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  • Father’s Day 2025

    Father’s Day 2025

    I asked my kids for a parade around me while I sat and drank my coffee. My son was quick to oblige, and my daughter was slower to follow after several prompts and me saying I needed to see some of those multi-thousand-dollar dance moves we’ve been paying for over the last 12-plus years.

    After a few rotations around the couch with various high steps, hand waves, and general silliness, the children came to a stop. Then I asked them for their rendition of the Von Trapp Family’s good night song and the light-hearted and fast Lonely Goat marionette show. We had a great laugh and reveled in the silliness of the moment.

    I love this time, and I love being their father.

    We then had to complete the Daily Stoic, a tradition now in our home, reading one of Ryan Holiday’s carefully curated stoic quotes, followed by his interpretation. We’ve done this consistently for several years. We do fall behind on the day-to-day reading and end up with these longer catch-up sessions on the weekend. This particular Father’s Day included over a week’s worth.

    I’m never impatient or in a rush during this time. I love reading the wisdom of these old sages and trying to find ways to connect it to my kids’ lives. Even reading this book now for the fourth time through, there is always new meaning to divine as we grow, mature, and age through life. Also just taking time to talk about things, to hear what they think, and be there together.

    I know that for the kids, sometimes it feels like a chore, maybe more than sometimes. I can see it when they lose focus or drift off into their own thoughts. Today, my son decided to stand up and move over to the mantle to pick up a baseball, which he immediately dropped. I rebuked him:
    “Can’t you just sit still for a few minutes while we do these?”

    It was all quickly forgotten. There was no punishment. We returned to the book.

    Today on Father’s Day, I get to officially be in charge, so we went slow and we took our time.

    We took turns reading the lessons, day by day. They’re both fantastic readers, and if one reads, I’ll ask the other what they thought it was about or how they’d apply it. Most days, to push through, they’ve become masters of repackaging, paraphrasing, and just regurgitating it back to me.

    After so many years, the base principle is the same:
    We focus on what is in our control and let go of what is not.

    I know, for myself and for them, that this is truly useful, practical, and meaningful information. It can and should be used in all parts of life. But I also know that only through daily and consistent repetition do the lessons and ideas really take root.

    I wait for that one glorious moment when they step back in a stressful situation, analyze it clearly, and make that cardinally guided decision; to be the good people I know them to be.

    I hope they will continue to find this wisdom meaningful as they grow, and that one day, they will pass it on to their own children. I know that when I’m a grandfather, I’ll still be doing this with their kids. I hope we’ll do it together whenever we can and that we’ll make the time.

    I think about my father’s consistent lessons, the things Dad would say, how he worked hard to be a good role model. He’d often say he was “constantly instructing,” providing constant vigilance against the dark arts. I’m especially reminded of him this first Father’s Day since he passed. His ways, his sayings, the phrases I knew him by and I can still hear them in my head.

    I remember when I would ask, “Dad, if you could talk to anyone from history, anyone at all, who would it be?”
    His answer was simple: “My dad.”
    I never could understand the answer. With all the amazing historical people, why he chose his father.

    I’m reminded of an exchange student party I attended at UConn. There was a priest there for some reason who described life as the tapestry of our lives, woven together by the people we love and who love us in return. The things they say and the places they hold inside of us remain, blending into this eternal tapestry we’re all a part of, stretching back to the beginning.

    It felt heavy at the time, surrounded by a nighttime fire and strangers all sharing in the moment, and it has stuck with me.

    Now slightly more than halfway through the average life, you reminisce, ponder, and travel around different paths. The midlife crisis of achieving the goals of society only to find out that most of them carry no weight. The greatness you never achieved. Dreams you never chased. The what-ifs you question. I move to the end and see my entire life.

    I know and have always known that being a father is the greatest gift. To be a great father is greatness.  It’s my vocation and the thing I take the most pride in. I’m grateful, thankful, and appreciative every day for the souls God chose me to be a father to, and I try in earnest not to take that for granted.

    Every day, I look to honor this gift by continuing to show up and be the example of a “good man” that my father was.  That’s what Father’s Day is. A thread pulled from the tapestry, handed down and tied with care.

    I don’t need a big celebration or the perfect day. I just want the time, the laughs, the moments that stack into something lasting.

    That’s enough.
    That’s greatness.
    That’s everything.

  • Restaurant Review: Bottega – Bethel, CT

    Restaurant Review: Bottega – Bethel, CT

    It was Friday evening, and we were looking for something quick but still with that night-out vibe. Not somewhere we’d sit around for hours, willing the time away. A spot we could get in and out of depending on what time my son needed to be picked up from his friend’s birthday party. After some thoughtful deliberation, we opted for dinner at Bottega in Bethel, CT.

    What I like about Bottega is the pizza and, sometimes, a few of the apps. They used to have a charred octopus dish with sausage, fingerling potatoes, and arugula. But they got rid of it, probably because most people around here just want deep-fried comfort food and couldn’t care less about anything with tentacles and greens.

    The space has that rustic Albanian-meets-industrial-steampunk wood theme that’s everywhere now in bars, pubs, and mid-level restaurants. We got lucky and landed one of the booths by the bar, but it wasn’t exactly a win. They were all open, and it was already 6:45 p.m. The bar area was more happening, with friends and lovers recreating a well-shot B-roll from a good Hollywood movie.

    Bottega doesn’t do specials, and the menu stays pretty much the same.

    For tonight’s exciting adventure, we ordered the Cup and Char Pepperoni. My wife explained that the “cup” is what the pepperoni does when the heat hits it. It curls into a cup. The “char” is what happens to the toilet bowl later that night. I guess the name refers to a style of pepperoni that cups and chars at the same time. Like a talented ass-kicker with only one leg.

    The other pie we ordered was the G.O.A.T., which had goat cheese, pistachios, garlic cream, red onion, and a drizzle of local honey. Solid combo, but I don’t know if it’s the greatest of all time.

    To balance it out, I ordered a fresh green they call the Quinoa Salad, just to not go completely to hell with myself.

    One shining star at Bottega has always been the mixed drinks. They’ve consistently made one of the best takes on an Old Fashioned I’ve had. Even with new bartenders rotating in, the recipe has stayed delicious and true.

    All the food came out together. That made sense, or maybe it didn’t. The server didn’t ask how we wanted it paced, so fine. His name was Fuddy Duddy, and Fuddy did his Duddy best. That meant drinks came out one at a time and slowly. No rizz, no personality. His face is already dissolving, lost to the hourglass sands of the weekend.

    The pizzas looked great. My one ongoing issue with Bottega is that they never salt or season their food enough. I think of all those chef shows where contestants are constantly hammered for not tasting their food. With pizza, maybe you can’t grab a full slice to sample, but you can taste the components. And yeah, bland. We asked for salt, since it’s never on the table here, and it took a solid 10 minutes “Where’s Waldo” search to appear. Returning with the smallest salt shaker and with the least amount of sodium I’ve ever seen allowable by “CT Statute 238.5 Salt Shaker Rules and Regs, subsection 2a, salt gram amounts per shaker.”

    Once the salt arrived, everything was good. The flavors started to come alive and I was able to do my pizza happy dance, just a little shimmy and shack allowed by people over 40. The salad was fine, nothing too standoutish about salad even with the multi-colored quinoa.

    Heavily carbed up, we decided to forgo the dessert. We wrapped things up with a round of decaf cappuccinos, except they weren’t cappuccinos at all. More like some espresso-coffee hybrid with a splash of milk, but they were HOT. I’ve promised that next time we go, I’m going to be wearing a gold chain with my own personal salt shaker.

    Final Verdict: 6.95 out of 10

  • Restaurant Review: Leo’s – Southbury, CT

    Restaurant Review: Leo’s – Southbury, CT

    Rolling up to Leo’s in Southbury, CT, at 10:30 for that late breakfast love. From Main Street, the location is tucked away, requiring a turn onto Poverty Road. On this beautiful Thursday morning, there were already diners enjoying meals on the front patio.

    After turning into the complex and navigating around the building, it’s clear the space was converted from some type of office into a restaurant. The first thing that caught my attention was the front flight of steps, which probably keeps some of the Heritage Village crowd away.

    Inside, the restaurant is quaint, though the motif is a bit unclear, perhaps a beefed-up diner vibe in an office setting, featuring high ceilings, neon lights, faux wood beams, and an assortment of knickknacks and bric-a-brac. The main dining area has tables in the center surrounded by booths. My friend, who arrived earlier, chose a table with half booth seating and half chairs in the bar area, which was empty except for us.

    Previewing the menu beforehand, several items caught my eye, particularly the entire section dedicated to “Leo’s Famous Breakfast Specials.” Next time, I plan to try “Eight is Enough,” aptly named as it features eight ingredients served with their signature bocca bread and a fresh fruit mini tower. This visit, I opted for Leo’s Special Omelet, which included sautéed onions, mozzarella cheese, bacon, home fries, and rye toast. I also added my usual side of coleslaw and a decaf coffee.

    The servers were nice enough, nothing particularly memorable but also nothing to complain about.

    The food arrived quickly and was plentiful. The hot sauce of choice at Leo’s is Frank’s. Overall, the meal was very good, with the omelet stealing the show, nicely prepared with a generous portion of bacon. Personally, I would have preferred the onions to be more sautéed, but it was still tasty. The home fries and rye toast were good, though nothing standout.

    My coleslaw was initially forgotten by both the server and myself until I noticed the missing texture and crunch. When it arrived, it came in a small plastic cup; a slightly larger bowl would have been preferable. However, it was tasty, well seasoned, and slightly on the wetter side. The value and quantity of the food was also a notch above.

    By 11:30, the early bird lunch crowd was beginning to make its way in. I was abruptly knocked forward as a walker with wheels hit my chair, indicating it was time to leave. There was actually a line of people waiting on the stairs as we left. We enjoyed our brief visit to Leo’s and will definitely be back to try some of those other specials.

    Final Verdict: 7/10

  • Where the Wild Things Are

    Where the Wild Things Are

    Sitting out on my back porch, I hear CCR playing in my mind: “Got to sit down, take a rest on the porch.” The lyrics feel right, but the melody is too fast-paced for this early June morning. The weather shifted from spring to summer like one of those old cartoons, where the seasons spin on a giant wheel and suddenly land on summer. The big, beautiful sun shows up without warning and says, “Good morning.”

    Last year, and the year before that, I hardly spent any time outside. Just enough to set up the tables, chairs, and umbrellas one day, only to take them down at the end of the season. We had the Fourth of July outside. It was the last outdoor barbecue my father would attend before he passed at the end of the month. In many ways, he was already gone. The strong man I had known was whittled away by worry, age, and the final blow of losing his wife. Five years her senior, he had always feared he’d go first. He was the one with the more obvious health issues, and the one we all worried about.

    When I looked at him then, he always seemed so far away. Already gone. Caught between the living and where he longed to be. By her side.

    The air is warm and dewy. My deck faces west, so the morning sun hasn’t made its appearance yet. I walk outside with my decaf coffee, filled with the latest YouTube podcaster health elixirs. I sit down in my reclining deck chair with the footrest extended, take a deep breath, and let it fill my lungs. I’m so glad I chose to come outside instead of staying in. It feels like a vacation. The trees sway gently in the breeze, and the morning animals, birds and insects have already started their day. Buzzing. Flying.

    I think of the Sermon on the Mount and the Bible verse:
    “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?”

    The verse reminds me to be calm and present. It helps quiet that part of my mind always trying to worry, work, or plan for tomorrow. In this moment, I have everything I need. I am at peace.

    I lean further back in my chair and look up. Each day we’re given the most magnificent, glorious sky, yet how rarely I remember to look up or give thanks. I hear the birds chirping, each with their own song, their own language. They gather things for their nests or food for themselves. They call out to their friends and family. And they pay nothing for a cellular phone plan.

    A kamikaze bug decides to land on me, only to be swatted away or crushed as my attention snaps into focus like a laser. I had been drifting for a moment, and it was that not-so-gentle reminder to stay. Stay present.

    Still, I can’t help but lean back again, thinking fondly of other times spent outside. The only thing that could make this moment more complete would be sharing it with the people I love. It seems strange that we don’t take more advantage of mornings like this, that we allow them to slip by. I would have liked to share this one with my father. Before everything weighed him down, he loved the simple things. A good chair by the fire. A patch of sun. The sound of birds. The city kid who used to wander into the woods with his cowboy hat.

    I return to the moment as I take the last sip of my coffee and think how little the birds ask for, and how much they seem to receive. The birds don’t check calendars. The trees don’t rush. The sun rises whether we’re looking or not; greeting all of us with another opportunity, another chance to notice.

    And maybe that’s the point.
    Life is always offering itself, waiting for you to finally see. We just have to step outside.

  • 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.

  • Diner Review: DinerLuxe – New Milford, CT

    Diner Review: DinerLuxe – New Milford, CT

    “I’m back, baby!” Frank Costanza yells as he returns to cooking in Seinfeld. That same triumphant energy hit me walking into DinerLuxe in New Milford, Connecticut. After being closed for quite some time, it’s finally reopened under its original management and owners. Think of it like the Enchanted Tiki Room in Florida, when Disney scrapped the “new management” gimmick and brought back the beloved classic. Some things are just better the way they were.

    DinerLuxe is what I’d call a “Designer Diner,” a place intentionally built to be a monument to the great American diner. Unlike most diners, which can be rehabbed buildings or converted train cars, this one was purpose-built to deliver that nostalgic East Coast diner experience. It was born to be what the sign reads outside: “An American Classic.”

    And what does that mean exactly? The diner defies all nods to history and convention in every way. The architecture is pure American teenager defiance to old-world structure, with loud vibrant colors, a mismatch of building materials, and the regal majesty of silver and chrome accents. It also means we want to eat whatever we want, whenever we want. Breakfast at dinner? Of course. That’s the whole point. We didn’t come to this country to be told what meal goes with what time of day. “We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.”

    From the moment we sat down, the vibe was right. Our server, Megan, was just a genuinely happy human being. Her energy made everything better. It made the black coffee sweeter, the syrup flow smoother, added an extra crisp to the bacon, and almost made my brown eyes blue. Special shoutout to the food runner too. She brought an added touch of professionalism and care that really elevated the experience.

    We were seated in a cozy booth. The cushion still had life in it, giving my backside just the right amount of support. I ordered the Farmer’s Omelet with home fries, rye toast, and a side of coleslaw. The coffee cups were small, which meant frequent refills, always delivered promptly with green-handled pots that seemed to appear exactly when you needed them.

    The plate for the omelet was perfectly sized. No separate plate for toast, no awkward overcrowding. You don’t always notice good design when it’s done right, but you definitely feel it. The ratio of home fries to omelet was spot on. I’m convinced they used the golden ratio or Fibonacci sequence to portion it all out. The omelet was perfectly cooked, with bacon bits that brought the ideal combination of salt, fat, and texture.  The coleslaw was another hit, with beautifully shredded cabbage and just the right amount of dressing, hitting that Goldilocks zone.

    The home fries had a beautiful griddle sear, crispy on the outside and tender inside. The rye toast had a rich golden brush of butter and was cooked just right, not dry or underdone. They didn’t have the usual suspects like Frank’s RedHot or Tabasco, but I appreciated the notch above with Cholula, both red and green varieties.

    I also took a bite of my wife’s bacon, egg, and cheese on a plain bagel with fries. It was excellent. Everything came together in harmony, each bite better than the last. My son’s chocolate chip banana pancakes were another standout. Honestly, it made me question my entire pancake history. How have I never had bananas in my pancakes before? What kind of messed up life have I been living?

    We’re already excited to go back and bring more people. We’re even talking about ordering dinner at dinner, so yes, we are officially living on the edge. New Yorkers take their diners seriously, and that point was hilariously underscored when we walked out and saw a black BMW SUV with a vanity plate that simply read “DINER.”

    Please go to DinerLuxe. It grows the economy. It saves lives. As my friend used to say about a girl he was infatuated with, it’s the complete package.

    Final Verdict: 9.25/10

  • Movie Review: Tarot

    Movie Review: Tarot

    Some nights, I scroll endlessly through all the streaming services, and by the time I finally land on something I might want to watch, I’m already half asleep. Lately, I’ve gone back to old reliable, Netflix. To their credit, they’ve been putting out a solid lineup of shows and movies worth watching. They also do a great job of curating genres, and their algorithm has officially gotten into my head. It knows me, and I try to be nice to the A.I. so they might keep us around when they take over.

    Tonight’s choice was Tarot. I’m not sure why I picked it. I’m not usually a fan of horror or jump scares. Maybe I thought it would be lighter because of the playful banter between the characters. Whatever the reason, I hit play.

    What made it special wasn’t the movie itself, it was the moment. My daughter, who’s been a homework machine since she started elementary school, kept poking her head out of her room to say hello. She’s doing so well, and I’m grateful, but sometimes I feel like I barely see her. On this not-so-stormy night, she asked me to draw a picture for her end-of-year project. So while I was sketching away, Tarot was playing in the background. My wife and I were sitting on the couch. She was there, which I appreciate, but was doing her usual social media scroll, part of her nightly wind-down routine.

    As my daughter waited for my amazing doodle, I think the beginning of the movie caught her attention. The characters were just a few years older than her, and she recognized Jacob Batalon from the Spider-Man movies, which helped hook her. We started watching together. My son would have joined us, but he was at a sleepover. My wife after awhile declared, “I’m going to bed”, as she departed down the hallway.

    The setup was classic horror. A group of friends rents an enormous, eerie house in upstate New York for a birthday. Of course these kids can somehow rent a small mansion, while my college friends and I had to pool funds just to drink Popov Vodka. Naturally, they run out of alcohol, and one of them says, “Pretty sure this place has booze locked up somewhere,” which leads to them exploring and eventually breaking into a locked basement. Security deposit is toast. And really, when has anything good ever come from a basement in a horror movie?

    Down there, they find all kinds of weird stuff, including a handmade deck of creepy-as-hell tarot cards tucked away in a custom wooden box. Naturally, someone in the group just happens to be a tarot expert, and they start doing readings. The order and content of each reading becomes important later as the story unfolds. The group makes it through the night without incident, but the real fun begins the next day when they head home and the death cards start coming to life.

    My daughter and I had fun trying to remember what each card said and how each person might die. We were talking throughout the film, making predictions and laughing at how into it we got. Each tarot card came to life in the form of a character that hunted down one of the friends. It was standard horror formula, but it was fun. The tone was silly in parts, which helped, and even though I liked the CGI, a few of the deaths were pretty graphic and made us both cringe.

    More than anything, I was just grateful for the time with her. I loved listening to what she thought was going to happen and watching us both cover our eyes as a character was sawed in half. As kids get older, it gets harder to find those shared moments. Their interests start to drift from yours, and you have to work harder to stay connected. She’s going to be a senior next year. College is right around the corner.

    The little girl I used to lie next to while watching all her shows has grown up. I’ve always believed that if you want to stay in your kids’ lives, you have to meet them in their world. They’re not going to come into yours.

    So I hold onto these moments. I try to find ways we can connect; movies, books, drawings, whatever it takes. Time is flying by, and nights like these remind me how special the little things are. We enjoyed the film. The critics shredded it, and maybe rightfully so, but like everything in life, including a simple horror flick, it’s not always about what you’re watching. It’s about who you’re watching it with.