Yesterday we said goodbye to my trusted Jeep Wrangler. For more than decade, the Jeep served us well. We traveled far and wide, and made a lot of memories, but it was time to move on.

It’s interesting to think about life in terms of phases and markers. The Jeep Wrangler era was certainly a good one for me.

Ultimately, we decided to go in another direction with our new vehicle and I’m looking forward to finding out how my VW era turns out.

We are back after spending a week on Bonita Beach in southwest Florida. I really needed this vacation. Work has been intense and this trip came at precisely the right time for my mental health. It was the first time in my career that I left work completely at home. No laptop. No work phone. Completely disconnected. And it was awesome.

While in Bonita, we just relax. Lots of time on the beach. We intentionally keep the itinerary empty and everyone just does what they feel like doing.

My favorite thing to do is take an early morning run on the beach. Our spot is just north of the Barefoot Beach preserve, which offers miles of undeveloped beachfront. I run this every morning while here and it is amazing. I can run for 2 hours and not see another human. Most mornings, the only other living things I see are porpoise, birds and jumping fish. In all my years vacationing there, I had never run the complete island in one go, so I decided to do that this time.

The point of a vacation is to return refreshed and rejuvenated. This trip did that for me and I’m ready to get get back after it now that I’m home.

We came to see Jimmy Eat World, Sunny Day Real Estate and The Get Up Kids, but the show was cancelled last-minute due to weather. Some intense stuff blew through right at showtime.

We still had a great time during our abbreviated stay. Now we are packing up and heading off to Detroit to catch tonight’s show.

Amtrak 42, also known as The Pennsylvanian, runs from Pittsburgh to New York City. When possible, we love traveling by train. It’s a slower pace than flying and allows for taking in the passing landscapes in a way traveling by car does not.

We got about four inches of snow overnight and the roads are awful so it’s a snow day – er, “flexible instruction” day – for my youngest. Instead of being outside sledding, building a snow man or working with the neighborhood kids to create an igloo, she will be tethered to her iPad taking Zoom calls with her classmates and teacher for the majority of the day.

Of course we’ll make some time to get outdoors and do a few of those things today, but I’m sad that this generation of kids will never wake up to the unexpected magic of a true snow day. That elation when you open your eyes in the morning and look out the window to see a white blanket covering everything and learning that school is closed. The whole day ahead with anything possible.

Simple joys like this are receding from childhood and I’m not sure the digital equivalent is comparable. As parents, we should work to keep simple joy in the lives of our children.

The following is an open letter to Shaler Area School District superintendent Bryan O’Black and the district’s board of directors regarding the closure and eventual sale of Shaler Area Elementary School. It was delivered via email on Tuesday, September 30, 2025, but I am posting here for transparency and in case anyone else from the community wants to send a similar note. Feel free to use this as a template for your own communication.

TO: oblackb@shalerarea.org, tunstallj@shalerarea.org, phillipse@shalerarea.org, dunne@shalerarea.org, burnj@shalerarea.org, kresse@shalerarea.org, machajewskij@shalerarea.org, petrancostad@shalerarea.org, kwiatkowskia@shalerarea.org, saullet@shalerarea.org, tresslerj@shalerarea.org
FROM: jeffrey@inscho.org
RE: Community Forum Follow-Up

Dr. O’Black and SASD Board Directors —

[Redacted first paragraph with personal identifiable information]

Thank you for sharing the information about the transition to a K-5 elementary education model at last evening’s Community Forum. I appreciate the transparency and vulnerability as you addressed questions from a naturally emotional audience.

I personally support this educational recommendation for the students of the district.

My wife and I are concerned, however, about the future of the SAES property. My home is one of approximately 30 residences that abut the SAES grounds, and one of more than one hundred within a quarter mile radius of the school.

As you know, the 22 acres upon which the school stands provides a lot of benefit for neighbors and the surrounding community. People gather, practice athletics, exercise, socialize and grow relationships with their neighbors on those grounds every day. I want to ensure some aspect of that remains when SAES is gone, while also generating much needed funds for the district to reinvest in our children’s future.

My intent with this note is not to add to the emotional responses, but recommend the board take a measured and thoughtful approach when considering the sale of the property. This may include:

• Adding a work stream for the responsible sale of SAES property. I think the work stream approach for the transition is smart and I’ve seen this be effective in private sector change management. Unless I missed it in the presentation last evening, there is not currently a work stream identified for the sale of the property. I recommend that one be created, noting the impact to hundreds of families in close proximity to SAES.
• Engaging neighbors for feedback and vetting of potential buyers. The sale of the Jeffery Elementary property several years ago set a precedent for the district’s active collaboration with community to facilitate a real estate transaction. I recommend a steering committee of neighbors be engaged to help identify viable & appropriate buyers for the land under shared goals of creating a lucrative sale for the district and a community-based plan for the property’s future.

I am willing, able and interested to volunteer or partner in any capacity to help make this a win/win for the district and the Scott Avenue community the district serves. Thanks again for the openness.

Respectfully,
Jeffrey Inscho

I’m sitting here at my laptop for what feels like the first time in weeks, and it feels good. Really good. Like returning home after being away for too long.

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind. Elliott graduated high school. One chapter closing, another opening. We threw him a graduation party that seemed to take over our entire lives for a month. Planning for 100 people at our house, coordinating catering, setting up tents, worrying about weather. The setup was exhausting, the teardown even more so.

But when it was happening? Pure magic. Watching Elliott surrounded by friends and family, seeing the pride on everyone’s faces, feeling that collective celebration of this milestone – it was everything we hoped it would be and more.

Between the party planning, family travel, and an unusually demanding stretch at work, writing this site took a temporary backseat. This site sat here, patient and waiting, while life demanded my full attention elsewhere. And you know what? That’s exactly how it should be.

There’s something extremely natural about the ebb and flow of creative practice. Some seasons are for output, when thoughts are flowing and the words come easily. Other seasons are for input – for living, experiencing, gathering the raw material that eventually becomes the next wave of posts.

I used to feel guilty about the quiet periods. Like I was failing some invisible obligation to feed the algorithm, to maintain momentum, to stay visible in the endless scroll. But that’s the beauty of owning your own corner of the web. It doesn’t demand daily feeding. It doesn’t punish you for taking time away. It simply exists, ready for whenever you return.

This space has become something I didn’t expect when I started writing here: a refuge. A place where I can think out loud, process experiences, and document the moments that matter. It’s here when I need to work through something complex, celebrate something meaningful, or simply reconnect with the practice of writing.

Tonight, sitting here after being fully present for graduation ceremonies and family celebrations and work deadlines, I’m grateful for this patient digital home. I’m grateful for the rhythm that allows for both busy seasons and reflective ones. And I’m grateful that some things in our hyperdigital world still move at human speed.

I begin my 48th trip around the sun today, so here is a non-exhaustive list of 47 things I’ve learned during those 47 orbits.

1. Static made old radio.
2. Be here now. This moment is the only one you can truly inhabit.
3. Put the phone down. The best conversations happen face-to-face.
4. Quality over quantity, always. Fewer, better things make life richer.
5. Your body knows more than any smartwatch can. Listen to it.
6. Progress isn’t always about moving faster or going farther.
7. Sometimes the best way to move forward is to leave things behind.
8. Eat as low to the ground as you can.
9. Pizza and bagels are just better in New York.
10. Never drink so much at night that you ruin the whole next day.
11. People matter more than protocols, and protocols matter more than platforms.
12. Relationships require effort.
13. If the music is too loud, you’re too old.
14. You should not enjoy the music your kids listen to.
15. Seek out conversations with the elderly. Their perspective will educate you.
16. Seek out conversations with children. Their perspective will energize you.
17. Read books. Real ones. Feel the pages. Breathe in the binding.
18. Depth almost always beats breadth.
19. Chaos is constant. Exploit it.
20. Living well is about progression, not perfection.
21. Everything fades.
22. Grief doesn’t last forever. It dulls over time.
23. There is a difference between pain and discomfort. Learn to deal with each uniquely.
24. Pain caves are mental constructs. You can choose to leave them.
25. Small, consistent choices add up to big changes over time.
26. Running can be meditation in motion.
27. It’s OK to be bored. Let your mind wander. It may lead to something creative.
28. Spend at least one hour a day outside.
29. There is no such thing as bad weather.
30. Get sunlight into your eyes as quick as you can in the morning.
31. Avoid productivity as performance.
32. Take notes, but don’t document everything.
33. Take photos, but not selfies.
34. Use the appropriate tool for the job.
35. Outcomes over outputs.
36. Don’t just do a thing. Do the right thing.
37. Technical debates often obscure the more important human questions.
38. Own your content. Put it on your own domain. Leave a digital legacy.
39. A good leader doesn’t create followers. A good leader creates more leaders.
40. Embrace both/and thinking instead of either/or battles.
41. You are not your profession. Work is a means to an end, not an identity.
42. Rise early. Get an edge.
43. Check in on the news once, maybe twice, per day. Any more than that is not helpful.
44. Attention is your most valuable currency.
45. Tip well.
46. Listening is vastly more important than speaking.
47. Learn to be comfortable in silence and solitude.

My son is having a birthday and graduating from high school in the span of five days, so Jilly and I thought we’d do something special and get him a joint gift to celebrate both occasions. He’s very much interested in photojournalism and will be entering university in the fall to study communications. We thought a nice DSLR camera would be a the perfect gift.

I don’t know much about cameras or lenses, so I asked Claude for some help. My initial prompt:

I want to buy my son a DSLR camera for his birthday/graduation. You are an expert in photography and photography equipment. Could you help me select the right camera, lenses and bag? I’d like to spend about $X total.

Claude and I then chatted about my son’s photographic interests, his current level of expertise, and several of my purchase preferences/requirements. The output of this conversation was a tight list of three potential camera bodies w/ corresponding lens pairings.

I then asked Claude to find the best deals for two of the options and it returned the top three online retailers for both based on price, service and customer reviews.

After validating some pricing details, I made the purchase. In total, I estimate this approach saved me several hours of research and analysis paralysis, which I am known for when making purchases like this.

The camera kit arrived two days later, we gave it to him on his birthday and he used it for the first time last night to cover his school’s WPIAL title baseball game.

Note: This post is part of an ongoing series called How I Used AI Today, inspired by friend and former colleague Beck Tench who does something similar over on LinkedIn. I’m starting to believe the thinking and narrative around generative AI is becoming too binary. The intent of this series is to keep me publicly honest and intellectually responsible with my use of this emerging technology.

We had a wonderful day honoring and celebrating Jilly. First, we made our way to the South Side to check out the Neighborhood Flea. There were tons of vendors and people out and about, largely due to the splendid weather. I scored some artisanal Ginger Beer and the Jilly scored some prints from a local artist.

Next, we took a ride on The Gateway Clipper. We’ve been living in Pittsburgh for 25 years and have never done it. It was fun, and again, the weather was absolutely perfect. As we were deboarding, we even saw a beaver on the river bank. All the years I’ve been running through the woods, I have never crossed paths with a beaver. But the first time I take an urban cruise, there he is. Super cool.

We closed the day with a fabulous meal at Nicky’s Thai Kitchen. Pineapple Fried Rice for me, Pad See Ew for Jilly and Thai Fried Rice for the kids.

Happy Mother’s Day Jilly! We love you.

My father would have turned 73 years old today. In July it will be 15 years since we lost him. Since then, I don’t think there has been a day that I haven’t thought about him.

Like many dads out there, he was one-of-a-kind. I can’t help but see parts of him reflected in the man I’ve become. Some things are obvious. The receding hairline and similar smile are easy to see. Other traits – the more important ones – I hope are evident to those people in my life that mean the most.

The term ’lifehacker’ gets used a lot these days, but I think my dad hacked life long before that term existed. Whether it was dabbing our Space Derby rocket with a bit of liquid silicon so it was the fastest on the track or being able to talk himself out of any tricky situation, he was able to figure out angles on things and exploit situations in creative, non-malicious ways.

From my earliest memories, my dad was always my biggest supporter. We didn’t have a lot of money, but he did what he could to foster creativity and encourage me to pursue my passions. Early on for me, that was music.

He gifted me a secondhand guitar at the age of 8, which set off a lifetime of interest. I played that first Alvarez acoustic until my fingers were raw. Day and night, shredding in my room. My dad would come in and he’d just want to listen to me practice. I remember my first guitar instructor giving me a lesson that included an intricate waltz designed to improve the technique of my picking hand. It was called Sailor Dance. My dad loved that song for some reason and would regularly ask me to play it for him, even into my twenties.

I started my first band at 14 and booked my first gig shortly after. Scarlett O’hara’s in Bethlehem, PA. One of those pay-to-play joints where you needed to sell a bunch of tickets in order to get on the bill. A real hell hole. We sold our quota and got a slot on a Saturday night. Being underage and without a driver’s license, my dad offered to serve as van driver and roadie that night. Anything to get me on stage. He helped carry amps and stood in the back as we played a fine selection of Sex Pistols and Pantera covers. I still remember the wide-eyed smile on his face, even as the skinheads in attendance heckled us.

On the way home, we talked about perseverance in the face of obstacles and holding strong to artistic integrity, even when it’s not the most popular thing to do. He had a great way of connecting life back to learning opportunities. I hope that part of him is in me and I can do that for my kids too.

His level of enthusiasm was not entirely fault-free. One Xmas shortly after that first gig, one of the gifts under the tree for me was a frilly pirate shirt. Like the one from the Seinfeld episode. My dad thought I’d look good wearing it on stage. It was a very Fleetwood Mac vibe. I smiled and thanked him, never letting on that by then I was trying to look more like Kurt Cobain than Lindsay Buckingham.

I never did wear that shirt on stage.

I’m not sure why I’m writing this. Is it an act of remembrance? A subconscious documenting of the fact that I still miss him? A public, fleeting hope that I’ve become a fraction of the father he was? Probably yes to all of that. Maybe though, it’s nothing more than a simple birthday card sent into the ether where memory meets reality. Happy Birthday, Dad.

I’m posting today with some exciting family news: my son Elliott has been accepted to the Donald P. Bellisario College of Communications at Penn State University where he’ll study journalism starting in the Fall of 2025.

The timing of his entrance into the field of journalism and media couldn’t be more important. We’re living at a time when the very nature of information sharing is being reshaped by technology, economics and politics. That change is coming from all angles. While traditional newsrooms and media outlets are facing unprecedented challenges, the need for skilled, ethical journalists who dedicate themselves to telling the truth has never been more vital to society.

As Elliott gets ready to join the class of ‘29 at Bellisario, I’m thinking a lot about the journalists who helped shape our understanding of the world and how he might join their ranks - from Woodward & Bernstein, to the emergence of cable news networks in the ’90s, to the more recent work of born-digital outlets like 404 Media that are reinventing the industry through revolutionary journalistic operating models. Each of these examples require skilled journalists willing to dig deeper, ask tough questions, innovate in the face of obstacles, and be brave when telling truth to power.

The challenges facing modern journalists are daunting and real. Misinformation. Media silos. AI slop. Economic and political pressures. It’s going to be hard, but seeing Elliott’s passion for this field gives me hope and fills me with pride. I’ve always tried to leverage a mindset where challenges present opportunities, and I hope I’ve instilled that in him. His generation understands intuitively how digital information flows, and it’s exciting to me that a new guard will be equipped with tools, instincts and ingenuity to flip these current challenges into opportunities that will benefit society.

To all the current and future journalists out there: keep asking questions, keep digging for truth, and keep telling the stories that need to be told. The world needs the next generation of journalists and I’m so proud Elliott will be among them.

On this #MedalMonday, I’m posting an update for all of you who donated to to my Pittsburgh Marathon Run for a Reason cause, UPMC Children’s Hospital Foundation.

TL;DR: It was not my day time-wise, but it became – hands down – my most memorable and meaningful race.

The first 15 miles were perfection. I felt great, held to my target pace and kept up with my nutrition. Then at mile 16, my legs started cramping and I knew I was in for a long haul for the remaining 10 miles. Between 16 and 19 my pace slowed significantly. I could run for a bit, but then my legs would seize and I’d need to stop and work out the cramps.

My family was positioned at 19 to spectate. When I saw them, they knew I was struggling. The First Aid volunteers at 19 gave me two syringes of sodium chloride to help with the cramping and I was seriously considering dropping.

While talking it through with First Aid, I saw my son Elliott stretching out his quads. He then came over and said in so many words, “You’re not dropping. I’ll run you in. Let’s do the last 7 together.”

So we did. We went slow and I suffered. But he kept my spirits up and motivated me to push forward, even offering to put some Goggins clips on repeat (Stay Hard!). Those last 7 were the most meaningful miles I’ve run to date. It wasn’t pretty, but we got it done.

Very poetic too, that I was fundraising for Children’s Hospital, which cared for Elliott the first few days after he was born. All in all, we raised more than $1,600 for UPMC Children’s Hospital. Thank you to everyone who donated. Your support means so much.

Had a great time in Toronto. Checked out the CN Tower and the Ice Hockey Hall of Fame.

We did all the touristy things. Probably one of the nicest hotel rooms we’ve ever stayed in.

In a recent article for Quartz entitled How Technology Can Make Better Fathers, Alexandra Svokos takes a surprising look at how the proliferation of digital technologies is impacting the way fathers connect with their kids.

Structured mainly through the lens of her own experiences growing up with a traveling father, Svokos’ argument asserts that instant messaging and web-enabled mobile devices make a positive impact on a non-present father’s relationship with his children. These technologies are not meant to replace in-person experiences, she says, but rather increase the “overall volume of contact.”

The most important factors of distanced communication are immediacy, regularity, and reciprocity. Fathers don’t have to maintain an exhaustive phone schedule to keep up a relationship with their children; they just have to show up, and do so regularly. Because my dad took the time to send pictures and messages, I knew he still cared about me, no matter how far from home he was at any given time. A pixilated picture with a one-sentence description was often enough.

Svokos certainly has a right to her point-of-view and her thought-provoking article has given me much to think about.

I spent a large portion of this summer traveling for work, away from my family for weeks at a time. From a non-present father’s perspective, I’m not sure I agree with the thesis put forward by Svokos. No matter how many text messages we send or video calls we make to our kids when we’re away, they still know we’re absent. Not only are we absent, but we are absent by choice in their eyes.

My kids struggled through our time apart. They found it difficult to understand why Daddy wasn’t at the soccer games or cuddled up at bedtime to read them a story. No heightened level of technology could replace my absence.

I believe in the promise of technology and think it is our best tool to solve some of the world’s most important problems. I also believe technology can help us be better fathers, but it falls very short when it attempts to act as a replacement for physical presence.

I’ve been sending emails to both of my children since before they were born, however these notes don’t aim to chronicle things I’m experiencing while alone. They are a record of the things we experience together. One day, when my kids are old enough to have an email account, I’ll give them the keys to unlock a decade or so of memories we made with each other.

My son just turned seven and he gets excited by technology. You know, the whole Minecraft phenomenon. He’s very curious about how software is made and has expressed interest in learning how to code. I look forward to spending some time, just the two of us (and Macbook makes three), hacking together his first website or mobile application.

Both of these examples are, in my opinion, two distinct ways the digital world can help me be a better father.

Parenthood is predicated on presence. Technology should help bring mothers and fathers together with their children, not failingly attempt to mask the fact that we’re apart.

I turn 35 today. As a birthday present to myself, I’m currently on a plane headed far away for some much needed downtime. In the coming days I will live completely off the grid. I will read books made from paper and I will avoid glowing screens. I might even try to make something with my hands. Don’t call, don’t email and don’t tweet. I won’t hear you.

Let’s reconnect on the other side, yes? Yes. Over and out.

Two years ago today, I experienced the saddest day of my life. It was a day I will never forget and a situation I hope no one else ever has to live through. Alternatively, eight years ago tomorrow, I experienced the happiest day of my life. It too was a day I will never forget, but in this case I truly wish everyone has a chance to feel the love that surrounded me on that day back in 2004.

Any time a juxtaposition of extreme emotions is compacted into a turbulent timeframe, it creates a great deal of internal tension for us. For me, these 48 hours embody a great conflict. I consistently find myself questioning the appropriateness of my feelings. How can I be simultaneously happy about this one thing and so very sad about this other thing? Why am I letting this cloud of negativity cast its dark shadow on my brilliant memories of pure joy? In all honesty, I don’t have the answers.

What I do have, though, is a vital macro-view of this 48-hour window — the ability to step back and analyze its essence. Through this window, I see the ebb-and-flow of the universe captured in a sort of time-lapse. This juxtaposition shows me the importance of mindful balance and non-attachment. It shows me that lives can be irreversibly altered in an instant and that nothing in this life is permanent. It wrangles up and presents to me the complete spectrum of all the possible feelings and emotions that exist in this world. It swallows me in an ocean of thought where tides bring and take without judgement.

This juxtaposition has taught that the past and the future do not exist. There is only this moment; there is only now. Nothing more and nothing less. Realizing this, I’ve learned to cherish every waking moment. I drink in my surroundings and live fully and completely in the present. I hold my friends and family close, and make sure they know I love them.

Only by living this way can I weather the most violent of juxtapositions and remain in a place of complete peace.

I’m up early on this Father’s Day. The house is quiet with sleep and the rising sun is starting to cast sharp shadows in my back yard. It is peaceful.

In a matter of minutes, my son will likely rise and be excited to begin our day together, a day that will see a range of activities from fishing to laser tag. My thoughts in this quiet moment, however, fall not on my own experience of fatherhood, but rather on memories of my father.

This is my second Father’s Day without dad. While I think about him every day, certain days are harder than others. Birthdays and holidays are persistent reminders, but today — a day dedicated to the special love of a father — has come to be the hardest for me.

My dad was the kind of guy who would do anything for a friend or member of the family. He was so funny and playful, and had a good time no matter what he was doing. He was a random gift-giver, some amazing and impactful (my first guitar at the age of eight) and others slightly missing the mark (Christmas 1995: the frilly pirate shirt).

Dad was always looking to help. He would spend hours at the drop of a hat helping me fix something in my house or teaching me a useful skill that would get me out of a jam down the road. He built crazy things — lo-fi inventions — that served a purpose no commercial product could provide. He was a life hacker before there were life hackers.

My father also taught me about honesty and respect. He showed me through his actions the importance of hard work and always telling the truth, even if the truth was unpopular. Later in life, we fell on opposite sides of the political spectrum and our debates taught me how to have spirited conversations with the people who don’t agree.

He was able to singularly occupy that unique space of teacher, mentor and friend.

Dad was one-of-a-kind. And while he is dearly missed, I’ll take this day to reflect on these fond thoughts of my time with him. I’ll tell my son all about him and share some of my favorite memories.

Even though he’s gone, dad still guides me. When I find myself in uncertain situations I catch myself thinking, “What would dad do?”

That eternal guidance is the trait of someone special. Knowing this, I will continue to push forward (that’s what he would do) and work tirelessly toward becoming half the man he was.

I remember it being dark. Not eyes-closed dark, but complete absence-of-light dark. And cold. The unforgiving brisk that only the Nova Scotia summer can deliver. The pre-dawn chill cut straight through my coat down to my shaky, scattered bones.

We gathered in clouds of breath and the blinding glow of headlights as we prepared for our ascent. We were all here — some rested after an early night to bed, some having never slept, others the victims of that 4am in-between state of asleep and awake. The not-so-nuclear family. I had sick-to-my-stomach nerves, but I tried keep cool.

Sometimes letting go is harder than hanging on.

As we caravanned the winding stretch of road the passengers remained silent. Words were somehow not appropriate. Out of place, if anything. Memories instead filled the van with a web of thoughts words could never penetrate. The road winded and stretched upward to the cavernous hole that was the night sky. We were getting closer.

Up and up we rode until the trees got small and the lavender air became so pure it took my breath away. The night had almost expired. We didn’t have much time. Hurried and tentative, we found our place facing east. Eyes on the emerging horizon.

At first sight of the distant ribbon of light, my brother and I, forever bonded by our duty, stepped forward and released two souls back into the universe. This was their wish.

As the minutes passed, the sun raced toward us with furious velocity. It sprinted across the water and jumped the shoreline with reckless abandon. When it hit the mountain’s base I felt the wind shift toward our tearing cheeks. The line of demarcation grew closer and the brilliant angles of light met our tired eyes head-on.

The wind now took my breath away. Blinding bursts shot across the east-facing cliff like wartime bullets of hate. But there was no hate here. We became enveloped in the new day’s light, a blanket of bright comfort to strengthen us for the days and years to come.

As we emerged, we found ourselves in a place calm. A place of peace. A place of acceptance. There were no more tears. There were no more thoughts of sadness. There was only love.

Sweet, beautiful, warming love.

It’s early and I’m still half-asleep. I’m in the midst of my morning coffee protocol when I suddenly catch movement out of the corner of my eye. A brown blur with a crest of red, she moves in fits and bursts delicately forming a bowl of earth and straw outside my window.

The days have just gotten longer and we are approaching our dodge with the sun. She is preparing; she is making a home.

Days pass and I watch her create this nest. Every now and then, she’ll catch me peeking out the window and stop for a moment. Our eyes lock and then release with an unspoken agreement that neither wishes the other harm. She is meticulous, as many mothers are with matters of the family. She works tirelessly for the future, flying nameless random patterns in search of material to craft her bed.

They’re coming. I can feel it.

I awake the next morning to find some additions to the nest. Three ocean-tinted, speckled, chalky eggs have arrived overnight. The mother is proud, there’s no question. In an instant she’s gone from scavenger of building supplies, to protector of her fragile packages. She settles in and incubates.

For several days, the mother stays with her eggs. A trait of protection, she only leaves for seconds at a time. The weather has also turned cold. She has become the furnace.

Each morning, coffee in hand, I peer out the window to see if our new flock has arrived. And each morning the mother sits in silence. She eyes me with the same look my mother used to have. “Patience,” she conveys. Just when I thought the shells were in penetrable and void of life, I notice new movement in the nest.

The first egg has hatched. With beak inverted toward the sky, the new chick greets the world with an open mouth. She is hungry for her first meal and anxious for her siblings to join her. The mother is absent, but only for a moment until she returns with some nourishment for the babe.

I almost consider taking the day off from work to watch the other two eggs hatch, but several meetings are scheduled so I have to leave. Several times that day, in those very meetings, I catch myself wondering if the triad is complete. When I arrive home that night, I find it to be.

Three perfectly fragile baby chicks. They were all beak and full of cute.

The next couple of days pass and the chicks grow slightly bigger with each sunrise and cup of morning coffee. As they get stronger, their chirping grows louder. They are now fully capable of elevating their heads above the nest. The peek left and right, but ultimately end up back in the all-too-familiar position of beaks in the air, mother providing. When she isn’t feeding, she continues to warm the home.

As the chicks grow, I imagine watching as they emerge from the nest with fresh feathers and take that unpredictable leap into flight. I imagine them soaring with beaky smiles and playing like flying children would.

But that would never be the case.

I’m not sure how many days it was after the chicks arrived that I came home from work to find the nest disheveled and disturbed. No chicks. No mother. There had been an incident. There had been a struggle.

“Hello? Mr. Inscho? There’s been an accident.”

I won’t let myself imagine or consider the circumstances that took the chicks away from this world, just as I can’t dwell on the darkness in areas of my past that are filled with loss and despair.

Sometimes life has plans other than our own intentions. We are only passengers.

What I will do, though, is hold close the way our eyes met during those first few days and the connection we experienced in those quiet morning moments. I’ll cherish the opportunity to be a part of this mother’s dedication to her family and I will forever remember my vision of them flying off into the powder blue sky.

Now I feel really old. Elliott brought home his first-ever homework assignment. The word of the week at preschool is enthusiastic and he was tasked with completing several statements describing how it feels to be enthusiastic. Jilly transcribed verbatim, but all the responses came straight from his mind.

When I am enthusiastic my eyes… feel loose. When I am enthusiastic my mouth… smiles. When I am enthusiastic my tummy feels… really loose. When I am enthusiastic my muscles feel… like they are jumping. When I am enthusiastic sometimes I… jump, dance and fall. These things can make me feel enthusiastic… the zoo, Chuck E. Cheese, hanging up Christmas decorations, computers and Dylan. When I am enthusiastic I can calm down by doing this… take a deep breath.

ELLIOTT: Dad, did you get fired? ME: No. Do you know what “getting fired” means? ELLIOTT: Yeah, it’s what happens when you talk a lot at your job. Instead of doing work. ME: Daddy didn’t get fired. I resigned. ELLIOTT: Oh. What does “resigned” mean? ME: Resigning is the polite & courteous way to leave a job. ELLIOTT: Can I resign from school?

Rounding the corner to my first Father’s Day is kind of blowing my mind. All my life, Father’s Day has been something I’ve associated strictly with my Dad. Both Grandfathers passed early on in my life, so up until now, this day has been basically exclusive to my father. Granted, the last few years have entailed not much more than a phone call.

And now it’s kind of about me, too. The thought that Elliott will someday greet me on the morning of the 3rd Sunday in June with a “Happy Father’s Day” and a World’s Greatest Dad coffee mug makes my heart smile.

I can’t believe I never understood this stuff before.

So this should be a nice weekend. Don’t really have much planned – and I like it that way. Happy Father’s Day to any Dads who happen to read this. Enjoy the day. It’s all about you.

I just had one of the most amazing experiences in my life thus far. We started playing music for the baby by putting headphones up to Jilly’s belly. We keep the volume low, making sure it wasn’t too loud. Everyone we’ve talked to has said that this is a great way to instill rhythm, melody and artistic taste – all while in utero.

Anyway, during the first chorus of “Debaser” by the Pixies, baby started rocking out. Taking a cue from dad, he/she landed his/her first rock ’n roll kick square to Jilly’s gut. And right at the perfect spot in the song, too. You know the place…right where Black Francis screams, “I Am Un…Chien.” The kick occurred right on the downbeat…perfect. That’s my boy/girl.

I’ve been keeping this online journal for about four months now and I’ve never formally introduced you to my favorite non-human. Ladies and gentlemen, Monty Elliott. Jilly and I adopted Monty Elliott on August 26th, 2003 from the Humane Society of western Pennsylvania.

If you are considering getting a pet, I highly recommend adopting from a shelter. Monty was in pretty bad shape when we adopted him, but we nursed him back to health and the rest is history. A year and a half later, Monty is a healthy and energetic lab/terrier puppy.

I think of him as a son. I get proud when he does something good like piss really fast when its freezing outside. I get sad when he does something unacceptable like rip open a pillow from the Livingroom couch. For the most part he is very well behaved and listens intently.

He can be intense at times, and I like that. He loves people and gets so excited when new people come over, but makes for a great guard dog when someone attempts to enter uninvited. Living on the northside of Pittsburgh, this is a good trait to have. Our friend Katie made the mistake of coming in through our back door and he almost swallowed her whole.

Don’t worry, he didn’t bite her, but he scared her more than the Bush administration scares me on a daily basis.

And now a message from Monty: “For all you bitches out there, I like long walks through the park, Kibbles and Bits from the can (only every so often as a delicacy), playing fetch and licking myself in my nether-region. I’m single and looking for that special lady to party with. I’m fixed so I won’t knock you up. Interested parties can EMAIL me through my Dad and he will relay the message. I’ll hit you back. Word.