. This mystery person existed only as a hope, a face I couldn’t yet imagine.

I asked the good Lord for a man of integrity. Someone who would love generously, with a humble heart for God and others.

Watching how the dots connected still leaves me amazed.

God answered that prayer.

And then some.

A little wisdom nugget.

Joke yourself instead of someone else.

If anyone has to be the butt of your jokes, make it you. Punch up at yourself, not down at others.

If your wisecrack leaves a person feeling smaller, rethink the punchline.

Self-deprecation is a superpower for diffusing tension in a room. And your own flaws are an infinite goldmine. No need to spotlight someone else’s.

A laugh earned at your own expense costs nothing.

Here’s a shortcut for determining a person’s character.

If you ever wonder if someone is the right one for a second date or the perfect candidate to hire, then try this free test…

Put them in a room with a kid.

You can tell a lot about a person by observing how children respond to them.
-Steve Gutzler

Children are tiny truth detectors, and they’re drawn to the real deal. There’s a specific frequency they gravitate toward. And this cannot be faked.

It’s funny how an adult might charm a boardroom, but they can’t fool a five-year-old’s intuition. Watch how they handle a toddler’s sticky hands or the endless questions. Their actions will speak volumes.

Kids are like a mirror to the soul.

If you want someone’s quickest biography, listen for the laughter of little ones.

Or their silence.

On this day, 26 years ago, I almost died.

The night before, I didn’t feel well. Little red spots appeared on my body. I went to bed thinking about a doctor appointment the next day.

But that’s the last I remember.

In the middle of the night, Jess found me on the floor, shivering and confused. A hot shower was on, and the oven door stood open. She called an ambulance.

Over the next few days, while I lay in a coma, the medical staff told my family to say goodbye.

I had come down with meningococcal spinal meningitis. Basically, flu on steroids. A severe bacterial infection, leading to inflammation of the membranes around the brain and spinal cord.

When someone contracts meningitis, they usually face two outcomes: amputation or death. Yeah, not good. And I was on track to becoming a statistic because tests showed no brain activity (insert your joke here).

To make things worse, Jess was six months pregnant with McKenzie.

But friends started praying, and a miracle happened. I woke up almost a week later.

My first groggy thought was, “Why is everyone dressed like NASA astronauts?” Folks needed hazmat-level protection just to enter my room.

On the 8th day, I walked out of the hospital. From there, it took about a year to regain my full weight and strength.

So… that’s what I think about on January 1st.

Happy New Year. Stay safe out there.

Beware the little ways of quitting without actually quitting.

This can happen in jobs and volunteer roles. Even in families. And there’s a term for this...

Quiet Quitting.

It’s ‘throwing in the flag’ long before anyone else knows. Checking out. Phoning it in. Coasting.

So, evaluate your life:

Do you measure your day by how much time is left?
Are you procrastinating but calling it preparation?
Do you say “good enough” when you know it should be better?
Does silence seem safer than growth?
Are you there physically but still feel a million miles away?

These are signs your foot is off the gas.

And sometimes that’s okay. If something no longer aligns with your values, be decisive and end it. Clear endings beat quiet resentment.

But this takes courage, especially when the easier path is the slow fade.

The real betrayal isn’t quitting. It’s staying and pretending.

Check your thoughts.

Many people move through life wondering why everything feels hard and why others have more.

The culprit? A scarcity mindset.

It’s tunnel vision. The focus becomes what you lack rather than what you have; the wrong belief that there’s never enough to go around.

Hold up. STOP. There’s actually plenty.

Opportunities multiply when you share them. Someone else’s success doesn’t diminish yours.

So, here’s a test to determine if you have an abundance mindset. One simple question.

Do you celebrate with others when they succeed?

The best ideas come as jokes. Make your thinking as funny as possible.
–David Ogilvy

What a cool philosophy.

Somehow, humor has a way of rewiring your brain. It carries amazing power and can build bridges to breakthrough ideas.

Creativity and comedy are driven by the same engine: the connection of two unrelated things.

But the pressure to be “professional” often crushes originality. You know those meetings. The atmosphere gets hushed and heavy and everyone sounds like a policy handbook.

That’s why the boardroom needs more playground. Sometimes you’ve got to let things fly.

Or to use a metaphor, just sit on the whoopee cushion. Stop marching in straight lines and start doing some parkour.

Being playful sets your brain on a different neural pathway, helping you avoid the traffic jams of traditional logic. There’s a short distance between absurd and brilliant.

So, the next time you’re in a Very Serious Meeting about Very Important Things, lean into the silly. Start with the phrase, “Wouldn’t it be hilarious if…”

See where your brain takes you.

The answer may come disguised as nonsense.

The power of a fresh start.

This time of year, we’re all thinking about New Year's resolutions.

Maybe it’s shedding a few pounds. Or reading more. Maybe backing off the sugar or salt.

But while small habits are keys to success, timing is really the secret weapon.

I recently read about the best day to start a new habit. And you might be surprised.

What’s your guess?

If you're thinking Sunday, nope. Not even Monday.

According to experts, the best day is… Wednesday.

Yep, the forgettable, humble middle day.

Apparently, it feels less demanding. Studies show perfectionism drops midweek, so a Wednesday kickoff makes change more doable.

Like easing into a warm bath instead of a cold plunge.

Starting in the middle also taps into the week’s momentum. You're swapping a paddle for a waterslide.

Plus, getting a few tiny wins before the weekend builds confidence, which reinforces the habit. By Saturday, you've already got three or four days under your belt. That's a streak.

And streaks are powerful motivators.

Don't wait for the perfect Monday. Start messy.

Start mid-stride.

For many years, we’ve hosted a family Christmas party.

A cornerstone of our holiday season, this includes locals and out-of-town loved ones. When at full strength, we’re about 25 strong.

The house hums with energy when everyone finally gathers under one roof. Over the years, we’ve watched kids grow from toddlers to teenagers (and beyond).

Tonight was the 2025 version.

After the group visited McKenzie and Will’s new home, we came back to our place for BBQ dinner, a fun game, the Santa Gift Swap, a solo (from my niece, Savannah), and an upstairs scary story in the dark (including spooky sound effects).

We capped it off with desserts, and the conversations lingered to nearly midnight.

These are evenings we’ll always remember.

Christmas walks.

Each holiday season, we sprinkle in a couple of these between the gift-giving and leftovers.

On Christmas night, we walked to the end of our neighborhood and witnessed a spectacular home light display. This year, it won best in our city.

Tonight, as we gathered in Norfolk, twenty-one of us strolled downtown by the USS Wisconsin.

She’s a monster.

Launched in 1943 and built for speed and power. Among the fastest battleships ever to sail, she served in World War II, the Korean War, and the Gulf War.

But today this mighty vessel is retired and berthed just a few blocks away from Mia and Papa’s home. And the city has wrapped her in colorful lights.

That’s 887 feet of twinkle. Or two football fields placed end to end.

A warship now carries light. A titan of combat, radiating peace.

Hmmm… feels like the perfect image of Christmas.

Two.

That’s where it started in 1998, our first Christmas as a family. We had been married for nine months.

By 2000, we had grown to three.
By 2002, four.
By 2004, five.
By 2006, six.
By 2013, seven.
By 2024, eight.

And 2026 promises the addition of another to our crew.

Each year, December 25th brings me perspective, plus a long list of gratitude. The undeserved blessings have piled up fast.

Yet, for all this counting, the Christmas math is really simple. It always circles back to just one.

The one swaddled in a manger. Heaven meeting hay.

The gift no calculator can measure.

Growing up, Christmas Eve had an address.

Everett Street.

It served as the North Star, because that’s where my grandparents lived in Burlington, N.C. On Christmas Eve, our family would gather in their front room, which was hardly ever used.

But the space came alive with its main job each year.

A big meal always started the night. Then my brother and I would beg for the gift-giving, and once everyone had their seats, we’d pull presents from under the tree and deliver them to each person. Afterward we crowded around the TV. The local news reported the mysterious blip on the radar, following Santa’s whereabouts.

Fast forward four decades later. I’m still spending this special evening at the home of grandparents, just different ones now. A new generation. My kids’ turn.

We attended a service at Wave Church in Virginia Beach with the fam (all our clan, plus Mia, Papa, Chad, Michelle, Jack, and Carter). Then we drove back to Norfolk for dinner at Mia and Papa’s home.

Christmas Eves have come and gone many times. The cast has grown, and new characters have been added.

But the love is always the same.

In 1933, John D. Rockefeller Jr. opened a theater.

Yep, the guy who started NYC’s Radio City Music Hall around the same time. But this specific venue, now known as the Kimball Theater, debuted in Williamsburg, Virginia.

Located in the colonial cobblestone part of town, and nestled among restored 18th-century buildings, it still carries magic to this day.

Tonight, after dinner at Craft 31, we took the whole fam there to watch the 1946 film It’s A Wonderful Life. Many of our kids had never seen it before.

For two hours, we enjoyed the building’s charm while viewing the black-and-white classic.

After the final credits, we walked out into the crisp night as Christmas lights twinkled on the historic streets. And everything felt right with the world.

An old film in an old theater… a timeless holiday experience.

And remember, every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.

Christmas morning starts on the stairs.

This is a tradition since the kids were small, with their pajamas and bedhead. They sit on the border between the ordinary upstairs and the magic Santa left downstairs.

We take annual pictures, and of course, my role is to amp the moment up.

I go back and forth to the room full of presents, talking about how they won’t believe what’s in there, saying things like, “If only you could see what I see” or “Hold on tight, your jaws are about to drop.”

For those few minutes, time slows down. The world is just the creaking stairs and the wonder around the corner. Like shaking a soda can and bracing for the explosion.

Yeah, this doesn’t work as much now that they’re in their 20s. Their past excitement has turned to humoring their dad.

But still, once the green light is given, we video them coming down for the big reveal.

One of our many little traditions.

If you need a hype man, I’m your guy.

I woke up holding a shotgun.

Well, not exactly. But early this morning, Luke, Jake, and I met Will and his dad deep in the woods. The crisp air carried the scents of pine and damp earth.

And using shotguns, we aimed at skeet, shattering the clay targets in the sky like fireworks.

Luke and Jake were natural shots. Will and his dad displayed the skills of seasoned pros. And I… perfected the art of the near miss.

But that’s okay, because after grabbing lunch, we enjoyed our annual Bake Day with Mia and Papa.

As NFL games played, our Christmas Elves (Jess, Mia, McKenzie, and Kate) baked amazing treats, filling the house with chocolate and sugar.

After ordering pizza, we tore into presents, then had the kind of wonderful talks that jump from topic to topic and somehow last for hours.

The day started loud and ended just right.

A historic day.

I’m a little partial, but I believe our hometown is one of the most beautiful places to stroll during Christmas.

Tonight, Jess and I — along with Luke, Jake, McKenzie, and Will — walked the bustling lantern-lit streets of Colonial Williamsburg. Imagine cobblestone paths and the scent of woodsmoke. Like walking through a holiday greeting card.

Then we stopped by the Williamsburg Lodge to see a gigantic real gingerbread house. As we warmed inside, sugar and spice filled the air.

We followed that up by coming home and watching possibly a once-in-a-lifetime college football game. JMU (where Sam and Jake attend, Luke is an alum, and Jess and Will are former Dukes) made the national playoffs. We cheered with purple and gold pride.

All this under Christmas lights and music.

Historic.

Christmas 2017.

Go ahead, ask the kids. They still talk about the gift.

That morning moved fast as wrapping paper flew everywhere. After a couple of hours, everyone leaned back, certain the surprises had ended.

But there was one more they didn’t see coming. Keeping this secret hidden for two days required master-level parenting.

To set the moment up, we played the dog-barking version of Jingle Bells. As the soundtrack blared, we went upstairs and returned with Carolina.

An eight-week old Golden Retriever.

Love arrived on four clumsy paws. The stunned silence lasted only a second before turning into pandemonium.

Screams bounced off the walls. A celebrity had entered the room, greeted with hugs and belly rubs. The unwrapped gifts were ignored as this fluff ball explored her new home.

We’d never had a pet unless you count a few fish. But that all changed in an instant. Her tiny little heartbeat turned our family of seven into a family of eight.

I’m convinced the best presents come with fur and a wagging tail.

Carolina forever.

Years ago, we received a Christmas book from a friend.

The thick hardback, with an angel on the front and back cover, contained a hundred blank pages.

She told us, “This is where you can capture all your Christmas memories.”

Though grateful for her gift, we didn’t jump at the thought. It was destined for a forgotten box or to be regifted to someone else.

But miraculously, the little journal hung around.

And the next Christmas, when the kids were small, I pulled it out a few days after the holidays. Shrugging my shoulders, I grabbed a pen.

And created the first entry way back in 2008.

This began the annual tradition of writing down what we did for Christmas, including the gifts we received.

Some excerpts:

• McKenzie loves her Baby Alive — it pee pees!

• Luke is crazy about Webkinz and his Leo the Lion

• Jake loves his drum and wants to play basketball at UNC

• Kate got a Hello Kitty umbrella

• Sam loves to toss and catch balls

As the kids grew older, they would add entries and sometimes place dollar bills or gadgets on the inside, tiny surprises to uncover the next Christmas at breakfast.

To make it fun, I always end my section with, “Now, Dad has to give Mom a big fat kiss.” Which always brings groans from the kids.

But my favorite part is asking questions that can’t be answered yet. And a year later, when we read them, knowing the answers sparks loads of conversation.

Some have included:

• Where did we go on vacation?

• Do the kids do swim team this summer?

• Did Mom make us dress up like cows again on Chick-fil-A day?

• Will I still have braces?

• Will I be over 5’ 7”?

But as the years passed, the questions changed:

• Where will McKenzie go to college?

• Did Luke go to Boston for an internship?

• How is Jake’s senior year going?

• Did Kate and Sam get their driver’s licenses?

The cover is worn, but the binding remains strong. There’s only a few pages left, and in another year or two, the contents will be full.

What was once empty is now priceless. Our young family grew up, all recorded in this little book.

A map of our Christmases together.

A memory wrapped in cardboard.

The Lifesavers Christmas Story Books. Remember these?

Lifesavers are hard candies with a ring shape resembling a life preserver. During the holidays, the company needed a way to stand out from chocolate companies.

And that desperation spurred the invention of their nostalgic Books.

Multiple rolls were packaged like a storybook, turning sweets into a fun event. Early versions contained 12 rolls, with a mint side (Pep-O-Mint, Wint-O-Green) and a fruit side (Cherry, Orange) to satisfy both adults and children.

Whenever I’d see them in stores, my brain flipped into Christmas mode. The essential stocking stuffer.

Another cool tidbit: kids back in the day used the empty cardboard shells as safes to hide money or small toys. Once you’d eaten all the treats, the container became a secret storage unit.

It all points to a masterclass in marketing. The book transformed a snack into a story.

That’s why you don’t need complex tech or crazy expense to create joy. A simple idea, perfectly executed, can become something iconic.

Standing out beats blending in.

BTW, the fruit side is still better than the mint.