The Adventures of Supersub

 When I announced that I would no longer be writing my weekly newspaper column in the Boone County Journal nearly three months ago, I gave one simple reason for my decision: “I have nothing of value left to say.” The truth, of course, is not quite that simple.

After writing hundreds of opinion pieces, political commentaries, and personal essays over the course of a decade, it became increasingly difficult to come up with new material each week. My readers deserve original and compelling content, not repetition, and continuing my column risked wasting my readers’ valuable time.

So, for the last few months I have written nothing more than an occasional status update or photo caption on Facebook. Free from the pressure of delivering fresh, weekly content for my newspaper audience, I should have been doing some creative writing or at the very least compiling my most recent columns into a fourth volume of collected works. Instead, I have spent most of my summer trapped in a dark and difficult funk, and therefore I have written nothing—until today.

A few short weeks ago I was perusing help-wanted ads, looking for an excuse to get out of the house a few hours per week. After stepping away from substitute teaching last year in order to help look after my beautiful grandbaby Freya, I felt that nine years in the classroom was enough and that it was time to move on to something else. My career as an educator was over.

When my phone rang on July 12, I was surprised to see “Southern Boone Elementary School” on the caller ID. In nearly a decade of subbing, I had never taught in the elementary building, and it had been five years since my youngest child Truman had been a student there. Curious, I answered rather than sending the call to voicemail.

The voice on the other end of the line was that of Principal Amy James. Dr. James was calling with an intriguing offer. Due to increased enrollment, the decision was made to add a ninth fourth grade classroom for the coming school year, and Dr. James wanted to know if I would be interested in teaching the class.

The terms of my employment would be the same as they were when I accepted an offer to teach music next door at the primary school during the 2019-2020 school year. Because I possessed a valid substitute certificate, I would be allowed to teach full-time for one year under a provisional emergency certificate due to the fact that no candidates with a permanent certificate applied for the position.

Taken aback, I asked Dr. James to let me talk it over with my family before giving her an answer. Of course, my wife and kids were in total agreement that I should take the job. I consulted a few of my teacher friends who also, without hesitation, told me to go for it. And in my own heart, I knew that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that I would be a fool to turn down. I called Dr. James the next day and accepted the position.

Soon thereafter, I had an epiphany. I could write about this unique experience, not in a weekly newspaper column, but in the form of a book. Would readers be interested in following the story of a 50-year-old, quasi-retired, substitute teacher as he takes on the challenge of becoming a full-time, fourth grade teacher?

Would you, dear reader, be interested in such a story? I hope so, because I am going all-in on this plan. Having never taught kids in grades 3-5, teaching fourth graders will be an eye-opening and brand-new challenge for me. And I guarantee it will be a year fraught with mistakes, foibles, folly, and hilarity. If I survive academic year 2022-2023, I promise to write all about it, and maybe I’ll even include some of my experiences as a music teacher and substitute as well.

Perhaps I do have something of value left to say after all.

Thank You and Farewell

 I began writing for the Boone County Journal in the summer of 2011. By my estimation, I’ve had over 500 original submissions published in the newspaper in that span of time. At roughly 700 words per piece, the total body of my work for the Journal amounts to around 350,000 words, the equivalent of four 300-page books.

After sharing so much of myself in the pages of the newspaper for so long, I have come to one inescapable conclusion: I have nothing of value left to say. Nothing at all, except for one final and very important message; thank you. 

Thank you, dear readers, for turning to Page 4 week after week, year after year, to read the rantings of a stay-at-home parent/ grandparent/ husband/ son/ grandson/ brother/ uncle/ substitute teacher/ wedding officiant/ public address announcer/ cigar box guitar builder/ collector car enthusiast/ recovering alcoholic/ mental health advocate/ LGBTQ+ ally/ world citizen/ writer.

It has been an incredible honor to serve my community as a columnist and reporter for our locally-owned and operated newspaper, the Boone County Journal. The Journal has a long and rich history and is one of the oldest independent newspapers in Missouri. I am proud that my words—all 350,000 of them—are permanently enshrined in the Journal’s archives. Today’s column will be my final contribution to that collection.

Fret not, loyal readers, for you will still be able to read virtually everything I have ever written thanks to the magic of self-publishing. I have self-published three volumes containing collections of my columns from the Journal (“Love & Fried Chicken”, “686 Words Per Week”, and “It’s All Chicken and Booze”), and I plan on releasing a fourth compilation soon. All of my books, including my novel “Naked Snow Angels” areavailable at Amazon.com.

Although I have exhausted my supply of opinions for the newspaper, I am not yet done with writing. In the future, I intend to create short stories, literary essays, a memoir, and perhaps another novel or two.

My career as a columnist began when I asked former Journal publisher Bruce Wallace if he would consider printing the musings of a stay-at-home dad getting ready to adopt a little girl in China. Eleven years later, that little girl, my daughter Tiana, is not so little anymore. In fact, she is finishing her junior year at Southern Boone High School this week. Her younger brother Truman, whom we adopted three years earlier in 2008, will be a sophomore next year, and their big brother Alex will be a senior at Mizzou next fall.

When my kids were younger, I wrote about them quite a bit, but out of respect for their privacy as they’ve grown older, I have opted to write about them less frequently in recent years. Naturally, I would love to write about my granddaughter Freya ad nauseum, but because she is not technically my baby, I can’t share everything about her life nor that of her baby brother Jude (due in August!) with the public. But who knows, maybe there will be a book called “The Adventures of Freya, Jude, and Pop” for you to read someday.

In addition to thanking you, my readers, for indulging me over the years, I would be remiss if I failed to say thank you to former Journal publisher Bruce Wallace and current publisher Gene Rhorer for allowing me to share my unsolicited opinions, personal stories, and community features for the last decade plus. I am deeply grateful to both of these gentlemen for allowing me to sully the pages of their respectable newspaper.

Finally, I would like to thank my family for selflessly allowing me to share accounts of their lives with you. A special thanks goes to my wife Bethany—the Voice of Reason and the Enabler—for putting up with all of my nonsense for nearly 30 years. I love you and our family, Dear, more than this sorry excuse for a writer could ever adequately express.

I hope I made you proud.

 

May is Mental Health Awareness Month

 Former Boone County Journal publisher Bruce Wallace, a good friend of mine, just called a minute ago to catch up and to make sure I’m doing okay. It was great to hear a friendly voice, and it was down right medicinal to laugh out loud as we swapped stories. His was the fourth or fifth phone call I received in the last week or two from a friend or family member who was concerned about me. I appreciate Bruce and everyone who has reached out to me recently. To them I would like to give my sincerest thanks. 

Mental Health Awareness Month is a great time to check in on loved ones who might be struggling with their emotional wellbeing. It’s also an opportunity for all of us to do mental health self-assessments. In the past, I have written extensively about navigating life as a recovering alcoholic and someone diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Those two issues are tough to handle on their own, but when I am forced to deal with other emotional crises as they come along, doing so as a bipolar alcoholic makes it incredibly daunting.

 

Over the last few weeks, my family has been dealing with some pretty heavy stuff. I can’t go into detail out of respect for everyone’s privacy, but suffice to say that families are messy and imperfect and as another great friend, Crystal Branch, said when she checked in on me recently, “Parenting is not for the faint of heart.”

While we were busy dealing with these issues, our family’s beloved miniature schnauzer died unexpectedly. Louie was only eight years old and in good health, and his sudden death came as a tremendous shock to all of us. The loss was particularly difficult for me. It is no secret that Louie was really MY dog, which I’m sure everyone in the family would agree. He was the sweetest dog I’ve ever had, and I miss him terribly.

You may have noticed that my column didn’t appear in last week’s paper. I usually write and submit my articles on Sundays, but last Sunday was Mother’s Day and I was in no mood whatsoever to write. While scrolling through social media that day, my newsfeed was full of photos of smiling mothers and children having fun and sharing warm embraces, but it brought me no joy at all because it was the 14th Mother’s Day that has come and gone since my mom died of cancer at the age of 61. My profound sadness last Sunday rendered me completely incapable of writing.

There have been so many times over the years that I have wished my mom was here to turn to for comfort or guidance. With everything our family has gone through over the last few weeks and months, I find myself still yearning for my mother, despite being 50 years old.

I don’t just miss Mom during the hard times. Oh, how I wish she would have been able to meet and enjoy spending time with all of her grandkids. Alex was eight when his Nonna (as Mom liked to be called instead of grandma) died. Truman was two and had only been with our family for a month, but at least Mom got to meet him and tell him “I love you.” She never met any of her three granddaughters or her great-granddaughter which is truly tragic because they would have benefitted greatly from having such a strong, positive female role model, such as she was, to help guide them through life.

Luckily, those kids have amazing mothers looking out for them. The mother of my children, my beautiful bride Bethany, has become the person I turn to in good times and in bad. I would be completely lost without her. I regret that I did not do more to make her Mother’s Day the best it could be, but I honestly had nothing but grief to give to the world that day.

I’m feeling a bit better today. A little more hopeful. I am at least able to write, though I fear that this is not my best work. But that’s sort of the point. When a person is struggling with their mental health, just getting out of bed in the morning can be difficult. At times like these, getting dressed and leaving the house might be considered big achievements. Mustering the strength to go to work or write or make music or paint a portrait can seem like an impossible challenge to someone who is emotionally unwell, but if that person does manage to complete such a task, then he or she might feel a small sense of accomplishment and hope for the future.

Baby steps.

For people like me with mental health issues, struggling on the path to happiness and contentment, the ability to take baby steps is crucial. Eventually, with the love and support of good friends and family members, I will get there. 

And you will, too.

Teachers Deserve to Feel Appreciated

 If you are a parent of school-aged children, then chances are good that at some point during the last two years you were forced to become your kids’ teacher/teacher’s aide when schools switched to virtual instruction as a result of the pandemic. If so, you likely gained an appreciation for how challenging it can sometimes be for a teacher to help a child grasp new concepts.

Now imagine trying to teach new concepts to over twenty or thirty students in a single classroom while simultaneously managing their behaviors, working one-on-one with students who are struggling, and challenging high-achievers. 

Classroom teachers are busy making lesson plans, assigning and grading classwork, reading rough drafts, administering tests, preparing for mandatory state assessments, attending meetings and professional development trainings, and completing countless other daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly tasks, too. 

Oh, and please don’t forget that your child’s gentle and nurturing kindergarten teacher is required by the state to undergo active shooter training every year so she can keep your child from being killed by a gun-wielding lunatic hellbent on slaughtering innocent children. 

During those early days of pandemic-necessitated alternate methods of instruction (AMI), I constantly heard parents making comments such as, “My kid’s math lesson nearly killed me. I don’t know how his teacher does this day in and day out with a room full of students.” Social media posts often referred to teachers as heroes, saints, or angels on Earth. And rightly so.

Gradually, as pandemic-fatigue took hold, teachers became the victims of parents’ frustrations. Scapegoats. Angry about mask mandates and quarantines, some parents began to blame teachers for district policies. I know teachers who have been yelled at or mocked by irate parents who disagreed with health measures put into place by district and government officials to keep students and staff safe. 

In the eyes of some parents, teachers went from heroes to villains in less than two years. Believe me, even if you have not personally treated your child’s teacher this way, someone else probably has, and our professional educators deserve much, much better.

Teachers ARE heroes. They deserve to be treated as such. They deserve our praise, our support, and our appreciation—not our scorn.

This is National Teacher Appreciation Week, and after everything teachers have endured over the last couple of years, each of us has a duty to tell our kids’ teachers how grateful we are to them for the work they do. 

You can give your child’s teacher a gift card as a token of your appreciation. Starbucks and Panera are great for coffee-drinking teachers. Target and Walmart gift cards are always welcome because teachers spend quite a bit of their own money buying school supplies for their students. And believe me, a brand-new pack of dry-erase markers or an electric pencil sharpener are gifts guaranteed to make a teacher feel appreciated.

Of course, the easiest and best way to make a teacher feel appreciated is to simply tell them, “Thank you for all that you do for my child. I know your job is not easy, and I just want you to know that I appreciate you.”

Although teachers are superheroes, they are also human. They feel the relentless pressure of meeting state standards, creating an engaging learning environment, and providing each of their students the best education possible. When school boards, administrators, and/or parents put undue pressure on them, teachers suffer. When teachers suffer, so do students, and so does society in general.

Please take a moment this week to let your child’s teachers know how much you appreciate them. In a chaotic world full of uncertainty, fear, intolerance, and hate, it is more important than ever to let educators know that they are valued. Without the contributions of dedicated educators such as the ones we have here at Southern Boone, what hope would there be for our children’s future?

 

I’m Still Here

 

I have a confession to make: I hold grudges. I hold grudges against sports teams such as the Kansas Jayhawks for stealing Mizzou’s spot in the 2008 Orange Bowl and the 1985 Kansas City Royals for stealing what should have been the Cardinals’ 10th World Series championship. I also hold grudges against individuals such as the inept members of the 2008 Bowl Championship Series selection committee and American League umpire Don Denkinger. 

I’ve held serious, long-term grudges against only a few people actually, and if I’m being honest, I no longer curse the ground Don Denkinger walks on. If Whitey Herzog can forgive the man, so can I. But there is one person with whom I have been angry for a long, long time. Historically, I have found it to be nearly impossible to forgive this repeat offender who has caused me to suffer again and again. His name? Travis Naughton.

I have always been, and always will be, my own worst enemy. No one has done more to sabotage my happiness and emotional wellbeing than I have. I’ve tried to deflect the blame towards other people, but doing so invariably leads to even more self-loathing.

Lately, I’ve been dealing with some pretty heavy stuff in my personal life. These challenges have driven me into a familiar, yet dark and lonely place. It’s a place where the only voice I can hear is my own negative self-talk and the only things I can see are replays of my most painful experiences. Sometimes, I feel like there is no escape from this darkness. That’s when the really bad thoughts start to kick in.

A new thought occurred to me just as I started writing today. It was born in the darkness, but quickly flooded my mind with a bright and hopeful light. “Travis Naughton, you have survived every single crisis and hardship you’ve ever faced in your 50 years of life. No matter how bad things have gotten, you have always managed to get through it. Despite everything, you’re still here. You should be proud of yourself.”

I’m still here. And considering everything I’ve been through, that’s pretty impressive. 

I think it’s time to let go of my grudges. I will always hate the Jayhawks and 99.9% of the state of Kansas in general, but perhaps it’s time to lighten up on myself a little. Maybe I could even forgive myself for all the stupid and careless mistakes I’ve made and for the dark thoughts I’ve harbored.

Through luck, stubbornness, and the help of my family and friends, I’m still here. Half a century of navigating life’s ups and downs, and I’m still here. Despite loss, trauma, bitter disappointments, mental illness, alcohol addiction, and family crises, I’m still here.

I could have thrown in the towel, but I didn’t. I kept fighting.

After all, being here sure beats the alternative. As an atheist, I have a hard time imagining any sort of afterlife. As Bob Marley sang, “Most people think great god will come from the skies, take away everything, and make everybody feel high. But if you know what life is worth, you will look for yours on earth.” Life—this life—is precious. Even though it can be difficult, painful, and utterly unfair, Life is a great gift, one that should never be squandered.

 

If you have been holding a grudge against yourself and undermining your chances for happiness, now is the time to let that grudge go. Forgive yourself for being human, and make an effort to love yourself. You are absolutely worthy of love. And give yourself a little credit. Despite all of the hardships you’ve encountered over the years, you’re still here. Nothing has beaten you yet.

You’re undefeated. You should be proud of that, and you should be proud of yourself.

Say it with me and rejoice, “I’m still here. I’m still here!”

Get Busy Living

 For the last two years social distancing measures, quarantines, and stay-at-home orders have helped prevent emergency rooms and hospital wards from becoming overrun with Covid-positive patients, saving countless lives. Yet in that time, one million Americans have died from coronavirus-related illnesses. As hard as it is to imagine, the death toll would have been much, much higher had we not taken the steps we did.

I have supported mask mandates, vaccination requirements, and social distancing efforts throughout the pandemic, but now that most Americans have either been vaccinated or infected with the coronavirus, the likelihood of a surge in new infections that will strain the medical system has become drastically lower. Therefore, I believe it is time to think about how we will proceed from here.

With the threat to our physical health greatly diminished, we need to address the damage the virus has caused to our emotional wellbeing. America is currently battling an unprecedented mental health crisis as a result of the prolonged isolation from loved-ones, the cancelation of gatherings and celebrations, and the constant fear of death. Though the mitigation measures were necessary and the right thing to do, they were never intended to be permanent. Merely avoiding death is not the same as living life.

 

As Stephen King wrote in The Shawshank Redemption, “I guess it comes down to a simple choice, really. Get busy living or get busy dying.” 

I believe that now is the time to get busy living. 

Last Saturday, my wife and I hosted our largest family gathering in over two years. Cousins and siblings, aunts and uncles, in-laws and perhaps a few outlaws from the Naughton, Hecker, Lemon, Rathsam, Bruce, and Davenport families converged at our little house in the woods for a good old-fashioned family Easter celebration. It was a sunny and joyous day, and it was just what the doctor ordered.

In all, over 30 members of our extended family came together to eat ham, turkey, and an assortment of casseroles and desserts that left our bellies feeling as full as our hearts. The kids participated in an Easter egg hunt outside, the first for 19-month-old Freya who exhibited a preternatural talent for finding the candy and toy-filled plastic eggs. And people spent a fair amount of time in my multi-purpose shop admiring my newly acquired Corvette and playing musical instruments.

A good time was had by all. A long-overdue good time. Perhaps the delayed gratification helped make it even more special. All I know is that seeing my granddaughter carrying her “Baby Yoda” Easter basket around while her smiling parents followed along behind her was one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen in my life. It was medicine for my soul.

I’m looking forward to more soul medicine and enjoying more long-overdue good times in the future. Two of my favorite things in the world are the mountains of Colorado and live music. This weekend, an old friend and I will be enjoying both of those as I head west to Fort Collins, Colorado, to take in the FoCoMX music festival where 300 musical acts from all genres will perform at 30 downtown venues. Rest assured that not only will I be busy living, I will also be busy getting down and getting funky, too.

I’ll make another trip to the mountains this summer where our family will explore the Breckenridge area and visit my brother and his family. We also have vacations planned for Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, and Northern Michigan. Of course, I’ll make time to take the Corvette on a few road trips as well. I wouldn’t want the newest member of the family to feel left out.

As we take a moment this week to reflect upon the fact that one million American lives have been lost to Covid, it is important to also remember that it is our duty as survivors to carry on and live our best lives—while always being willing to make difficult choices and sacrifices should the need arise again in the future.

Local Election Recap

 By Carson Blake

April 5, 2022, local elections surpassed recent previous elections in voter turnout. According to the Boone County Clerk, the Ashland polls saw a 32% voter turnout compared to the April 6, 2021, local elections that saw an estimated 12% voter turnout. 

There are currently 6,895 registered voters in the Southern Boone County area. For the school board, the total votes cast came in at 4,482 for 2022. On April 6, 2021, the total votes cast was 1,636 and the original April 7, 2020, local election that was pushed back due to COVID-19 to June 5, 2020, had 2,607 total votes cast. 

"I was pleased that the voters would honor me with that and that the community is still together and wants to make Southern Boone County the best in Mid Missouri," said Barrett Glascock. 

The reelected school board member Barrett Glascock and new elect Crystal Branch will serve a three-year term on the SoBoCo school board. 

As a previous educator of 24 years, Branch was glad about the voter turnout and ready to get caught up to speed at the next school board meeting on April 18. 

The increase in voter turnout was also visible in the City of Ashland's elections. 

On June 5, 2020, Richard Sullivan won the Ashland Mayoral vote; voters cast 638 total votes in that election. In last week's Mayoral election, with 3,158 registered voters, Ashland cast 985 total votes. An estimated 10% increase in voter turnout. 

Unlike 2020, Dorise Slinker quickly claimed the election and will be enacted as Mayor at the Board of Alderman meeting on April 19. 

"My first concern is to get a balanced budget," said Slinker. The Alderman did not pass the City's proposed budget on April 5. "A budget has to pass by May," said Slinker. 

Reelected Alderman Rick Lewis and Alderwomen Melissa Old will serve on the Ashland Board of Alderman for two more years. Coming back to the Alderman, Bryan Bradford, a previously resigned Alderman, will again be on the board. 

2020 SoBoCo School District	2021 SoBoCo School District	2022 SoBoCo School District
2,607 total cast votes	1,636 total cast votes	4,482 total cast votes

Choose Love Every Time

 Now that Covid-related mask mandates and vaccine requirements are fading into memory, far-right conservatives have found themselves in need of something else to aim their moral outrage at. Unwilling to take on real challenges such as poverty, health care reform, or ending tax loopholes for the mega-rich, Republicans have instead reverted to attacking a familiar victim: the LGBTQ+ community.

Protesting health mandates that were implemented to protect lives during the pandemic, conservatives insisted that their civil liberties were being infringed upon by being required to wear masks at schools, ballparks, and other places where people gather. They argued that their personal freedom was more important than promoting the general welfare. But what about the personal freedoms of gay, lesbian, and transgender people? What about their welfare?

Many of those same people who espouse the importance of protecting personal freedoms when it suits them have apparently decided that the same emphasis on individual rights does not apply to LGBTQ+ Americans. Try as I might, I can’t find anything in the Constitution that excludes gay or lesbian citizens from enjoying the same rights that straight Americans do. Yet several Republican-majority state legislatures have passed laws legalizing discrimination against LGBTQ+ citizens under the guise of religious freedom while others have tried outlawing same-sex marriage (despite the Supreme Court’s ruling that affirmed the right of same-sex couples to wed). Recently, some states have made it a crime to provide gender-affirming health care to minors while at least a dozen legislative bodies have proposed laws criminalizing the discussion of sexual orientation and gender identity in schools.

Mind you, these conservatives think it is perfectly acceptable for young children to read books about men and women in heterosexual relationships, but God help any teacher who reads a story about a kid growing up in a loving household with two moms. You don’t hear same-sex parents yelling, “Quit forcing your straight agenda on my kids!” at school board meetings, but whenever a teacher hangs a rainbow flag in her classroom a loud chorus of “Stop forcing your gay agenda on our kids!” is shouted from the mountaintops.

Even more troubling, an unnerving number of states have passed laws forcing transgender youth to use restrooms or play on the sports teams of the gender they were assigned at birth. What about children who were androgynous at birth? What about kids born with an XXY set of chromosomes instead of the more common XX or XY? Which restroom should they use? What about a kid who was assigned a gender at birth, but for that child’s entire life they KNEW that they were a member of the opposite sex? No one knows better than I do who I am in my heart and in my mind, and the same is true for transgender people. And since when are another person’s genitals anyone else’s business—especially the business of politicians?

Transgender people have a gender identity or expression that differs from the sex they were assigned at birth. I can assure you that no kid wakes up one day and decides to switch sexes in order to dominate their cisgender opponents in sports, yet that is what a lot of Republican lawmakers seem to believe. What child would willingly invite the scorn and hatred of bigots just to win a swim meet? Talk to the families of transgender murder victims if you have any lingering doubts about whether someone’s gender identity is a choice made for the frivolous reason of winning trophies at sporting events.

I know and love quite a few Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Questioning, and non-binary people. And, brace yourself for this, my pearl-clutching friends; several of these wonderful human beings live and work right here in Southern Boone County. These friends, family members, and neighbors have the exact same rights to Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness that heterosexual and cisgender people do. Period. 

What LGBTQ+ people need right now is love and acceptance, not the persecution of over-zealous, self-righteous politicians. Me? I’ll choose love every time.

Help! Old Man Needs Gas Money for New Toy

 Last week, I procured an automobile that sits at the top of the bucket lists of many red-blooded American car enthusiasts such as myself, a Chevrolet Corvette. I can already declare with absolute certainty, that it is impossible to drive a Corvette with a frown on your face. But don’t just take my word for it. Try it for yourself sometime. 

I have already heard from a few comedians who joked that I must be experiencing a midlife crisis. How else can you explain why a 50-year-old grandfather would waste his money on such a frivolous toy that uses expensive 93 octane gas? If that’s the case, then I can only say that I must be dealing with the longest midlife crisis in history, dating all the way back to my first “just-for-kicks” vehicle purchase, a 1991 Pontiac Sunbird convertible that I bought in 1995.

Since then, I’ve owned three 1957 Chevy Bel Airs, two Ford Crown Victoria Police Interceptors, three antique trucks that I used exclusively for hosting tailgate parties at Mizzou football games, two early 1970s Chevy trucks that just looked cool, a 1965 Oldsmobile 442, a 1965 Chevy Impala lawn ornament, and a 426-horsepower, 6-speed 2010 Chevy Camaro SS. Every one of them frivolous and completely unnecessary. Will this midlife crisis ever end?!

I hope not.

The latest addition to my fleet is anything but an “old man’s car.” The 5th generation model that was introduced in 1997 was the most revolutionary redesign of the iconic Corvette since the car’s debut in 1953. The entire chassis, body, and much of the drivetrain were completely new for model year 1997, the year my Corvette was built. The 350 cubic-inch, LS1 V8 engine was rated at 348 horsepower and had a top speed of 175 miles per hour without any modifications. Not too shabby. But of course, my Corvette has been blessed with several modifications and aftermarket upgrades, which steer it even further away from being a “grandpa car” as one internet troll called it when he saw that it has an automatic transmission.

My car’s previous owner must have been reading my mind when he started customizing “our” Corvette. I wouldn’t change a single thing he did to the car. He added an improved air cleaner, a better intake manifold, a custom exhaust system, and a professional engine tune for more horsepower. He swapped the standard chrome wheels for a set of larger black wheels with meatier tires. He tinted the windows, blacked-out the roof pillars, and added a slick-looking black spoiler, all of which contrast beautifully with the car’s Arctic White paint and Firethorn Red interior. He also replaced the factory stereo with a 2000-watt sound system that makes the side mirrors vibrate when the 12” subwoofer starts thumping.

To dispel any lingering thoughts about it being a “grandpa car”, the previous owner also installed a nitrous kit, which gives the engine a boost of an additional 100 horsepower whenever the “go-fast” button is pushed while the car is at full-throttle. A 3200-pound car with well over 400 horsepower? Yes, please!

Admittedly, the Corvette is a favorite of many middle-aged/older men and women. Why? Because, just like me, those folks have dreamed about owning the quintessential American sportscar ever since they first laid eyes on one as a kid. But they often couldn’t afford one until they were much older.

What’s cooler than a Corvette? In the 1960s, each of the Apollo astronauts were given a brand-new Corvette Stingray to drive as one of the fringe benefits of the job. Vettes have been featured in countless movies and TV shows and on posters adorning the bedroom walls of generations of car-crazy kids. No child’s Hot Wheels collection would be complete without at least one or two toy Corvettes. Even Barbie drives a Corvette for goodness’ sake!

Midlife crisis? It’s more of a midlife celebration if you ask me. And if I really am at midlife at 50 years of age, then that means I have 50 more years of enjoying my Corvette and whatever else strikes my fancy down the road.

And what about my dad? He bought his Corvette last year at the age of 76. Was it a midlife crisis or did he finally give himself permission to do something fun with his savings after serving his country as a Marine and as an educator? When I see the twinkle in his eye as he sits behind the wheel of his Corvette, it makes my heart happy. When he drove down to my house last Sunday to admire my new ride, I’m pretty sure he saw the same twinkle in my eye, and I have no doubt it made his heart just as happy as mine.