Toby Goodshank Original Art 2025

Life with Chicken and Broccoli

Category: family

  • Epic Universe Part 1 – The Beginning

    Epic Universe Part 1 – The Beginning

    This was the main point of the trip, a 14-day pass with just one day reserved for Epic Universe. My son had been preparing for this since the moment he found out we were going, watching an endless stream of YouTube videos from creators who make it their job to share every detail of how to do the park right.

    We were told Wednesday was the best day to go. It turned out to be one of the busiest. I’m convinced it was because everyone else was watching the same recommendations. Later we learned it was also the last day of summer break for Florida kids, which explained a lot.

    We woke at 7:00 a.m., almost like a travel day. The night before, we had booked a car service for the short 2.8-mile ride to the park, which cost $25 with tip. That expense was nothing compared to the $500 I had spent on Express Passes. These allowed us to skip the line once on 8 of the 11 attractions. If we hadn’t used them, I could have asked for a refund, but I knew better. My son knew better too, teasing me that there was no chance I’d ever stand in a line that long.

    We were dressed and ready and arrived at 8:15 a.m. to join the initial line before the 9:00 opening. My son wanted us there early so we could hit the rides quickly once inside. He was right. This would be a day of lines. One kid later humorously muttered, “Epic Universe, more like Epic Lines.” By 8:20 we were already waiting in the sun, that relentless Florida sun that hunts you down. At 8:30 I was sweating and I knew this was going to be a long one. The day would stretch into 14 hours.

    The staff did a good job raising spirits with countdowns and encouragement. When the security gates opened, we were moved forward but then held again at the ticket checkpoints. Eventually we were corralled into two groups, each pointed toward one side of the park. Our target was the Harry Potter Ministry of Magic ride, the new flagship attraction. This was the crème de la crème, the Cadillac of rides for the park. From watching the app, we knew it was always going to have a long wait and that it broke down often, so it had to be first.

    My son, quick and athletic, made his way halfway up in the pack while I was the big old lumbering dad on the side, trying to keep pace with families and kids sprinting forward. By the time we reached the Ministry, I was several rows behind. Thankfully, he gave up his hard-earned position and waited for me so we could continue together. Once inside, we were funneled into yet another queue, the last one before the ride itself.

    The silver lining was that we were in a good position and the sweet AC gave us relief. By then it was 9:15 a.m. and the ride wouldn’t open until 10:00. It felt like waiting in several lines just to avoid waiting in line. Still, the atmosphere carried that first-day-of-school energy. Everyone was buzzing, and the excitement was contagious. We sat, walked, and waited with our new-found line friends eagerly anticipating and taking in all the queue aesthetics we could handle.

    At 10:05 we were finally on the ride. It was incredible, as most Universal rides are, but it wasn’t quite the earth-shattering experience the hype had led us to expect. We both felt like there should have been more—bigger thrills, something novel, an unexpected twist to earn all that buzz. Unfazed and happy to check off the big ride we joyfully continued onward, not knowing that wow moment would come later with another ride.

    After leaving the Ministry, we walked through the Parisian area. The whole park was stunning, with every section and portal pulling you into its own fantasy setting. When you look up, you see the buildings towering, layered with detail. Every corner seemed to hold hidden Easter eggs, honoring the original material while letting the designers and engineers leave their own mark.

    Our next destination was one of the most anticipated rides of the day. The Super Mario portal was something special for us. Video game collecting has been part of our bond since the beginning of our adventures together, so this was more than just another attraction. Watching my son step into that warp pipe and emerge in the Mushroom Kingdom was a moment I’ll never forget. Suddenly, we were surrounded by the best pieces of Super Mario Brothers brought to life.

    This is where Part Two of our day begins, and where things really started to warp to the next level.

  • Senior Year

    Senior Year

    It feels like just yesterday we were all standing outside, putting you on the bus for that very first day of school. So many pictures, so many memories. The hustle and bustle of getting you ready, us ready, with grandparents, aunts, and uncles all coming by to wish you well.

    And now, today, you left at 7 a.m., driving yourself to school. No crowd, no fanfare. Our group was cut last year, and that loss still runs deep. The house was quieter. Just another Monday morning—except it wasn’t. This is senior year. Our little dancer’s last year of high school.

    The speed of it all is staggering. How quickly these years have flown. Memories flash through my mind like a reel, pulsing, unstoppable. I think back to my own senior year, how I got lazy when I should have gotten busy. I don’t remember my first day as clearly as I should, but I remember enough to know it was good, though not great.

    Now I see her stepping into this season, and everything comes at once. It’s like a midlife review—seeing her life, seeing mine, both layered together. I found old clips from my father’s phone, small pieces of the good times he thought were worth recording. They make me realize how little we actually carry with us or keep. These quiet times of reflection cut deep, like a single raindrop that swells into a flood of emotions. I brace myself against its raw power, but it breaks over me and carries me away in the current.

    I’ve made peace with that. We’re not meant to remember everything in crystal detail. If we did, we’d never be able to step into a new day. Life only gives us enough to build from, enough to grow. Every moment is preserved somewhere, even if not consciously. We are part of the endless dance of life—Lila. None of it is wasted.

    That’s why nostalgia is tricky. We try to hold on to things as if they’ll slip away, but nothing is really lost. I believe when our time here ends, we’ll move differently, through time and memory, able to revisit, replay, relive whenever we want. Which means the more important task is simply this: create memories worth reliving. Push when you can, because you always can.

    Watching my kids in these formative years makes me remember how unsteady I was back then. I wish I could hand them the confidence I have now, the freedom from fear. At the time, everything felt so heavy, as if one wrong move mattered forever. But now I see it didn’t. Fear was wasted energy. I wish they could feel that already. Maybe they can’t. Maybe it’s just part of the process, like any hero making their way into the world. It’s a gift that can’t be bestowed, only earned through the walk of life.

    What I do know is this: my little girl is a senior. My baby is grown. My wife feels it deeply; I do too. But I’m steadied by the truth that every moment counts, that nothing disappears, and that all of it is worth carrying forward. This year will go quickly, but it will not be wasted. It will be lived, and it will be remembered.

    Olivia, I hope you feel the weight of this year, but not as a burden. I hope you see it as a gift. Try new things. Take chances. Don’t let fear hold you back. The truth is, it doesn’t matter if everything works out perfectly. What matters is that you live it fully. You must fail in order to succeed, and I hope you fail gloriously, then rise again with the courage I know you have to keep moving forward.

    You are ready for this moment. You are stepping into the next part of your life, and I couldn’t be prouder. Every day ahead of you is another memory in the making, another chapter worth writing. So live it in a way that makes you smile when you look back. We’ll be smiling too, every step of the way. Forever and always your biggest fans.

  • Review: The Jersey Shore – Diamond Beach, NJ (Part 1: Hotel & Vibe)

    Review: The Jersey Shore – Diamond Beach, NJ (Part 1: Hotel & Vibe)

    What can be said about the Jersey Shore? For better or worse, my impression was shaped early on by a little MTV show called Jersey Shore. I thought it was a carnival side-show hookup spot for young Italians trying to catch every survivable STD before summer ended.

    My first trip down didn’t really change that view. I had to come back a few times to get my mind right. We went to Wildwood Crest—Exit 0—the very end of the Garden State Parkway, the end of the line. We stayed in the Diamond Beach area, a tiny sliver of shoreline just before Cape May.

    After going over the iconic E-ZPass bridge, then an inlet stretch or two, you make your way into a different mindset. It’s the kind of place where the road is policed by the Jersey Gods who nobody dares defy. The speed limit is 25, and everyone drives 25 or less. I spent a week there and only saw one police SUV. What kind of law-abiding madness is this? I felt like the Outlaw Josey Wales doing 30, just waiting for the Wildwood PD to swarm in.

    Driving 24 mph, we arrived at Icona Diamond Beach, a boutique hotel that had once been problematic during my first visit. They’ve since transformed it into something completely new. The core of what it was is still there, but this lipstick made the pig completely lovable and livable for our 5-day excursion.

    The rooms, I believe, are all suites. Ours was nicely appointed, though the bedroom area was tight. My wife and I had to do the boardwalk shuffle to get past each other, and sharing one bathroom with four people gets tricky as the kids grow. Thankfully, our daughter stayed with her Mima and Aunt, which helped.

    Still, the tight quarters sparked some memories—back to earlier trips when the kids were little and the space didn’t feel quite so cramped. That wave of nostalgia hit hard. How quickly it all moves. How every age holds something magnificent. I tried to store it all away on that mental shelf where the best moments live, while quietly dreading how much slips away with time.

    The hallway was a long run down the length of the hotel, and the pattern made me feel like I was at the Overlook Hotel in The Shining. There are historical photos lining the hallway, and I was looking for a party with Jack Nicholson at the beach with that wild Joker smile.

    The hotel employs young people from all over the world, it seems. The staff feels more like they would on a Caribbean island than in New Jersey.

    After breakfast, we’d make a quick visit back to the room to get ready for the day. The walk to the beach is great. It’s a fair distance from the hotel to umbrella city. Once you get to the end of the composite deck walkway that runs adjacent to the beach bar, I flip my flops into the air and plant my feet in the hot, warm sand. It seems like they brush it out each night, creating a fluffy step for me each day.

    I enjoy the little walk and feel the hot sun on my face, causing me to squint like Clint Eastwood staring down an adversary in any Wild West exploit.

    The staff helps you set up any number of chairs, lounges, umbrellas, and towels you need for the day. I’m always a fan of the efficiency in getting this done, complete with their cordless power drill to dig out a place for the umbrellas each day.

    Then we set up our chairs and sit. We sit and enjoy the all-excellence that is going to the beach. The warm air, constantly stirring and flowing over your body. The sounds of summer—fun, seagulls, kids, cocktails, mocktails and waves crashing forever. The shells and sand being turned into fine elegance, millennium after millennium, as the circular waves crash down and out.

    It’s always so amazing how quickly time can move and how tired you can get doing nothing all day. It doesn’t feel the same as sitting at home and watching shows that leave you deflated. A day at the beach leaves you feeling invigorated, closer to God, and with a sense of accomplishment. I don’t know what was accomplished, but I felt like I had put in a day of work.

    Vacation work.

    Sitting around with my family and two stowaways that joined us on our trip, I felt renewed under the energy of the plasmatic sun. Taking time to enjoy this flow of time, surrounded by the people that I love. Thinking of the people that I’ve lost and inviting them to join us.

    I didn’t expect to fall for the Jersey Shore, but somewhere between the wind, the waves, and watching my family lounge in the sun, it got me. It’s funny how doing nothing can leave you feeling so full. We didn’t conquer anything. We didn’t need to. We just showed up, stuck our toes in the sand, stayed present and let the days take us.

    Final Verdict:  8.15/10  (Aruba Light)

  • Field of Dreams

    Field of Dreams

    Field of Dreams is one of those movies that leaves a lasting impression. I’ve seen it many times, and each viewing through the different epochs of my life, feels a little different. It’s an ode to a beloved game, but at its core, it’s really about a father and a son.

    I was never a big fan of baseball. The furthest I went in my younger years was T-ball or maybe Charlie Brown baseball. But the movie isn’t only about the sport. It’s about connection. About time lost. About youth and the wisdom that only comes from looking back. It’s about how pride can quietly wedge itself into the spaces between men, especially fathers and sons. It explores the classic “what if,” and reminds us that what truly makes life worth living is the love we share; our connections, our relationships, and especially that sacred bond between father and son.

    Our generation—Generation X—is denoted in mathematics as the unknown. But if there’s one thing we do seem to know, it’s the importance of being present in our children’s lives, especially in their sports. Our parents’ generation followed a more traditional arc, only to realize later that they wished they hadn’t spent so much time working. Through their passing and their experiences, we’ve begun to see through the shroud of that false reality.

    For my family and for my son that sport has always been baseball. America’s pastime.

    I know how precious this time is as a dad; the small window of adolescence when a father can still be both a hero and a friend. I can feel the life-sized hourglass pouring sand through my fingers. I get excited on game days, leaving work early, picking up my son,  and sharing that anticipatory car ride to the field. We talk about the game, what he’s working on, what he’s going to try. We talk about the effort he’s put in at practice, and always the psychology of hitting. Continously working on a routine so that thought doesn’t interrupt what repetition has already mastered.

    I drop him off and watch as he hustles toward the field. I take a breath and work hard to be in the moment; the warm spring air, the bright sun inching toward the crest of the tree line. Our games are held late in the working day, and most parents are there. We bring our folding vinyl chairs and line them up together along the baseline. No one congratulates themselves or talks about the “sacrifice” of being there, because we already know the heavy price of regret if we are absent.

    We watch our kids with heightened anticipation, that nitrous-like jolt of nerves as they step into the batter’s box or push off the pitching mound. My joy isn’t rooted in some longing to live vicariously through my son. It comes from being a proud, loving, and deeply content father, watching the most beautiful thing I’ve ever helped create simply living his life. The strength and rhythm of youth, the untarnished optimism, and a glorious, unknown future. I just want him to know how proud and loved he is, and for him to be able to step back and truly enjoy his moment.

    We sit quietly, offering our hopes and wishes to the baseball gods. Hoping for that “good hit”, that allows them to beat the throw to first. We know a bad at-bat will replay in their minds, and we just hope, deep down, that they can recognize the wisdom of not placing too much weight on any one moment. Smile. Breathe. See the ball. Hit the ball.

    Time is limited. And while the days can sometimes feel long, the years and life itself are incredibly short. I try never to rush the day or the moment. I take time to breathe in the air, to say my own quiet prayers of gratitude, and to give thanks for the chance to be part of something this beautiful.
    I remember the line in Field of Dreams, when the father turns to Kevin Costner’s character and asks, “Is this Heaven?”
    And in moments like these; watching my son, the sun setting behind the trees, a gentle spring breeze carrying a well hit ball through the air. I think to myself, it is.