There are certain games that stick with you — not because of the final score, but because of the way they’re played. The kind where effort shows up in every possession and leadership doesn’t need to be loud to be felt (and coming from me, that’s saying something). This one happened to be my first game stepping in as head coach, but what made it memorable had very little to do with me.
This weekend was one of those games for Jackson.
From the opening tip, he was locked in. Focused. Ready to do whatever the team needed… and as the game unfolded, it became clear that his impact wasn’t going to be measured just in points, but in stops, hustle plays, and moments that quietly changed the direction of the game.
Let’s start with defense — because that’s where this game was won long before the scoreboard caught up.
Jax, you took on their best shooter and shut him down. He managed just one shot all game because you were everywhere — hands up, feet moving, body in the right place every possession. You forced tough jumpers and never let him get comfortable. That kind of defense doesn’t always show up in the stat sheet, but it wins games. Your defense was locked in, disciplined, and relentless.
Then there was the hustle.
The ball felt like it had your name on it. You kept it alive over and over — offensive rebounds, assists, steals, tip-outs — just refusing to let possessions die. When we were down by six and momentum wasn’t ours, you were the spark.
No one in this league wants to see you defending them and for sure no one wants to drive the lane and see you standing in the key. You’re like a young Dennis Rodman (before he dyed his hair like an Easter egg). Those extra efforts don’t always go as stats in the box score, but they change everything. They kept us in the game and helped turn it around.
Slowly, possession by possession, we climbed back.
Eventually, we took the lead. Eventually, we won.
And there you were, right in the middle of it — leading the way, doing the little things, helping us come back and keep our team in first place.
Jackson, this was your game. And it’s one I’ll never forget.
PS: I plan on retiring with an undefeated head coaching record!
By the end of 2025, I realized I had spent most of the year trying to keep pace — not just with schedules or seasons, but with the quiet, steady way Jackson and Oliver were growing right in front of me. This wasn’t a year defined by one headline moment. It was a year defined by accumulation — small changes stacking up until suddenly, unmistakably, things felt different.
Both boys took real steps forward this year, though in very different ways. Oliver’s year was full of momentum. He played up in sports, took on bigger competition, and carried himself with a confidence that felt new — not loud or cocky, but earned. There were moments when the game seemed to slow down for him, when he trusted his instincts and went for it. Watching him compete against older kids and belong on the field with them was one of those parenting moments where pride and disbelief exist at the same time. Just as meaningful, though, were the moments when things didn’t go his way — the tough losses, the playoff ending, the frustration — and seeing him learn how to process that, reset, and come back ready to work.
Jackson’s growth in 2025 was quieter, but no less significant. He found his place — not by forcing it, but by steadily earning it. I watched him grow more confident in himself, more comfortable stepping in when needed, contributing in ways that mattered, that he earned himself by putting in the work and getting results in big moments. There were moments this year where he surprised me — not with flash, but with consistency, awareness, and leadership that showed up when it counted. He became more sure of who he is, and less concerned with proving it to anyone but himself.
Sports were a big part of the backdrop this year, but they were never really the point. They were just the setting where so many lessons played out — about effort, resilience, teamwork, and handling disappointment with maturity. I watched both boys learn how to lose, how to support teammates, and how to show up the next day regardless of the outcome. Those were the moments that stuck far longer than any score.
Jackson has always stood out. Known as the “mayor of his school,” and being asked to coach the younger football team (earning his own coaching whistle), Jax had already cemented a place among the wise beyond his years crowd.
2025 gave Oliver one of the more unexpected experiences of 2025… seeing people outside our family take notice of him — not just for his ability, but for his heart and effort. this year seeing strangers rally around Oliver was humbling and emotional in a way I didn’t anticipate. It forced me to pause and see him not just as my little boy, but as someone capable of inspiring people simply by being himself. At the same time, it reminded me how lucky Jackson and Oliver are to have each other — one pushing, one steadying, both learning what it means to grow side by side.
And then there were the moments that had nothing to do with sports at all. Near the end of the year, we took down the bunk beds the boys had shared for years and gave them separate rooms. It felt like a practical decision — until it didn’t. That first night, standing in the hallway with two closed doors instead of one shared space, landed heavier than I expected. It marked the end of late-night conversations, shared laughter, and the comfort of knowing they were just a few feet apart. Jackson was ready. Oliver was ready. I wasn’t sure I was — but that’s usually how these transitions go.
Looking back, 2025 wasn’t about milestones you circle on a calendar. It was about watching independence take shape in real time. It was about realizing that the things I used to focus on — wins, stats, outcomes — mattered less than character, effort, and growth. It was about seeing Jackson become more grounded in himself, and Oliver begin to test just how far his drive could take him.
As the year closed, I felt deeply grateful. Not because everything went perfectly — it didn’t — but because I was present enough to notice the changes while they were happening even if watching those changes happened while the boys quietly closed the doors to their own rooms for the first time in many years. The practices, the car rides, the quiet talks, the proud moments, and even the silence after lights out — that was 2025.
We’re heading into a new year now, and I know the pace won’t slow down. But this year reminded me that growth doesn’t need to be rushed or measured to matter. Sometimes it just needs to be noticed, because realizing they are now forging their own path and leading their own journey is not just hard to handle… it’s exactly what you’re been raising them to do.
Sometimes the view from the hallway comes with the best seats in the house — if only you don’t mind a little distance from the action.
Five years ago, my wife and I carried bunk bed pieces down the hallway and into Jackson’s room, assembling what felt like the physical symbol of brotherhood. Two small boys. One room. One nightly routine. One parent wedged awkwardly between a wall and a ladder reading just one more book.
That first night they slept together in their bunks felt monumental. I even wrote about it at the time because that’s what dads like me do when they realize a moment matters—try to freeze it in words before it slips away.
Fast forward to now.
For the past couple of months, both boys have been asking to “set up their own rooms.” Not demanding. Not dramatic. Just casually, the way kids do when they’ve already moved on emotionally and are waiting for you to catch up.
So today we did it.
We rebuilt the bunks in Oliver’s room. Jackson’s room got a solo bed—no ladder, no top bunk negotiations, no whispered conversations that definitely weren’t happening five minutes after lights out.
Tonight is the first night they’re sleeping separately.
(Unless you count the occasional 3 a.m. migration into mom and dad’s room or a friend’s sleepover—but let’s not ruin the narrative.)
I knew this day would come. I just didn’t realize how much I’d miss the old routine until it was gone.
There was something special about bedtime in that shared room. Reading a book while one boy asked questions and the other slowly drifted off. Turning the lights down and listening to them talk to each other—about nothing and everything—until their voices faded into sleep. Sitting there longer than necessary because once they were asleep, the day officially ended.
Now there are two rooms. Two goodnight hugs. Two light switches. And somehow… less noise.
I’m proud of them. Truly. This is growth. Independence. Confidence. All the things we’re supposed to want for our kids.
But tonight, standing in the hallway after tucking them in, I felt it—that quiet reminder that childhood doesn’t ask permission before it changes. One day you’re climbing down from a top bunk, and the next you’re realizing you’ve done it for the last time.
I hope they always remember what it felt like to share a room. To fall asleep knowing their brother was right there. To learn—early—that even when life eventually gives you your own space, you don’t have to do everything alone.
Because rooms change. Beds move. Eras quietly end.
But brothers? That’s the part I hope never does.
PS: The fight for where Wednesday sleeps from now on has begun. Chalk up a night one win to big brother.
Those who say, “We’re not allowing this Elf on the Shelf in our house.”
And those who are currently whisper-yelling at a tiny Santa Helper at 10:47 p.m. because it has not moved and bedtime was sixty minutes ago.
We are the second kind.
Our elf arrived again this year like a seasonal celebrity—small, silent, confident, and immediately in charge. From day one, it was clear this wasn’t going to be a low-effort visit. This elf had ideas.
One morning, we woke up to a glowing sign that read something along the lines of: “Find me in a place that I can take an ELFIE SELFIE!” Signed lovingly, Elfie.
First of all, bold move. Second of all, this elf now has branding?!?!
And there he was—later that day—proudly displayed in the window, surrounded by printed photos of himself. Different angles. Different locations. Full scrapbook energy. I don’t know where he learned about photo development, but I assume Santa offers a continuing education program.
My sons were impressed. I was concerned about the elf’s confidence level.
Another night, the elf decided he needed some “downtime.” We found him posted up with a stack of Christmas movies, popcorn nearby, and the remote carefully tucked into his hands like he was hosting movie night. Apparently elves unwind by watching holiday classics and silently judging our streaming choices.
“Dad,” my son said, very seriously, “did he butter the popcorn for us?”
Of course he did. He’s magical. And festive. And clearly very busy. Busy and slightly annoying and at times… kinda damn funny. Who can forget the morning when dad’s tooth brush became a “butt-brush,” or the day he turned our telescope into a Ur-ANUS viewing party?!?? Listening, anyone who can mix in a fart or good butt joke… I’m all in!!!
That’s the thing about Elf on the Shelf—what starts as a fun tradition slowly becomes a full-scale operation. The elf doesn’t just watch kids; he watches everything. How you behave. How tidy the house is. Whether you pretended not to see him when he was definitely in the same spot as yesterday.
And yet… I wouldn’t change it.
Because each morning brings excitement. Each discovery comes with laughter, wide eyes, and absolute belief. But for now, he’s here—taking selfies, watching movies, reporting back to Santa, and reminding us that a little magic goes a long way.
Sports can be a real bitch sometimes No matter what only one can win it all. Football season ended for both boys with heartbreaking playoff losses. But the 2025 Season will always be one of the my favorites.
-Jax found his stride and confidence and the trust of his coaches. He also found his long term position on the defensive line and played MEANINGFUL snaps in important parts of games included multiple downs on the final series of our playoff game down 7 with under three minutes to play. He helped force a four and out and helped put his offense in a position to win.
-Oliver played up a grade with kids one and two years older than he is. He started on offense and defense and was our kick returner. His first season he was counted on to handle the ball multiple times a game in our running offense and be a cover corner in our playoff game vs a team that passes often! In the final seconds of our playoff game, he got his wish and got to take a few snaps from the defensive line like his big brother. And recorded a tackle for a loss while keeping the opposing running back out of the end zone.
It’s amazing what great coaching can do… There’s nothing better than being on the sidelines with my boys. I’m proud to be part of this phenomenal up-and-coming football program. Losses only matter if you don’t come back next year and work harder for the win.
Chapter 13: The Muggle-Born Registration Commission
Chapter 14: The Thief
Chapter 15: The Goblin’s Revenge
Chapter 16: Godric’s Hollow
Chapter 17: Bathilda’s Secret
Chapter 18: The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore
Chapter 19: The Silver Doe
Chapter 20: Xenophilius Lovegood
Chapter 21: The Tale of the Three Brothers Chapter 22: The Deathly Hallows Chapter 23: Malfoy Manor Chapter 24: The Wandmaker Chapter 25: Shell Cottage Chapter 26: Gringotts Chapter 27: The Final Hiding Place Chapter 28: The Missing Mirror Chapter 29: The Lost Diadem Chapter 30: The Sacking of Severus Snape Chapter 31: The Battle of Hogwarts Chapter 32: The Elder Wand Chapter 33: The Prince’s Tale Chapter 34: The Forest Again Chapter 35: King’s Cross Chapter 36: The Flaw in the Plan Epilogue: Nineteen Years Later
The scoreboard said we lost our playoff game today… but I walked off that field proud of my son and my team.
This season, my son played up with the fourth graders even though he’s only in third grade. From day one, he never used that as an excuse. He just showed up… every single time. Not one missed practice. Not one late arrival. Every drill, every rep, every huddle… he gave his full effort.
He earned his spot as a starter on offense and defense. He returned kicks and he did everything we asked and more, without ever complaining. He worked hard, listened, and played with heart every single game. That’s not something you can coach… that’s just who he is.
As his coach, I saw the growth. As his dad, I saw the love for the game and for his teammates in his eyes everytime I looked at him.
The quiet confidence that comes from knowing you’ve earned it, that is not part of his game yet… so I’ll say it for him…
He belonged here this year… and he earned every second of it. When the season ended, even in that tough loss, I realized something: stats and scores don’t define a player — character does
I’ve been staring at the screen all afternoon, trying to find the right words. But then I thought: maybe I’m overthinking this. Because when it comes to Oliver… let’s be honest, the heart of this story isn’t the contest or the trophy—it’s about the kid who plays the game with everything he has (and sometimes runs in circles and reminds you of the Tasmanian Devil!!)
With that being said… here it goes:
Oliver finished in SECOND PLACE in the Nationwide Youth Athlete of the Year contest.
Cue the dad pride, the chest-swelling, the “I’m not crying, you’re crying” moment. Ollie held his own against thousands of athletes nationwide, and watching him shine with confidence like this has been so exciting. From the initial nomination, to figuring out how to vote with no internet access over the percolator in Wildwood and finishing with potential credit card fraud this journey has been amazing.
I’m endlessly thankful for every single person who believed in him enough to vote, cheer, and share his story. Whether it was a quick tap, a heartfelt message, or just telling you a friend “Hey Ollie is in this contest…”—you helped carry him to the finish line, right there in the top two out of the entire country. A HUGE SHOUT OUT TO THE “JESSE LEWIS CHOOSE LOVE MOVEMENT”… and to Both Scarlett and JT for inspiring the love that Oliver champions and for believing in him. We will ALWAYS CHOOSE LOVE!
Why This Feels Bigger Than A Title
I don’t know how many times I’ve written, “Mom and I could not be any more proud of you…” Well, here we go again. Because Ollie didn’t just compete—Oliver led with grit, heart, and a kind of joy that’s absolutely contagious.
If this contest stood for anything, it showed that being a great athlete isn’t only about stats or speed. It’s about character. And that’s Oliver, exactly: always the teammate cheering from his teammates, always the one hustling back to help another—and yes, this contest gave us to opportunity to talk about the reality that is cancer and how his leadership and commitment to this contest helped support cancer research. This contest for Ollie went from being about the best athlete, to raising the most money to help save people’s lives.
A Note of Gratitude to Our Circle
Thank you to every coach, teacher, family member, friend, neighbor—and yes, every kind stranger—who cast a vote, hit share, or sent a message: thank you. Seriously. You carried us this far. And even though it wasn’t first place… in our hearts, you gave Oliver a victory that means the world.
On a side note… To my Fantasy Football League: I’m sorry I couldn’t trade draft picks for your votes. I have to draw a line somewhere!!!
Final Word: Nationally… our son, Jackson’s brother, teammate to so many… finished in second place, officially… but in our books, every single one of those votes? They were proof that Oliver is already a champion.
I hope we can keep celebrating that light he brings… the crazy energy, the kindness, the perseverance and the fact that this contest helped bring awareness and resources to a disease that has greatly impacted our family. With all that being said, second place feels pretty damn excellent.
Congratulations, Oliver. We love you more than all the votes in the world (and that’s a lot).
September isn’t just back-to-school season… it’s when the Wizarding World whispers, “Time to return home.” On this day, young witches and wizards (and their Muggle-born siblings) prepare to board the Hogwarts Express whether by leaning trolley, worn leather trunk, or the occasional flying car. As J.K. Rowling reminds us, “Whether you come back by page or by the big screen, Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home.”
Today marks the 11th year in a row of me sending my annual plea to @jk_rowling to help us figure out the best way to bridge the Muggle and Wizarding worlds.
No owl, no reply… yet! But fingers crossed that this is the year she’ll finally reply in true Dumbledore fashion.
Maybe this year she’ll recommend a charm to keep the trunks light—or a spell for easing first-day jitters. If not, Steph and I will continue to hope for a friendly Hogwarts alum to appear by our side—perhaps a helpful Weasley? A wise professor? We’re listening, Molly, Arthur, Kingsley… can you hear us?
Sorry Sons: Chronicles of a New Dad 