Happy Memorial Day

And thank you.

Gary Coleman...Gone?

What'chu talkin' 'bout?!

R.I.P., Arnold.

LOST: A Tribute

If you're like me, this last week you've seen about a billion different tributes to Lost: videos, original songs, photoshopped artwork...apparently people are gonna miss this show. I didn't really have the time to do something special to show my appreciation and I'm not much of a songwriter. So instead, I've gathered all of my Lost-themed doodles I've done over the last few months into one convenient Lost-y post. Enjoy!

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Eject!!

Sarah's been out of town for a few days and I thought I would pass some time by playing Mario Kart on the Wii. I popped the disc in and navigated to the main Wii menu. I waited a few seconds and grew a little concerned when the disc never came up in the on-screen display. I waited a few more seconds, and it still wasn't reading.

I thought maybe I'd put the disc in facing the wrong way; it wouldn't be the first time. I pressed "Eject" on the Wii, heard the little Eject Motors whirring away, and nothing happened. My disc was not ejected. This was disheartening, especially since I had pressed the "Eject" button. How much clearer could I be?

I pressed the button again, heard the motors do their thing (or at least try to), and still no sign of my disc. Hey come on!!

The next few minutes were occupied with a series of pushing "EJECT!", turning off the power, unplugging the console and plugging it back in, all in a variety of orders and sequences. But still, nothing.

So I did what anyone else would do in my situation: I entered "disc won't eject from the Wii" into Google, who was more than happen to give me a billion responses to my question. So much faster than trying to navigate my way through Customer Service or an FAQ section. My question was answered by a variety of people from a variety of sites. One answer told me to hold in the "EJECT MAN!!!" button for 10 seconds. If that didn't work, unplug the console, plug it back in, and then hold the button for 10 more seconds. If that didn't work, I was informed I would need a new Wii.

No way, dudes.

I followed his instructions exactly, and still nothing. I tried to poke the sleeve from one of my Netflix films into the disc slot to see if I could see what was going on and if it was possible to grab my disc. As soon as I slid a corner of the sleeve into the disc slot, the Wii tried to grab the sleeve and pull it in. "Hey, greedy!" I yelled to no one. OK, I guess I yelled it to the Wii, I'll be honest.

How weird that it would try to take in another disc when it...already...um....

And that's when I noticed the display on my DVD player, and it read "disc error."

So apparently, sometimes when I'm bored, I'll pass the time by trying to play Wii games on my DVD player.

Have I mentioned yet what a genius I am?

The Rest of Ireland

Well, I finally did it. We've been back from Ireland for more than a year now, and I'm finally finished editing all of the footage into a bunch of mini-movies. It was fun to go through and re-visit some of the things we experienced, a few of them things I had already forgotten.

And so, here you are, parts 40-50 of our trip to Ireland. I know it seems daunting to watch 11 videos in one sitting, but most of them are only about a minute long so it's not really that bad. Not really.

Triangle Cat

Remember those "How Many Triangles Are In This Picture" puzzles?



I cannot express to you how much I hated those. I always missed like 12 of them. Like this image above. What's your guess? The correct answer is 543. Weird, huh?

Anyhow, this afternoon our cat Mai was sitting and staring at me. Kinda like this:



As she stared at me and I stared back at her, I realized that she makes a triangle when she sits like this.

And then I saw two more triangles (her ears). And then...well...I ended up finding seven triangles on my cat.

So if you were wondering if I had a productive afternoon today, obviously the answer is yes.

Fred Likes My Coffee

Each morning at work I make coffee. Good coffee. If you want to ensure job security, make sure the General Manager likes your coffee. And just in case, gather evidence of your General Manager enjoying your coffee in impromptu song form.

AcipHex

Fact: I just saw a commercial for a drug that is supposed to reduce gas.

Fact: The name of the product is AcipHex.

Fact: It is pronounced "ASS-eh-fex."

I'll say it again. It is a drug to help control gas. It is named AcipHex and it is pronounced "Ass Effects."

Am I being punked?

Dad

[caption id="attachment_1764" align="aligncenter" width="350" caption="Dad and me"][/caption]

I can’t think of a better way to wrap up my series of Placencia blogs than by writing about Dad. Of all the Placencias I know, I feel it’s safe to say I probably know him the best. After all, I’ve known him my entire life. I grew up with him and when I moved out of the house back in 1992 that didn’t mean I stopped learning from him. He’s still teaching me things to this day. Earlier this week I was on the phone with him and I’m sure it made for an interesting picture: Me, on the couch, Sarah snuggled next to me, the phone between us, just listening to Dad as he gave some of his insights on life.

That’s the way it’s always been with Dad. Even when I was younger, Dad was like my own personal E.F. Hutton: When he talked, I listened.

There are so many stories, so many memories, I don’t know where to start. So many different flashes are bouncing around in my noggin...Should I tell you about the time Ray, Jaime, and I were filming a video and Dad got mad and threw a pillow at Ray, which then made him happy? Or maybe the time he broke his leg and, tired of having to wear a cast, decided to take the law into his own hands and sat on a bucket and began to cut it off with a hacksaw? What about the time the old lady called Dad in the middle of the night because she had a bat in her house and he went over there armed with his tennis racket? I think I already told you about the time he smacked the pipe out of Charlie’s mouth. Or the one time...well...maybe I shouldn’t tell you about that one, but you get the point. I have a lot of stories about Dad.

There have been times when I see people on TV talking about their childhood, how they would have turned out better if their father had only told them that he loved them, bla bla bla. Dad’s kids will never have that problem. On the phone the other day, he told me he loved me and then followed that up with “I know I don’t tell you that enough.” I didn’t let him go on. If there’s one thing Dad’s always done, he’s let us kids know how much he loves us. With every call, every time I see him, and in his actions and words growing up, there’s never been a moment where I didn’t think he loved us.

That loyalty and commitment is something that isn’t saved only for us, either. When Dad is your friend, you know there’s nothing he won’t do for you. There’s no one Dad cares for that doesn’t know he cares for them and he’ll do anything for them. If something happens to someone Dad cares for, he is the first one in line to help.

Dad fought in the Vietnam war and he has an AMAZING story. To say it was a life-changing experience is putting it mildly and it molded him into the man he is today. Dad saw a lot over there: life, death, blood, friendship, bravery, cowardice, and even heard The Voice of God. For the last few years, on Memorial Day he goes to a high school and shares his story and testimony. I was able to go along with him and film his story, which you can see here. It’s a very shortened version of the actual story but still very powerful and moving. When we were living in the Mojave Desert, I sat down with a tape recorder and interviewed Dad about his time in Vietnam. I later typed out the transcript. It’s 32 pages long and it still moves me to tears when I read it. I always told Dad I wanted to make it into a movie script, and he told me I could, but only if I played his role (something I’m a little too old to pull off now).

The other thing that I think of is, of course, boxing. Dad and his brothers grew up learning a lot - not just boxing - from Saxer, and what he learned there he applied in his life: If you want something, you have to work at it. If you work at for it, you'll appreciate it more. Dad has a long string of prizes and titles under his belt and nobody in school ever tried to pull the "my dad can beat up your dad" line on me. Dad has spent the last - wow, I don't know, 40 years is it? - passing on what he's learned to kids. He's a coach now, and when you train under my Dad you know you're not just learning about The Sweet Science. You're learning about life. I don't know how many times I've been approached by people who tell me they "used to go down to the club" and then proceed to tell me what kind of impact Dad had on their life.

Those are the things - the war, boxing, his loyalty - that everyone knows about Dad. But I love the little details, the little surprises, just as much. I remember as a child going into the basement and finding an old black case tucked away in a far corner. Inside was an old, broken down, accordion. Yep. Dad played the accordion as a kid. Who would have guessed? I also recall the image of Dad up in the Sierra Nevadas in the Mojave Desert, panning for gold. He would sit there for hours, just him and his tools, and come back with tiny nuggets of gold in a small glass jar. He loves to read and he loves to watch Clint Eastwood blow the bad guys away. He has an iPod he uses to listen to Johnny Cash and Hank Williams. Little details and quirks about him that I love.

Dad has a Purple Heart and a Golden Gloves title. He's received all kinds of awards, honors, medals, certificates, and special congratulations. But the title he holds most dear is "Dad."

And you know what? He's earned it.

Grandma

[caption id="attachment_1710" align="aligncenter" width="150" caption="Maria Placencia"][/caption]

Simply put, my grandmother was a beautiful person.

I spoke a little bit in my previous post about Grandpa how I didn't really get to know him as a person. I was relatively young when he passed away and we didn't have a lot of deep conversations. When I was living in Indiana a few years ago, I was determined not to make the same mistake with Grandma.

Grandma and I would sit at her kitchen table and she allowed me to interview about everything. Her childhood, her life as a young mother, her parents, her siblings, her children. When I was talking with Grandma I lost all track of time.

One of my favorite topics of discussion was asking her about growing up in the early part of the 20th century: what she did for fun, how she would listen to the radio, even seeing her first automobile. I also enjoyed talking with her about Dad (whose name is also Ed) and my aunts and uncles.

"What kind of kid was my Dad?"

"Oh, he was always a nice boy. He was always so good."

Like clockwork Uncle John would call out from the next room, "You always loved Eddie the most, Mama! You should admit I'm your number one son!"

Grandma would laugh and shake her head and in her accented voice say, "Yea, but he doesn't shout in the house!"

John would then come into the kitchen where we sat, a big smile on his face, and give her a huge hug and say, "I love you, Mama." Grandma would pat him on the arm and tell him she loved him, too.

A couple of times I told her I wanted to record our conversations on video. She had been sick for quite a while and would always just laugh and say, "Oh Eddie, you don't want to film me, I look horrible." The funny thing is, even in the last years of her life, she remained vibrant and beautiful.

That in itself was a testament to how strong she was. She had a rough life for a while and in many respects took care of thirteen kids on her own. When she told me about some of the things she faced I was surprised, mostly because she's always been so kind, friendly, warm, and caring. If you knew half the things she told me, you'd see that she would have every reason and excuse to be cold and bitter.

But she wasn't.

When I would ask her how she found the strength to carry on, her answer was always simple: "I had to. What was I gonna do, quit?"

As Grandma got older, it became more and more difficult for her to get around. Just walking from the bedroom to the kitchen would exhaust her. Whenever it came time for the annual family reunion, it was always the same thing. She would tell me she didn't know if she could go, she's very weak, she doesn't want to depress people by being there, she'll probably stay home. The day of the reunion, there she'd be: sitting in a lawn chair beneath an umbrella and smiling at the rest of us acting like fools. Sometimes she'd be able to stay for an hour or two, sometimes just a few minutes, but she always made the effort.

No matter how Grandma felt physically, she never let that interfere with her love for her family. In fact, there was only one thing that really got her down more than anything else. I would come into the house and she would say hello and greet me with a kiss and I could tell something was wrong.

"What's wrong Grandma?"

Her brow would be furrowed, she would be rubbing her forehead, and I knew what she was going to say.

"Ohhhhhhh, those Cubs. Why don't they ever win? Don't they know I'm rooting for them? I won't be around much longer, they better start winning."

Yep, Grandma was a die-hard Chicago Cubs fan.

And still the next day, she'd be back in her bedroom, the TV on, and she'd be watching every inning. Of course she would. That was just who she was. Grandma might be upset, be she won't give up on you. And in my head, I could hear her saying, "What was I gonna do, quit?"

Grandpa

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="350" caption="Juan Placencia"][/caption]

Blogging about Grandpa is pretty intimidating, to be honest. It seems everyone has at least one story about Grandpa and, depending on who you are or how old he was when you met him, your stories probably differ. The man I knew was (from what I'm told) a completely changed person from the man Dad and his siblings knew growing up, so naturally my memories and impressions are a little different. But that's what makes these blogs so much fun; I've enjoyed reading people's comments and stories that I've never heard before. The conversation these blogs have sparked have become great fun to read.

When Grandpa passed away in 1984 part of me was surprised at how many people in our community were affected, but part of me wasn't. I wish I could remember all of the stories people have told me about him over the years. Most of them have to do with his kindness, generosity, and sense of humor.

Some of the tales Dad and my uncles have passed on to me describe a man I never knew: a stern father, powerful and intimidating, with a short - and sometimes explosive - temper. But, as is often the case, most of those stories end in laughter, as his children usually found ways to skate dangerously close to the brink of his wrath and come away unscathed (ask someone the story about Grandpa furiously throwing potatoes at - I think - my Uncle Dave as a child. Grandpa was upset with Dave and tried to hit him with potatoes. He would throw a potato at Dave, miss, take a couple of steps closer to him and throw again. Dave  was standing completely still and with every miss Grandpa became more and more infuriated, until he was only a few feet away, still missing Dave by a mile, and still becoming angrier with each wild throw).

The man I knew was different. Somewhere along the line Grandpa came to know God and his furious anger was exchanged for a complete love for Jesus. He was often heard singing hymns in Spanish as he worked in his garden. He smiled easily and hugged easier. I was only 13 years old when he died, so I didn't really get much of a chance to know him as a person but to this day I can still smell his cologne. I remember his house was always warm and cozy and I can still envision the way his eyes would get crinkly and small when he laughed.

One summer, I must have been around 11 or so, some friends and I were riding our bicycles back from the pool. We stopped by Grandpa's house on the way home and he gave us lemonade. As we left, we gave us each a tomato he had grown in his garden. That moment has always resonated with me, and I don't know why. I mean, it's not a big deal: he gave me a tomato.

But that's the moment that stuck with me. It's my fondest and clearest memory of Grandpa: the time he gave me a tomato.

What is it about that moment? Why is that so special? Is it because I knew the tomato came from his garden? Is it because he also gave one to my friends as well, and showed a bit of love to all of us? Or is it because it is something he gave to me because he loved me?

Maybe it's all of those reasons. Or none of them. I might never figure that out.

But I'll always remember that tomato.

Ray "Bud" Saxer

[caption id="attachment_1720" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Dave, Rick, Dad, Sax, John, Gene, Arn"][/caption]

I suppose at first glance it may seem a little unorthodox to include a guy in my series on the Placencias who isn't related to us at all. But I think most Placencias would agree, we wouldn't be the family we are today without Ray "Bud" Saxer. He's had a profound influence on my family, especially my Dad and all of his brothers, as he trained each and every one of them as they grew up in the Dekalb County Boxing Club.

If I have my story straight, Uncle John was the first one to take up the sport and each of his younger brothers followed suit. They all started off at a young age (I don't know exactly how old they were when they started, but they're pretty tiny in some of the pictures I've seen) and "Sax" instilled in them more than just how to hit someone and block a punch; he taught them about life, things like the importance of perseverance, working hard to achieve goals, and respect. Sax was a mentor, an advisor and in many ways, a father figure.

Naturally, Sax came to know my entire family throughout the years and I think I can speak for most Placencias when I say he has become family to us. He was always at our family reunions, he came to most of my school events, and when my family went through tough times, he and his wife Margie were always there as a rock for us to lean on.

A lot of people compare Sax to "Mickey" from the Rocky movies and I can understand that. He had white hair for as long as I knew him, he's a boxing coach, he tells it like it is...but Sax is more than that. For starters, Sax was hilarious. He loved hearing jokes, he loved telling jokes, and he taught me to eat a banana "like the monkeys do."

Sax and Dad worked together in a painting business and I worked with them for a couple of years after I was out of school. There are things I still say to this day that I picked up from Sax during that time: phrases like "Oh yes," Yesiree, Sir," and "Hey fellas." Sax was a heck of a whistler and every day at lunch we would to listen to Paul Harvey while Sax chuckled along at the anecdotes. And when someone crossed Sax, look out. His profane rants were some of the most hilarious monologues I've heard in my life and when he would finish he would catch his breath, look at me, make his lips go all crooked and wonky, and then smile.

A lot of things I learned about my family, I learned from Sax. He would tell me about the early days of the boxing club and how my Dad and uncles would train in a barn with no heat in the middle of an Indiana winter. He would tell me stories about my Grandma and Grandpa and even recollect tales of my Dad and uncles going off to (and returning from) war. Obviously he was a great boxing coach, as my Dad and his brothers all went on to become quite talented in the ring. Of course, Sax would always give the credit to the fact that "the Placencia boys always worked harder than anyone."

Sax loved our family as much as he loved his own and it became even more evident as Sax got older. In the last few years of his life, he allowed himself to become more open and vulnerable, and rarely would I see him where he wouldn't talk about our family, telling stories, and ultimately tearing up. It gave him such a joy to reminisce and pass on tales and I cherished every one of them he had to share.

Aunt MaryAnn

At the mere mention of her name, I can hear MaryAnn laugh. Like the rest of my family, she loves to laugh and when she does, she does with her heart.

MaryAnn has always been very kind and sweet and is always quick to offer up a hug. I have fond memories of her (and my other aunts) singing along to the radio in her home, at family reunions, in the car...wherever there was music. As a teen I remember thinking of MaryAnn, Emma, and Alice as The Pointer Sisters because the three of them were always singing, dancing, and laughing.

The other thing that stands out about MaryAnn is, of course, her love for all things Elvis. I mean, I've been a Weird Al fan since middle school, but I'm not dedicated enough to have any vanity plates to express my fandom. MaryAnn, on the other hand, has not one but two cars with Elvis-themes plates. Because everyone knows of MaryAnn's love for The King, her house is filled with Elvis memorabilia. MaryAnn isn't the only Elvis fan in the family, but it's probably fair to say she is the Elvis fan.

Logan & Jordan

[caption id="attachment_1727" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Logan, me, Arn, and Jordan"][/caption]

Logan and Jordan, Uncle Arn's youngest children, are two of the sweetest people you'll ever want to meet. Arn set the bar high when he had four children and none of them turned out to be a goofball. For the Placencias, that's pretty good. My Mom and Dad only had three kids, and after they had me, it was all downhill (Sorry Ray and Jaime...it was too hard to resist).

Logan is the extroverted people person. She's the first person to say hello and make a stranger feel welcome. She's what my mom would probably describe as "a social butterfly," friends with everyone she's ever met and able to make anyone feel comfortable and at ease.

Jordan is the quiet athlete who is wise beyond her years. I look at Jordan and marvel at how mature she is. Even when Jordan was in middle school, I remember thinking how much she impressed me with her level-headedness and rational thinking. I'm still not at the level Jordan is when it come to the three C's: calm, cool, and collected.

I love making Logan and Jordan laugh, especially since they have two very distinct reactions to my goofiness. Logan is like my sister Jaime and she laughs easily and wholeheartedly. Jordan, on the other hand, makes me work for the laugh and I like that. And when I see the corner of Jordan's mouth go up, and that awesome smirk makes its appearance, I know I've made it.

When I was in Indiana a few years back, I stayed with Arn and his family for a bit before I found my own place and I got to know them a little better and I have nothing to criticize...except maybe their love of country music. While I was there, I almost came to think of them as my little sisters and to this day I still require all boys they see to come to me first and fill out a questionnaire and go through a 5-step interview process.

The thing I admire most about Logan and Jordan is their love for Jesus. You see it in both of them and you know it's real. They have a sincere passion not only to be closer to Him, but also to be more like Him. They both have a sincere heart for other people and are the first people to volunteer to help those in need.

I'm looking forward to seeing the impact Logan and Jordan have on the world and on people, because I know it's going to be cool. Trust me. This is gonna be good.

Uncle Rick

[caption id="attachment_1652" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Dave, Dad, Arn, Rick, and John. And Ray in the back."][/caption]

Whereas Emma is the eldest of 13 kids, Uncle Rick is the youngest. Like his siblings before him, Rick carries on the tradition of kindness, generosity, and the trademark Placencia sense of humor.

If Sue is the nice one and J is the funny one, then Uncle Rick is the cool one, the guy you can kick back with over a beer and an episode of Seinfeld and just hang. You don't have to be around him long before you know Rick's the kind of guy who's just cool to be around. As a child, he always reminded me of Isaac, the cool bartender from The Love Boat. They both smile all the time, they're good guys, and (at least at the time) they both had amazing mustaches.

While I was living in Indiana a few years ago, Rick was always very eager to open up his home and have Dad and I over to watch the big fight or a movie or just have dinner and relax.

Writing about someone who's as cool as Rick is hard because you never feel like you can never capture just how cool he is. You can't really describe him, you have to be around him to witness it.

So Rick is cool. Just take my word for it.

Aunt Emma

[caption id="attachment_1684" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Emma, Alice, and Sue"][/caption]

In a previous post, I incorrectly identified my Uncle John as the eldest of thirteen kids. John is the oldest son, but my Aunt Emma trumps The J.

When I think of Emma, the first thing that comes to mind is the fact she loves to dance. Emma has always had a love for music and if there's music playing somewhere, Emma is the first one on the dance floor. Something tells me she's also probably one of the last to leave.

Emma's radio is usually tuned in to the Spanish station and she knows the dance for each song. Emma once tried teaching me the dancing she does and I'm just not coordinated enough. I prefer to just wobble my legs around at random intervals.

I love to make Emma laugh, especially if I know it's something that will really catch her off guard if I say it. Her eyes get really big and then she gets this 'Shame on you' look and always says, "Oh, Eddieeee...." And then she starts laughing. I assume her sons Evvy and Bobby probably know that look - and that laugh - well.

Not only has Emma always been very warm and welcoming (she always asks how my Mom is), she's an amazing cook. When I was living in Indiana and working with my Dad, I would drive over to their place in the morning (Dad and Emma were both living with Grandma at the time to help look after her) and often times we would get a late start out the door because Emma would be up cooking breakfast and she always made enough for "the boys." Emma also makes homemade tamales that are hands-down the best I've ever had, anywhere.

Emma's always got a twinkle in her eye. The twinkle, I believe, is there because she's about to laugh. Or dance.

Evvy & Bobby

[caption id="attachment_1679" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Ray, Bobby, Me, David, Jim, Glen, and Evvy"][/caption]

This is the first post in my Placencia Series that focuses on two people in the same blog. They're my cousins Evvy and Bobby. These brothers both grew up just outside of Chicago and, I'll be honest, as a kid from a small town of 5000 people (and at the time my family pretty much made up the city's minority population), these guys pretty much scared the crap out of me.

They had Hispanic accents, they had the big-city tough attitude, they spoke Spanish to each other, and they were loud. Everything about them intimidated me. I was shy around them and never knew what to say.

The first time I ever heard rap music, it wasn't on the radio. It was on a bootleg tape they brought with them from Chicago. I recall riding in the car with them and their mom (my Aunt Emma) and their tunes were blasting. I remember being really curious about some of the weird sounds in the music...they were sounds that I'd never heard before, and I couldn't figure out what they were. Every time the sounds came on Evvy and Bobby would put their hands in front of them and jerk them back and forth. Of course, being the DJ Hero that I am, I know now that they were "air scratching" along with the music. But as a kid in the back seat of that car, I could not for the life of me figure out what instrument they were pretending to play. Who knew you could "play" a turntable?

Evvy and Bobby were also both amazing dancers. Again, the first time I saw anyone breakdance, it wasn't on MTV or on television at all or even in a movie. It was watching Evvy and Bobby, and they were incredible. Spins, popping, locking, everything...they had it all down.

Of course, now that I'm older and have gotten to know Evvy and Bobby (a little) better, I know now how freakin' hilarious they are. Like the rest of my relatives, they are hysterical. It's just that their sense of humor comes from a different place. Where I grew up around a mostly Bill Cosby-sense of funny, they blew my mind coming at me with their edgier Chris Rock-style. They're like a well-oiled comedy team and because they're brothers, it's even that much tighter and funnier. They play off each other, they play off whoever is around them, and you can't do anything but stand back and laugh.

As a kid, I was intimidated because, although we're cousins, we came from a totally different place. Our experiences and influences growing up were totally different; we couldn't be further apart.

As an adult, I've found how much fun it is to jump on the train and roll with them. And once we're there, I find we have a lot more in common I ever would have thought.

And if all else fails, we can always just make fun of Glen.

Uncle Dave

[caption id="attachment_1652" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Dave, Dad, Arn, Rick, and John. And Ray in the back."][/caption]

I know there are some good stories out there about my Uncle Dave (AKA "Gradle"), there just has to be, but unfortunately I don't really know any of them. At least, not any good ones. I'm gonna have to depend on my other relatives to come to my rescue on this one. By the same token, I know Gradle has good stories on the rest of you, so I guess it all evens out.

Like my other Ridgecrest-dwelling relatives, I got to hang out with Gradle during my brief stint in the Mojave Desert. I can tell you two things for sure: Gradle can cook some mean fish, and he's really good at Yahtzee.

When we would go to Gradle's house, it was always a nice time of kicking back and re-kindling an addiction to the game I hadn't played in years. And once Gradle reintroduced my to Yahtzee, I couldn't believe how long it'd been since I'd played last. Most of my other relatives are really super competitive, but Dave would be genuinely happy when someone else had a good roll. His enthusiastic encouragement and support, even in something simple like a board game, is something I still remember fondly.

And there's also the fact that his fish is a-to the-mazing.

Gradle is also very loving and quick with a kind word. Although he's probably the relative I've spent the least amount of time around, I think I've heard "I love you" and been told how much God loves and cares for me from Gradle as much as (or more than) anyone else. That says something.

Gradle's been through a lot, I know that much, and yet he's come away from it all with a strong faith and a heart as big as his smile. How could I not be a fan of that?

Anthony

[caption id="attachment_1672" align="aligncenter" width="400" caption="Anthony, me, Glen, and Randy in the back. Ray and Ricky are proudly in front."][/caption]

I got to know my younger cousin Anthony while I was living in Ridgecrest, CA. Anthony is a few years younger than I am, but he's still a lot of fun to be around and we always found some kind of crazy shenanigans to get into. One of my favorite memories of hanging around with "Antone" was a weird, crazy game we somehow invented. It didn't even have a name, but I guess it could be called Don't Get Hit By The Ball.

We found a paddle-ball ball that had come unattached from the paddle itself (it was still attached to the elastic string, though). One of the rooms in his house was pretty tiny and we somehow discovered that, if you tied the free end of the elastic string to one of the blades of the ceiling fan in the room, the string would stretch far enough that the ball would madly ricochet off the walls.

So, of course, we tied the ball to one of the blades, turned on the fan, and did our best to not get pelted. Did I mention this was at night? And did I mention that, to heighten the inanity, we turned off all of the lights so we couldn't see where the ball was at? And did I mention we turned the fan on "HIGH"?

It was amazing.

Ricky

[caption id="attachment_1667" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Ricky, Glen, Jim, and I at an annual Placencia Christmas Eve party"][/caption]

I really got to know my younger cousin Ricky a few years ago when I was living in Indiana. We were both working for my dad and we spent a lot of time trapped in the same room, breathing paint fumes, and listening to the local Top 40 radio station. That radio station brought us closer together by birthing in each of us a hatred for the same local commercials with horrible jingles. We were both there when the Paris Hilton single debuted (I forget now what the name of the song was, but I'll never forget the house in the small town of Corunna we were in when we heard it...and immediately changed the channel).

Ricky and I both shared a passion for Seinfeld, stand-up comedy, The Godfather, and music. When you spend eight hours a day with someone painting trim, you tend to find goofy ways to pass the day, whether it was asking each other trivia questions or laughing about something goofy our cousin Glen said the night before.

My brother Ray and I made a few ridiculous home movies about a super hero named Terocus. Although Ricky is fairly introverted and quiet, it was pretty easy to get him to take part in our nonsense. I was actually kinda surprised he said he'd do it but he's a good sport and took one for the team. We had fun putting him in a goofy movie and watching him react to Ray's utter inane improvised rants and manic screams. Ricky's a good guy...and, as you can see below, also pretty good at keeping a straight face.