…ok, so it's not a desk. It's probably a cell-phone, or maybe my laptop, but regardless, this is where you'll see me wrestle with thoughts, memories, and the questionability of societal norms.
In 2005 I decided to take a semester off from college. After starting before I’d even graduated high school, and attending through the summer each year, I’d had enough and even though I was six courses away from completing my bachelor’s degree, I simply needed a little break.
Unfortunately, that one semester turned into about 80 more, so after talking about going back for 21 years, I finally did it, and today was my first of school.
A few folks have asked, “why now?” That’s a fair question. The fact is, in spite of being a college dropout, I’ve enjoyed spending more than a decade in management in an industry where experience is often valued much more than a formal education. By all accounts, I’d consider it to be a success story- A kid who loved trains and got his start as a freight conductor was able to capitalize on his experiences to excel in management. Bravo.
But I didn’t come this far just to come this far.
After attending the recent “Rails to the Future” conference put on by Michigan State University’s Broad College of Business, one of the speakers made a point that resonated with me. She said, “In this industry, people often fail to communicate their career objectives, which stifles their growth potential.”
I ruminated on that thought for a while and realized the value of clearly explaining my goals to the people who could help me achieve them.
Individually, I spoke with my CEO and COO, and in true Dave Foster fashion, I explained the speaker’s point, and bluntly followed it with, “I want your job. Obviously not YOUR job, but I want to know what I need to do to align myself for an opportunity like that when it presents itself.”
Now, you have to keep in mind that I’m in a place where I truly feel more professionally supported than I ever have, so conversations like that feel comfortable to me, and I know they’re going to provide me with honest feedback, but they both provided me with similar messaging. Experience will get you where you are, but experience will only take you so far, and whether it’s right or not, a degree is what sets you apart from someone with a similar set of experiences.
Remember where I said that I feel more supported than I ever have in my career? Earlier this year, my CEO reached out to me and asked if I’d have any reservations about attending Michigan State University’s Railroad Management Certificate Program. The program is designed to expand the breadth of knowledge of any railroad manager by placing them in a large group of industry leaders to think collaboratively while being exposed to behind-the-scenes type experiences at various railroad and industry operations across the nation.
It may surprise some of you to know that I classify myself as an introvert. With that said, I try exceedingly hard to force whatever bit of extrovert I have within me to come out, so in understanding the honor it was for my executive leadership team to believe in me at this level, I humbly accepted the offer to attend.
I didn’t know what to expect, but after the first week of being surrounded with some of the most brilliant railroaders I’d ever had the pleasure to be in the company of, I felt inspired. That’s one thing I’ve learned in my career thus far- You can either be intimidated by people you perceive to be more talented than you, or you can be inspired by them. For me, understanding the necessity to always be better than I was yesterday, I will always choose the latter.
Here’s the kicker- while I was attending the program, Michigan State went on to announce that they were implementing a Masters of Business Administration degree with a Railway Management focus.
There was just one catch… that whole college dropout thing.
So here we are… August 24th, 2026, and I’m finishing what I started in May of 2002, and if I play my cards right, I’ll finally graduate in the spring… but I didn’t come this far just to get this far, so we’ll see what the next chapter holds.
Until then, I can sleep comfortably knowing that I’m showing my daughter the importance of finishing what you started.
I’ll bet the G-string keeps intonation better than mine does…
I’ve been a fan of Hard Rock Cafe ever since I set foot in the original location in London, England way back in 1995. I was 12 years old then, but now that I’m an adult (by age, not by maturity level), whenever I find myself near a location, I pop in to pick up a collectible pin from that particular location. Of course, with locations closing seemingly by the year, it’s becoming increasingly harder to locate them- Even my ‘hometown’ Detroit location shut its doors for good in 2019 after a fifteen-year run.
Never-the-less, as we pulled into Niagara, Ontario to admire the natural splendor of the Niagara Falls from the Canadian’s viewpoint, I spotted the iconic Gibson Les Paul silhouette that has become synonymous with Hard Rock Cafe restaurants.
“Oh, we’re stopping in there before we leave,” I proclaimed to those poor souls trapped within the Chevy Traverse I was piloting. They were, of course, good sports about it, but I guess it helps that it was my wife, daughter, father and cousin, and we were already full-tilt in adventure mode.
After basking in the cool mist of the falls from a couple of different vantage points, we took a few obligatory photos to prove we had been there- as if anyone would doubt such a claim and began the trek towards the Hard Rock Cafe’s gift shop. As I mentioned previously, this would afford me the opportunity to pay far too much money for a small piece of metal that was adorned with colorful enamel paint, just to bring it home, push it unceremoniously into a framed piece of corkboard in our home-office, unlikely to ever be seen by anyone other than my family, and our dogs. Oh well- YOLO, as the kids used to say.
Well this was lovely…
I browsed through the selection of collectible pins, and eventually settled on one that featured a small spinning Ferris wheel which was particularly satisfying to play with; I guess that’s likely a sign of undiagnosed ADHD, but who has time to get tested, anyways? I grabbed the pin and made my way to the counter where my daughter had joined in on the activity, selecting her own pin to commemorate our journey to the falls.
The cashier, upon inspecting our selections, made note that we were buying two of the same pins.
“Yep, like father like daughter, I guess- That’s actually why we’re in Canada in the first place; We’re going to see Rush tomorrow.”
Suddenly his demeanor seemed to shift, “That ain’t Rush.” he scoffed.
Making note of the confused look on my face, he briefly elaborated, his piercing blue eyes reiterating his sincerity, “No Neil. No Rush.”
“Ah, yeah- I get it,” as I began to defend my position to someone whose opinion I didn’t value in the first place- Why am I like this? “I had that same thought when they first announced the tour, but then I realized it was an opportunity to see Geddy and Alex together again, and that’s enough for me. I’m sure if they think Anika is suitable, then I’m sure she’ll be fine. Plus, this is my first opportunity to take my daughter, so it should be a good time.”
“Yeah. Tap your card here,” he stated curtly, obviously dismissing the value of my argument.
In my best Midwestern ‘kill him with kindness’ voice, I thanked him as he passed me the receipt, and he wished me well, and in spite of his personal feelings, he told us to enjoy the show, because even in their disapproval, it has been my experience that most Canadians are nothing if not polite, and that’s something that’s endeared them to me.
I mean, I also love their coffee (Tim Hortons), their beer (Labatt), their sport (hockey), and the greatest progressive rock band ever to grace the Earth, but who’s keeping track?
We left the comfortable shelter of the air-conditioned store to venture back into the August humidity that closely aligned Ontario with what we’re familiar with in Michigan- Thick air and sweat-soaked hats season.
Our next stop would be the town that Neil grew up in, St. Catharines, Ontario, where we’d visit the Neil Peart Pavilion at Lakeside Park in Port Dalhousie. The Pavilion, obviously named in Neil’s honor, was erected after the famed drummer, lyricist, author, and- most importantly- father and husband, passed following his battle with Glioblastoma, an aggressive brain tumor that carries an average lifespan of 15-months after diagnosis. I always found it to be a cruel and unfair end to the life of a man who was so brilliant and insightful- He was, by all accounts, extremely well read, and exceedingly well spoken.
As a testament to the lyrics penned by Neil in the Rush song “Lakeside Park” in which he nostalgically recounts attending the park through his youth, upon our arrival the pavilion was filled with live music-a funk reggae type band, and various vendors offering libations for sale, but we were on a mission.
Of the five of us, my dad, Matt (my cousin) and I were the Rush fans- Don’t get me wrong, my wife listens (because she has to) and my daughter is, and has been, developing a taste for the prog rock icons, but the three of us are the ones who have been following for decades, or in my dad’s case, since he first saw them in 1977. (He actually pleaded with my mother to name me Neil, but lost out to her wishes for me to be named after my uncle, instead)
What a beauty, eh?
Over the past decade or so, the three of us have spent countless hours sharing laughs and listening to the entire catalog of Rush while we battle one another in a card-game known as cribbage. The game, which has opponents peg their points on a board known as a “Cribbage Board” until the winner achieves 121 points, originated in England in the 1600’s, and has been depicted in the works of English author Charles Dickens. Although the game is fairly prevalent in the American Midwest, in my travels, it seems to be an obscure oddity in much of the United States, although in a recent trip to Hawaii, I did spot an exceptionally beautiful cribbage board crafted from Koa, and there are a few examples of cribbage boards drilled into shotgun stocks at the World War 1 Museum in Kansas City, Missouri.
I mention those two boards to segue into this- Many cribbage players fail to remain content with a run-of-the-mill store-bought cribbage board, and we’re no different. In fact, Matt had a custom circular board crafted to honor our favorite band which included the bold RUSH nameplate found on their 1974 debut album, as well as the iconic Starman logo that became synonymous with their album 2112, in which the band took a defiant stance against their record label, responding to demands for radio-friendly content with a twenty-minute-thirty-three-second epic that paralleled the dystopian novella “Anthem” that had been penned by controversial individualist Ayn Rand. As an added touch, even the pegs used to keep score were custom made to represent the band’s nicknames for one another, Dirk (Geddy), Lerxst (Alex) and Pratt (Neil).
Our mission was simple- Convene a meeting of the “Crib Club” at the Neil Peart Pavilion and play a game of cribbage on the Rush board. The board- and our attire- garnered much attention from fellow Rush fans who were in town for the shows and had a similar idea to visit the pavilion- One pleasant couple that we spoke with at length had traveled all the way from Germany. In spite of nature’s best efforts to the contrary, the wind from a squall warning could not deter us, and although we had to pick up our cards a few times, I am happy to report that I won the match. Take THAT, gentlemen.
David 1: Those Suckas: 0
Upon taking in the beautiful view of Lake Ontario, and scanning for other things mentioned within the song, we retreated to the vehicle to make our way towards downtown Toronto where we’d spend the evening playing cards while waiting for the countdown on Matt’s phone that began on October 17th 2025 to change from “1 DAY UNTIL RUSH” to zero. We were so close, we could feel it…
The following day, we stood in line outside Scotiabank Arena chatting with fellow fans and anxiously awaiting the doors to open. At 630PM, right on schedule, we began to file in, one-by-one, and right on schedule, the lines for tour merchandise began to grow as fans looked to memorialize their attendance through hats, shirts, and other swag that proudly stated to anyone unwilling to attend- I WAS THERE! Take THAT Hard Rock Cafe guy!
Rush has become a family affair
While I’d often find myself in the first ten rows, your budget determines your seating, and when you’re purchasing tickets for the whole family, that budget gets split three-ways, so we took our place in the second row of the upper bowl, which I was amazed to find was an exceptional vantage point of the stage- Alex’s side, or Stage Right. As I watched fans file into the floor seats, I was mildly envious, but I also knew I was introducing my wife and daughter to Rush in a way they had never experienced before, and that quelled any true FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) I may have had.
With my family’s $1,014 CAD bag of Rush merch at my feet, and a capless bottle of Coke Zero (you know, for security), we waited for the show the start, and then- It did.
Now, here’s the thing- As much as I somewhat villainize the Hard Rock Cafe guy, I empathized. In fact, when Rush had announced they’d be touring again, I felt exceptionally torn. I grew up on Rush, and I loved Neil. When news broke that he had passed, I was devastated. I’m not ashamed to admit that I wept, and every now and again, when I think about my own daughter, and that Neil’s daughter Olivia must navigate this world without her father, it’s hard not to become emotional. After relishing in the brilliance of Rush’s R40 tour, in which they cleverly established a set-list that took them back in time through their catalog as their gear and stage set-up would cascade backwards through the years with the songs, I held out some level of hope that they’d put out a new album, and perhaps we’d get another tour. After all, the backdrop following the show said, “R40+?” which called into question whether or not this really was the end of the road for the band.
Of course, it wasn’t until after Neil had passed when Geddy’s legendary book “My Effin Life” hit shelves that we fans got a true look at the conclusion of that tour, in which Neil walked off the stage, away from his bandmates, and closed the door on that chapter of his life. He had decided that he no longer wished to be “The Professor,” instead trading that title for “The Librarian” at his daughter’s school, and after giving us fans 40 plus years of legendary works, who could blame the guy for wanting to just be a father, and a husband? After all, he’d held both of those titles before and had them cruelly and brutally stripped away.
Then came the initial reports that Geddy and Alex were playing together again.
“Oh cool!” I thought. “Maybe they’ll release some new tracks, or something… maybe with a drum machine- After all, they always said they couldn’t see themselves touring as Rush again without Neil.”
Then came the announcement that very few of us were prepared for- First it was the mere announcement that they’d be touring again, but that raised more questions than answers- Chief among them was the obvious; Who would fill the vast void left by Neil’s passing? Dave Grohl? Mike Portnoy? Some other professional wild card? Perhaps a selection of drummers, each playing a few songs here and there?
As someone who has been playing for forty years, and spent some time working in a drum shop, I’ve always considered myself pretty well versed on not only drum gear, but also on drummers, so when the name Anika Nilles began to fill my facebook feed as Geddy and Alex’s selection, I’m slightly ashamed to admit that my initial response was, “Who?!”
3 Generations of Rush fans
Don’t get me wrong, I took to google and immediately began to familiarize myself with the German drumming phenom, and I was impressed with what I saw, but- Rush? Neil? I wasn’t convinced, and initially I was fairly content with the R40 experience having been the one I’d remember them for, but… also… Geddy… Alex…
Matt and my dad were excited about the announcement, and that sealed the deal. I had to go. WE had to go, and if Anika was good enough for Geddy and Alex, we owed her the opportunity to prove them right. With that said, I wanted to approach this opportunity to see Rush again with an open mind, so I’d intentionally avoided any interviews, videos, set-lists or internet hype regarding the tour dates leading up to this one. I wanted to remain objective, and unencumbered by the confirmation bias that could easily creep in if I allowed other people’s opinions to pre-determine my own disposition.
I didn’t have Emma singing along to “Animate” on my 2026 Bingo Card
As the show began, while I sat in Section 310, Row 2, Seat 17, I knew I was experiencing something I never thought I’d get to experience again, let alone being able to share it with my wife, or my daughter (who was a mere one-year-of-age at the time of the R40 tour). It was hard not to feel overcome with emotion.
For the next nearly four hours, I watched as my daughter laughed along with the comedy in the introduction video that opened the show, and I beamed with pride when I caught her singing along to Animate, because only a Rush fan knows the catalog beyond the radio hits like Tom Sawyer or Spirit of Radio. When the intermission clock reached zero, and immediately began counting back up, I was amazed as she picked up on the foreshadowing and shouted “2112!” as she realized what was coming next, but the part that I loved the most was watching her watching Anika all night long.
The thing is, my daughter knows how much Neil meant to me. She saw the tears when he passed. She hears how I speak of him, and how my own father speaks of him, and how those around us speak of him- He was one of a kind. But last night, Emma watched a girl, just like her, who was able to sit behind Geddy and Alex and deliver an absolutely monstrous performance that captivated 20,000 hardcore Rush fans, leaving us all begging for more.
Xanadu- With the dooblanecks… er… doublenecks…
After the show I told her- You can do that. You just have to believe, and practice your ass off, but you can do that.
Still, I’ve seen the comments, “Neil isn’t there,” or “It’s not the same without Neil.”
However, I disagree. Neil was there. In nearly every word that Geddy sang, Neil was there- His hand penned most of those lyrics. In every perfectly executed drum-fill, Neil was there, much the same as a beautiful pianist can recreate the works of famed composers, Neil’s works were brought back to life by Anika, and even though some were reimagined in her own style, that’s ok. The truth is, I think if she were trying to match each and every fill, cymbal crash, or rhythm exactly as Neil did, that’s when it would feel insincere. She wasn’t trying to be Neil- She was and is Anika Nilles, and she helped perform the works of Neil Peart to ensure old fans can continue to enjoy them while new fans continue to discover them, and that is a tribute that far exceeds the touching videos and dedications that were so tastefully incorporated into the show last night.
It’s 2026 and I got to experience Rush with the people I love. Long live Neil Peart. Long live Rush.
I flung the car door open to hear the inimitable sound of a brass Nathan 6-chime whistle howling into the cold December night. Just as has been portrayed in so many country-western songs, it’s hauntingly lonesome note echoed across the landscape as a column of black smoke and white steam plumed into the evening sky, breaking up the otherwise waning hues of blue that were rapidly giving way to the darkness of nightfall.
As we stood within the Steam Railroading Institute’s Visitors Center, it was hard not to feel the buzz of holiday excitement that emanated from the crowd of people that were browsing the gift shop, snapping selfies in front of a Christmas themed wall, or waiting in the will-call line, like us, to pick up their tickets for the evening ride.
At an organization that prides itself in being the curator of notable railroadiana, even the Visitor’s Center holds a rich history all its own, which over a century ago served as a Freight House for the Ann Arbor Railroad to move the furniture and caskets that were manufactured by the talented woodworkers of the area. After changing hands a few times, the building was acquired by the Steam Railroading Institute over 20-years ago, and has since been renovated to serve as a museum to display vintage railroad artifacts, a model train layout, and also handle the ticketing for their many passenger excursions throughout the year- Most notably those held around the Christmas holiday to celebrate Chris Van Allsburg’s iconic 1985 Children’s book, The Polar Express.
In 2004, the book would become the inspiration for a live-action animated movie directed by Robert Zemeckis, and starring Tom Hanks, which has its own ties to the Steam Railroading Institute as the Warner Bros. film crew travelled to Owosso to record the locomotive sounds for the film by utilizing the iconic Pere Marquette 2-8-4 Berkshire, which fittingly enough bears the road number “1225.”
In fact, it was the locomotive’s road number, and its perceived symbolic connection to Christmas that spared the 1225 from the scrappers torch when it was retired, eventually finding the behemoth being placed on static display at Michigan State University in 1957.
In 1971, the university railroad club began undertaking the daunting task of bringing the 1225 back to life, successfully firing the boiler and sounding the whistle in 1975, moving the locomotive under its own power in 1985, and eventually allowing the 1225 to begin its second life as a passenger excursion locomotive in 1988.
37 years later, my family and I stood patiently in the “A-G” line, patiently waiting to retrieve our tickets. It’s a train ride we’ve taken many times before, but this year was different. This year my mother had decided she’d prefer a quiet evening with her family in the privacy of a caboose.
Fortunately, as I close in on my fifteenth year of railroading, I’ve made a lot of friends along the way, including a gentleman by the name of Mike Burgett, who I met while working at CN. A man who is fairly well known in both the railfan and railroading communities, Mike previously served as the Senior Manager of Engineering- Signals Design at CN and now serves in the office adjacent to mine as the Chief Engineer for Communications & Signals at Lake State Railway Company. (Gosh, Mike- Why are you so obsessed with me?)
Since working for the railroad doesn’t provide him with enough time around trains, he spends his evenings and off days working on his world-renowned HO scale model-train layout, which portrays the Chesapeake & Ohio Clifton Forge Subdivision in breathtaking detail, just as it was in 1965. He also spends time volunteering at Henry Ford Museum & Greenfield Village (celebrating his 25th year in 2022) and serves on the Board of Directors at the Steam Railroading Institute.
Whew…
…but once upon a time, Mike was a railroad obsessed boy with a dream.
By the 1980’s, evolutions in technology had reduced the number of employees required to serve as part of a train crew which virtually eliminated the need for cabooses.
Railyards across the country began to find tracks filled with the once ubiquitous symbol of American railroading- a critical component in any model trainset to this day, but everything has an expiration date. CSX’s Saginaw Yard was no different, as a line of cabooses sat awaiting their disposition, and one could be had for a cool $1,500 (about $4,000 in 2025) so long as the new owner could successfully relocate the car.
While $1,500 was an undeniably fair price, it was still a bit out of the financial reach for a then 10-year-old Mike Burgett, so after much badgering, his mother finally relented and penned a letter to CSX’s corporate headquarters to ask if they might consider a discount for the budding rail-buff. Much to the Burgett’s surprise, a phone call several weeks later would find them as the proud new owner of a caboose, so long as they could work out the logistics surrounding how to relocate the railcar to their property.
Unfortunately, moving a railcar off the rails isn’t quite as simple as picking up a Lionel train car and placing it on a shelf, but fortunately a human-interest story in the local newspapers helped secure the necessary pieces of the puzzle, such as cranes, and even the rail, ties and ballast to place the caboose on at Mike’s house.
The Chesapeake & Ohio caboose that began life in 1941 as wood-sided 90091 and was rebuilt, modernized and renumbered in 1970 as 903674, now belonged to a 10-year-old boy who would make it his clubhouse for the rest of his childhood.
The thing about kids, is if everything goes according to plan, they grow up to become adults, and adults have responsibilities, obligations, and sadly, they no longer have time to play in their caboose clubhouse.
It would sit behind Mike’s parents’ home for decades, and though he had considered donating it to be displayed in the town he’d grown up in, a better option came to light- One that would allow him to, once again, spend as much time as he’d like in his storied caboose.
In 2023, Mike would donate the caboose to the Steam Railroading Institute, where he, and the talented back shop team of volunteers, would painstakingly restore the caboose to its original as-rebuilt condition to appear exactly as it would have when it rolled out of the C&O Wyoming Shops at Grand Rapids, Michigan.
If you’re reading this, I’m going to step out on a limb and assume you’re a pretty sharp individual, so I’m sure you’ve connected the dots already, but just in case you haven’t, I reached out to Mike to ensure that the private caboose we were to ride in would be his beloved “3674,” and he graciously obliged.
With his caboose positioned just two cars behind the iconic 1225, Mike welcomed us at the admission gate nearest the locomotive, dressed to the nines in authentic C&O passenger conductor regalia. As I approached the car, I admired the metal work that had been completed during its restoration, the blue paint gleaming in the setting sun, and the iconic “C&O For Progress” slogan proudly emblazoned on the side. As we boarded the car and stepped through the “A-end” door, I immediately felt the warmth of the air heated by the caboose’s oil fueled stove wash over me, reassuring me that this would be a cozy, comfortable evening.
As we commenced our 20-plus mile journey to the city of Ashley- er… the North Pole, the cabin of the caboose was filled with the sounds of Christmas music and conversation as we all took turns climbing into the cupola- the watchtower like structure atop the caboose which provides the undeniably best view.
While many of the tickets for the Polar Express include a cup of hot chocolate, Mike boasted that his was the absolute best (and bottomless), and as we watched him prepare it atop the 3674’s original oil-stove, we had to agree.
Since I always keep a deck of cards and a board nearby, it didn’t take long before I challenged my dad to a game of Cribbage, a uniquely midwestern card-game that he had taught me at a young age- Since then, we’ve spent countless hours going back-and-forth counting our fifteen-for-twos, and scoring double-runs as we hoped to avoid being skunked (beaten by at least 30 points), or worse, double skunked (beaten by 60 points or more- it takes 121 points to win). I’m sure it certainly wasn’t the first game of cards played in this timeless railcar, and I wanted to keep the tradition alive as a few years earlier on Lake State Railway’s “Family Day” train ride we had played a few games on the “Dover Harbor,” a legendary Pullman heavyweight car that was built in 1923 and served the New York Central railroad for many decades.
As I pegged the final few points to seize a victory from my dad (the student becomes the master… sometimes…), we were arriving to the city of Ashley, a small town in mid-Michigan that transforms itself to serve as the North Pole for the seasonal Polar Express train-rides. With carnival rides, food trucks, various vendors, and even a sizable Christmas themed model-train layout, there’s always something to do to stay busy for the hour-and-a-half layover. While the food is good (seriously, try the fried Oreos) the star of the show is usually the 1225 as her passengers gather around for photographs of the locomotive that once faithfully served the Arsenal of Democracy as Michigan automotive facilities had been converted to produce tanks, bombers and other commodities necessary for the war effort.
Eventually, after all the pictures are taken, bellies are full, and Santa has drawn for the first gift of Christmas, it’s time for the train to reposition itself for all the passengers to board, which provides one last opportunity for photos of the 1225 pulling the train ahead before a diesel locomotive positioned on the opposite end of the train would tug it back towards Owosso to conclude the journey.
Worn out from the fresh air, aimless wandering, and carbohydrate-induced comas, the ride back was much more subdued, and I found myself back in the cupola, this time with my daughter in my lap. As we admired the Christmas lights that adorned houses along the route, and the railfans who were braving the bitter cold evening to catch a glimpse of the 1225 as it passed, the barrage of questions from an inquisitive mind let me know just how tired she was. Nevertheless, I attempted to satisfy her curious mind, answering as many questions as I could before she eventually resigned to quietly enjoying the ride, and appreciating the passing scenery the way I have for so many years as a conductor and locomotive engineer, crisscrossing the Midwest before making my way into management. Thankfully, she doesn’t remember the early years, or her birthdays that I’d missed when dad lived on the road, the hotels were a second home, and sleep came at a premium, if it even came at all.
Arriving in Owosso, with one more howl from the 1225’s whistle our trip would come to an end, but the prospect of a new year provides another opportunity to make memories with the people that I love, and I long ago learned that it’s not about what you find beneath the Christmas tree, but rather these moments we share with one another that is the real magic of Christmas.
When I married your mom, I wasn’t a dog person, but she was a package deal, and with her, I became the caregiver for her hound dog, Jake. He was a squirrely rescue that had all the signs of having been abused as he was timid and untrusting of males until you earned it. Unfortunately for us, at the age of six, Jake began defecating and urinating within the home, and what we believed were behavioral issues resulted in the veterinarian diagnosing him with acute liver failure.
Although his mannerisms towards me made him, at times, difficult to deal with, his jaundiced eyes belied the youthful exuberance that existed in a body that had failed him far too soon, and even I, the lover of cats, and someone that claimed not to be a dog person, was heartbroken.
I held him until he passed, and cried as I gasped for air. It was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do, and I struggled to come to terms with it for weeks.
Then came a newspaper article about a litter of German Shepradors about 30 miles away, and your mom was adamant that we “check it out.”
“Grab money,” I told her, “I know me, and if I fall in love with one, I’m going to want to bring it home.”
When we arrived, there were two dogs left; You, and your brother. In retrospect, one of the greatest regrets in my life is that I didn’t adopt both of you that day, but I went with my gut instincts, and you have become the greatest dog I’ll ever have.
Although it felt much too soon after Jake’s passing to bring home another dog, I couldn’t believe how you were able to heal our broken hearts in a way that I’ve learned only a dog can.
Eventually came your sister, the tiny human, and eventually your chocolate lab brother, the lovable idiot that we tend to think you still believe is a practical joke, although you’ve embraced him, even if you obviously find him annoying.
Through career changes, familial evolutions, accomplishments, a global pandemic, ($12,000 in surgeries for your cranial c and countless losses, you’ve been our faithful companion, loyal provider of kisses, and occupier of foot-space on the bed, resulting in us sleeping with our knees in our chest, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.
Now that you’re 11, not a day goes by that I don’t think about the inevitable day that sees you leave this world, and no matter how much I may know that, when that day comes, it’s time for you to go, I’ll never be ok with it. You’ve been here for so many chapters in our lives, that it’s hard to imagine writing any without you.
Someday, we’ll have plenty of leg room, our wood floors won’t feature muddy paw prints, nor will they be littered with tufts of white hair that we affectionally refer to as “Harley Glitter” or “Tumble Harleys,” but I’d much rather have all of those small mementos than lose you.
So just know, that with every treat, and every belly rub, and every moment I spend with you, you’re often one of the best parts of my days, and although someday you will be gone from my life, you will live forever in my heart, and in my memories.
Until then, let’s enjoy each and every moment we have together… I love you, buddy.
The Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and her Elf on the Shelf “Bell,” I often look at my daughter with a sort of envious admiration. Her ability to blissfully believe, and to see the good in so many situations, unjaded by the world around her, is something I genuinely miss and adore.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a pessimistic person by most accounts, but I’m also not exceedingly optimistic. For me, the glass isn’t half full, nor is it half empty, but rather, it’s twice as large as it needed to be. I am a realist. I see things as they exist, albeit perhaps with a tinge of optimistic cynicism, depending on the circumstances.
Even on the eve of her tenth birthday, I’m watching her play with Bluey figurines on the living room floor as she binge watches the award-winning show on our television, something that has become engrained in our familial subculture, often finding us all watching it together.
There’s a big part of me that remembers my own youth, in which I probably played with Lego much later than many of my peers likely did (I never stopped, actually), as well as other toys such as Micro Machines, and die-cast toy cars.
In reading about the developmental differences of only-children in Psychology Today (which is something I have in common with my daughter), it’s asserted that certain likelihoods can exist, such as academic exceptionalism due to receiving so much unilateral attention, as well as a higher propensity for imaginative play due to not having siblings to engage in play with.
All of that seems to check out for both of us, as I couldn’t begin the count the endless hours spent cross-legged on my bedroom floor as I’d build creatively technical models out of Lego, and act out wildly imaginative scenarios with the iconic minifigures.
As years would pass, the Lego collection would be stowed away in plastic bins (thankfully never to be sold or discarded), but I’d continue to sporadically add to the collection here and there, with much less frequency until the COVID-19 pandemic reignited my life for the colorful plastic building blocks.
Although my childhood innocence was lost well before then, throughout those years in-between, I’ve become somewhat jaded by the world that exists around us as the reality of becoming an adult have set in. Amidst all of the responsibilities of existence that everyone endures, there are also the frustrations that exist with the political and social climate as the divisiveness of our duopoly continues to drive a wedge further between not only the political parties, but also their voters. The alienation that exists is likely what precludes me from aligning with either of the two major political parties as I find them both to be fairly deplorable for different reasons.
I’ve made a career out of leading grown adults (well, most of them) in an extremely unique and demanding industry, and only in recent years have I found ways to compartmentalize how I handled situations at work when compared to how I handle situations at home. On the railroad, there was always a reasonable expectation that people adhered to a certain set of rules, policies and federal regulations, and it was my responsibility to hold them accountable for their actions, however, at home, when you find yourself striving to mold a child into a respectful, caring, intelligent being, there is no rule book- You simply must figure it out on your own, taking cues from family and friends as to what methodologies you believe will be the most effective.
However, I’ll admit, fatherhood hasn’t been an easy road for me.
Unfortunately, in the earlier years of my daughter’s life, I was much less… empathetic. Much the same as I had no rule-book to reference on how to be a dad, she also had no rule-book on how to be a child. I’d often resort to raising my voice, or yelling, to get her attention, and although effective at accomplishing that goal, in retrospect, I can’t say it was healthy, or well received, as I’d had a few friends point out that I was being too hard on her.
It took me a while to realize how important it was that I actually take the time to listen to what she has to say so I can better understand her perceptions of the reality that exists in her mind, and to empathize with her problems, and how I can help her tackle them. This has opened up untold opportunities for dialogue to help guide her in difficult situations with kids at school, the dynamics that exist amongst groups of friends, schoolwork, sports, and the other perils of being a kid, especially in times like these.
I hope someday she realizes everything that’s gone into the opportunities that we’ve provided for her to have the childhood that she’s had, and it goes well beyond the things she has (and Lord knows she’s got plenty of things), but more importantly the things we’ve done. The hockey games, the trips to Disney World (and Disneyland in a few short weeks), North Carolina, Tennessee, the Sunday afternoons bowling, the game nights, and everything else we do as a family…
Admittedly, only recently have I begun to feel like I’m somewhat alright at this whole fatherhood thing, but I still recognize that I’ve got a long way to go to become the dad I want to be, although I think that’s always a work in progress that likely never ends, but when it comes to being a parent, as long as we’re trying our best, we’re probably doing just fine.
From the desk of Dave Foster 