Saturday, September 30, 2017

Endless Summer

We escaped the fall rain in Salt Lake City for one last weekend of summer in St. George. 

In just three days, I managed to: 
  • Shoot some hoops
  • Play baseball with the boys (before Curtis hit Tate with the ball and Tate headbutted Curtis is return)
  • Ride bikes with Paige
  • Read a book in the tub
  • Swim in the pool
  • Float in the lake
  • Climb on the red rock
  • Take a nap during Despicable Me 3 (Tate bet me that I wouldn't stay awake for the whole movie -- I tend to fall asleep during kid shows. I made it through the trailers but then my eyes got real heavy. Tate won the bet.)
  • Eat mashed potatoes at the Chuck-a-Rama
  • Drink a bottle of Leninade (Get hammered & sickled! the bottle proclaimed) 
  • Watch Like Mike and Captain Underpants with the kids and laugh and laugh at Bridesmaids for the millionth time with Traci
  • Wear my Chucks to Priesthood Session
  • Do a little bit of writing about Curtis and Tate
Not sure what else you could ask for in a vacation. 

Thursday, September 28, 2017

The Day I Nearly Killed Curtis

“Alright, give me a good one this time,” I shouted to my nephew Nathan.

It was a warm Sunday night in June and the empty street in front of my parents’ house made the perfect field for an impromptu batting session.

After a half hour of pitching tennis balls to Tate, Curtis and my teenage nephews, I figured I deserved to take a few swings myself.

Sure, the teenagers could hit a pitch or two. But there’s no way these young punks were going to show me up. After all, I was a baseball All-Star…in 1992.

I hike up my shorts, tip my cap, raise my bat, and point it to the outfield wall (which was really just the neighbor’s front yard).

I tighten my grip around the handle of the first-and-only bat I’ve ever owned, the 22-inch tee ball bat that has lived in my mom’s hall closest since 1987. The War Lord (such a politically incorrect name for a blunt object) has aged gracefully over the past three decades. Though it lost its original grip years ago, my industrious mother replaced it with blue painter’s tape. As good as new.

Nathan winds up. Throws. The ball hurtles toward me. I lean back, twist my hips, and lurch forward. Hands at ears. Then hands at torso. Then snap the wrists. Always follow through.

The ball rockets off the bat.

But no one watches.

Instead, all eyes turn to the aluminum missile sailing through air — straight toward Curtis’ head. In an instant, his life flashes before my eyes.

The sound of his first cry in the hospital.

The moment that two-year-old Paige walks into the recovery room, sees her new brand new baby brother and exclaims, “Put him back!”

The first day of soccer.

The first day of school.

The first day of braces.

I see it all while the War Lord spins through the air, en route to Curtis’ still-intact skull.

What have I done?

I have killed my first-born son.

His mother will kill me.

And then the window of mercy blows ever so slightly. The bat innocently grazes the top of his hat before meeting the asphalt with a clank.

Before Curtis has time to consider his own mortality, he is smothered by his father’s hugs and kisses and a barrage of I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorr-ies.

War Lords and painter’s tape are make a bad team. 

Sunday, September 24, 2017

Thank You from Johnny Tightlips

I don't think we've ever had a better show than we did last night. Thank you to everyone who came out, bought a t-shirt, danced around, or sang along to our atrocious Kelly Clarkson cover.

You sure made a sloppy punk rock band feel pretty good about itself.

Thank you.

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Tate's First Hit

Tate has been very serious about his first season as a little leaguer. Just about every night, we're in the backyard, throwing and catching and pitching and hitting. The hard work has paid off. He's become a solid fielder and he's got a mini cannon of an arm.

But that first hit has eluded him.

He's been walked and beaned. He's fouled off a dozen pitches. He just hasn't found a way to connect yet.

And striking out is hard.

After his first strikeout, he walked back to the dugout with tears in his eyes.

"It's okay, buddy," I said. "You'll get the next one."

He assured me that the tears had nothing to do with the outcome of the at-bat. Instead, he said, "There's dirt in my eye."

After his second strikeout, the tears came again. Before I could even console him, he said, "There's dirt in my eye again -- the catcher keeps kicking dirt at me."

Dirty catcher.

The ongoing disappointments were heavy to bear and the little redhead's confidence started to wane.

"Dad, don't make me hit today."

"You just gotta keep swinging, buddy."

I wish I could say it was my continual pep talks that motivated him. Instead, he perked up when I promised to buy him a baseball backpack (which is so much cooler than his regular bat bag) if he got a hit.

Sure enough, the next game he got a hit. Down two strikes, he hit a little blooper that landed between home plate and third base. He was so surprised to make contact that he just stood there.

"Ruuunnnnn!" I screamed.

He started toward first.


After he made it safely to first, he was so excited that he came off the base to the coaches' box to give me a quickly hug. He returned the base, beaming.

Tate is now a proud owner of baseball backpack.

I'm a proud owner of a Tate. 

Saturday, September 16, 2017

Tate's First Utes Football Game

A knee replacement was band news for Grandpa Pearson but good news for Tate and me. 

It was a pretty great night for a little redhead to go to his first Utes football game. Here a just of the awesome things that happened BEFORE the game even started:

  • We took Trax to the game. Tate always likes taking the train but he was even more stoked when the fight song came over the loud speaker as we approached the stadium. 
  • He became the proud owner of a little Utes football, thanks to the generosity of his father. 
  • We were right next to the cannon when it went off before the game, scaring us to death.
  • The Navy SEALS parachuted onto 50 yard line, carrying American flags that were shooting sparklers

Saturday, September 09, 2017


Nothing says backyard baseball like the batter wearing a flower pot for a helmet. ⚾️

Saturday, September 02, 2017


Uncle Todd teaching the boys about geocaching.