Coffeehouse Chronicles: Father’s Day Edition

Happy Father’s Day, Chroniclers. How did you spend your weekend?

Because mine? Mine had everything.  Baseball. Family. Heat stroke. Emotional betrayal. Illegal levels of excitement over a bobblehead.

So it all kicked off June 19th — which for me has somehow turned into the Annual “Doctor Game” pilgrimage with my oldest boy, The Erb-ster. It’s tradition now. You know, one of those things where if you miss it once, suddenly you’re not on the Christmas card list anymore.

Now Mike hears we went… and suddenly he’s like, “Hey… how come I wasn’t invited?”

“Sir???  Sir, you were invited. For YEARS. But back then you were out there being responsible — working patrol, saving lives, doing whatever grown adults do when they don’t yet realize there are bobbleheads involved.”

Now suddenly? He’s interested. Too late. We went. You didn’t. Oh well…

So there we are at Dodger Stadium — and not just any game… it was Mookie Betts Night.

My favorite player. And they HAND US… a Mookie Betts bobblehead.

I don’t care how old you are — if you don’t get excited over a bobblehead, check your pulse. You might already be taxidermy.

Of course, the HB looks at me like, “You’re acting like a child.”

“Ma’am. This is not childish behavior.“

“This is collector-level enthusiasm.”

While we were there, Erb & I ran into Louie and Louise — the Vuittons — who basically live at Chavez Ravine all summer. At this point, I’m convinced they don’t own a house. They just rotate between section 22 and a nacho stand.

They’ve probably got mail delivered to the third base dugout.

Now the game?

Oh, it was a rollercoaster. 

We were down by three. Spirits were low. I was already mentally preparing my “it was still a good game” speech.

Then BAM! — comeback starts brewing.

Bottom of the ninth.

Two outs.

Two strikes.

Two runners on.

The situation every nine-year-old dreams of being the hero in. And I was sitting there like a man watching his last life flash before his eyes.

Dalton Rushing steps up, hits a single — boom, tie game.

But WAIT! WHAT?!?!

The ball squirts past the catcher.

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

People screaming, popcorn flying, grown men hugging strangers. I don’t even know who I high-fived — could’ve been security.

We win. We WIN. WE WIN!!

And I was losing my entire mind like I just personally coached the team to victory.

Meanwhile, when I ran the story past the HB, she'd watched the game from the den couch, but no way it could be like sitting in 14FD, Row “S” though, so I had to run it past her so she could feel the excitement that was electric in the stands!

She just sat there like, “Well… that was nice.”

NICE?!

“Ma’am, this was a cinematic sports miracle. If this were a movie, you would’ve cried and immediately Googled where to buy the soundtrack.”

And I kept talking about it.

Reliving it.

Retelling it.

Breaking it down frame by frame like ESPN owes me a contract.

The HB? Not impressed. I don’t understand it. I really don’t.

But let’s talk about my favorite side story —

The couple who sat next to us. They left after the 7th inning stretch. Because — and I quote — “We have to go let the dog out.”

…Sir.

I have no doubt that their dog was at home thinking, “I hope they’re okay. They should’ve stayed.”

Because imagine getting home, turning on the TV, and realizing you missed the greatest comeback of the night.

That dog probably looked at them like: “You LEFT for ME?! I would’ve HELD IT.”

-----

So the next day the HB and I drive out to the low desert… way out in Perris.

Now let me tell you something about summer in Perris, California.

It’s nothing like Paris, France. At all. It’s not romantic.

There are no cafés. No accordions. Just heat.

It’s like walking directly into the sun’s personal workspace. It was 90 degrees — and that was just the polite estimate.

We were under an EZup, sweating like it’s a competitive sport. At one point, I wasn’t sure if we were watching baseball or slowly being dehydrated for some science experiment.

But the best part?

The family. Because we roll deep — this is a blended family masterpiece.

Michael’s got two moms & two dads. And we all show up like it’s a board meeting.

Now WE think it’s normal.

The teachers, back in the day?

A little unnerved.

Picture this:

Parent-teacher conference. Michael was sitting there smiling like he just orchestrated the whole thing.

Four adults walk in and sit down like: “Alright… what seems to be the issue?”

That teacher was sweating more than we were in Perris.

She looked around like:  “…do I need to pick one set of you to talk to, or…?”

And we’re all just calm. Unified. Coordinated.

Meanwhile, Michael is loving EVERY SECOND of it.

And then there’s Phyllis, Mike's extra mom. Now Phyllis — God bless her — has solved a problem none of us even knew we had.

Most people lose their glasses.

Phyllis said: “Not today. Not ever again.” So she wears… not one… not two…

Six pairs of glasses hanging around her neck. At all times.

It looks like she robbed an optometry office and decided to wear the evidence. She’s got readers, backup readers, emergency readers, “just in case the lighting changes” readers…

At this point, if someone within a 50-foot radius says, “I can’t see that,” 

Phyllis is like a dealer: “What strength do you need? I got options.”

I’m pretty sure TSA has questions every time she travels.

But you know what? She has never once said, “Where are my glasses?” Because they are ALL right there. Every pair she’s ever trusted in her life.

The four of us celebrate birthdays together. We hang out. We get along.

To us, it’s normal. To everyone else, it’s an episode of a show they didn’t know existed.

And somehow… despite all this…

We function like a normal family.

Birthdays together. Holidays together. Hanging out, laughing, eating — no drama, no confusion.

Except…There is ONE moment. Just one.

When it all falls apart.

It's when Michael yells:

“Mom!” …and gets two answers.

“Yeah?” 

“WHAT?”

Then he tries:

“Dad!” And now it’s two more voices:

“Yep?”

“WHAT DO YOU NEED?”

Now he’s standing there like he just activated surround sound parenting. Four grown adults responding from different directions, like we’re in a Marvel movie. And he’s gotta clarify like a dispatcher:

“Uh… Mom-Mom!” “…no, other Mom!”

“—I mean DAD, not that Dad, the OTHER dad!”

Meanwhile, we’re all responding anyway just in case.

And honestly? We still think it’s normal.

It's just everybody else finds it confusing.

But Phyllis has six pairs of glasses ready to help you understand it…

…but even she can’t fix that part.

------

And finally…

The McCroc Chronicles.

Now, some of you have been asking — “Where’s Mc Croc been?”

Oh, he’s around.

He’s lurking.

He’s buying Crocs… quietly.

Sneakily.

Like a man with something to hide.

He won’t show them. Won’t reveal the collection. Which makes me believe one thing: They’re not regular Crocs anymore.

We’re dealing with limited edition, glow-in-the-dark, emotionally questionable Crocs.

And when he finally steps out?

It’s going to be a reveal event.

Stay tuned.

Because the Crocs… are coming. 😄

Until then, you know what to do: Drink ‘em if ya got ‘em!

#coffeehousechronicles