My wife and I are both youngest children. For years we were relegated to the kiddie table at Thanksgiving, but now we have kids of our own. Even as adults, our birth order still provides some perks. With respect to preparing the Thanksgiving feast, we – the babies of the family – are typically only responsible for an easy side dish like cranberry sauce or a pumpkin pie from Costco.

Someone older, wiser and more experienced always tackles the challenging dishes, like the bird. This year, since we are having our first Thanksgiving dinner at our house (gulp), we are responsible for delivering a perfect, golden brown turkey.

Last night we started our prep work. As I read the instructions on our frozen turkey, I quickly realized that another perk of being the youngest is that you are often shielded from much of the unpleasantness associated with cooking. Having a plump, juicy turkey is a Thanksgiving tradition, but two cooking instructions in particular leapt out at me as being possible stumbling blocks in our ability to keep that tradition alive.

– Remove bag of organs from neck cavity
– Remove neck from body cavity

I would say that Andrea and I are not overly squeamish. Mind you, neither of us will ever be confused for emergency room doctors, but we can do what is necessary when duty calls. As we stood at the sink peering into our poor turkey’s body cavity desperately looking for a neck and a bag of organs to pull out, it crossed my mind that we might be having pizza for Thanksgiving dinner. I don’t know exactly how we did it, but between dry heaves and motivational speeches, we removed what had to be the world’s longest, nastiest turkey neck. Seriously, if people really want a turkey neck to cook with, there has got to be a better way of getting one to them.

I love traditions, but sometimes the pressure to keep them going can be overwhelming. Often I get so wrapped up in keeping traditions alive that I don’t even take the time to question if I enjoy them. Growing up, Thanksgiving at my house boiled down to my mom working feverishly in the kitchen while everyone watched football. We knew it was time to eat when she finally snapped, stormed into the living room, slammed the TV off and announced, “If you want to eat warm food, you better do it now!” I’m sure this isn’t the warm, fuzzy Thanksgiving tradition she wanted to keep alive.

Today begins the Streight Family Thanksgiving Tradition. Both Andrea and I have a lifetime of family traditions that we are hoping to measure up to, but we will undoubtedly fall short somewhere. Our main goals are to have fun, enjoy food with friends and family, and be unbelievably thankful for all of the blessings in our life. As long as we remember that, I don’t think we can go wrong. The turkey might end up being a little dry and the mashed potatoes might end up being lumpy, but it’s 10:00 am and we are all still in our pajamas watching the Macy’s Day Parade – so far, so good. Plus, I have the pizza parlor on speed dial just in case, so I think we are good to go!

Back in the day, I considered myself to be quite the athlete.  When I was younger, sports were my life.  I played everything from soccer to basketball and baseball to tennis.  I was actually pretty good too, but I was the big fish in the tiny pond.  Now, I am a little older and a little heavier, but I still cling to my “glory days”.  More often than not, I end up winded, limping off the court at the end of an E league adult basketball game, refusing to accept the fact that I am old and out of shape. 

Needless to say, I was pretty excited when Tyler wanted to sign up for U6 soccer – his first team sport.  The team needed a coach.  Thanks to unemployment, my calendar was wide open, so I signed up.  On more than one occasion before the season started, it crossed my mind that I was unable to get my own child to listen to me.  How in the world did I think I would be able to get 10 of them to listen to me?  What was I thinking?

As our first practice approached, I found myself suddenly terrified.  What had I gotten myself into? What if the kids didn’t like me?  What if the parents think I am a fraud?  What if I can’t get anyone to listen to me?  What if we lose every game?  What if, what if, what if.  I was so worked up, I even contemplated making up some excuse to back out at the last minute.

For our first practice, I had the entire 60 minutes planned out down to the second.  Clipboard in hand, I thought I was ready for anything.  I had received some advice that boiled down to – if something isn’t working and you’re losing them, move on!  After about four minutes, I had exhausted my entire 60 minute practice plan and I had 10 five year olds staring at me.  Well, not exactly staring.  Some were laying down, some were doing cartwheels and a few were chasing a butterfly.  I checked my watch.  55 more minutes.  I was failing. 

At that critical moment, when all I wanted to do was crawl under a rock and hide, I decided to just play.  I threw my practice plan away and we just kicked the ball around and had fun.  Afterwards, I was sure that the parents would call my bluff and be disappointed, but no one seemed to notice.  To this day, I still worry about what the parents think, but so far everyone seems happy and the kids are getting pretty good at soccer!  Of course there have been some challenges and I have had to say things that I never dreamed including:

 - “Awesome somersault!  Now what do you say we pay attention to the game?”

 - “Did you just put that piece of gum you found on the ground in your mouth?”

 - “I’m sorry.  I don’t know where unicorns come from.”

 - “Hey big guy, you want to get your head out of the net?”

It pains me to think of all of the opportunities that I have missed out on because I got caught up in my “what if I fail” scenarios.  Thanks to my Cobras, I have had more fun coaching soccer than I ever thought possible.  Sadly, our first season is drawing to a close and I am really going to miss playing soccer with my 10 little buddies  There is nothing quite like being around kids to remind you how fun life can be.  When they play, they play 100% and they have taught me the importance of letting go and enjoying the moment.

In June of 2009 I lost my job. Well, that isn’t entirely accurate. I didn’t lose it as much as it was taken away from me. I worked for a small, family-owned homebuilder for the previous 5 years and had an incredible time. The family was great, the company was awesome and I loved working for them. Unless you have been living in a cave for the past 3 or 4 years, you are probably aware of the recent monumental collapse of the homebuilding industry. Well, try as we might, we weren’t able to survive the turmoil and our California division had to shut down.

Now, I am no stranger to this. About eight years earlier I was a diligent Enron employee when it collapsed. I was at my desk when they walked in, handed everyone on my floor a small cardboard box and said, “27th floor, I am sorry to say that you are being let go. Please grab your personal possessions and exit immediately”. Nothing like being part of a mass layoff to make you feel like a valued member of the team! Back then, I wasn’t really worried because I didn’t have too many responsibilities. This time is different because I have a family, a mortgage and actual honest to goodness adult responsibilities. Needless to say, this has been a particularly stressful time, so trying to live NOW has been a daunting challenge.

While there have been many casualties in my war on gainful employment, perhaps the biggest loser has been my lawn. You see, during the “good times”, I had Sammy on my team. Sammy was the strong, silent type, letting his mower and blower do most of his talking. Whenever he came around, I would offer him some water and a handshake. Our only common language was my lawn. Oh, we would try to talk, but after struggling mightily to understand one another, we would invariably give up, point at the lawn, give each other a thumbs up and smile. It was a wonderful time.

But $60 a month is $60 a month, so I had to let Sammy go. I figured I could hold things together for a week or two. I mean how hard could it be? Well, that week or two has turned into 6 months and it turns out Sammy was not a “lawn guy”, he was a genius. It has also become painfully obvious that I am not fluent in the language-of-the-lawn like I thought I was.

If you look around the dying grass and the bare patches, you will see the only healthy thing I have been able to grow in my backyard – crabgrass. 

Fridays are the worst. That’s when Sammy works on my neighbors yard. I try not to stare, but I can’t help it. I peer at him through my blinds and watch him work his magic.

That’s Sammy parked next to what would appear to be the lawn from the Garden of Eden. He loves what he does and man is he good at it!

I didn’t appreciate Sammy when I had him. “Oh yeah, I have a lawn guy,” I would casually say. He wasn’t just a lawn guy, he was a magician. I took him for granted. What do you have in your life that you are taking for granted? Take it from me, someday it will be gone and all you will be left with are mountains of crabgrass.