We walked the full 1.7 miles across the Golden Gate Bridge. It was unseasonably hot. Remnants of leave-in conditioner dripped down my forehead. Well, it wasn’t actually leave-in conditioner. It was regular conditioner but I left it in to maintain that fresh-out-the-shower look after a five-hour flight. Nothing wrong with a lil’ male vanity while pushing 50. 

Suicide prevention signs were posted on the bridge. For those still interested in jumping, a gray suicide net was there to catch ’em. Amber and I had a brief self-harm talk with the boys but got distracted as they spotted their favorite cars speeding next to us. “That’s an M4!” or “MINI! THERE’S ANOTHER MINI!” 

We caught an Uber and bus to Fisherman’s Wharf. It’s a tourist trap in need of renovation. We ate bread bowls of clam chowder and fish tacos from a food truck called The Codmother. The best part of the Wharf was the walk away from it: cable cars and classic homes. That and the boys physically pushing an exhausted Amber up the hill and back to the hotel.  

Later that night we walked to Union Square to grab food from a Middle Eastern carryout. The people were…eclectic? Young partiers, addicts, mentally ill but happy, mentally ill and angry, and rich techies splurging in upscale restaurants. 

A stooped White man with a red bruise on his crown asked me for food. “Sorry” was all I gave. I would have bought him a sandwich but the environment had me on edge and ready to go into kick-bite-punch mode. The kids were upset that I didn’t give the man food. “Dada, just buy him something.” We briefly looked for him after our order was ready. No luck. I told them we’d probably see him tomorrow and I’d buy him a meal. I knew that wasn’t likely. 

The next day we walked another 20,000 steps across the city. (Thanks for the analytics, Fitbit.) From Nob Hill to Chinatown to Union Square to Mission District. Ca$$iu$, our middle child, among many observations, cupped my ear and whispered, “Why are there so many gay people…and lesbians, too?” I’m sure there’s a historical answer to the question, but I was trying to enjoy the views. “I think people like to live where they feel comfortable and where they can be free.”

I enjoyed the Mission District the most. As far as places with endless stretches of shops, bars, and restaurants, Valencia Street in the Mission is right up there with Magazine Street in New Orleans and Old Town Bilbao in Spain. I’d like to spend a few months each year in any of those cities once I get the kids off the payroll, preferably at 12:01 a.m. on their 18th birthdays. 

From the Mission District, the five of us took the bus to Ocean Beach. Well, first we took the wrong bus and had to get off, but we arrived at the beach about an hour later. I’m not a huge beach guy thanks to a sun allergy, but what makes Ocean Beach unique is that it runs parallel to the Great Highway. A highway that’s closed to vehicles and functions as a big ol’ boardwalk.

Following Ocean Beach, we took the BART to Berkeley. A plump Latino teen boarded and announced himself before playing the accordion as part of a one-man Norteño band. He held a hat for tips and we gave him five dollars. His performance, and my boys bodyrolling while holding the subway grab rail, made for an entertaining 40-minute trip. 

We stepped off the train and headed straight to the University of California, Berkeley for a self-guided tour. UC Berkeley’s one of the nicest campuses I’ve visited. But one thing bothered me about the campus and the San Fran overall: They’re hardcore about who can use “public” bathrooms. You must buy something from a store with a bathroom or have an ID card that scans you into a campus building. And even if you buy something from a store they might say their bathrooms don’t work. We saw a homeless guy whip his dong out mid-afternoon to pee in public. No shame. I get it! 

After dinner in Berkeley, and about 10 hours of roaming through the Bay, we got back to our hotel in Nob Hill around 11pm. Amber gave in and let the boys watch South Park for the first time. It was a good distraction while she and I went to Top of the Mark, our hotel’s rooftop bar. I still got some YN in me, so the crowd was too old for my preference. We left and walked down California Street to find a cocktail bar. Two drinks later (at $18 each!) we caught a Waymo back to the hotel and called it a night. 

Our brief stay in San Francisco ended early that Sunday afternoon. We took an Uber to the airport and rented a car for the one-hour drive down Highway 1 to Santa Cruz, where we spent the next two nights. 

In Santa Cruz we stayed at an Airbnb just up the cliff from College Girl Thong Beach. That’s not its official name but it’s descriptive. We also went to Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. Jordan Peele’s “Us” was filmed there, and I’m sure it set a record for most Negros ever assembled in Santa Cruz at one time. Counting myself, my kids, and one brotha who didn’t even nod his head when we made eye contact, I only saw 3.5 of us there over two days.

We didn’t do much else in Santa Cruz besides go to the beach and walk around downtown. We mostly cooked and laughed at the boys, or yelled when they fought. They’re older now and doing their own thing with friends and school activities. It was nice to see the three of them hang out together uninterrupted. Ca$$iuS grabbed Nile by the shoulders and half-jokingly said, “You’re so broad. You’re so strong. You’re so masculine. You’re an inspiration!” Larke, the runt, yelled, “Stop glazing him!” 

We drove back to San Fran’s airport the following afternoon, shortly after making the obligatory stop at In-N-Out (which is like five minutes from the airport). Like every city we’ve visited, the boys are considering moving to San Francisco.

-Dewan Gibson

The post Spring Break ’26: 20,000 Steps A Day In San Francisco appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

I envisioned Rehoboth Beach as a Gatsby-ish place where people use “summer” as a verb. And there’s some of that. Just check out the five million dollar homes near the boardwalk. But Rehoboth is also laid back and inclusive. More importantly, I think it has the biggest and cleanest beach boardwalk I’ve seen. If you’re looking for a classic beach town for the fam, Rehoboth’s your spot. Here are some pictures from our trip. (Shout-out to my Pixel 9 Pro for the Night Sight picture above.)

The post Road Trippin’ To Rehoboth Beach appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

Stored within my vast noggin are terabytes of information, far too much of it useless due to constant scrolling and clicking and texting and algorithms. Now, after a hard reset, my brain is recovering and being selectively refilled. Here’s how I’m getting my powers back.

I’m reading actual hard copy books. A bit of background: My love for reading developed early. In elementary school, I read a bunch of books and earned free pizza through Pizza Hut’s Book It program. As a teen, I worked at Waldenbooks and learned that sex scenes in romance novels were even better than what I could find on Skinemax.

As a young adult, smartphones became a thing. The constant dopamine rush pushed me away from novels, though I did manage to write a book that became a hit in Mansfield Correctional Institution after Uncle Boo (RIP❤︎) shared it with the homies on lockdown.

I’m now grinding through at least one book per month. The benefits: delayed gratification and increased mental perseverance, and of course, learning new words that make a ni@@a feel intelligent. Want some recommendations? My recent favorites: Gravel Heart, The Night Guest, Entitlement, Heads of the Colored People, Vantage Point, What Kind of Paradise, The Awkward Black Man, Harlem Rhapsody, and The Winner.

I’m also resetting my brain through exercise. The trick is to go raw when exercising. Not “raw” in the way that led me to have three kids, but “raw” as in walking, running, and lifting weights without a phone and earbuds.

This allows my mind to go on random deep-dives. While these thoughts are sometimes violent or otherwise socially unacceptable, it’s better than listening to yet another personal finance podcast or worse, murder rap. (No offense, 21 Savage. I’m still a fan.)

Lastly, I’ve been microdosing a miracle drug called marijuana, which is surprisingly legal in Ohio (it’s the only thing Dems and MAGA agree on). I don’t get stoned—usually—but a five milligram edible helps me destress and get into a “none of this really matters because agentic artificial intelligence is taking over life as we know it” mindset.

Speaking of legal substances, I’m drinking less alcohol. I still feel alcohol has social benefits for a shy guy like me, but it’s a brain drainer. High ABV Belgian tripels go great with Netflix, and I was downing one per night and/or sipping various wines from Trader Joe’s. These days I abstain a couple-few nights and wake up clear-minded with a lil’ more brain matter intact.

Next up? Maintaining set hours of when I can use my cell phone. Want to reach me during off hours…best come a’knockin’ or send a telegram. Come to think of it, in-person conversations with friends is also good for the brain.

-Dewan Gibson

The post Books, Exercise, & Edibles: The Big Brain Reset appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

We caught a Sunday evening direct flight with Southwest from Columbus to Vegas. It was like $250 per seat and nearly empty. We could have had our own rows, but Amber and I did skin-to-skin contact with the kids at birth and they still like to be near us.

Our flight was delayed two hours. Nothing was wrong; Southwest wanted to wait for a VIP employee who was arriving late and needed to get to Vegas. At least they were honest. We got to Vegas around midnight and walked the quiet Strip. All good. We were tired and it was still 100 degrees. We ate Shake Shack and called it a night.

We stayed at the Park MGM on The Strip. Two rooms (unfortunately not adjoined but on the same floor) for three nights ran us $750. Well, $600 because I opened a credit card with Wells Fargo and had a $150 Expedia credit after spending $1,000. Of course this was before those damn resort fees, which were $50 per night, per room.

MGM gave us $150 in dining credits, which we used to buy rich ni^^@ food, like a lil’ seafood salad for $30. The rooms were nice but not as nice as the casino itself. Still, it’s the only non-smoking casino hotel on The Strip and it was cool to return home cancer-free.

We spent Monday afternoon at one of Park MGM’s three pools. It’s a family atmosphere. You can order liquor and be served by thong-wearing waitresses (not pictured, fellas).

We saw Cirque du Soleil Mystère later that night. I didn’t fully understand the story, but outside of Teen Wolf the performers are some of the greatest athletes I’ve ever seen. Tickets are half off most nights because the economy isn’t as good as your president (not mine!) says.

After the show, we walked around the Venetian and threw down at In-N-Out Burger. I’m biased as a former Californian, but it’s the best $5 burger on Earf.

We gambled for a bit when we got back to Park MGM. I lost $10 in 13 seconds and security told the kids to step off the gaming floor.

After a big back breakfast at Blueberry Hill, we spent almost all of Tuesday at NBA Summer League, watching five games. I highly recommend. You won’t know most of the players unless you’re a hardcore basketball fan, but man, those young boys were playing hard and fighting for jobs.

Amber was a trooper. She stayed the entire time and held spots in the autograph lines. The kids also met Shai Gilgeous Alexander’s dad, Vaughn Alexander. Cassius (my middle kid) reminded me that “SGA was in his (Vaughn’s) balls!!!”

We spent the rest of our last night in Vegas walking The Strip. The Bellagio’s Conservatory & Botanical Gardens were interesting. That’s some serious topiary. Just check out the sexy zebra.

After three nights, our trip was over. I usually try to avoid more than two nights in Vegas, but I wanted the kids to have a memorable experience. Nah, I’m lying. It was cheap. Might as well stay an extra night.

-Dewan Gibson

The post Not So Wild Weekdays In Las Vegas (But Still Fun!) appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

We arrived at 473 Grenada Boutique Resort. The owner’s daughter led us to our villa. It was our 10th wedding anniversary and we were upgraded to the baller suite. Not on account of our celebration of swirl love…a pipe had burst in our reserved unit. They moved us into the nicest hotel/resort/Airbnb room we’ve ever stayed in.

After dinner at the resort, we hit a couple of bars. When I think of a night out in the Caribbean, I picture glistening bodies dry humping on a packed dance floor. But, as forewarned by Carl (and the internet), Grenada’s not a party place.

I mean, there were college girls dancing on top of a table at West Indies Brewing Company, but there was also a baby hanging out on Dad’s shoulder. We did our 40 and over two-step to a few songs and then went next door to Junction.

Junction was more of our speed. We watched a dancehall band and ate chicken wings. Amber was finishing up a white rum when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was our other driver, Weno, a friendly guy who had shown us his house and the BMW he uses for luxury pickups. But it was almost 1 a.m. (bar closing time) and he was ready to peace out. Time to go!

We spent our entire Sunday on and around Grand Anes beach. White sand, no litter, and surprisingly not very crowded for an 80 degree day. Thanks to a sun allergy, I hid under sea grape trees while Amber had that donk donking in the ocean. I did get in the water for a quick dip, but that was to show off my lush chest mane, which had yet to be revealed in the Caribbean.

It rained for about an hour and we found shelter at Grand Anse Craft and Spice Market. We ate lambi (fried sea snails) and drank with locals and their chickens. It got dark around 5:30. We grabbed groceries from IGA and caught a ride back to 473.

We’ve traveled a fair amount, but I don’t think we’ve ever done an actual tour. We explore by getting in 20,000 steps a day and/or landing wherever public transit or a rental car takes us. But as mentioned, driving in Grenada takes some getting used to. They drive on the left side and I wasn’t about to learn in four days.

So we booked a full-day group tour across the island with Henry Safari. We swam under Concord Falls, bought a grip of candy bars at Diamond Chocolate Factory, sampled 75% ABV rum at River Antoine Rum Distillery, got a history lesson of the island from my distant uncle/tour leader Michael, ate barracuda near the ocean, and saw mona monkeys in Grand Etang National Park.

We were exhausted after the tour and returned to the resort for Netflix and wine. Like most 40-somethings, we talked about going out the next day but ended up lounging at 473 until it was time to catch our flight. And once I got on that flight…knocked out.

It’s not often that we visit the same place twice, but we’re going back to far too underrated Grenada with the kids. It’s safe (strict gun laws), colorful, its people are welcoming, the weather’s perfect, and from what I’ve seen, tied with San Sebastian for best beaches in the world. You might wanna check it out.

-Dewan Gibson

The post Ten Years of Marriage, And Three Nights In Grenada! appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

The 10-hour drive to Savannah was relatively easy, thanks to an overnight stop in Charlotte, North Carolina. The only hiccup was multiple accidents on I-77, which forced us to take Route 321 through rural South Carolina. 

Man…small town poverty in the Deep South is something else. Rural South Carolina towns off 321, oddly named after Scandinavian countries (Denmark, Sweden, and Norway), were in ruins. Outside of a Chinese restaurant or liquor store here and there, there was little sign of life.

Anyhow, poverty pics are not my thing. So here are a couple pictures of nicer things we saw: a colorful Mustang whose wheels may or may not be able to turn and a Piggly Wiggly offering a soul food special. 

Tacos don’t come to mind when you think of Savannah, but Tacos +Tequila was our first stop after checking in to our Airbnb. No worries about authenticity. Brown folks made ’em and the tacos were similar to what I’ve had in Baja California.

From there, we walked around the historic district. Our two youngest kids weaved through crowds, pausing only when I told them to “stop acting like crackheads!” Of course they continued until the cold got the best of them. (It was in the mid-30s at night.)

Not before we took a stroll down River Street. The views were cool and we found hidden tunnels where you could hang out with ghosts.

We began the next day with a 4.5 mile drive and hike through Savannah National Wildlife Refuge. If you’re into bird watching, this is your spot. We also saw alligators. Feeling brave? There aren’t many barriers in the park. You can pet a gator and see if it’s up for a selfie.

Next, we drove to Forsyth Park. As you can see in the picture taken near the fountain, the runt of my litter was suffering from Fortnite withdrawals. He cheered up when he got to the playground. There was also a stage where he and his bros had the chance to “emote.” (Fortnite terminology, don’t even bother.)

We also checked out nearby mansions and Jones Street, widely known as “the prettiest street in Savannah.” I don’t know about all that, but I liked the house representing our hometown Buckeyes.

After our walk, we were lured into a tourist trap seafood spot. I won’t name the restaurant because I’m hoping to be more selective with my hate in 2025. Just know that it’s on Broughton Street and their clam chowder ain’t have no clam in it.

After the seafood disappointment, I wanted a guaranteed good dinner. So I bought a big ass ribeye from Whole Foods. The doorbell rang as I was cooking. I thought maybe our Airbnb host double-booked or it was an attempted home invasion. (The latter thought comes from watching too much true crime.)

The person at the door said, “DoorDash for Amber Gibson!” I looked at Amber like, “We don’t even use DoorDash.” She confirmed that she ordered, so I opened the door.

It was my best friend and his husband. They had driven up from Miami and conspired with Amber to surprise me. Gotta keep my eye on those three.

Nothing like a rainy walk through a cemetery to catch up with old friends and show the kids a good time. The following afternoon, we did a self-guided tour of Bonaventure Cemetery, made famous by the book and film “Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evil.” There were thousands of centuries-old graves, many with elaborate headstones.

After the cemetery, we had lunch at Simple Soul of Savannah. It’s a new black-owned restaurant, not too far from Forsyth Park. Their collard greens put mine to shame, and theirs didn’t even have bacon in ’em. The baked chicken was all juicy and falling off the bone. I tore it up. Amber got a thick bowl of shrimp and grits. The kids got fried chicken. “Dada, this tastes better than Chick-fil-A.”

We spent the rest of our last full day in Savannah at Tybee Island. It was only like 55 degrees, unfortunately not thong weather, but at least we had the beach to ourselves. The kids didn’t mind either way and ran around like it was summer.

Tybee’s beach isn’t as stunning as San Sebastian’s, for example, but it was really clean and reminded me of Pacific Beach in San Diego. It’s a good beach vacation spot if you want to skip the crowds at nearby Hilton Head.

We packed up the next morning with tentative plans to stop in Charlotte for the night. The Charlotte Hampton Inn we stayed in on the way down was newish and within walking distance of a sushi restaurant and Trader Joe’s. These are the finer things in life for just $113 a night.

But there were severe storms and tornado warnings throughout the region. Visibility was poor, so I did what any good dad would do after being inspired by “Twisters.” I drove 10 hours through the storm and made it home before midnight.

-Dewan Gibson

The post Christmas Trip 2025: Three Nights In Savannah, Georgia appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

After getting just 22 miles per gallon in my gas guzzling SUV, I wanted to go electric. I considered buying any EV not named Tesla. (Tesla’s build quality is rickety and I get the feeling Elon wants to build a whites-only space colony.) New EVs were way out my $30,000 price range. Fortunately, they depreciate quickly. 

I settled on a certified 2022 Polestar 2. It originally sold for $63,000. Two years and 19,000 miles later it was $28,000. 

Like yours truly, the Polestar is fast, powerful, and sexy. It goes 0 to 60 miles per hour in 4.5 seconds. The interior features a big ol’ panoramic roof and Google infotainment system. And it gets 250 miles on a full charge. 

My wife and I flew to Atlanta to pick up the Polestar. The dealership had offered to ship it for $1,000. Nope. Figured I’d save money and use the 600-mile road trip to learn more about my new whip. 

The drive home was simple. (Outside of my yelling when Amber hit a pothole. “AMBER!”) Google told me in advance when I needed to stop for a charge. If I was being hard-headed, it reminded me again. And Polestar’s pilot assist did some of the driving for us.

(Here we are during an overnight pit stop in Lexington, Kentucky. We met Abe Lincoln and ate collard greens and catfish for breakfast.)

One issue during the road trip: fast charging stations price gouge. It’s similar to what gas stations do after natural disasters, except there was nothing unusual going on. I was just trying to get home. Rates at ChargePoint and EVgo were like seven times higher than my home rate. Many of their charging stations were near Walmart. That was interesting. Plug the car in and wander around Walmart for 20 minutes and experience Real America, you damn “EV-driving supporter of Commie Harris and Tampon Tim Walz!”

I’ve owned the Polestar for over a month and have a Level 2 charger installed in my garage. A full charge takes six hours overnight, which I do once every 4 to 6 days. My electric bill was $18 higher this month; $18 gets me a quarter tank of gas in the ol’ SUV. The cost for the charging unit and install was $1,000. That’s not cheap, but the math’s bad if you own an EV without being able to charge at home.

I won’t go back to a gas vehicle. Driving my Polestar like a maniac is one of the biggest dopamine hits I get each day. Right up there with drinking a Victory Golden Monkey while watching Instagram reels forwarded from underemployed friends.

And I definitely won’t lease again. This week I got a bill from Mazda. I owe a $350 disposition fee. They charged me just to return the vehicle.

-Dewan Gibson

The post Go Electric: One Month With My New-To-Me Polestar appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

My wife didn’t think the kids were ready for a 15-hour flight. I was like, “Really? They spend 15 hours watching YouTube Shorts! Give ’em some melatonin and internet and they’re good.”

But I didn’t want to break my decade-long streak of winning marital arguments, so Japan was shelved. In its place for summer 2024? Seattle, Washington. The birthplace of the great Sir Mix-A-Lot and a whole lot more.

We stayed at an Airbnb in Ballard. It’s a well-to-do neighborhood maybe 15 minutes from downtown Seattle. I wanted a place in the city, but I was wary due to reports of mass homelessness and addiction. I didn’t see it as a safety issue—I’ve been lifting weights and wishing a ninja would—but we’ve been around urban blight. I know my high-decibel middle child will pass someone and shout, “DADA! IS HE HIGH?!?”

Still, downtown was not as bad as media led me to believe. The Supreme Court has been on a erosion of freedoms kick and recently criminalized homelessness. Maybe there was a dystopian sweep in time for peak summer tourism?

We walked over 20,000 steps through and around downtown. Pike Place Market, Olympic Sculpture Park, Queen Anne, an overpriced taco shop (Seattle is crazy expensive), and the largest, most elaborate coffee shop I’ve seen: Starbucks Reserve Roastery.

Oh yeah…speaking of addiction, recreational marijuana is legal and dog-friendly in Washington state. I visited a dispensary to conduct research for the well-respected news site you’re reading.

We spent the following afternoon at a Seattle Mariners game. It’s one of baseball’s nicer stadiums, with a retractable roof and concession stand value menu. So no need to put to put a bag of popcorn on layaway. The Mariners lost and only got like five hits, but we did get a picture next to the Ken Griffey Jr. statue while being condemned to hell.

We went to Alki Beach after the game. It had a boardwalk and shops and looked similar to what you’d find in Southern California. Except it was cold and there were no thong-wearing Brazilian transplants. The weather didn’t stop the kids from purposely getting soaked by sneaker waves.

After more tacos, we grabbed poke and clam chowder at Seattle Fish Company in West Seattle. I actually wasn’t sure about buying anything, but the owner, after seeing my oldest in his Cleveland Guardians gear, gave the kids free baseballs. Can’t go wrong with kindness!

We spent most of the next day driving along the Chinook Scenic Byway towards Mount Rainier. I had my first “wow moment” of the trip. According to the smart folks on The Happiness Lab podcast, a wow moment is an awe-inducing experience that gives you goosebumps. You may have felt this way when you called off work and to watch all 33 chapters of R. Kelly’s “Trapped In The Closet.” Anyway, if near Mount Rainier, be sure to not awe your ass off a cliff. The roads are curvy.

On our fourth and final full day in Seattle, we got dizzy touring the Space Needle. The elevator takes you up 600 feet. Then you walk around a capsule that’s slowly moving. Then you see the food and drink prices and hurry down before the kids ask for something.

We spent the next two nights in Blaine, Washington. It’s steps away from Canadian border and just 30 miles from Vancouver, British Columbia. Vancouver was our original post-Seattle weekend destination, but they’ve banned Airbnb. Sharing a hotel room with kids is not conducive for doing grown folk thangs. We cut the Vancouver trip to one night.

I would have never guessed my 45th birthday would be spent in Blaine, Washington, but I enjoyed it. We stole berries from birds, drank beer, ate sushi from a startup restaurant inside a gas station, went sightseeing at the local Dank of America, hiked, completed a rock throwing competition, climb bent trees, and managed to grab Indian food just before the city shut down at 9 p.m.

We only had 24 hours in the last stop of our week-long trip, Vancouver. One of those hours was spent in search of parking. Vancouver’s a busy city, even on a Sunday afternoon. Lesson learned: Just pay the damn $50 for hotel parking.

Once settled, we ate at a barbecue joint in Chinatown. The food tasted great, but it activated a demon in my gut. Amber and the kids were fine, but I had to go into clenched cheeks mode towards the end of the mile walk back to the hotel. I’m only sharing this to remind others with faulty digestive systems to stake out public bathrooms and prep accordingly when traveling. Don’t be ashamed. You’re not alone.

The highlight of our short stay in Vancouver was the six-mile bike ride in Stanley Park. It’s a huge ocean-side park with playgrounds and beaches. Of course the water’s only 50 degrees, but that’s never stopped the Gibson boys.

Our night ended with Arabic food, and for me, an urgent pit stop in Safeway for Pepto and the lavatory.

We drove back to Seattle the next day for out flight home. I’ve accumulated enough miles for another trip to Seattle. Or maybe we’ll earn more and finally make it to Japan?

-Dewan Gibson

The post Summer In Seattle: Exploring (A Small Part Of) The Pacific Northwest With The Fam appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

-Dewan Gibson

The post Gone Fishin’ (For The First Time Ever) In Ensenada appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

-Dewan Gibson

The post Spring Break With the Family In New York City! appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

Scheduling the colonoscopy was simple enough. I called the doctor’s office and answered a series of questions. The rep was focused on why I wanted the visit. I was thinking, “Well, it’s winter and there’s not much to do anyway. Your gastro center is new and just down the street. The screening could save my life. And it’s free.” So yes, with all due respect, I’m asking you to take a look at my ass.

It turned out she was asking for insurance purposes. If it’s a preventive colonoscopy, you can just show up to the office cheeks out and insurance will cover the visit 100%. If it’s diagnostic, meaning you’re having issues like blood in your stool, you need a referral from your primary care provider and there could be costs. 

The gastro office sent the prep prescription to my pharmacist and mailed instructions to my home. Day before the screening: Clear liquid diet all day. Two Dulcolax laxatives at 5 p.m. Drink eight ounces of “bowel formula” (potassium chloride) every 15 minutes until you’ve finished two liters. Set up a cot next to the toilet cause you ain’t going nowhere else the rest of the night. Day of the screening: Finish the jug of bowel formula. You will go to the bathroom at least 15 times in two hours, continuously spraying highlighter-yellow electrolytes into the toilet. Enjoy! 

As much as I’m pro-colonoscopy, prep was miserable. I probably made it worse by eating too much beforehand. You never know what could go wrong during a procedure, so I figured I’d go all in for what could have been my last meal. I ate drumsticks (of both the chicken and ice cream variety), an arugula and cabbage salad topped with smoked salmon, steak and mushrooms, and drank a beer. I was stuffed. Until I wasn’t. 

Whatever. I fought through massive outflows and mentally locked in for my colonoscopy. I was supposed to arrive at the doctor’s office an hour before the screening. Unfortunately, I spent so much time on the toilet that I was running out of time to take a shower. Forget that. Imagine being under anesthesia and the doctor’s like, “Yo! This ni&&a’s funky!” Like I said, the clinic was down the street. The doctor could be my neighbor. I jumped in the tub. 

My wife drove me to the clinic, and man, the office was efficient. I was checked in and wearing a hospital gown within 15 minutes. Of course I had to leave the back of the gown open.

Doc explained the procedure. A thin tube affixed with a camera would provide a livestream of my asshole, to be shown on the monitor next to my bed. Polyps or any items I accidentally left up there as a child would be removed. 

I was drugged with fentanyl and versed via IV. Doc mentioned, with enthusiasm, that some patients manage to stay awake and watch their anus on TV. That’s too freaky for me, so I drifted off to sleep. I woke up what felt like hours later, though I was actually only down for about 30 minutes. 

I’ve been on a high fiber diet for years and can boo-boo with the best of them, so I wasn’t too worried about the results. Still, you never know until you’re screened. Colon cancer incidences are increasing in people under 50, especially black folk. But if you catch it early the survival rate is 90 percent. 

Doc said everything was good. No polyps or signs of cancer, though I did have a small hemorrhoid. I’m not sure why he didn’t remove it. Maybe he thought it was cute? He left me with a few printed pictures of my digestive system. I gifted these to my kids. “Look at Dad’s butthole!” they screamed. 

I’ll let you know how my next colonoscopy goes, in 2034.   

-Dewan Gibson

The post Fun At 45! My First Colonoscopy appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

Amber and I got to Hartford at 1 a.m., three hours later than planned. We lost an hour waiting on wheelchair assistance for an elderly couple. Once we boarded, we had to deplane due to an issue with a door sensor. Breeze’s “contract mechanic” was off for the night. I don’t know the details, but I imagined a guy laid up watching Sportscenter, ass crack showing above his sagging pajama pants, answering his phone after three call attempts, like, “Yeah, aiight. Be there when I get there.” 

Hartford might not be the best place for late night food. We found one spot open: the Triple-A Diner. The menu had like 200 options. From lobster and steak to omelets. We split a double burger and salad and called it a night. 

We got five hours of sleep at the Hampton Inn. I still had enough energy to make the five-hour drive from Hartford to our final destination, Montreal. I suspect it’s because the night prior I went without a Victory Golden Monkey, or red wine, or Grand Marnier, or Harlequin.

That’s rare these days. I wish I could say that I picked up a drinking habit during the worst days of the pandemic. It actually started when television streaming really took off like 10 years ago. The two go hand-in-hand. I talked to my doctor and he said I’m fine. But I’m also in an obsessive middle-age health optimization phase. Antioxidants. Nose breathing. Superfoods. Fasting. Going sober would allow for better sleep and better brain health. I might also get my abs back.

I’m down to one beer most nights (albeit the aforementioned Golden Monkey with 9.5% ABV). And maybe I have a small glass of wine after the beer. On weekends, or a day that sort of feels like a weekend, I’ll have a five milligram edible to help with sleep. But I exercise every day and eat colorful foods. That’s an interesting compromise: work out and eat well so I can mistreat my body with substances.

After three hours of driving, we stopped in Burlington, Vermont. We bought a bunch of food from Trader Joe’s and saw a rainbow from the highway. It seemed to be a pleasant city/college town and I was glad to integrate it. We fit right in with our rented Subaru Outback, though I also should have worn my Birkenstocks.

A couple of hours later, we were in Montreal. We checked into our Airbnb. It had an outdoor shower and a painting of a red woman with a big ol’ donk. The unit was in Le Plateau, the hippest of hip neighborhoods. It’s walkable with more restaurants and bars than you could visit in a year. There’s plenty of street art and local shops. Best of all, you don’t have to give much thought to getting shot. No matter how tough Drake tries to sound these days, Montreal and Canada as a whole do not adhere to the United States’ worship of guns and violent conflict resolution.

We got the party started in Montreal the right way! By buying Nizoral 2% ketoconazole shampoo. It’s prescription only in the U.S. but available over the counter in Canada. Apparently it slows down hair loss, which reduces the number of times my kids yell “Look at Dada’s v-cut!”

I asked for the shampoo in stammered French. “Avez-vous…niz…ketocoza..?” The pharmacist scowled, cut me off, and began speaking in English.

From there, we ate at a ramen spot and picked up magic figs from the guv’ment’s marijuana spot: Société Québécoise du Cannabis (SQDC). We wandered and found a speakeasy, Big In Japan, where we nursed fancy cocktails that were inexpensive thanks to the strong U.S. dollar. The bartender suggested a nightclub, but munchies hit and we returned to our Airbnb. We smashed a bloody flank steak, a whole bag of chips, and two chocolate bars. Gluttony. Lovely gluttony. 

We did a good amount of touristy stuff during our 2018 family trip to Montreal, but it’s a large city and you miss a lot when lugging kids around. So this time Amber and I explored more on foot. Walking 10-plus miles on a rainy afternoon through the Port of Montreal, Old Montreal, and neighborhoods nearby. Afterwards, we gave in to achy calves and caught an Uber back to Le Plateau, where we split a Lebanese meal at Omnivore.

After a nap, we hit the streets and stumbled upon Candi Bar. It’s a nightclub/bar where they serve weak drinks at high prices and charge $4 for a mandatory coat check. The music’s cool and the crowd is young. I felt out of place wearing my new Banana Republic sweater, looking all business casual like I wanted to discuss the Federal Reserve’s recent interest rate hikes.

By 10 p.m., the weather was getting worse. Rain and wind and not too many people willing to brave it for a night out. We left Candi Bar and had a drink and popcorn at a more mature bar called Urbanista. We then stopped next door at Le Majestique. It’s a late night restaurant that’s famous for its seafood. We shared oysters. Thanks to a crusted-over squeeze bottle, I splashed hot sauce all over the sweater that was to be my featured piece of winter clothing from 2023 to 2025. It also got in my eye. I saw that as a sign to take my old ass home. We ordered a burger and poutine to-go from Patati Patata and caught an Uber back to the apartment.

We left Montreal first thing Sunday morning. The border line into Vermont was short, and unlike our entry into Canada we were not asked rapid fire questions about guns and drugs and what we plan to do. (Amber to the border agent: “Eat.”)

A few hours later we were back in Hartford. Our flight with Breeze Airways arrived and got us back to Ohio in time. Not bad for $100. Our next going-just-because-it’s-on-sale trip? Maybe a flight to Tampa, Florida followed by a drive/swim to Havana, Cuba.

-Dewan Gibson

The post What’s There To Do In Hartford, Connecticut? Drive Five Hours To (Le Plateau) Montreal appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

Our first stop in Basque Country was Bilbao. We stayed in an Airbnb in Old Town (Casco Viejo) that was right next to a courtyard where the boys could disturb the peace and behave like they ain’t got no home training. We ate pinxtos—lil’ meat and bread finger foods—like locals and drank cheap Rioja wine. The tiny restaurants were kid-friendly. You go in, grab food and drink, and hop to the next bar to set a bad example for your offspring.

During our time in Bilbao, we walked more than 10 miles each day. It’s not that their public transportation isn’t efficient (it is), or that I want the kids to have strong, muscular calves like their mom; it’s that the best way to explore a city is by foot.

We walked across Zubizuri bridge, took a 30-minute metro ride/20 minute walk to Playa de Plentzia, took a cable car to Mount Artxanda, and so on. We also checked out the world-famous Guggenheim Bilbao Museum.

The kids weren’t initially too excited about going to a museum. (“Is it just one of those places where they have pictures in frames?”) But they had a good ol’ time. It’s spacious with large sculptures that you can climb. Well, at least no one told us not to. And there’s a large playground outside. Speaking of…Bilbao has playgrounds galore. They’re everywhere and strategically located near cantinas where you can have a drink while watching your kids.

After five days in Bilbao, we rented a diesel wagon and drove to San Sebastian. It’s a fancy seaside community that reminds me of La Jolla, California, but with more people wearing thongs and Speedos.

By “fancy” I don’t mean expensive. San Sebastian’s more costly than Bilbao, but a glass of beer and wine at a pintxos bar is still only $2 to $3. (Bar recommendation: The “secret bar” hidden near the top of Monte Urgull.)

The city is also known for its Michelin-starred restaurants. Apparently, it has the most per capita of any city in Europe. My kids are too ill-behaved for restaurants, let alone fancy restaurants, so we ate the aforementioned pintxos and cooked in our Airbnb. We also went into typical American mode and ate at McDonald’s. But guess what? A salad and beer is included with a value meal.

Three of our four days in San Sebastian were spent on the beach. Amber and the kids jumped waves. I have a sun allergy, so I sat with a towel draped over my head and monitored the scene to make sure no one harassed topless sunbathers.

It rained off and on during our final day in San Sebastian. We took the funicular up Monte Igeldo to visit what’s referred to as a “vintage” amusement park. The lone roller coaster does not have seat belts. It’s deceptively scary. And fun. We thought it was a baby ride, but it has a couple hills and you’re close enough to the cliff to feel like you might fall off. If visiting, be sure to check if your health insurance offers international coverage.

After San Sebastian, we were on our way to Bordeaux, France. Bordeaux’s not part of Basque Country, but you have to drive through French Basque Country to get there. The drive took about three hours…and $7.65 for a gallon of gas! We made a short-turned-long stop at Dune du Pilat, the largest sand dune in Europe. It’s about 350 feet high and almost two miles long. I run three times a week. I go on long walks nearly every day to make sure the giant crackhead down the street isn’t tearing up the neighborhood. The hike up Dune du Pilat still tore my calves up. But once you’re up, there’s ocean on the other side.

Bordeaux was an interesting intro to France. As we walked along the quai and through Chartrons, I was surprised to learn that it’s #TeamSwirl certified. We saw a bunch of mixed race couples. Black folks, too. Much different from Northern Spain, where I saw few black folks in Bilbao or San Sebastian just out enjoying themselves. Most were street vendors selling soccer jerseys. And I got a number of odd stares from older Spanish men. Even Amber noticed. The stares didn’t feel threatening. I’d say curiosity with an edge, like, “What’s this Negro doing up in here with this white woman?”

Anyhow, in addition to Bordeaux’s wine, a highlight of our two-night visit was our Airbnb. At first I thought we got scammed. The outside of the building looked like an old bomb shelter. Stairs leading to the unit were filled with cracked tiles. It reminded me of Cuba. But the inside of the unit was modern, minimalist, and Ikea-ized. It even had an enclosed dining room with an open rooftop.

After Bordeaux, we drove back to Bilbao and caught a flight to Dublin, Ireland. The following morning we were on our way back to Ohio. The kids held up surprisingly well throughout the trip. At home, a typical day out of school goes like this: watch YouTube, eat cereal, fight, play with friends, fight, eat more cereal, play Xbox, and fight one more time before bed. And they did much of the same during our trip to Basque Country. But they also developed a love for travel and a curiosity of how others live.

I’ve asked the kids to choose the location for our next big trip. They’re deciding between Japan and Rwanda. Now I just gotta finish paying off this trip.

-Dewan Gibson

The post Two Weeks In Basque Country (And Bordeaux) With Our Mostly Likable Kids appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

After way too many trips on Spirit and Frontier Airlines, it was nice to fly with a carrier that offers a full meal, media consoles on each seat, and a free carry-on. I thought the boys would get restless on the seven hour red-eye flight, but they barely slept, let alone complain.

Amber played Sudoku and sat between the wild child and our calm eldest. I was across the aisle sitting next to our runt. I had a bunch of movies downloaded and two books to read: “Men in My Situation” by Per Peterson and “The Awkward Black Man” by Walter Mosley. I read parts of each, but zoned out after drinking a vodka tonic. Then came a mental tangent about how the kids think I have super strength and athletic ability. They’re like, “Dada, can you try out for the NBA this year!” I’m 44 and weigh 152 pounds. I have to work on lowering their expectations of me.

After landing in Dublin, we checked into Herbert Park Hotel. It’s across from the U.S. embassy and has a stately feel. Well, more so the lobby and restaurant than the room, which was a lil’ musty even before my tweens put their stank in it. Still, the hotel was fine for a short stay and I appreciate the attendant bending the rules to let all five of us stay in one room.

Despite being sleepless for nearly 24 hours, we went straight to Howth, a seaside village 40 minutes east of Dublin via the metro. We ate at a seafood joint called Octopussy (“gigity!”) and hiked to Howth Head Peak, with Amber bribing the kids (and maybe herself?) with a reward of donuts for making it to the top.

After hours in Howth, we wandered O’Connell Street in central Dublin. By 9 p.m., known as 21:00 in Ireland and most of the world, were exhausted and in bed. I was intent on waking everyone up early the next morning so we could explore Dublin by foot. The most effective way to do this with kids who weren’t keen on walking 12-plus miles in a day is to repeatedly say your destination is “15 minutes away,” without letting them know that you have many destinations in mind. We explored Dublin Castle, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Grafton Street, and Ballsbridge.

The next morning, off to Basque Country!

-Dewan Gibson

The post A Really, Really Short Family Trip to Dublin, Ireland appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

-Dewan Gibson

The post Swan Lake: The Ballet Was Lit! appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

-Dewan Gibson

The post A (Partial) Family Trip To Watch The Cleveland Cavaliers Stomp The New York Knicks appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

Fortunately, mild temperatures returned and we squeezed in a New Year’s Eve trip with the kids to Asheville, North Carolina. This after five years of repeatedly saying, “We gotta check out Asheville!”

My surface-level impressions after just three nights in the area: 1) For a city that ain’t really that big, there are a lot of breweries and drinking holes. And they’re unpretentious. Bring your dog! Bring your kids! Dressed like you’re in a Patagonia ad? Even better! 2) Locals seem welcoming, and there’s no anti-tourist vibe that you feel in other cities that have blown up in popularity. 3) It’s the ultimate city if you enjoy living in nature, yet also appreciate modern necessities like tacos with kimchi. 4) Asheville is sorely missing recreational marijuana.

We went on a muddy 90-minute hike in Moore Cove Falls Trail, about 20 minutes outside of Asheville. We took a picture near a waterfall (Looking Glass Falls) that generated a lot of Instagram likes. If our social media popularity continues to increase we may get a TV commercial deal portraying an affable biracial family that uses environmentally-friendly household products. There was also a giant boulder that looks like a troll/Marvel Comics’ The Thing if you stare at it from a certain angle.

Our little ones aren’t the biggest beer drinkers, but we brought them to two of the more kid-friendly breweries in the Asheville area: New Belgium Brewing and Whistle Hop Brewing. There’s a big ol’ outdoor space at New Belgium. The boys played soccer with other junior drinkers and scarfed down the smallest $25 pizza (from a nearby food truck) I’ve seen. Man, you can’t beat Domino’s large one-topping for $7.99 deal.

If you stop by New Belgium Brewing, or find it at your local store, try the Honey Orange Tripel. As for Whistle Hop, they had mini-golf, an actual train car for the kids to run around in, and some other activities that we didn’t do because it was raining.

We didn’t get the full Downtown Asheville experience. Our middle child was “middle-childing” and the youngest gave up on walking and just sat down in the middle of the sidewalk. Downtown’s mostly for larger humans (bars and restaurants galore), but the kids enjoyed playing board games at Well Played Cafe and asking to buy everything they saw at the little shops.

We spent New Year’s Eve at the North Carolina Arboretum’s Winter Lights. It was “epic,” as the kids say, and featured half a million lights. Of great controversy was the mushroom below, which Amber insisted was a jellyfish…in a gnome garden?

We stayed in a bungalow in Hendersonville, about 25 minutes outside of Downtown Asheville. It was one of those rare Airbnb homes that doesn’t charge you crazy cleaning fees while also requiring that you do the cleaning. “The Sweet Retreat” was stocked with free wine, snacks, tea tree shampoo and conditioner(!), and seasoning to make sure our New Year’s seafood buffet was Negro-appropriate. We hope to abandon the kids and stay there again during our next trip to Asheville.

-Dewan Gibson

The post A Winter Trip With The Chirren To Asheville, North Carolina appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

But this year’s annual visit was different. The doctor, whom I selected because he’s Black and had an opening during my lunch break, asked a lot of questions. “Have you felt down recently? Married, right? Any sidechicks? What do you actually do at work? You mentioned that you don’t use drugs, does that include marijuana? Any concerns that we didn’t cover?” 

I told him that my hairline isn’t as strong as it once was. “Looks fine to me. That’s a normal part of aging. I’m balding and fat. Be glad you’re not both.”  

Dr. Barnes opened his laptop and reviewed my medical history. “Your blood calcium levels are high. Have you had that looked at?” Nope. I hadn’t even heard of a blood calcium level. “Really, no one mentioned having that checked out?”

Had edibles ruined my memory? Maybe. “Every doctor I’ve seen said I’m fine.” He ordered another blood calcium screening and two days later referred me to an endocrinologist. 

The specialist was perplexed. “This isn’t something that we see in someone your age and condition.” He asked if I had other medical issues throughout the years. I had a ganglion cyst removed from my hand. Also, my white blood count was dangerously low in graduate school. That was almost 20 years ago. 

He turned all Dr. House on me. “Really? Were you able to take care of that?” I laughed. “Well, the doctor told me to take an HIV test. Freaked me out. I was fine, though.” (I left out the part where the HIV testing counselor suggested I reduce the number of self-care sessions I was having with my loins. Don’t bother…it’s a long story involving a “wait till marriage” ex-girlfriend. Anyway, I don’t know if the counselor’s advice was science-based, but I followed his recommendation and my white blood count increased.) 

I left the doctor’s office with a big ol’ jug to fill with urine over the coming days–another calcium test. I was also referred to a radiologist for a bone density scan. Apparently, an overactive parathyroid gland can cause calcium to be taken from the bones, causing a reversible form of osteoporosis. But that’s not it. The doc said I’d likely need surgery to remove the defective parathyroid gland (or glands).  

The scan showed osteoporosis in my femur. My older brother called me Mr. Glass from Unbreakable. He texted me something like, “Nigga out here like Mr. Glass.” This is how Black families say “I hope everything goes well.”

I thought of Prince. He broke his lil’ hip after decades of splits and floor humping. Like many Midwestern men of middle-age, he got hooked on painkillers, which led to an overdose. I can’t afford to be an addict. Especially after paying for all these doctor visits.  

My next appointment was with a nuclear medicine nurse. I was injected with a chemical and strapped down for an MRI. I’ve heard horror stories about the coffin-like feel of a closed MRI, but I dozed off within minutes. Easily the best sleep I’ve had since accidentally becoming a father three times over. 

The cost after insurance for just this one scan? $1,484. It was worth it. They were able to pinpoint the problematic parathyroid gland that would need to be removed. 

I met my surgeon three weeks later, a shy and very kind White man who looked like his name should be Brett. He described the procedure and seemed genuinely concerned, which was kind of scary. I thought, “If I’m not worried, why are YOU worried? You’re the expert!” 

Dr. Brett explained that an incision would be made just below my throat. Risks? Accidental damage to my vocal cords, which would leave me speaking in a hushed but possibly sexy tone.  Also, if the doc was having a really bad day, a carotid artery could be severed. 

Still, I looked forward to the operation. Too many doctor visits and doctor bills. The surgery itself was $55,000, though my share would be “only” $4,400 (after a 20 percent cash discount). ‘Merica!

The operating room looked like a small factory. There were machines and bodies and body fixers. Or maybe I was in the prep room? I don’t know. A round Italian guy, the anesthesiologist, rested his hand on my thigh and assured me that he’d take good care. My brain was then paused. 

I woke up a few hours later. I looked drunk, high, and all of my 43 years. My neck and cranium felt as if they’d been in a vice. The inside of my throat was torn, likely due to a breathing tube. I wasn’t aware that I would have one inserted, but my wife told the surgeon I aspirate in my sleep, and they wanted to be cautious. The incision over my larynx was covered with dried blood and glue. We were six weeks away from Halloween and my costume was ready, as was my oxycodone prescription.  

It’s been a month since the surgery and I’m 99 percent recovered. On occasion, I feel like something’s stuck in my throat, but that may be from watching the scene in Stranger Things where Will coughs up a slug. But overall, I have more energy and have seen a general increase in swagger with just three remaining parathyroid glands. Also, you can barely even see my scar.

And yep, I’ll be back to see Dr. Barnes next year. 

-Dewan Gibson

The post Parathyroid Surgery: My Throat Got Sliced, But I Feel Great appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

-Dewan Gibson

The post A Short Family Trip To Chicago To Quiet Our Complaining Kids appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

I don’t think I’m balding. My father has a full head of hair made omnipotent by Murray’s pomade. My mom says her dad kept his hair. I’m not sure of the details. I didn’t see him often, but I remember him wearing a cap. He had a straight mane flowing out the sides and back. Could it have been that Grandpa’s ceiling was missing, or at least thinning? Perhaps.  

Being that I have a high deductible health insurance plan, I get medical advice from Reddit. I searched hair loss groups, and man, it’s scary. Dudes fly to Turkey to get Indian hair sewn in. Others take meds that give you a lil’ patch of hair and impotency. Some just comb their sh*t over and shelter-in-place on windy days. There’s also the “bigen.” A dye that makes it look like you got lined up with a Sharpie and sweats out by the second quarter of an NBA game. Crazy! 

There are few other choices for the hairline deficient who decline the options above. One can wear a cap, but that just delays the inevitable “Daaaammmmn!” once you do the big reveal. Your best bet? A haircut. 

I usually get a lineup and leave the top and sides poofy. But a struggle hairline blends in more naturally with a low cut. I asked the barber, a masculine, middle-aged Black woman who looked like she could be part of the Mayweather family, to cut the curls off and line it up tight. (This was the first time I’ve been cut by a female barber. It was great. No worries about a nutsack resting on my knee.) 

She buzzed away only to momentarily turn off the clippers. “You got some funny hair…” I laughed and explained that the left side of my hairline has always been stronger than the right side, more so during the past decade. She examined the birth defect and nodded. 

Her work was done just 20 minutes later. “I got you looking like a little boy!” And I felt younger right away. No need to worry about a hairline if you don’t have much hair. Bonus: The hair that I do have is brushed forward, creating the illusion of a competent hairline.

I got home from the barber and the kids were pumped. “It looks good, Dada!” My boy with sensory issues wouldn’t stop rubbing my head. My wife stared and at least pretended as if she liked it. “Hey, you got a new husband!” 

The last stage of grieving a f***ed up hairline is accepting that it’s not coming back. I think I’m there. But! If medical technology progresses to where I can take a pill that makes my hairline damn near connect with my eyebrows, I’m on it. Even if I have to go all the way to Turkey.

-Dewan Gibson

The post The Struggle To Move On After Being Betrayed By Your Hairline appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

This is actually my second animal save. The first was when I manically swung a broom at a coyote trying to eat my neighbor’s cat. I’m far too humble to call myself a hero, but please say it for me.

Man, this experience has really made me feel at peace with nature.

-Dewan Gibson

The post Ever Save A Baby Fox That Has A Jar Stuck On Its Head? appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

-Dewan Gibson

The post My Parents Are In A Commercial About Weddings At McDonald’s appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

Columbus has world-class medical facilities, so I guess there are worse places to get shot. But the chances of that happening here are higher than San Diego. When I talk to Ohioans, they think cities like New York and Los Angeles are more violent. Nah, man! They’re larger and attract more attention. When you account for murders per 100,000 people, we’re near the belly of the beast. 

To be fair, I write this from the comfortable boredom of the ‘burbs. A world away from what’s only 15 minutes away. But by spending money and paying taxes, I’m indirectly supporting a state that’s indifferent about gun violence. A recent example: a bill just passed the Ohio Senate to allow concealed carry without a permit or training. (For the “What about Chicago and its strict gun laws!” crowd: Many guns used in Chicagoland crime come from neighboring states with basically no gun laws, like Indiana. See, they just mess it up for everybody. Yes, Chicago’s rough, but it’s not even a Top 10 most dangerous U.S. city.) 

You may have heard the phrase “speak it into existence.” It’s a euphemism for “lie to yourself,” and it’s enabled me to tolerate Ohio’s winters. As long as it’s 25 degrees and dry, I carry on like it’s spring. I go for daily runs and hardly ever wear a coat, unless we’re going somewhere nice. In that case, I wear my camel-colored topcoat, as popularized by young men who celebrate half-birthdays with brunch. Funny…just recently a guy at Nordstrom complimented my top coat. While wearing the same one. 

Anyway, when it’s snowing and in the 20s, as it is for maybe 15 to 30 days out of the year, I go into a depression. Well, it’s more of an extended fit of anger than depression. Symptoms include: mentally cursing neighbors who don’t shovel the sidewalk in front of their homes and searching Google Flights knowin’ I ain’t going nowhere.  

Also, and this is my last beef with Columbus, drivers here are careless and dangerous. We’ve already been in three hit-and-runs. In the first, Amber was rear-ended and left with a concussion. A witness gave chase, but the culprit got away. In the second accident, my car was rammed while parked on campus. In the most recent accident, the five of us were rear-ended…on the same street where Amber got hit. I pulled over thinking the lady was going to do the same, but she sped away, nearly hitting oncoming cars. I chased her in our big ol’ minivan, but had to stop because the fam was getting scared. Man, maybe I should get a gun? 

With all that said, I mostly enjoy living near “Cbus.” For one, it’s diverse. Just on my little street alone there are Salvadorans, Ethiopians, Indians, black folk and while folk, Vietnamese and a few #TeamSwirl families. Of course San Diego was diverse, too, but there weren’t many black people. Pretty much only my friend Will and his extended family.

And Columbus is growing. It now has a million residents. With that comes the benefits of big city living: tons of bars and restaurants and breweries, relatively easy access to marijuana, kind people who run up to your car at stoplights and ask to wash your windows, the country’s fourth largest university, a tech industry, and so on. There are lots of jobs. Even a slacker like me has managed to make and invest more money than ever. More importantly, we’re native Ohioans and it’s nice to be near our off-the-chain family.

Pickerington is our permanent homebase. I love our house, especially the basement. There’s enough room to jog or sit on the couch and watch sexy foreign thrillers on Netflix. Also, Amber and the kids have a lot of friends in town. I don’t, but I do feel close to the crew at Trader Joe’s. They say hello and ask how my day is going.

I’ll always have my issues with Central Ohio, but as the kids grow older and tire of my life lessons, I’ll parent remotely from somewhere sunny during the worst weeks of winter. I might even miss wearing a topcoat.

-Dewan Gibson

The post Our Move From California to Ohio: A Five Year Check-In appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

We made a quick stop in Ravenswood, West Virginia for Christmas lunch at Great Wall Restaurant. Man, where would this country be without immigrants willing to feed us at any time, even on Jesus’ play birthday? We shared a house special fried house and Amber Joyner Kersee raced the kids in the parking lot.

I could have finished the entire drive in one day, had I been without impressionable children in the car and able to play Young Dolph (They don’t want you to live! They don’t want you to ball! Them pu**ies smile in yo’ face…then they pray for you to FALL!“). But cruising for six hours while listening to Coldplay and having a night’s rest in Winston-Salem, North Carolina wasn’t bad. We managed to find an Indian diner that was open till 11 p.m., right near our lil’ suite at the Hilton.

Finally…Carolina Beach! The kids played in the sand and deactivated their Negro genes so they could bear jumping around in 60 degree water. They also yelled “SHARK!” as a pod of dolphins swam near the shore. On another note, they’re getting ripped. That’s my 10-year-old, Nile, doing a handstand flip thingy. He skrong.

When not on the beach, we stayed in our beachfront hotel room. We’re not ballers. Amber works as a literacy coach and I’m comfortably and eternally in middle management at a healthcare company. But Marriott had a crazy deal on rooms. Suites with beach view balconies were going for around $150, which is about the price to buy oneself a gram of cocaine from the shady-looking beach bum posted outside of Hardee’s.

We also ventured out to the aquarium. It’s tiny. Save your money or try to sneak in. I mean, it was OK. And there’s a playground out back where kids can run around while parents play with smartphones. But if you’ve been to a major aquarium, Fort Fisher will feel underwhelming.

We drove straight home after four days in Carolina Beach. Full of memories, Zaxby’s fried chicken, and what turned out to be a family case of covid. Thanks to a combined 12 shots of Moderna and Pfizer’s finest brews, along with good health and no preexisting conditions besides ashyness, covid only gave us mild symptoms and an extra week off school. We look forward to returning to Carolina Beach with super immunity.

-Dewan Gibson

The post A Good Ol’ Winter Road Trip To Carolina Beach appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.

Where’d that come from? Well, we “did” sex often and our little ones are close in age: 7, 8, and recently turned 10. Whatever the oldest learns the youngins do, too. For fourth-grade Health Day he was asked to watch “Always Changing and Growing Up: Boys Puberty Education Video,” sponsored in part by…Tampax? The video tells boys they’re going to smell, get pimples, and grow ball hair. It also describes how loins vary in size and suggests they blame Dad if they feel penis inadequate. 

Even before Health Day, they had a surprising awareness about their bodies. They called testicles “pee-balls” and claimed that urine is held by a “pee stone.” I don’t know, I haven’t raised girls, maybe it’s different with boys? My guess is that they see their schlongs hanging, inflating and deflating for reasons unknown, and they start relating everything to their privates. As my youngest recently told me, “My penis is hard and my nose is stuffy.”

Since Health Day they’ve been looking forward to puberty. Statements that used to begin with “When I’m a grown up…” have become “When I get my Adam’s apple…” Also, the stork is a thing of the long ago past. As my 8-year-old explained: “We were swimming in your pee-balls. We’re lucky we made it. I just swam to the egg.” That’s deep. Made me think, “Man, maybe he really does remember being conceived.”

Still, I’m unsure my 10-year-old has a need for sex ed at such a young age. He sleeps with stuffed animals. He has an imaginary friend named Rick. He ran away from home (we found him two streets over) because he’s a superhero and wanted “to go to the city and fight bad guys.” He ain’t thinkin’ about no sex! 

When I was a tween, a time when the teen pregnancy rate was double what it is now, my sex education came from HBO and Skinemax, among other avenues. My older brother once found a VHS tape mislabeled “When Harry Met Sally.” I don’t know who penciled in that title (Hi, Dad!), but it wasn’t a romantic comedy starring Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan. There was some serious bonin’ going on. I was intrigued but also freaked out. Outside of being shy, or possibly “scared of the pu**y!” as friends teased, it may be why I remained a virgin until college.

But these days, no matter how much oversight, the little ones can access nudie films and the like on demand. So early intervention makes sense. Even it’s just more about understanding changing bodies. So we got the boys some books: Guy Stuff: The Body Books for Boys, The Human Body, and The Boy’s Body Book. Yeah, overkill. That’s how it goes when Mom’s a teacher. 

They got something from the books, lots of laughs and an understanding that everyone develops at their own pace. Most importantly, their question was answered: Yep, Mama and Dada did “do sex.”

As for what the details of what that means? We’ll save that for later.  

-Dewan Gibson  

The post Help! My Runts Are Already Asking About ‘The Birds And The Bees’ appeared first on DewanGibson.Com.