Toby Goodshank Original Art 2025

Life with Chicken and Broccoli

Category: Uncategorized

  • America’s Oldest Park, Lake Compounce

    America’s Oldest Park, Lake Compounce

    My son and I had talked about doing an amusement park trip, and we ended up choosing Lake Compounce. It’s just the right distance from our house and the right size for a 13-year-old boy who outgrew Quassy Amusement Park some time ago.

    Honestly, I was hesitant to go. Maybe I’m getting old. I just didn’t feel like going on any rides and getting mangled up. We checked the weather on Sunday, and it looked good for Monday. We went back and forth. I told him he should go to the pool with his friend and I’d just go to work. But he has his Flea Market madness way of negotiating and re-negotiating a price or getting what he wants.

    I got up and went outside to have my coffee, grounding my feet in the grass and enjoying the quiet morning scene. The calm before the storm is something I love. It gives me a chance to reconnect with what’s important. As I slowly sipped my brew, I thought about his age and how many more times he might even ask me to do something like this with him. In just three more years he’ll be driving, like his sister, who was going to spend the day at the pool with friends. There are no guarantees and no tomorrows. That’s all a false hope and a mismanagement of human perception.

    After the spark of affirmation, I speedily finished my cup and went inside to tell him. He knew I had been on the fence, so when I told him, he wasn’t sure if I was serious. Once he realized I was, he came out of his room to confirm, and I was so happy to see he was still that excited.

    We had about an hour to get our stuff together. We wanted to be on the road by 10 a.m. so we could arrive by 11 a.m. for the park opening. We got ready quickly, and it’s always easier for the guys to get out the door. Driving up I-84, another trip, another adventure. Suddenly the dreaded red line of traffic appeared on our GPS after Exit 13. I thought we’d only hit some traffic in Waterbury. After an 11-minute delay due to completely unnecessary roadwork that never seems to get worked on, we made it through and arrived at 11:05.

    For some reason, our GPS never brings us to the main entrance. We always have to ignore its instructions or we’ll end up at the employee gate. We finally got in line to enter the parking lot. I had already purchased our tickets and parking pass, but none of the signs indicated where pre-paid guests should go until the last second, when we were stuck in the wrong lane. We got passed by a guy who cut across two lanes of traffic to jump ahead. What made this creature even worse was that his initial payment failed, and he had to get out his debit card and punch in a code.

    Finally, after the traffic and the line-cutters, we parked in section C2 on this warm summer morning. We quickly walked the half-mile tunnel path and made our way to the entrance of Lake Compounce. We were excited and deliberated how busy it would be. It turned out to be busier than expected, but most of the crowd seemed to be heading for the water park which made sense.

    For $34.99 each, plus $25 for parking, we got a full day at both the regular amusement park and the water park, all for under $100.

    We rented a large locker to hold our towels and other water park necessities. We took a right and started our Father and Son field trip with the park’s bigger rides.

    We began with the Wildcat, their mid-level wooden roller coaster. We had done this one before and remembered getting a little banged up. But this time, sitting in the middle of the train, or maybe thanks to a newer cart, we had a smoother and fun start to the day. The kids behind us were screaming so loudly it felt like they were on a completely different ride.

    Then it was on to Down Time, the drop tower, which quickly confirmed whether our stomachs were ready for the day. As we shot up and dropped down, we had a beautiful view of the park and surrounding hills. The other two big coasters, Phobia and Zoomerang, were exciting. Unfortunately for me, not knowing the turns and fighting the momentum left my aging body taking some hard hits to my equilibrium. I rallied though, and we took a break to make a solid purchase: the all-day plastic drink cup for $17.99, which let us refill with Pepsi products and water all day. On this 90-degree day, it was worth every penny.

    My favorite ride of the day was Thunder N’ Lightning, a giant swing that makes you feel like a kid getting pushed high into the sky. My son loved it all. One of his favorites was the Ghost Hunt, a haunted house ride with light guns where you compete for the highest score. The first time we did it, I didn’t pay attention to the target colors and got destroyed. But this time, I was ready to go after the purple targets. Room after room, I thought I was winning. I was, for a while. But in the last room, he pulled away and beat me by 30,000 points. Even after a second attempt, I was soundly beaten. He was thrilled to be the camp champ.

    A special shout-out to Boulder Dash, which is the most thrilling wooden coaster I can remember ever being on. It’s an old wooden coaster and appears weathered and worn as you view it from the wooden deck before getting on, even though it was built in 2000. The ride is extremely thrilling in its own right, but the creaks and shakes of the wooden structure definitely add levels to the ride. We both, young and old, came off this ride shook with a nice dull headache for our trouble.

    We walked the park looking for something decent to eat. After a full loop, we ended up back at Wildcat Grill for a double cheeseburger. The food was fine. It would be nice to throw in a few healthy options, but based on this slice of Americana we traversed today, I’m sure it doesn’t make any fiscal sense.

    After confirming he was all set with the amusement park side, we made our way over to the water park, which was definitely busier, especially as the temperature climbed. We lathered up with sunscreen and hit my all-time favorite, the Lazy River. I have to say, the Lazy River here is well managed. They have staff controlling the flow of guests, helping people on, and enforcing the one-lap rule. They even built a tube ride in the middle that drops you into another section of the river. Since I consider myself somewhat of a connoisseur, I have imagined similar when designing my own one day.

    The river was calm, and we floated along, deciding not to wait for the inner-tube ride. I told my son to pretend we didn’t know what was going on and try to sneak past the attendants. A young staff member eventually told us to get off, but when he saw how long the line was, he said, “The line looks big, so just keep going.” A win. We continued our second lap like the big-time rule breakers we were.

    We spent some time in the United Nations wave pool, where everyone got along gently rolling in the chlorine blue waves. My son hit a few more water rides while I found a lounge chair and waited as he went to a less crowded section to try all three variations of the body slide tubes.

    Finally, with our fill of fun, we made our way out of the park. It was another amazing day because I got to spend it with my son. I’m grateful for this time, especially now, during what feels like an ever-shrinking window to do things like this together.

    One day, he’ll be grown and off chasing his own life, and these chances will be fewer and farther between. I hope he carries these memories with him. I hope he smiles when he thinks back on days like this. And maybe one day, he’ll be the one sipping coffee in the morning, deciding whether to take his own kid to the park.

    If he does, I hope he goes.

  • Nintendo Switch 2 Caper

    Nintendo Switch 2 Caper

    My son and I are avid video game collectors, and we were excited about the release of Nintendo’s new console, the Switch 2. We tried earnestly when the initial pre-order website launched, only to get frozen out and miss our chance months ago. My son threw a gentle zinger at the time, letting me know that so and so’s dad had stayed up and snagged one. The dagger through any father’s heart, losing out to Mythical Dad X who obviously cares more about his kid.

    But June 5, 2025 was my chance for redemption.

    With the help of our new AI friends, we learned that several retailers would have midnight releases online, and a few would be selling the console in-store at 12:01 AM and again when stores opened. I’m extremely line averse. I’ll do just about anything to avoid waiting in a line and have lived a life designed around avoiding the WAIT. Eating at off hours, traveling through the night, researching how to dodge lines like it’s a game. My kids are lucky to have Magic Genie Pass, Express Lane Hotel Staying Dad who makes it his mission to squeeze the most out of our time with as little waiting as possible. Maybe it stems from some childhood trauma, etched into my DNA, a nightmare of a line where everything went wrong.

    Options were limited. Best Buy was opening at 12:01 AM and the backup was Target at 8:00 AM. Sadly, we’ve lost our Gamestops in the Danbury area, and the nearest one in Trumbull, inside a mall, was guaranteed chaos.

    At first, the plan was Target. Get there by 6:00 AM. But after watching a few YouTube videos, my son started to get anxious. The lines were already being reported by local media. With limited quantities per store and only a few retailers carrying the console, he wanted to pivot. He started nudging me to head out to Best Buy that night instead. I agreed, thinking maybe we could avoid the early morning chaos.

    While watching TV with my wife, I noticed my son stealthily creeping around, checking his phone, glancing at the clock. “Maybe we should go now,” he suggested. I had originally said 10:00 PM. Two hours seemed tolerable. But he worked me down. By 8:30 we were in the car headed to Danbury.

    Taking the highway instead of backroads, we could already see the line had wrapped around the front of Best Buy. We knew they had 40 consoles available, so we figured we’d drive around to the back to assess the situation. That’s when we saw the line stretching all the way around the corner. He wanted to wait. I couldn’t do it. Three and a half hours in line with no guarantee? No thanks.

    We pivoted to Target to see if a line had started, even though they weren’t selling until 8:00 AM. Nobody was there. We took our customary stroll through our favorite sections. The Nintendo Switch display was barren, cleared out in preparation for the launch.

    We got home by 9:30 and reported to Mom that the first attempt was a bust. I wasn’t thrilled about waking up even earlier to wait in line again, and the debate started. “Please Dad, please!” My wife reminded me, “He’s a good kid.” She wasn’t wrong. How could I say no?

    Sitting there at 10:00 PM, I made a call. I’d try again at 12:01 AM online. My son was doubtful. He figured our best shot was showing up in person the next morning. Still, I logged into all the retailers: Costco, Walmart, Gamestop. Made sure my accounts were updated with payment info and mailing addresses. I knew sometimes sites upload inventory a bit early, so I kept refreshing just in case.

    My son went to bed around 11:00 PM, or so I thought. At 11:45 he rose like the living dead and wandered back in, just as I was getting my tabs organized. I gave him the phone with the Gamestop app while I took the computer.

    From 11:50 on, we were refreshing like maniacs. At 12:00, Walmart’s countdown timer hit zero. But the links were frozen. Nothing redirected. Just spinning wheels of death. As minutes passed, our hope was draining. How can we beat bots, resellers, and whoever else figured out an algorithm?

    By 12:16, we were ready to call it. My son, now even more dismayed, knew that if I stayed up past midnight, the odds of me waking up at 4:30 AM were basically zero.

    Then one last round of refreshing. Suddenly a third icon appeared on Walmart’s site, joining the two blank Switch listings. This one had an “Add” button.

    Mash. Mash. Mash. Click click click.

    Error. Out of stock.

    Refresh. “Add” again.

    Then, a new screen. We were in a queue. A little window popped up in the corner saying we’d be notified and could view or dismiss.

    We waited. Low expectations. Probably a glitch.

    And then, Eureka. A 9-minute countdown popped up. We were in. The purchase screen loaded.

    I clicked “Add to Cart.” Nothing happened. Tried again. Still nothing.

    Then I noticed it was prompting for the CVV code.

    “Get the light!” I yelled, as my son turned on his phone flashlight.

    Code entered. One final click. Successssssssss!

  • NMS Presents “Spring Concerts” 7th Grade

    NMS Presents “Spring Concerts” 7th Grade

    That exciting time of year had arrived, the 7th grade Spring Concert. My son was performing in the Chorus section. As always, there was the daily drama of deciding whether he even wanted to go. He had a baseball practice he would have much rather attended, but my wife stood firm and said, “School first.” I could not argue with that logic, though I still tried, if only to quote Tina Turner: “I don’t care who’s wrong or right, I don’t wanna fight no more.”

    The concert was held at the Newtown High School auditorium, which I appreciated because it has air conditioning and had probably been redone a few times since I went to school there. There is always a small rush of nostalgia walking into places you grew up in. High school hits especially hard. Those years when hormones fused with neurons and everything felt important. The layout of the entrance was mostly the same, and I was reminded of the old Indian mascot sit-in we all participated in; losing to eventually become the Nighthawks.

    Inside the auditorium, a folding table held stacks of yellow Spring Concert flyers. I grabbed one quickly. We found seats in the back for a fast getaway and took the aisle so I could stretch my legs. The room was cool and comfortable. Orchestra and band students were already on stage, instruments in hand. Our Chorus kids sat off to the side, waiting for their turn to rise and take the front risers.

    The number of pages in the program made me nervous. I had been told this was a 30-minute performance. My fears eased once I saw that the Chorus had only one page, split into a few short segments. One page that stood out to me, though, was titled “Concert Etiquette.” A list of reminders that we should stay seated and quiet, not clap or hum along, and refrain from whistling or cheering. It felt a bit patronizing, like that overeducated, condescending tone adults use when they forget they are speaking to other adults and not children.

    The show itself was great. I appreciated the music choices. They were fun, and maybe I am just a big kid, but I recognized every song. Oompa Loompa, Pirates of the Caribbean, A Million Dreams, and Revenge of the Sith. The kids did an admirable job. There were a few sharp strings and flat notes, but you could clearly recognize the melodies. The “One Bow Concerto” was particularly entertaining. There was some confusion about who was sharing the bow, but the first-chair violinist stood out as an inspiring pro.

    When the Chorus took the stage, all of us in the audience searched for our familiar face. It brought me back to my own school days. The whispered jokes, giggles, the occasional dropped instrument, a rogue cymbal crash from the wrong section, the class clown who had to get one last laugh before the night was over. The lights hit my son’s face just right. He looked like an angel in his white shirt and black pants.

    About forty-five minutes later, we were being thanked by the town’s Music Director. I still do not know her name or official title, but she is always passionately advocating for the arts, music, and theater. She reminds us about some study or another, explaining how kids who sing in Chorus are four times more likely to become cashiers at Big Y than baggers at Caraluzzi’s.

    On the ride home, we got the full behind-the-scenes recap. Who messed up, who was being funny, some random conversations. These little details, almost too small to hold onto, are the ones that stick.

    It was a nice Tuesday night. Nothing extraordinary. But as I looked over at my son, I realized these moments are the whole point. The music, the memories, the quiet lion’s pride. They are the soundtrack to a childhood we will someday miss. And I am glad we showed up and were present.

  • Selling Our Childhood Home

    Selling Our Childhood Home

    My mother died unexpectedly on March 16th, 2024, from what we still don’t truly know. For a lot of people, that uncertainty causes angst. It seems that when people know what someone died of, they can soothe their own fears or file it away in a box to be shelved and never reopened. Science currently tells us that genetics only account for about 5 to 12 percent of our health outcomes, so I’m not concerned for myself.  What’s more disconcerting is that the people we love can be here one moment and gone the next. We all know this on some level, but when it’s your mother, it hits differently. You can’t fully grasp it until she’s no longer there.

    Her passing caused my father to follow not long after; he died in July of what I believe was a broken heart.

    Your childhood home is always your mom’s house. A father might pay for it or be the main contributor, but your mom makes it a home. She creates the atmosphere, the warm air of comfort and serenity that makes it a safe haven against the world. My parents were warm and loving, and our home was a fortress of solitude filled with a childhood of happy memories. My favorite spots were the living room, the downstairs game room I created, and the property outside.

    My brother and I are blessed in that we could keep the home. We could leave it empty indefinitely as some kind of forever monument to our parents. But choices aren’t always blessings. They can bring ambiguity, and with that comes stress. What should we do? Should we sell it? Turn it into a giant man cave with video games, projectors for movies, pinball machines, arcade cabinets, a meeting place for family dinners, pickleball courts, and maybe even a lazy river around the perimeter? My son was fully on board as the vision for this funhouse kept ever growing in scale.

    We also considered turning it into a rental or Airbnb, but when we looked at the income versus the upkeep, it didn’t make sense. It does have an in-law apartment, but that couldn’t be used unless we lived there. When your parents die, you grow up. Even though I’ve been doing all the adult things for years, I have managed to remain childlike until now.

    My parents were what I’d call “light” hoarders. They had an addiction to stuff: knickknacks, bric-a-brac, collectibles that lost value over time, obscure curios, and they just kept adding shelves to hold more and more. They enjoyed the thrill of acquiring things they’d rarely touch again. We always joked that when they passed, we’d need a bulldozer to clear out the house. Instead, we’ve spent months going through everything slowly, trying to be respectful and dutiful sons. We did our best to keep what we could and ended up moving several shelves’ worth of their things to my mother-in-law’s house. My mom’s Beanie Babies made the cut, and I hope she can forgive us for what we threw away.

    All the while, we kept deliberating on what to do with the house. Eventually, we made the decision to sell, and once that choice was made, I felt a huge wave of relief. We’re still in the process of clearing it out. Three (soon to be four) giant dumpsters later, and we’re finally getting close to the finish line.

    After finishing another long Sunday of cleaning on a beautiful spring day, I brought my brother up to the deck. My father had fallen in love with the house because of the property. Even though it was on a busy road, the back of the lot reminded him of Central Park, a peaceful escape for someone who grew up on the streets of Manhattan. And he was right. It’s beautiful, quiet, and serene. The deck is surrounded by the family room and the master bedroom addition he had built. It created a kind of protected enclosure with a park-like view. He never dreamed, growing up, that he’d have something like this. I can still see him floating in the pool on his raft, soaking in the sun.

    The nostalgia hits hard: hanging outside, growing up, playing in that yard, parties, holidays, family movie nights. With those memories, my resolve wavers. My brother has been conflicted as well. But I know those ghosts of the past are just that, memories. What we had can never be again. That is incredibly hard to reconcile and yet as the same time, it is still okay.

    I’m incredibly grateful. I love the life I have now, I love my family, and I treasure the way we grew up. I feel renewed and oddly content. I think about the future and the family who will one day buy this home. I imagine them walking through the door and somehow feeling what we always felt coming home: peace, safety, love. I hope the home my mother created, the protection my father provided, and the warmth that filled these walls blesses their lives the way it blessed ours.