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For so many years, I've used the pages of this newspaper to malign my children, for good and bad, mostly for good because it's brought me awards for writing and fandom from my demographics.
But as mad as they make me -- and I will never truly be allowed to tell you how mad because of contractual agreement with the Misses -- I love them to the point of tears on some days. Seriously, there are songs on the radio I have to turn off or they will make me cry because they make me think of them.
So that is why I give you this column, in which I will talk about how my daughters have made me cool -- or cooler than I was -- and my boys have made me smart -- but how much smarter can a sportswriter be who turned down a life in radio back in 1984?
First, for Maggie and Julianna, I give you the untucked shirt. A few years ago, I used to hear commercials on the radio for untucked clothing companies, but I have always loved to tuck my shirt in.
As long as I can remember, I used to feel sloppy with an untucked shirt. My wife, even when she was my girlfriend, would try to get me to go with the untucked look, but once I realized I had landed her, there was no need to improve upon my already tasteful, yet hunkified looks.
But then one day, my daughters were aghast at the fact I was tucking my T-shirts into my sweatpants. Their opinion mattered.
However, does anything scream "Come get me!" more than my Hartford Whalers T-shirt tucked into my blueberry-colored sweats?
My daughters were so convincing, using both logic and the disgust in their voices, for what they were seeing leaving the house, that I listened to them.
They kind of sold it on me that wouldn't it be nice if other women, or friends of Ann Marie, found me handsome, just by untucking my Reagan-Bush 1984 black T-shirt from my cherry red sweats.
They also talked me out of my white tube socks, which I really took a long time to get away from. The colored stripes always matched my shorts. They also purchase cologne for me, too, which I imagine they run by my wife so that she does not run away from me when I wear it.
Then there are the boys, who taught me that an MP3 player is not a wasted gift. I have hundreds of my favorite songs now downloaded into this thing, and they bought me this blue teeth thing that's like a speaker that I plug the MP3 into and listen to it in the van. It's complicated. In fact, Maggie downloads the music for me. I think they are afraid to show me how to do that. I am afraid.
One time, the batteries were dying in both gizmos, but because they showed me what to do, I was able to use the charger in the van, to plug into both thingies and use the van as an outlet. Now, it probably wasn't wise that I did this all while still driving down Route 36 into Altoona, but it wasn't like I was doing 100 mph on the Autobahn in a sports car. More like 25 on a road to a Saturday night bingo game in Newry.
And one final gift they gave me … they are teaching me to trust my TV screen in our 2018 Nissan Rogue. That's what I call it. Whenever I go to back up the car, the screen displays what is behind you, and you are supposed to use that to back out of your space. I don't trust it.
I keep thinking I'll hit a bump and it will change channels and show me a car chase scene from a Steve McQueen movie. My heart can't take that. I want to use the rearview mirror, but they won't let me. It's like they are asking me to "Use the force." They are, actually, but they just want me to do it with my eyes open.
As long as I don't have to get cable or a satellite dish for the car, maybe I will someday.
Mirror Sports Writer Scott Franco writes a monthly column for the Mirror. He can be reached at sfranco@altoonamirror.com.