My Greatest Sports Moment – A Daddy Diary

November 28, 2011 By 10 Comments

My 7-year old daughter (a smooth defensive infielder) approached the gates of Busch Stadium on October 27th and said to me, “Daddy, this feels different than the last Cardinal game we went to…There are a lot more people.  I mean, a lot more people. And, they just seem to be acting differently.  Why is that?”  I responded with pride, “Delaney, welcome to the World Series, the greatest sporting event there is, and our Cardinals are playing in it.”

We handed our Game 6 tickets to the Ticket Taker, and that’s where this story takes an evil turn.  Our tickets did not scan.  We were escorted to a member of the Stadium’s Management Team (not Tony Larussa), then asked to pay a visit to the Ticket Office.  We were informed that our tickets were counterfeit, and we were out of luck.  Within minutes, my daughter and I went from sitting in the bleachers inside Busch to sitting on a curb outside Busch.

We sat there for a few minutes without saying a word when finally my little girl gazed up at me with her sweet, innocent face which was buried underneath her RED winter stocking cap snuggled under 4 layers of RED shirts and sweatshirts, and says “Daddy, I don’t understand what just happened.  Why won’t they let us inside to watch the game?”  I admit it.  My eyes began to water and not because of the 25mph blustery wind hitting us with a 40 degree wind chill.  This was among the saddest moments of my life.

I explained to her that earlier in the day Daddy had purchased 2 tickets from a man who said he could not attend that night’s game due to a family conflict thanks to the previous night’s rainout.  Game 6 was supposed to be played the night before, but it was postponed due to rain.  He had a good story.  I bought it, and I bought what I thought to be 2 bleacher tickets to Game 6 of the World Series.  He got me.  In looking back, I can see the red flags now.  But, I admit that I was seeing RED that entire day, and wasn’t even thinking this was a possibility.  Yes, I’m naïve.  And, yes, I’ll never get on Craig’s List again.  I  know, I know, I’m an idiot for even thinking this was an option, but for a non season ticket holder that was struggling to swallow the Stub Hub prices, and lost out on the team’s auction for tickets, Craig’s List seemed to be my only option.  I know, I flubbed it. Error Daddy.

So, there we sat on the sidewalk for over an hour.  Delaney then turned to me and said “Daddy, let’s go get some dinner.”  So, we went over to Friday’s Restaurant which had cleared out as those with “real” tickets walked over to the game.  We watched the first couple of innings while eating a burger, fries, and a strawberry RED slushee (Delaney’s choice).  She said “Daddy, let’s walk back over to the Stadium.”  “Really?, I questioned”  “Yes, Daddy, I want to hear what it sounds like when that many people all get excited at the same time.  I want to hear what a World Series sounds like.”  Oh, yah, sure, I had dry eyes, and I can also hit a 99mph Fastball.  Not so much.

If the “seller” had walked past me at that point in time, I would have gone all Mike Tyson on him (not the Mike Tyson that played for the Cardinals in the 70s either).  I’m not tough.  I can also admit that.  But, you Dads know what I’m talking about.  This thief stole an experience from my little girl, and well, you don’t have to have biceps the size of Albert Pujols to knock someone out of the park.

My little “Red” bird and I walked around the Stadium for a couple of innings, just taking in the World Series atmosphere.  I tried to haggle with a couple of scalpers knowing the entire time that I just couldn’t bring myself to risk another counterfeit experience and spend more money on this game.  Besides, what if “we” lost?  Ugh.  I couldn’t go there either.  So, after the 4th Inning, I looked at a tired little girl and said “Honey, how bout we go home and watch the rest of the game with Mom and your brother?  I’m so sorry that we’re not inside watching this game.  I’m truly very sorry.”  She looked at me and said “Daddy, this was the best game that I’ve ever been to.  It’s the World Series, and I’m with you.”  Yep, call your Water Utility Company because I had enough H2O streaming down my cheeks to take care of your entire town.

So, she bounced into my arms, threw her arms around my neck squeezing me tighter than a runner from 3rd sprinting home on a sac bunt attempt (baseball reference), then I flung her onto my shoulders and I skipped all the way back to my car with my little girl singing “Take me out to the Ballgame” and of course, “Never say Never” by Justin Beiber.

We buckled into our seats in the Top of the 5th.  She was asleep 1 out later.  When we arrived at our home, it was the 6th.  I picked her up, put her on the couch, and rubbed her head while she slept on my lap all the way until the Bottom of the 9th when 2 men were on, and 2 were out with 2 strikes on Cardinal batter David Freese.  You all know what happened in the game from that point on, but I will say this, she never even made a peep.  She was safe and sound at home, and that was good enough for her.  Thanks to the Home Town Kid, David Freese, the Cardinals, miraculously, won that game after being 1 strike away from elimination not once, but twice, and the 3rd baseman was the hero both times.

That game will go down as the greatest Baseball game in St Louis Cardinal History, and I’ll never forget it as my Greatest Sports Moment.  I owe it all to an infielder whose first name starts with the letter “D” …. Delaney Smith, my little girl.

Sincerely,

Delaney’s Daddy

November 27th, 2011

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The World Series and The Cardinals

October 26, 2011 By 4 Comments

Within the past few hours, I’ve fielded multiple texts and calls from friends and family posing the same question:  So, what are you going to do Friday Night if there’s a Game 7?

Quick explanation.  Friday Night is “Trunk or Treat,” the Annual Halloween Party at my children’s school.  Due to Game 6 being delayed one night thanks to inclement weather, Friday Night is also now in play as the night of a potential Game 7 of the World Series between the Texas Rangers and the hometown St Louis Cardinals.

So, here’s my delicate answer to the question.

Do you understand the rarity of a World Series Game 7?  It’s been 9 years since the last Game 7 which coincidentally was the night after my Wedding Night.  I was able to see only the final inning, and I watched that 15 rows deep at an Airport Bar during a layover in route to our Honeymoon Destination.  Since that Game 7, there have been a pair of World Cup Finals, 4 Olympic Games, 2 Presidential Elections, the invention of BlueTooth, all 5 generations of iPhone have launched, the creation of YouTube and my wonderful wife and I were blessed with 2 right handed hitting, right handed throwing children.

Let’s take it a “slide step” further.  My team, the St Louis Cardinals, haven’t hosted a Game 7 since 1982.  I was 7.  That’s the current age of my daughter.  It’s been 29 years since my city hosted a Game 7.  Tony Larussa wasn’t even managing way back then.  Oh, yes he was, but maybe land phone lines worked.  (I can’t let that go yet, it’s still hurts too much)

This brings me to my biggest fear in life.  Many fear of drowning, public speaking, getting punched in the face by a 350-pounder named “Darling,” or any number of “makes sense to me” fears.  Not me.  I’d rather Darling wack me across the melon, land in a pool of alligators in front of 100-thousand on-lookers while I give the Gettysburg Address than not see my team clinch a World Series in person, and to do so in a Game 7 would be my ultimate sports moment.

I almost had the chance in 2006 to see a clincher (not a Game 7, but … ) until rain washed out Game 4, then Game 4 Tickets became Game 5 Tickets, and 5 became 4, thus I saw the Cardinals go up 3 games to 1 in a Game 4 instead of clinching the series in 5 which I had tickets.  I cannot discuss this much longer.  It makes no sense now.  It made no sense then.  My blood pressure is soaring.  I need some relief.  Someone give me Lynn, I mean Motte, just send a big right hander out here to get me out of this jam.  Whew, no “Darling.”

Okay, I’m back.

You see, Game 7 is the ultimate for a freak-show baseball fan like me.  Like most baseball crazies, I count the days to Pitchers and Catchers reporting once the last out of the World Series is in the books, I stand in line for Opening Day Tickets, I go to Spring Training, I wear jerseys to bed in the winter to keep the Birds on the Bat logo close to my heart, I wear Red Cardinal Tube Socks under my work pants during the playoffs, I set up a Cardinal shrine in my living room with Rally Towels, Jerseys, Hats, Bats, Gloves, Replica World Series Trophies, I wear eye black on the weekends, I shine my cleats 11 minutes before game time in honor of the Cardinals quest for their 11th Championship, I wake up at 4:29 every morning in honor of the best battery in the game, Yadi (#4) and Carp (#29), I only carry 5 dollar bills and Nickels for #5 Albert Pujols (I used to carry only 1’s and pennies for Ozzie Smith, but this inflation thing is for real),  I drink out of a Cardinal Mug the day “we” clinch a trip to the post-season, I play the lotto with 26, 31, 34, 42, 44, and 46, the Cardinals first 6 Championship years, all of my security codes revolve around the Cardinals in some way (I won’t go much past that), I bought a live squirrel in honor of that rodent that started a rally for us in the LDS versus the Phillies, we named him Skip, my kids wear #6 for Stan the Man, and #12 because Cooper is going to be standing on the mound when the Cardinals win their 12th World Championship which brings me to my answer.

Cooper is 5.  A potential Game 7 takes place this Friday which would give my team their 11th World Championship.  Coop cannot get drafted until he graduates from High School, unless we move to another country (hmmmm…interesting idea, he could be taken in the International Draft as early as 16 years of age, okay, I’m off topic now).  Point is…This might be the last time I can see a Game 7 Win by MY TEAM, in MY TOWN for at least another 20 years or so…This is a no brainer.  This is as easy of a decision as leaving your closer in a World Series game during the 9th inning with a 1-run lead.

I love my kids more than anything in the world … and, I’ll miss them on Friday Night.  I hope they have all kinds of fun with their friends.  But, my answer to the question of “So, what are you going to do Friday Night?”

It’s Game 7.  My team needs me at the ballpark.

Sincerely,

A Casual Cardinal Baseball Fan

PS…Anyone know any good realtors in the Dominican Rep

 

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A Hall of Fame (Cooperstown) Moment

July 18, 2011 By 2 Comments

We all have that one special place that evokes memories of magic.  To some it’s Walt Disney World, to others it’s the mountains or the beach or even their own backyard.  My “place” is a small town in Upstate New York; most know it as the home of the National Baseball Hall of Fame.  Many call it simply “Cooperstown.”

I love this place so much that I named my son after the town.  Cooper now thinks the town is actually HIS personal town.  I’ve explained to him that a very select few are commemorated in this shrine, and for the first time in his short 5-year life, he has met a member of Cooperstown.

This past Monday, State Farm and the Boys and Girls Club of America put on a baseball clinic in conjunction with the 2011 Major League Baseball All-Star Game Festivities.  My wife (@daniellesmithtv) was asked to attend this event.  She was allowed to take her family along for the ride (many thanks to State Farm).  The man putting on the clinic was 1st Ballot Hall of Fame Inductee and former Baltimore Oriole Cal Ripken, Jr.

Cal was to teach a group of kids some of the finer points of hitting a baseball.  Enter the future Cooperstown inductee, Cooper Smith.  Coop stepped to the dish and drilled line drive after line drive into the net.  Ripken looked over to the large group of fans viewing his clinic, and said “He’s a really good hitter.”  Insert a smile on this dad’s face that stretches from Chase Field to Camden Yards.

After Cooper took his rips, Cal gave him a High 5, and the 3-foot-8 well educated baseball historian says to him and I quote “Two-thousand-six-hundred and thirty-two games in a row?  How did you do that?”

Let me pause to explain.  Cal Ripken, Jr. holds the Major League Baseball record for consecutive games played at 2632.  I hold the record for making my 5-year old recite this number on one airplane flight.  It was worth it.  Back to Cal and Coop.

Ripken laughs, takes a soft baseball and tosses it at Cooper.  Cooper grabs the ball (across the seams) and fires it back at him.  They go on to play dodge ball for a few minutes while the local news media focus its cameras as the current and future Hall of Famer trade a game of catch that us mortal, Non Hall-of-Famers could only dream of being a part. (here’s a quick video of the hitting and catching between the two)

[Read more...]

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A Baseball Dad reacts to Tragedy at Texas Rangers Game

July 9, 2011 By 6 Comments

Photo Credit - AP - Jeffrey Washington

I have a son named Cooper.  He and I love to go to baseball games.  It’s our most favorite thing to do.  I’d love to get a game ball for Cooper some day.  We sit in the bleachers together enjoying our time together, chatting with like minded fans around us, and Coop begs an outfielder to flip him a ball.  He just wants a souvenir from a real live Major Leaguer.  What kid doesn’t?

Prior to Thursday, July 7th, 2011, the preceding paragraph could have been written by me or a Texas Dad named Shannon Stone.

By now, almost anyone reading this post knows the tragedy that occurred at the Texas Rangers baseball game on Thursday night.  39-year old Shannon Stone attempts to catch a ball thrown into the stands by Outfielder Josh Hamilton.  Ball finds his glove, but his momentum carries him over the railing crashing to the concrete 20-feet below.  Stone dies on the way to the hospital.  6-year old Cooper is left without a father.

I, first, heard the news when my sobbing mother called to tell me this morning on my commute to work.  I heard the entire story while listening to ESPN Radio.  Then, I cried to myself as I drove for the next hour.

Our Cooper

All day, I kept thinking about Cooper:  My blond-headed best friend … and Cooper Stone, the 6-year old who just wanted to have fun with HIS best friend, his daddy, at a ball game.  His Dad bought him a new ball glove on the way to the game.  Coop was wearing a Josh Hamilton jersey.  It was all set to be the perfect night for these two best buddies (Dad and Son).

Coop, I feel for you little man.  There are no words I can write to explain why something like this happens.  I’m not going to get all holy here, but I believe in the big fella upstairs, and I’m wondering if God took the night off last night.  Despicable, unthinkable unimaginable, inexplicable things take place everyday, but this just seems so pointless.  Yes, there are zillions of examples of pointless acts of tragedy, but for some reason, this one is like a fastball to the gut.  A dad and his boy at a ballgame.  Dad catches his son a memory.  And, that’s where this story should have ended…the two go home, show mom their ball and put up posters of Josh Hamilton all over Coop’s bedroom.   Instead, there’s not a dry eyed father in the stands tonight at a ballgame; most notably the Dad playing outfield for the Texas Rangers.

I’m going to go watch a game with my boy now.  I love him so much.  I ache for 6-year old Cooper Stone.  I’m so sorry little guy.  I’m just so incredibly sorry for you and your mommy.

Sincerely,

Daddy of another baseball fan named Cooper

 

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For the Love of Baseball

February 28, 2011 By 6 Comments

On August 31st, 1978, I was 3 years old, and was about to fall in love for the first time.  I would fall in love one more time, some 23 years later, but my wife understands that she shares me from Mid-February to early November each year.  My wife treasures her alone time from the last out of the World Series to that wonderful day in Mid Feb when “Pitchers and Catchers Report to Spring Training.”  I enjoy those months as well, but I live for the words “Play Ball” whose echo migrates North to all of us who cannot fly South to Florida and Arizona in the dead of winter.

My Dad and I approached the front gates of Busch Stadium on that day in August with only one “being” impeding our progress, a 15 foot statue of “The Man.”  Before we could enter through the pearly gates, my Dad explained to me who “The Man” was and how we are to not only respect #6, but also respect the game that gives real value to the Diamond.

Prior to advancing forward into the Hot Box of St Louis, I was expected to memorize the inscription below Stan Musial’s Statue.  “Here stands baseball’s perfect warrior, Here stands baseball’s perfect knight.”  I got it down in about as much time as it took Cincinnati Pitcher Tom Seaver to complete his pre-game warm-up that day, and this is where my love story begins.

Then, 31 years later, I did the same thing with my son.  These two memories book end my Romantic Novel, and there are many in between, for example:

Waiting in line with my Dad throughout the night in 1987 to buy Standing Room Only Tickets at 9am on the day of Game 6 of the NLCS, and I was ecstatic to be watching the game from over 600 feet away through a fence hole.

Hitting a Game-Winning Bottom of the 7th, RBI Single of my own to win a High School Playoff Game in 1992.

Serving as Assistant Coach to my brother’s High School Varsity team in 1998 and winning a District Championship where after the last out was recorded, I jumped on top of a pile of 16-year old and 17-year old kids, found my brother at the bottom of the pile and hugged him so tight he stopped screaming for lack of air.

Yelling loud enough to wake up the neighborhood on October 17th, 2005 when Albert Pujols, our Modern Day Musial, delayed our winter by one day when sending a Brad Lidge Concrete Mixer Slider into the Houston night during the NLCS, then one year later, running down Broadway with my wife on my shoulders as the World Series Trophy had returned to my city for the first time in 24 years.

Finally to June 19th, 2010 when my 4-year old son, MY SON, played in his first T-Ball game then approached me after that game and whispered to me, “Daddy, that was the most fun I’ve ever had.”  Me too Cooper, Me too.

That night, I tucked my son in his bed under his baseball diamond comforter, where he lies his head on a round, white pillow which, of course, has red stitches, above him is a halo of wooden (not aluminum) letter’s hanging on his wall that spell C-O-O-P-E-R’-S T-O-W-N.

And, for all of those reasons/memories with that last one being the most important to me is why I love Baseball.

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ProBowl Playground

January 30, 2011 By 2 Comments

NFL Quarterback Drew Brees said it best, “Every kid needs access to a playground.  That’s what kids do.  They play.”

Agree.

I’ve now helped build 2 playgrounds in my life.  The latest was with my new pal, Drew, and 250 others on the island of Oahu in the town of Waipahu where up until this past Thursday, kids at the local YMCA did not have a playground to call their own.

Before I describe to you what it’s like building a playground with 250 volunteers who included men and women from the greatest military on earth, local citizens and government officials, Sponsor P&G, Non-Profit KaBoom!, and a few of Drew’s buddies from the NFL, allow me to give you a quick glimpse at the first playground that my Dad and I built for my kids.

Understand that when someone says to me, “Hand me Phillip’s Screwdriver, I look for my friend Phil’s OJ and Vodka.”  I had to call a handy man once to put my screen door back on its track.  I try. Trust me, I really do try, but I just wasn’t given this ability.  Case in point…

I started this playground project on the 1st weekend of July.  It was completed by Labor Day.

On the 3rd weekend of July, I finally had the clubhouse’s first floor framed, but that slipped my mind, when I was bending over to do something on the ground floor in the sandbox-to-be; I stood up, hit one board with the back of my head which launched me forward where I cracked my nose on another floor board.  I was knocked out for a few moments.  When I came to, I saw stars (not Drew Brees), and of course, blood gushing from my nose.  My dad helped me inside to get some ice, and my 3year old yells, “Mommy, come quick, Daddy still hasn’t finished the playground!”  Never mind the fact that I was losing pints of blood by the second.  She was right; the playground construction may have taken a bit longer than planned.

Now, to the sequel…

In a well coordinated effort thanks to P&G, KaBoom! and the NFL, the Leeward YMCA of Waipahu now has a playground.  Time to construct: 6 hours or an NFL Sunday Doubleheader.  I learned many lessons while witnessing this miracle (well, not really a miracle when you have a plan and people that know a “2×4” is a piece of wood.  I always thought it was “8.”).

Lesson 1 – Invite a handful of NFL Players to help.  The number of volunteers was much higher than I had, about 249 more than me (Thank you Dad).  I’m not saying these people wouldn’t have shown to build the local youth a playground.  I’m just saying that people did NOT help me build my playground (I don’t blame them). Having Drew Brees, Matt Ryan, Matt Cassel, Wes Welker, Jahri Evans, Jerod Mayo, Matt Light, and Hall of Famer Marcus Allen may have helped me.  I have them all on speed dial now for my next playground.

Lesson 2 – Invite the US Military to help.  This was like a day off for these women and men.  I took a lemonade “pause” every 30minutes.  The members of the military are like camels.  They must store their liquid somewhere or they’re just really, really tough.  It was like they never took a break.  They must train for stuff like this.  No worries, I took their break for them.

Lesson 3 – Have T-Shirts made to commemorate the event.  P&G sponsored this event in line with the “NFL Play 60” campaign with the focus on getting kids to be active at least 60 minutes a day to combat the plague of childhood obesity which currently affects 1 in 3 U.S. children.  I really could have used a couple of T-Shirts for my Dad and me.  I’m calling P&G next time.  I already have the motto, “Save Jeff 60” with the focus on helping me build a playground, so that I’ll have 60 days of my life to give to something other than building playground.  .

Lesson 4 – Have an energetic MC and a DJ playing cool music.  Give it up to Kenny Altenburg from KaBoom! (more on KaBoom! in Lesson 5).  Kenny had the mic, and kept everyone “pumped up” for the entire day.  He’s a great guy with tremendous energy.  I’m thinking about hiring him for Cooper’s 5th Birthday party.  I was willing to grab a hammer for him.  Well, he had someone talk me out of that because he had heard my reputation, but point is; I was “all in.”

Final Lesson, Number 5 – Call KaBoom!  The entire reason for KaBoom! is to build play spaces (see playgrounds) to keep kids active.  They’ve now built 1,921 playgrounds.  So, I’m thinking that they probably know what they’re doing.  The idea for KaBoom! came about after someone heard my first playground story.

So, mark it down.  I have now helped build 2 playgrounds in my life.  The first with my Dad (He’s the man), and the second with the help of the U.S. Military, the citizens of Waipahu, P&G, KaBoom! and the NFL.  And, guess what, I now know what a Phillip’s Screwdriver is…It’s a play call by the San Diego Chargers Quarterback.  See, I’m always listening to my buddy Drew.  I have to go now.  My cell is ringing.  It’s Drew and the fellas.  They need my help again.  Play on!

For more information on P&G’s commitment to Child Wellness, visit Take it to the House.

This post is part of a series from my time with my wife in Oahu covering the ProBowl and Community Blitz for P&G. Danielle was compensated for her work, however all thoughts, opinions and experiences relayed in this post are mine alone.

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“When I was your age….” A Daddy Diary

January 18, 2011 By 1 Comment

Gen 'X' and Gen 'Techs' at play

Are you kidding me?  I actually used this phrase this week when speaking to my 6-year old daughter.  For the first time in my life, I think that I feel “old.”  The following conversation took place last Saturday at a local movie theater prior to the trailers beginning…

“Hey Daddy, when can I have my own cell phone?” says the 6-year old while playing “Angry Birds” with her iTouch in one hand,

and eating popcorn with the other.

It’s really my iTouch, but I don’t have much use for it, so I’ve allowed my kiddos to mess around with it.  Lesson:  We have an iTunes account with our Mac and iTouch connected to a credit card.  Many apps cost a few George Washington’s and well, our kids have figured out how to download.  I learned this by looking at my last credit card statement.  My kids are 4 and 6!!!  And, so it begins.  Generation T-ech lives in my house.

Gen X Representative aka Daddy:  “You can have your own cell phone when you start High School, so when you’re 14,” replies the sage.

Generation Techs 1 aka Daughter: “Come on Dad, that’s a long time.  How old were you when you were able to have your own cell phone?” She turns off the iTouch.  This must be a serious conversation.

“26” is my answer.

Gen Techs 1:  “What?  Did Grandma and Grandpa not like you?”

Generation Techs 2 aka Son:  “Wow, Daddy, that’s old.”  He’s piling on.

Gen X:  “Okay, you two, listen closely.  Grandma and Grandpa loved me.  Well, they loved me most of the time”

Gen Techs 1:“Not when you spilled spaghetti on the white carpet.  Not when you played the drums on Grandma’s new furniture with a hair brush.  Not when you stuck tomatoes in your pockets, so you didn’t have to eat them at dinner.”

Gen X: “Okay, okay, wait a minute.  Who told you about all of that?”

Gen Techs 1“Grandma”

Gen X (thinks to himself, Darn Baby Boomers): “I’ll discuss that with her later.  Here’s my point.  When I was your age…”  (Ding, Ding, Ding, I just said it for the first time.  Whatever follows this phrase is going to age me.  I’ve never really felt old.  I’m 35.  I’m fine with being 35.  I’m not 65 and I’m not 5, I’m right in the middle and that’s cool with me, but now I’m getting grilled by 2 kids who are darn close to 5, and they have me on the run.)  “When I was your age, nobody had a cell phone.”

Gen Techs 1: “Well, then how did you talk to people?”

Gen X: “There was a phone on the wall?”

Gen Techs 1:  “Why would there be a phone the wall?  Why didn’t you wear it on your belt?  How would you feel it buzz?  Was there a screen to read the text messages?  We don’t understand.”

This is incredible.

Gen X: “There were no text messages.  The phone rings, I answer, and talk to the person calling me.”

Gen Techs 1: “Daddy, you’re telling me that you actually spoke into a phone that was hanging on a wall.  Daddy, you’re so silly.  You’re fibbing to us.  Did your head set come out of the wall?  Well, I guess you could have had a blue tooth, so that part might make sense.  What did it sound like when someone was calling you?”

Gen X: “It just rang”

Gen Techs 1:“It didn’t play a Miley Cyrus or Black Eyed Peas song?  That’s what Mommy’s phone does, and yours buzzes, so I don’t understand what “it just rang” means.”

This conversation is not happening.  I feel like Marty McFly in Back to the Future 2.

Gen X: “Yes, it just rang, almost like the doorbell I guess.  There was no music or buzzing.”

Gen Techs 1: “What?  There wasn’t any music when you were a kid?  You weren’t able to listen to Radio Disney on XM?”

Gen X: “Of course, there was music, although no XM, but there wasn’t any music that came from the phone.”

Gen Techs 1: “Okay, so there was music.  Whew, I thought you were going to tell us that you didn’t have an ipod?  Now, that would have been crazy.”

Keep in mind.  She’s 6, and this conversation really did happen.

Gen X: “Okay, Delaney and Cooper, this could go on forever, the movie is getting ready to start, so let’s watch okay?”

Gen Techs 2 (the son is rising): “Daddy, can you pass me the 3D glasses?  The screen is so far away.  It hurts my eyes.”

Gen X:  “Cooper, when I was your age…  Forget it.  Here are the glasses.”

Sincerely,

Old Man Daddy

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