Number Our Days

My family recently had the pleasure of taking a vacation to the beach with some dear friends.  It was especially meaningful because these days, with both our sons working and doing the college thing, it can be hard to get us all in to the same place for 30 minutes, much more so for several days.  I'm grateful for every such opportunity we have.

Because our trip spanned a Sunday, we did as we've done for years in such situations and planned to have our own Sunday worship session.  Usually one of us Dads will prepare and share a devotion, and we spend a little time in prayer and musical worship.  This time around, I volunteered the lead the devotion, and set about praying and considering what might be of particular relevance to our families in this season.  "This season" is more than just another milestone along the course of our collective aging.  We've recently endured quite a bit of heaviness between our families, including the death of a mother/grandmother and the wildly destructive Hurricane Helene (which is what brought us to the beach in the first place, since the mountain vacation we'd already planned became a non-option).

It's a bit challenging to convey all that went into my consideration of a text to focus on, but there were several key things.  It started, of course, with the weight and near reminder of how close death can be.  But beyond that, I'd had recent conversations about how the more melancholy worship songs (some of which are musically lovely!) always feel out of place in a Sunday morning service, at least in my denominational context.  The book of Psalms has such songs, so songs of sorrow are completely relevant and legitimate for congregational worship.  I recalled that the Church has had for many years a mechanism for touching on all the various valid emotions of the Christian life:  cyclic, planned liturgies.  On a whim, I looked up the Anglican liturgical calendar to see what readings were scheduled for our Sunday away.  Almost unsurprisingly, they were all readings focused on sorrow.

Two other things happened while at the beach that narrowed my search into a decision.  While walking in a beach souvenir shop, the overhead radio program (featuring John Tesh) was musing about midlife crises.  I was only half paying attention, but I heard Tesh saying something about age 40 being the halfway point of the average lifespan.  Then the following day, I took a solo side quest up to Southport, where I spent some time poking around an interesting cemetery.  (In a fun plot twist, I later went off to find a multi-stage geocache that led me around town picking up clues, and the final destination turned out to be none other than that same cemetery.)  There I noted the ages on many of the headstones — people dying at age 60. 40. 21. 18. 7. 1. Even a trio of three-month-old children laid in a row.  My thoughts kept returning to just how fleeting life is for us.  And that was all I needed to secure a text for our Sunday morning devotion.  Without yet knowing where the study would lead, I chose Psalm 90.

I won't attempt to recount the whole devotion here, but as I studied the text over the next half-day, I couldn't avoid seeing phrases and themes that reminded me of the Genesis accounts of Creation and the Fall.  Themes of toiling, day after day; literary hints such as the morning and evening cycle; an eventual return to dust — all point to Genesis 1-3.  A Psalm that at first glance might appear to picture an arbitrarily wrath-filled God is reminding us that because of the first sin, the earth and its inhabitants are under a curse.  God hates sin.  It was sin that introduced death into Creation in the first place.  And the Psalm (with a bit more authority than Mr. Tesh) reminds us that life is roughly 70 years long — 80 if you're lucky.

After reading and commenting a bit on the Psalm that Sunday morning, I employed an unconventional analogy in order to help our families consider what "80 years" looks like.  If life is a pizza with eight slices, our family members' ages fell pretty neatly into clean "slice counts".  My daughter is 10 — one of her slices is already gone.  The older boys' ages hover around 20 — two slices gone.  Jason and Cassandra (the parents in the other family) have consumed half of their pizza.  And Amy and I are down to just three slices left.  This is a sobering thought, and is surely why Psalm 90's final section asks of God, "So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom."

Father in Heaven, teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.  Have pity on us.  Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love, that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.  Amen.

Ten Commandments of Dating

Some years ago, as my sons were approaching the age at which words like "girlfriend" and "dating" were being used more often, I began thinking through what a biblical framework for dating might look like. This is not the most obvious enterprise because the Bible was written to a culture wildly different than our modern western society, with patterns and norms for establishing relationships of this sort that look nothing like those we experience today. Still, I was convinced that the Bible carried principles that reflect the character of God and His intention for all people across all of time, so I turned to what I felt was the most obvious place – the Ten Commandments.

The Ten Commandments are of course pretty widely known, and are both respected and recognized for what they are: brief summary statements that encapsulate many deep layers of thought and consideration.  From these ten basic commandments would flow another 600+ more detailed laws given to the Israelites through Moses, which would then give way to countless codified interpretations and applications over the years as the nuance and complexity of society would give rise to such a need.

What follows here is my attempt to apply the basic principles of the Ten Commandment to the realm of pre-marital romance.  The document carries a heavy Christian slant (for which I make absolutely no apology) and is written from a first-person perspective, as if each party in the relationship was speaking his or her commitment to these principles to the other party.

Hammock Camping With Aidan

This past weekend, I was able to bring to completion some plans long held.  Looooong held.

With this being the first weekend after the completion of the Spring soccer season, I found on my hands a rare substance — free time.  Saturday morning I woke early, grabbed my hiking pack, and headed out to the Uwharrie National Forest.  I picked a trailhead that I'd visited once before (for just long enough to eat a granola bar and before making the return hike) but had never started at.  From the Tot Hill Farm Trailhead, I marched south on the Birkhead Mountain Trail toward Hannah's Creek.  But I made a last-minute decision to veer off and take a loop side-trail which was marked only as "Camp 3".  I'd not hiked this segment before.

It was a pleasant hike on a clearly less-traveled trail, but the most interesting bit for me was actually finding the camp site(s, plural, as there were two).  One particular site stood out immediately as the perfect spot for a hammock camping stay.  It featured a nice-sized clearing with an established fire pit just yards away from a natural creek (water means fire safety!) and with several mature trees perfectly spaced for at least six hammocks.  I popped up my own hammock and enjoyed the breezy day for a while before continuing my hike.  When it was all told, I'd hiked over 7 miles and felt like I'd found the hammock camping spot for which I'd been searching since Fall 2021.

And that's (at least in part) what I mean by "plans long held".  Nine months ago, my son Aidan and I started talking about camping somewhere with hammocks.  We bought the gear we needed and started scoping out locations.  But life got super busy with Fall soccer.  Then life got super chilly with Winter.  Then Spring soccer, and now AJ has his first job, and the world is rushing to fill everyone's time as an over-response to a slow pandemic year, and....  So the story of over-committed lives seems to go.  We had the gear and the inclination, but no time.

After Saturday's hike, I came home with a renewed sense of possibility.  Sunday was Father's Day, and I had intended to drive out to Denver, NC to hang out with my own dad after church.  But my girls both tested positive for COVID-19, which meant that it wasn't such a good idea to interact in person with my parents.  I enjoyed a 3-mile light local hike immediately after church with a friend.  But the timing seemed right (my company gave me Monday off in recognition of the Juneteenth holiday) and the weather was great, so I asked Aidan if he'd be okay with trying the hammock camping thing that evening.  And to my surprise, he was all in.

We packed up our gear and by 6pm were parked at the Tot Hill Farm Trailhead.  We repeated the hike I'd made the day prior, except we went clockwise around the camp loop instead of counter-clockwise.  By 7:15pm we'd reached the site (which I was thrilled to find empty) and started setting up camp — hanging the hammocks, gathering firewood, etc.  To my wonder, my fire started effortlessly, and as darkness started to close around us we sat by the fire and talked about a variety of things.  One feature of the site I'd noticed the previous day was that there was zero cellphone signal availability.  So in an age where we are constantly interrupted by technology, we found ourselves truly alone together.

It was about 10:30pm when we doused our fire and climbed into our hammocks.  We learned first-hand how challenging it is to wrestle with sleeping bags when trying to sleep on a curved surface.  (There's probably some trick to it; we just didn't know it!)  We learned how exposed one can feel sleeping in a hammock versus inside a tent — how you can hear absolutely everything yet see almost nothing.  We were super grateful for the built-in bug nets our hammocks offered.  We were amazed at how incredibly bright fireflies appear in the dark woods.  And eventually, we drifted off to sleep despite being hyper-aware and over-stimulated.

We woke early (as tends to happen outdoors), having each stirred multiple times through the night to adjust a sleeping bag or shift positions.  The sun had not yet lighted on our location when we climbed out of our packs, munched on Pop-Tarts and reflected on the evening.  But as we started packing things up again, the daylight intensified and aided visibility.  We hit the trail again around 6:30am, and arrived back at the trailhead around 8am, having successfully completed the mission we'd set for ourselves some nine months prior.

Long held plans.  But longer still for me.  This weekend brought parity that I needed to assuage a bit of parenting guilt.  You see, I'd taken AJ's older brother camping at Pilot Mountain a decade prior, and ever since that time it had bothered me that I wasn't able to offer the same one-on-one experience with Aidan.  This year — on Father's Day even — the combination of a lovely day, available time, a global pandemic, and an adventurous son resulted in some personal achievement, imbalances balanced, and valuable memories made.

Parenting by the Sixes

I suspect that at some point every Christian parenting seminar, magazine, or discussion eventually finds a way to bring up the opening verses of Ephesians 6:

Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. “Honor your father and mother” (this is the first commandment with a promise), “that it may go well with you and that you may live long in the land.” Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord.
[Ephesians 6:1-4 ESV]

And to be sure, this is not a bad thing.  The author and apostle Paul does a good — if concise — job here of addressing both "sides" of the oft-opposed factions within a household.

But I was surprised and enlightened this morning when I found conviction and instruction for the parent as I read the opening of not Ephesians 6, but Galatians 6:

Brothers, if anyone is caught in any transgression, you who are spiritual should restore him in a spirit of gentleness. Keep watch on yourself, lest you too be tempted. Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. For if anyone thinks he is something, when he is nothing, he deceives himself.  [Galatians 6:1-3 ESV]

I can't tell you how many times I've admonished my children for some behavioral shortcoming only to find myself succumbing a similar (or identical!) issue shortly thereafter.  So while Paul may not in this second passage be addressing parents and children specifically, I think the prescription applies nonetheless.  As a father, my supreme aim for my children is that they increase in holiness.  But I need to offer guidance to that effect in love, with gentleness, and in all humility as I openly confess my own failures, my insufficiency, and my outright dependency on the grace of God as He works out holiness in me.

Family music moment: "How Great Thou Art"

This week, I worked up a modified arrangement of the wonderful old hymn "How Great Thou Art" for use in Sunday's services at Providence Baptist Church.  I wanted to record a reference track for the worship band to listen and practice to (since it's a bit late in the week to be introducing music ... ahem ...), so I knew that was on my agenda for tonight.

Our church has been going through a home-based study of the topic of "Worship" (see http://pbcharrisburg.org/resources/worship_study/index if you're interested in the materials), and one of the key components of the study is worshiping in the home together as a family.  There are many ways to do this, of course, but I'm blessed with a family that loves music, and loves to make music.  So I gathered the family together, distributed chord charts, and setup the recording gear.  What resulted was a solid (if imperfect) reference track for the worship band to use, but more important, a digital treasure for the Pilato family, remembering a time we lifted our voices and instruments together in praise.



Amy Lyn Pilato - lead vocals
C. Michael Pilato - fingerstyle guitar, bass guitar, vocals
Gavin Pilato - rhythm guitar
Aidan Pilato - cajon (percussion)

* Kaelyn was sleeping at the time, else she surely would have provided her own slobber-coated contribution to the track.  Maybe next time, Sweetheart...

Welcoming Kaelyn

I have a new daughter, and that's pretty awesome!

For the scoop, see http://pilatofamily.blogspot.com/2013/12/welcoming-kaelyn.html

Happy birthday, Gavin, from an old geek to a new one

My oldest son, Gavin, loves science and technology. His love is not just at a "video games are cool" or "I want an iPod because everyone else has one" level. It's much deeper, almost like just needing to know how the world works — by what rules does the Universe play, and how can we use our creativity to bend them? While his overactive imagination can sometimes be a source of conflict in the home (or in the restaurant, or church, or public restroom, or …), his mother and I do recognize the beauty of it.

Gavin turns eight years old in … well, in about two hours from now, technically. I was trying to think of something special I could do for him, when it occurred to me to use one of his favorite toys/tools — Lego® blocks — to create a portrait of him. At a design level, this isn't really so challenging. I mean, it only took moments to load up a recent photo of him into the GIMP, shrink it, posterize it, replace its palette with one based around primary colors, etc.

The result was a blocky image with Lego-ish colors whose aspect ratio had been adjusted to account for the fact that a 1x1 Lego block isn't square, but instead roughly 3:4:

No, the difficult part was in actually building the thing! Okay, not difficult so much as tedious. And of course, I failed to inventory my available blocks before starting, so it was on a wing and a prayer that the hours-long activity began. But in the end, every piece planned was in place (minus some black shadow blocks on the bottom I decided to omit), and the work was complete. I had a roughly 14" x 18" image of my son, made out of plastic, to present to him tomorrow as a surprise.

Reflections of a Newbie Youth Soccer Coach

This past weekend, my sons' youth soccer seasons ended. My oldest practiced and played in a division for 5- and 6-year-old kids, and I assisted his head coach. My youngest practiced in a division for 3- and 4-year-old kids, and I was the head coach of his team. I wanted to write up some thoughts about the seasons from a coach's point of view. As you read these, if they sound more like parenting advice, there's a reason for that: many times over the course of the season, I noticed (and noted to others) parallels between coaching to parenting. I found that many of the basic principles commonly applied in one role remain valid and useful in the other. Mind you, I'm certainly no expert coach. Not by a long shot. (For that matter, I'm no expert parent, either.) But these are some of my observations, and I'm hoping that perhaps something here resonates with other folks who — like me at when this year began — have never coached at all.

Teams are best built atop friendship

An observation I made at during the Spring soccer season was that by the middle of the season, the players on the team I was helping to coach (which, as in the Fall season, consisted of 5- and 6-year-old boys and girls) still didn't know each others' names. This bothered me deeply, because at a minimum it meant that the players couldn't communicate effective to or about each other. But it also meant that somewhere between showing how to dribble a soccer ball and how to perform a proper throw-in, we as coaches had overlooked the simple fact that children are social beings. My son has a distinct “cautious observer" personality type. Until he's comfortable around his peers, he'd rather just watch to see if it's safe to engage. Not even knowing your peers' names does not encourage comfortability.

This season, we as coaches worked to remedy this problem up front. A helpful parent took a team photo, and we labeled it with each child's name, had Wal-mart print up enough copies for everyone, and distributed them. During practices we often encouraged the players to cheer for each other by name. The result was noticeable (to me, at least). There was much more of a team spirit on the field and off, and sometimes it was actually difficult to get my son away from the fields because he was having so much fun playing stuff other than soccer with his friends after practices and games.

What's my point? People matter — more so than winning, more so than ball control skills, more so than anything else at all. (Unfortunately, I fail to remember this critical truth myself sometimes — both on and off the field of play — much to my own embarrassment and the detriment of valued relationships.)

"Fundamentals" begins with "fun"

The assistant coaches on my youngest boy's team were amazing. One of them was introduced to me as a guy with a ton of soccer-related creds. Quite honestly, I was a bit intimated by this fact. But if there's one thing that he and the other coach taught me this year, it was that if the kids aren't having fun, it doesn't matter how well they can kick and throw a ball. What good is teaching good dribbling if at season's end the kids say, "Soccer's a drag — count me out"? For kids at this age, fun is closely tied to many things:

• avoiding repetition — no child can tolerate doing the same thing for long periods of time. Mix it up a bit, Coach.
• avoiding down-time — It only takes a few moments of waiting in line before a young child times out. You can almost watch as their attention span threshold is reached, and then away their little minds go, off to La-la Land. If you can, avoid line waits and repetition by splitting the team into smaller groups at various stations of differing activities.
• simple rewards, oft-given — I was introduced last season to these little 1" iron-on motivational patches with pictures of soccer balls in various colors, stars, etc. We gave each kid that showed up at practice and stayed for the duration one of these patches. Kids respond positively to the promise of even simple rewards like that, or the promise of playing a favorite game at the end of practice. As it turns out, they don't mind trying harder when trying harder is fun.
• team spirit — This season the teams were allowed to choose their own team names. My oldest boy's team chose the "Soccer Monsters". I wasn't so thrilled by the name, but nonetheless spent a few evenings designing a team logo just for kicks. The other coaches and parents loved it, and by the end of the season that logo showed up on 3" iron-on embroidered patches, stickers, a vinyl signboard for the parental cheering section, and even a sheet cake! Everyone loved the "brand" we built around the Soccer Monster name. And repeatedly the coaches and parents reinforced not just the value of individual contributors, but also the value of the team as a whole. The stereotype of the coach's kid who gets all the attention was completely absent — every child took his or her turn on the bench in every game; every child got a chance to play every position on the field over the course of the season; and every child gracefully dealt (most of the time) with being asked to do something that wasn't their favorite thing because it would benefit the team.

I owe a deep debt of gratitude to the other coaches and parents who routinely helped to make soccer fun for my kids and their peers.

Never underestimate a child's potential

If you had told me what I would be seeing some of my 5- and 6-year-old players doing at game time at the beginning of the season, I would have laughed in disbelief. While many other teams were playing "bunch ball" (all the kids swarming around the ball like so many angry bees), ours entered even their first games with an understanding of the various positions, their roles in those positions, and the importance of performing in their roles instead of just roaming around the field without a purpose. By season's end, I was finding that the kids could handle some game play maneuvers that I thought were pretty complex, such as one defender falling back to help the goalie when the other needed to head off an approaching attacker. I found myself often saying in disbelief things like "But these kids are only six years old!" and "But this is his/her first season of soccer!"

One of the other teams had a kid who, despite being one of the smallest players in the division, had amazing ball control and the sweetest little slide tackle you ever saw. And you didn't see many, because I think he's the only kid who attempted them in this age group. Every time he did (our team played against his team twice) I smiled a huge smile and thought (or said aloud) "That's awesome!" His dad was his coach, too, but when asked him about his kid's skill, he indicated that it was self-developed. Call me naïve, but that's amazing to me.

Now maybe these are just exceptionally talented children. But I have to believe that the key to this phenomenon is to never stop asking more of the players. At any given moment, a particular player is going to have a great grasp of some concepts and skills, a pretty good approach to others, be relatively weak at still more, and have never been introduced to the rest. Keep a sliding window of instruction with those kids so that they are always trying stuff they are likely to fail at along with the stuff that they do with grace and ease. What other self-developed skills are hiding inside our children just waiting for us to affirm them into the mainstream? What other skills are they ready to learn but can't because we underestimate their chances of success? This leads me to my next point.

Failure can be the best instruction

Instruction is extremely important. There is always something else to learn, develop, or improve, so ideally instruction never stops. The Harrisburg Youth Soccer program is a decidedly instructional league, favoring instruction to competition in an attempt to develop well-rounded players who love the game enough to play competitively at older ages (when they can emotionally handle serious competition). But instruction without the freedom to try and fail is stifling.

If every time one of my sons reaches for a glass of water on the table I criticize how fast he's reaching, whether he's planning to use one or both hands, whether he looks to be picking up the glass or sliding it between all the other obstructions on the table surface, and so on — if I micromanage his every move, he learns exactly one thing: the way Dad wants stuff done. Not taught in those moments is the most valuable lesson of all: why Dad prefers that approach. My son doesn't understand that it's Dad's experience with the physics of our Universe that leads him to prefer a particular approach to drinking from a glass. And he never will until he experiences some of that physics himself.

Now, I'm not saying that there's no value in that type of instruction. Certainly the opposite extreme of never sharing your own experiences with kids and leaving them to learn solely from their own experiences is just an abdication of parental responsibility — inefficient, unloving, and sometimes downright dangerous. But an absolutely critical aspect to any learning situation is experience, and specifically experience failing. Kids don't need protection from everyday failures because everyday failures teach some of the strongest lessons more quickly and more thoroughly than constant hand-holding ever can. Kids need a safe place to experience those failures, reassurance that in failing at a task they haven't failed as people, and encouragement to get up and try again.

By the end of our soccer season, the majority of our kids knew how to perform nearly any action that would likely be asked of them during a game. Early in the season, we hand-held. We did our jobs as coaches and taught them the finely detailed mechanics of these actions. But as the season progressed, we gradually shifted to a model of letting the kids make their own decisions and deal with the consequences. And if one of them messed up and did something incorrectly, both the player and the attempt were affirmed as valuable.

In the free software world, this is similar to way that new project members are often brought on board. First, a would-be project member submit patches for the software — technical descriptions of how the software should be changed to add a feature or fix a bug. The patches are reviewed by existing project members for accuracy and efficient, for attention to the rules of the project, and so on. If the patch meets the standards, it is committed (by an existing member) as a change to the software itself. If it doesn't, the patch is sent back with recommendations on doing it better. Over time, a talented developer will submit better and better patches the first time around, earning the trust of his or her mentors. And at some magical point, the mentors realize that it's no longer worthwhile for them to pay both the cost of reviewing the work and of then actually committing it on behalf of the patch submitter when instead they could let the submitter commit his or her changes first and then receive review afterwards. As coaches, our goal should be to progressively transition each child from a model of pre-emptive review (at significant cost in valuable time) and into one of post-facto review (which is far more efficient and allows the kids to celebrate victories they've earned for themselves).

A new generation of Jedi

George Lucas haunts my dreams as of late.

Many months ago, my oldest son, Gavin, got into robots. Wall-E was his world. In a moment of parental weakness and nostalgia, I guess, I showed him a YouTube clip of the Hoth battle sequence from The Empire Strikes Back, with the goal of introducing him to AT-AT walkers. Oh, dear. What a can of worms I opened that day. What were these laser cannon things? Those sweet snowspeeders? And what, pray tell, is that gloriously glowing sword of light, Dad?! PLEASE TELL ME NOW!!

Gavin (6) and his brother Aidan (4) fashioned out of paper and string masks for themselves — Darth Vader, and a Storm Trooper — to wear while playing. Their dollar-store foam swords were swords no more, but light sabers. Gavin's thirst for Star Wars grew insatiable. Without my knowledge, he got his grandpa to spend an evening on YouTube cruising movie clips. There he learned of such unsavory characters as General Grievous and Darth Maul. Indeed, he appears to have already begun embracing the way of the Dark Side of the Force (at least, that's what his mother says when her patience is tried).

In fairness to him, I have admittedly fed his interest somewhat. Star Wars was fascinating to me as a kid, too. I was his age when The Empire Strikes Back was released, and I have a vague memory of seeing the film in the theater — quite possibly my first theater experience ever. (This fact is not lost on Gavin when I tell him he's too young to watch the movie himself.) When I asked some friends for suggestions on new games for our Wii console, I was advised to look into the Lego game series. Naturally, I settled on Lego Star Wars: The Complete Saga. My whole family has loved playing this game, which is challenging enough to be enjoyable to the adults while still being great fun for the kids, too.

It didn't stop there, though. It couldn't. The music in that game — most notably "The Imperial March (Darth Vader's Theme)" — stirred my own Star Wars desires. I purchased a CD of orchestral recordings of various songs from the original Star Wars trilogy, as well as the DVDs of all six of the films. Those arrived a week or so ago. The CD is now near-daily fuel for my sons' imaginations; the DVDs have provided my wife and I with some late-night entertainment, too.

But now the Star Wars connection is appearing outside the family, too. Yesterday on Facebook, a good friend posted a status message about watching Episode 2, and the following thread (edited for brevity) ensued:

Ben Collins-Sussman: Star Wars episode 2 is truly one of the worst movies ever made. Why can't I stop watching? It's like rubbernecking a car wreck.

C. Michael Pilato: I just watched that last night! … But look on the bright side -- it's still better than Episode III.

John Bourdeaux: There are few things more disappointing than episodes 1-3.

C. Michael Pilato: @John: Agreed. Though Episode 6 is a close call. It's like some kind of interplanetary smash-up of Fraggle Rock and Willow.

Greg Kirkpatrick: I can't wait for lucas to finally make episodes 1-3 …

Brian W. Fitzpatrick: What are you guys talking about? I always thought it was a shame that they never made any Star Wars movies after Return of the Jedi back in the 80s.

C. Michael Pilato: "Comes first, denial does. When clears the haze, reality you see. Six films there are: three of worth, three of the Dark Side. Now sets in, pain. Afraid not are you of poor storytelling? You will be. You wiiiiiiiill be." -- Master Yoda

Greg Kirkpatrick: noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo…!

And the references show up lately even when not talking directly about Star Wars. Yesterday, I also learned that one of my and my wife's favorite musicians, Jennifer Knapp, appears to have returned from obscurity. But when glancing at comments made on an article announcing this fact, I see:

I hope she doesn’t George Lucas her career up.
— buffalo Buffalo buffalo · Aug 27, 12:13 PM ·

Can Pandora's box be shut? And, all joking aside, do I really want it shut? I mean, isn't it better to have two young boys whose imaginations are bursting with activity and whose play involves clearly defined ideas of right and wrong than to have kids whose eyes are glazed over from watching too much Dora the Explorer and Spongebob? (That's a rhetorical question — I'm confident in my own answer.)

Harrisburg-area "Kids Eat Free/Cheap" schedule

[Since my first post of this blog item, I've been contacted by folks associated with a really cool site, Kids Eat For (http://kidseatfor.com/), which tracks similar information, uses a voting system to keep data fresh, and even offers related iPhone and Android apps! When last I checked, the site was lacking many of the deals listed here, but thanks to the way it is set up, that's a problem you or I can solve. Click here to search that site for Harrisburg-area stuff.]

[Last Updated 08/31/2009]

I like to save money. The businesses near my home like to make money. Some of those businesses are smart enough to realize that if they give a little, I give a little, and we all wind up happy. I'm hear to talk about businesses near Harrisburg, NC that offer "Kids Eat Free" or discounted kids meals on certain nights. If you own a restaurant and offer these types of programs, my family (and others, too) will patronize your business, and will do so in preference to others that don't woo us through our children's bellies.

But since I've failed to find a reliable source of organized information about such offering in my area, I've decided to try to collect as much right here on this blog post. So, what follows is what I've found. You should assume that the definition of "kids" used here is "humans 12 years of age or younger".

Sunday

Dickey's Barbecue Pit (6189 Bayfield Pkwy, Concord, 704-262-3337) — kids eat free

Firehouse Subs (8111 Concord Mills Blvd. Ste 670, Concord, 704-979-9900) — kids eat free after 4pm with adult combo

Firehouse Subs (7712 Sossaman Lane Suite 100, Concord, 704-979-3737) — kids eat free after 4pm with adult combo

IHOP (230 E Wt Harris Blvd, Charlotte, 704-717-9600) — kids eat free 4-10pm

Zapata's Mexican Cantina (8927 J M Keynes Dr., Charlotte, 704-503-1979) — kids eat free with paying adult

Monday

IHOP (230 E Wt Harris Blvd, Charlotte, 704-717-9600) — kids eat free 4-10pm

Supper (4435 Hwy 49 Suite 100, Harrisburg, 704-454-7120) — kids eat free after 4:30pm

Tuesday

Denny's (8031 Concord Mills Blvd, Concord, 704-979-7474) — kids eat free 4-11pm

IHOP (230 E Wt Harris Blvd, Charlotte, 704-717-9600) — kids eat free 4-10pm

McAlister's Deli (8599 Concord Mills Blvd, Concord, 704-979-0600) — kids eat free

Texas Roadhouse (7801 Gateway Lane, Concord, 704-979-3090) — kids eat free 4-8pm

Wednesday

Firehouse Subs (8111 Concord Mills Blvd. Ste 670, Concord, 704-979-9900) — kids eat free after 4pm with adult combo

Firehouse Subs (7712 Sossaman Lane Suite 100, Concord, 704-979-3737) — kids eat free after 4pm with adult combo

Foster's Grille (8520 Pit Stop Rd. Suite 10, Concord, 704-979-3663) — kids eat free

IHOP (230 E Wt Harris Blvd, Charlotte, 704-717-9600) — kids eat free 4-10pm

Shane's Rib Shack (199 Ken Hoffman Dr., Charlotte, 704-503-3113) — kids eat free

Thursday

IHOP (230 E Wt Harris Blvd, Charlotte, 704-717-9600) — kids eat free 4-10pm

Friday

IHOP (230 E Wt Harris Blvd, Charlotte, 704-717-9600) — kids eat free 4-10pm

Saturday

Denny's (8031 Concord Mills Blvd, Concord, 704-979-7474) — kids eat free 4-11pm

IHOP (230 E Wt Harris Blvd, Charlotte, 704-717-9600) — kids eat free 4-10pm

Texas Land & Cattle (7779 Lyles Lane, Concord, 704-510-0021) — kids eat free 11am-4pm

Do you have something to add to this list? A correction to offer? Leave a comment, and let me know about it. Cost-conscious Harrisburgian parents, unite!

Are you a business owner in the Harrisburg, NC area who is not on this list? Perhaps it's time to get with the program.

Here are some other sites with similar collections of information, though perhaps not focused specifically on the Harrisburg area:

• http://mykidseatfree.com
• http://www.frugalliving.tv/free-stuff/kids-eat-free.html
• http://charlotte.about.com/od/diningnightlife/a/kids_eat_free.htm

DISCLAIMER: I assume no responsibility for this information being incomplete, misleading, or downright wrong. While I'll try to keep it fresh and accurate, the onus is on you, the Reader, to verify this information before packing up your Suburban-full of hungry little monsters and heading off to terrorize one of these fine local establishments with an eye on saving a few bucks. Ya dig?

NOTE: Some of the information in updated versions of this post has come via the comments associated with the post. So if you read a comment that appears to suggest something already present in my post, chances are pretty good that the comment was there before I made the change/addition. Not that you should care anyway — we're here to discuss free food, not reading comprehension.

I am a worship leader. (And so are you.)

While contemplating God's love letter to artists, and directly on the heels of a message at church last night about the ways in which Satan attacks Christians, I find myself staring directly into the eyes of some of the same old insecurities that have haunted me over the past few months. I'm ready to 'fess up about those now.

I have some musical talent. I think I can even offer a pretty objective evaluation of that talent:

• I sing, but my voice is thin in higher registers and can suffer pitch control problems in lower ones. And, probably due to vocal abuse, the clean tone I could produce ten years ago is giving way to something more crackly.
• I play guitar, but am self-taught, and have never invested enough into learning either the acoustic or electric guitars to move beyond competence and into proficiency.
• I'm not such a fine songwriter. I'm lyrically uninspired, and melodically challenged. But I'm really good at taking another person's song foundation and enhancing it (with neat arrangements, harmonies, counter-melodies, motifs, and so on).
• I can wield digital audio software skillfully, and have even developed some pretty neat sonic "tricks" that have served me well. But I can't seem to produce output that sounds quite like I envision. (A recent attempt at something Counting Crows-ish was referred to — behind my back, mind you — as "yacht rock", with an apparent Air Supply influence. Ouch.)

I think it's healthy for folks to be able to recognize what they truly can and can't do. Wouldn't you agree?

Then here come the demons. "Why, again, are you helping to lead worship at yet another church? You don't fit the mold. Real worship leaders have hip haircuts; wear trendy clothes; are 10 lbs. underweight (instead of 20 lbs. over); have at least eight stomp boxes and a sound engineer devoted solely to their rockstar groove; sing with perfect pitch, tone, and timbre; and can spew God-honoring utterances while ripping fingers-of-fury blazing guitar solos. With their eyes closed and both hands raised to the heavens. You are no worship leader. You are, at best, background noise."

Oh, man, that stuff stabs. Plunge. Twist. Gush. (It hurts even now, just thinking about it.) But that's okay — I figured out some time ago how to protect myself from those barbs. See, I've dealt with this in the past by simply denying that I was (or was attempting to be) a worship leader. I was "just trying to help with the music program", or something like that. After all, the Enemy can't beat me in a race I refuse to run, right?

Sadly, I was wrong: I am defeated because I refuse to run. My responsibility as a created being — the tax on my very existence — is to worship the Creator. But my responsibility as a human is to lead (by encouragement, example, or otherwise) my fellow humans to do the same. My roles as a husband and father, especially, demand this service to my wife and children. And how can I be seeking loopholes in the Covenant when I've failed to lead those who I would consider some of my closest friends to worship God with me? No, whether I accept the label of "worship leader" or not, the responsibility is mine. God's will begins with thanksgiving and worship.

I appreciate the perspective Geoff Janes provides on the search for God's will at http://geoffreyjanes.blogspot.com/2009/03/what-is-gods-will-for-my-life.html. I should consider myself fortunate to have discovered — through the talents God has given me and the discernment of trustworthy others — a piece of God's extended will for me at this time: demonstrating that thanksgiving and worship with a guitar in hand at Providence Baptist Church. It may only be for a season — that is not mine to know. But at any cost, I must therefore seek only to do that will, and waste neither energy nor emotion chasing the unattainable stereotype constructed by the Enemy. My skills are not worthy of renown. Fortunately, they weren't fashioned for that purpose.

So today, I reject as invalid the notion that leading worship isn't my job. I accept as valid criticism that I've not been particularly good at this in the past. I apologize to my family and friends for not living a life that consistently and convincingly compels you to worship, too — love demands better than that. And as for that background noise I'm ever-so-capable of? I'm cool with that. But may it be a joyful noise from this day forward.

Today, I feel like a successful husband

Determining if you are succeeding as a husband probably involves some pretty unruly psychological calculus, but today I feel like a successful husband. Why? Did my wife express her love and devotion in some particularly convincing way? Was I presented a trophy etched with "Best Hubby 2009"? Is the Internet community hanging on my every tweet to find some sage advice on being an ideal mate? Not hardly. It's for much less obvious reasons that I feel this way.

Last night, as Amy and I left church, she had a huge smile on her face and she said, "I think I've found my place".

This was the first Wednesday evening service we've attended at our new church. After the service last night, Amy and I participated in practice sessions with the church's music team for the first time. The music director and pastor have graciously agreed to let us try to work to bring a slightly more contemporary flavor to the worship music of the church. So I added my guitar to the piano and keyboard sound already present, and Amy is donating her voice to the praise music and to the choir. It was the participation with the choir that had Amy so thrilled last night.

What has Amy's happiness as a musician to do with my success as a husband? Everything. I can rest well at night knowing that I have encouraged her to serve the church in any capacity she desires and feels gifted to serve. I have worked to arrange meetings with the pastor and music director so we can research this area of service. And I have consistently recognized, praised — and even constructively criticized, when necessary — Amy's wielding of her God-given musical talents. And someday, when God blesses her obedience and service to Him in this matter, I will be able to both share in her joy (three-point shot, nothing but net) and claim some of it for myself (the assist).

Could success as a husband really just boil down to using unconditional love to guide my wife toward the likeness and service of Christ?

The year change came to America

[If you think this post is about Barack Obama, you'll be sadly mistaken. This is my blog, by golly; Barack has his own.]

For Christmas, I got Amy something I'd wanted to get her for years: a couples devotional guide. We've each had our private times of Biblical study and prayer, but had never really formally had a dedicated daily time of joint reflection and discussion. So she was as thrilled as I expected when she unwrapped Moments Together for Couples (by Dennis and Barbara Rainey). This is a 365-day devotional. The entries are short — one page per day — with suggested discussion topics and a prayer guide. That seemed to me to be just about the right amount of effort to keep us interested without exhaustion, especially knowing that it would be at day's end when we'd likely be reading this thing.

On January 1, 2009, we read the first entry together. When we got to the suggested discussion topic, we got a lot more than we bargained for. What resulted was a two-hour long conversation that was really hard to have, but ultimately uncovered hidden expectations, disappointments, and wounds that we had no idea were present in our marriage.

Amy and I have always had a great marriage, but somewhere over the course of the past eleven years, small fissures had begun to form in the foundation of our relationship. The added weight of parenting and relocating from Chicagoland and stress caused by our church situation had exacerbated the problem. Fissures were becoming cracks of the worst kind — the kind that can't be immediately recognized on the surface. I don't believe we were at that moment at risk of catastrophe, relationship-wise. Our commitment to one another is non-negotiable and permanent. But it's a terrible thing to settle for "I do" or "I will" when "I will, and I really really want to" is within reach.

And so on January 1, 2009, the healing that comes from honesty, from openness, and from renewed devotion to one another and to God came to my marriage and, by extension, to America. I am having the very best year of my entire life. I feel like an entirely new man. I have immeasurably lower levels of stress, higher allotments of patience, and am finally learning to love as God wants me to love. I'm learning to trust God in ways I've never been able to before. And all those in my sphere of influence reap the benefits, too! How awesome is that?

Amy and I have faithfully attended to our devotional book every day of this year. We learned quickly that if we read and discussed immediately after putting the boys to bed (instead of just before we planned to go to sleep), we were much more likely to have enough energy to engage the discussion topics. We actually look forward to this time of our evening — it's one of the highlights of our daily routine.

Are there fissures, cracks, or full-fledged crumbling in the foundation of your marriage? I urge you — no, I beg you as a firm believer that a strong family is a strict prerequisite of a strong world — to invest dedicated attention to that problem. Talk to your spouse. Don't be afraid to lay everything on the line; to be completely vulnerable. Read books. Watch movies (such as the surprisingly fantastic Fireproof). And if your spouse won't talk to you, then talk to someone who truly understands the seriousness of the marriage commitment and can help you repair yours.

Experiencing God at Southbrook:Monroe

Today my family visited Southbrook Church's Monroe campus (where our friend Geoffrey Janes is campus pastor). They've got a great thing going on down there, and I'd urge you to check out that church if you're in the area. It's a video campus, which I thought would be kinda weird, but honestly it really works well there. The live house band is an incredibly talented group of guys and gals — wow! We truly had a neat visit there.

The visit ended in a very strange way, however. As we were leaving the service, I felt for my wallet and found it missing. Now, on the way to the church, we'd stopped by the Dunkin' Donuts drive-thru for breakfast, and I remembered that I'd put my wallet into the console between the front seats of our car. I was a little nervous about having left my wallet in the car unattended, but, trusting that all would be well, we didn't bother to rush out of the church. We took our time, picking up the kids from the child care area, chatting with Geoff and his wife, Nancy, and so on. In fact, we were one of the last folks to leave the building that day.

On our way out to the car, I used the remote entry fob to unlock the doors from a distance. When I got to the car, my wallet was not in the console. Now, because I'd used the remote entry device, I couldn't tell if the car doors had been locked or unlocked throughout the church service. Had I left the doors unlocked, and my wallet in plain sight? We looked around the car for signs of anyone having rummaged through it — nothing. We looked around the car for my wallet — nothing.

I went back into church to see if maybe the wallet had dropped out of my pocket inside somewhere. Again, no luck. I spoke with Nancy and Geoff to see if anyone had reported a found wallet — no dice. After giving up on the search inside, I returned to the car. Amy and the boys had been continuing to search for and pray about the wallet. They looked under and around seats, in the glove compartment and console, under the console, around the car, and so on. Everywhere that could be searched, they searched.

I want to pause here to mention something that merits mention. Throughout this entire ordeal, I was perfectly calm. Anyone who knows me well will assume that either I am lying about that, or that I simply don't know what "perfectly calm" even looks like. I can't explain why (in psychological terms, anyway), but I was just confident that God would see us through this mini-crisis.

Anyway, as I got back to the car and heard from Amy that nothing had been found, I grabbed my cellphone to contact banks and credit card companies and start blocking card numbers. While thumbing though the address book, I asked (somewhat naively) if Amy had looked under the car seats. She said she had, showing me that — multiple times, even — she had looked right … what?! There it is! My wallet was sitting, pretty as you please, almost in plain view to the right of the console!

Clearly, some rejoicing and prayers of thanksgiving were in order. Once we finally calmed down, I drove the car over to the entrance of the church (which, by the way, we — and only we — had passed through three times in the past five minutes or so). I asked Amy to hop out and run inside to tell Nancy the good news about my wallet. As she stepped onto the sidewalk, I saw Amy bend down and pick something up. Can you believe it? There was a dollar bill lying in the middle of that white sidewalk! So not only did she get to tell Nancy the good news, but she was able to donate an extra dollar towards to the ministry of that facility! What an incredible, incredible experience it all was.

A neat day of worship and affirmation

I wrote over on my family's blog about our recent decision to leave our church in Charlotte to pursue service in our hometown of Harrisburg. But I just wanted to share a little bit about how God made our last service there so rewarding and uplifting. Our prayer for Plaza has always been for its success as a church. But that's even more the case now as we leave that assembly and, in doing so, take our service energies and gifts with us. I mean, we have absolutely no delusions of being key to the success of that church, but practically speaking we've reduced the labor force there by some amount. And so our prayer is, "God, make that church flourish, if only as a clear reminder to us that Plaza is Yours, and that we are nothing but tools at Your disposal."

I was praying that prayer particularly hard prior to this past Sunday morning's service. I knew that the plan for the service involved some things that aren't typical. For one, I would be leading the "Praise and Worship" service segment with the electric guitar instead of the acoustic, which has never gone over very well there. Secondly, I knew that Amy and I would be announcing our departure, and doing so during a brand new "Family Time" segment of the service. Change, change, change all around, at a place historically hostile to such. But where I would have forecast disaster, God brought Himself to the party instead in a visible way.

Our Bible study class had a visitor, which is a somewhat rare event. After that class, we met still more visitors in the hallway. Four of the missionaries that the church supports happened to be in town and in attendance this week, and I later found out that of the twenty-some missionaries the church supports, my dad had wanted to speak with exactly those four people about a time-sensitive matter and was completely surprised to see them all there and on the same day, even. There was a spirit of happiness and hope in the air. Just prior to the service, I was standing outside the sanctuary getting some fresh air (I always feel like the heat is set too high in that building). I was approached by a dear lady who said to me matter-of-factly that our departure was no surprise to her — God had laid it on her heart a couple of weeks ago that we would soon be leaving in obedience to Him.

For the P&W segment of the service, I did something a little different. I asked that the house lights be turned down, and that the congregation engage in free worship. I wasn't going to ask them to stand, to sit, to sing, to listen, or to do anything except worship as they saw fit to worship. Wanna bang a drum? Come get it. Hiding a tambourine in your purse? Play it. Wanna lift your hands? Lift 'em. Wanna dance? Go for it. But by all means, focus on God instead of on the band. And you know? Many seemed to do exactly that. I felt like I was witnessing uninhibited worship for the first time in … well, in a very long time. And that atmosphere persisted through the entirety of the service.

I don't know what plans God has for Plaza Baptist Church. But I have to believe that if the spirit — or more accurately, the Spirit — that was present there this past Sunday morning sticks around, revival will come to that place.

Dear Wal-mart, Welcome to the Digital Age

A week or so ago, I finally got my family to sit still in our living room long enough to snap a quick family photo for use on Christmas photo cards we planned to send out this year. After editing the image just a bit to fix some weird shadows, adjust the colors, and try to fake some depth, I called Amy up to inspect the results. She was pleased: "It looks good. It almost looks like a professional photograph." So, I uploaded the image to walmart.com, selected the photo card layout I wanted, and ordered a bunch of them. Here's the photo:

I got a call a couple of hours later from the local Wal-mart Photo Lab:

"Hello, Mr. Pilato?"

"Yes I am."

"We're sorry, but we can't print your photo cards unless you bring us a release form."

"But ... but ... I took the picture myself with my little Canon S410!"

"We've been looking at the picture for a while, and it really looks professionally done."

There ensued another few minutes of hassling here, some of which revealed that if our fireplace had been black instead of gold, it wouldn't have looked so much like a faux matte background. Finally, the Wal-mart employee gave up some critical ground:

"Mr. Pilato, if you could just make a release form giving yourself permission to print the image, we'll do it. We just have to cover ourselves. I'm sure you understand."

"Wait. You want me to what? You know what — nevermind. I'll do it. Thanks."

I hung up the phone, paused for a moment to verify that I wasn't dreaming all of this, and fired up OpenOffice Writer. The following is the release letter I took with me when I picked up the photo cards the next day:

Even though I find it completely ridiculous that I have to do such…

I, C. MICHAEL PILATO, do hereby grant unlimited printing release to MYSELF for the following:

One (1) photo of my own family (Mike, Amy, Gavin & Amy), taken by myself with my own Canon Powershot S410 Digital ELPH camera (serial number **********) in my own living room, with the camera set to use the 10-second shot timer while sitting on a 6-inch mini-tripod atop one of my TV stands, in front of my fireplace – which is gold even though my wife wants it to be black (because that's what the previous homeowners liked, we suppose) – and Photoshopped on my wife's computer to crop the original image, brighten the photo, adjust the colors a little bit, and fake some depth by slightly blurring everything in the image except the human subjects in the foreground.

This release is fully transferable by the above named FOR ANY REASON WHATSOEVER, and a copy of this document should be considered adequate proof of release.

Note for printer: While I am not a professional photographer, I am a pretty darned good image editor, and pride myself on making photos taken with a sub-professional, non-SLR camera look as if they were taken by more advanced equipment. However, if further information or verbal confirmation is needed per your company policy, please do not hesitate to call me at ***-***-****.

I guess this bit of sarcasm is on file somewhere at Wal-mart now, protecting them from the threat of a copyright-related lawsuit.

Oh yeah? Well...

About a week ago, a worship leader was introducing himself to me and my family. Gavin proudly routed around my legs to shake the stranger's hand.

"I'm Gavin," he offered. "And this," he said while pointing to Aidan, "is my brother Aidan. I'm five, and he's three."

Pretty routine, as introductions go, right? But then, after a brief pause, Gavin let Mr. Worship Leader know exactly how this particular introduction was unique — how at this moment the man was shaking the hands of a very cool family. Gavin aimed his grin at the man's face, and fired a single round: "And my Mom runs Linux."

Righteous war: snapshot of a five-year-old's mind

My five-year-old son, Gavin, just came upstairs to my office — a pint-sized bundle of tornadoesque energy and noise. Today "the good guys" and "the bad guys" are flying fighter jets (which look, ironically, exactly like the ASL handshape for "I love you"). Now, I'm still not terribly comfortable with my kids embracing imaginative play involving weapons. On the one hand, I know that boys — especially at my boys' ages, and unlike their female counterparts — need rough and tumble play with strong male role models as part of proper gender identification. On the other hand, I don't want my little guys desensitized to unnecessary or unlawful violence (though I'm fighting an uphill battle against the entirety of mainstream media in this, it seems). So I decided to interrogate Gavin about his play today.

"What makes the Bad Guys bad?" I asked.

"The Bad Guys are the ones doing bad things, Daddy."

"Okay, but sometimes you do bad things, too. So do I. So does Mommy. So do your Good Guys, I'm sure."

"But my Bad Guys are the ones with the guns."

"Your Good Guys have guns, too, though. I dunno, Buddy — I can't see any difference between your Good Guys and your Bad Guys."

At this, Gavin paused. You could almost smell the grease in his mental gears as they warmed into steady rotation. Finally, he asserted, "But the Bad Guys are using their guns to hurt other people, and the Good Guys are trying to help those people."

"Well done, son. Have fun playing."

Mission accomplished. Well, mostly.

My wife's computer is now running Ubuntu Linux 8.04 (hardy heron). She no longer has any dependency on Microsoft software. I didn't think it was possible, but I might have fallen just a little bit more in love with her.

Actually, the sad truth is that for now I'm the one that still has a couple of Windows dependencies. (Those would be easily remedied by a conversion to Apple products, but that's never struck me as worthwhile maneuver.) I maintain a personal wiki page that tracks the pieces of software I need to be available (and not awful) on Linux before my dependency is broken, and over the years progress has been steadily made in that space. So, if you're a FOSS junky and you work on multi-track audio software, multi-track video editing software, DVD authoring software, or a good Microsoft Money/Quicken clone, you have my undivided attention!

Pranks are fun (and fun is violent)

My wife, Amy, and I have a very playful relationship. We've always placed great value on smiles and laughter, and we want to create for our children an environment which encourages such. Marital roles are a complicated-yet-structured thing, and the overarching goals of the design involve mutual love, respect, co-edification, and a joint effort towards holiness. But when pressed for a quick explanation, we'll skip the philosophy of it all, and tell you that marriage ought to be full of good clean fun!

One way in which we have fun is by playing mild pranks on each other. For example, a few nights ago we were playing Monopoly in our living room. Now, our living room has through the North Carolina summers a tendency to attract such unsavory and unwelcome guests as house centipedes (which we lovingly refer to as "thirty-leggers") and American cockroaches. From June to August, we very rarely enter that room without a cursory scan of the ceiling and fireplace area for "critters". Lately, we haven't seen as many of them, but this didn't stop Amy from — in the middle of our Monopoly game, with my back to the fireplace, and with her giggling about something else — pointing behind me and gasping as if she'd seen the largest dual-headed, ten-legged, armor-plated mutant cockroach in the world about to dig into my skull for some cranial pudding. To say that I "was startled" and "jumped" would be an understatement. Truth be told, I was lucky to survive the ordeal with wearable underpants!

My opportunity for revenge came today. I was working downstairs, and Amy went upstairs to shower before lunch. I gave her some time before heading up after her, then — figuring she was already in the shower — burst into our bathroom feigning a child's voice and saying, "Mommy! Mommy!" Well, she wasn't in the shower. She was almost in the shower, standing on the bathroom scales. At my outburst (or is that, "inburst"?), she grabbed for a towel to cover herself so quickly that she broke the towel rod off the wall. Once she realized it was only me (and the towel rack finished bouncing off the walls and floor), we had a great laugh about it. Oh, sure, I still got the requisite and well-deserved smack, but it was all so worth it.