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Author Archive: "Kevin Nealon"

“Old Spice Day”

My father was never hard to shop for on Father's Day. Every year, when I was a little boy, I would get him a bottle of Old Spice after-shave lotion. Well, actually, my mother would make the purchase and wrap it and on the big day I would present it to him and take all the credit. As a child I wondered why, if it were a spice, it couldn't be used for cooking? I still remember the red box it came in and to this day I don't believe the fragrance or any of its original packaging has changed. The bottle itself is also a classic; a unique shaped, opaque, off-white glass container with a little, grey stopper on top. Every Father's Day my dad would unwrap my gift and act so wonderfully surprised when he saw what was inside. He'd throw his hands up in the air and his jaw would drop as if he'd just unwrapped a million dollars.

"Kev, this is just what I needed! Thank you so much! Wow, isn't this great!" he'd say excitedly to my ...


The Power of Now

Recently, while at a bookstore, I came across a popular book that was published a few years back called The Power of Now. I hesitated buying it because I wondered if it was still relevant. What is the shelf life of that book? I mean, shouldn't a book about "now" have an expiration date of 'Immediately' or 'In One Second' on the side of it? Realistically once you read a page, that page should become obsolete. 'Now' is just so limited.

As I approached the cashier I found myself seriously second-guessing my impending purchase. How could I be sure a book with a title like this still held up? For the record, I do understand the concept of the book. I am all for living in the moment — but there is nothing wrong with reliving stuff later on, is there? Besides, if "now" is so powerful, why waste time reading a book when you could be using that "now power" to do something really important?

If it were called The Power ...


Thank You Notes

When my son was born, my wife and I received a slew of baby gifts from friends and family. My wife made sure that we kept a legal pad nearby and anytime we opened one to immediately write down what it was and whom it was from so they could be properly thanked with a proper thank you card.

"I'm from the South," she would remind me, "and we are taught the importance of sending 'thank-you' notes."

I'm not sure what being from the South has to do with that. Maybe being closer to the equator makes the people there more polite? Or at least more willing to recognize generosity with a floral print 4x6 piece of heavy stock paper. It's almost as if she's saying we in the North have no manners.

"In the South we are also taught to bring a gift to one's house when we visit." She not only has boxes and cupboards at home full of various, blank thank-you notes but her dream is to one day have a room just for wrapping gifts ...


Never Quit

I was having a highly charged conversation on my cell phone the other day as I was cruising along a California freeway at about seventy-five miles per hour. My friend, on the other line, was venting about how disappointed she was that Hillary dropped out of the presidential race so quickly.

"Why didn't she give it a chance?" she griped. "The least she could have done was give it a few more months."

She went on to tell me how much she had supported Hillary and now considered her 'Hillary, The Quitter.' I agreed. Too many people quit before they should: I thought the Detroit Pistons should never have dropped out of the playoffs, either. Who cares if they lost? Stay in it. Where's your tenacity? Where's your heart? Just keep showing up ready to play, and be prepared to fight the opposing team for locker space. Show them that you're a winner.

And what about the young kid that quit on American Idol after they ...


Mission: Impossible

My one-year-old son is a very light sleeper, much like my wife, except he doesn't cram wax into his ears and strap a sleeping mask to his face. A few nights ago, while he was dozing, I attempted to sneak into his nursery to retrieve a pair of my shoes from his closet. My wife, you see, has taken up all the room in our other closets and there is currently a six-month waiting period for me to get space in her walk-in closet, so I've been forced to steal space in my son's closet, since for the moment he can't say "Dad" or take me in a fight.

This shouldn't be too difficult, I thought as I traversed the thick shag carpet. I mean, after all, there are no lazer-beams shooting across the room that I have to elude and limbo under like in those Mission: Impossible movies. I simply have to cross the room, quietly open the closet door, and retrieve my shoes. How hard is that?

It's ...


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