Earlier this month, a very special thing happened: Sid and I became godparents again.

Neteyam is baptized by Fr. Jeff Lewis at St. Mary Catholic Church in Spokane Valley. Neteyam’s dad, Dylan, holds him while Sid and I look on (photo courtesy of Dylan/Fidela/family).

On July 6, 2025, Neteyam Perry was baptized at St. Mary Catholic Church by Fr. Jeff Lewis during the 9 a.m. mass. We stood next to our dear friends, Dylan and Fidela Perry, as their son was washed of original sin. We accepted the role of godparents and vowed to serve as strong Christian role models to Neteyam for however long we are on this earth.

Me, Sidney, Fr. Jeff Lewis, Fidela, Neteyam, and Dylan pose for a photo in the St. Mary sanctuary after the baptism on July 6, 2025. Thanks be to God! (Photo courtesy of Dylan/Fidela/Family).

For Dylan and Fidela to give us the opportunity to be Neteyam’s godparents is a nod to our friendship as well as the trust they have in us. In just about four years we have gone from not knowing them to serving in one of the most important roles one couple can bestow upon another. We met through our Young Adult Catholic group and shortly after that we found out we were neighbors. The rest is history!

Sidney and I with Dylan and Fidela at their wedding on June 3, 2023.

But even after we moved to a different neighborhood, our bond remained strong. We celebrate the Fourth of July each year, make annual memories at a favorite Hibachi restaurant, watch “The Chosen” together, and try to help one another out whenever we can. We have an epic group chat and we think similarly on many issues. Fidela and Sidney share a love for Taylor Swift while Dylan and I bond over “King of the Hill” 😂.

Sidney holds Neteyam at his baptism. Sid and Fidela share a bond over Taylor Swift (Photo courtesy of Dylan/Fidela/Family).

It has been such a blessed several years getting to know Dylan and Fidela. But with all that said, what brought us together at the beginning and what continues to be the glue of our friendship is our faith. And there couldn’t have been a more profound way to underscore our shared commonality than the honor of serving as Neteyam’s godparents. For Dylan and Fidela to trust us with such a responsibility is humbling.

The four of us plus Neteyam at the baptism on July 6.

In an age where the selection of godparents can sometimes be an afterthought, I know (or at least think) that Dylan and Fidela probably made a deliberate choice influenced by prayer. So, besides the “humbling” aspect of being selected that I mentioned above, there is just a bit of pressure as well. Sid and I are far from perfect—in fact, we are sinners. But thanks to God’s grace, we know we can pull this off.

Hanging with our godson after his baptism. What an honor and blessing (photo courtesy of Dylan/Fidela/Family).

Make no mistake about it, baptism is an effective and necessary sacrament. To watch Fr. Jeff pour water over my godson’s head and anoint him with the sacred Chrism oil on July 6 was pretty awesome. With Neteyam now officially part of the Church community, it is time for Sid and me to serve in our role as godparents to him. Please pray for us. Don’t Blink.

I won’t go as far to say that it was a JFK or 9/11 moment, but here we are at the one-year mark of the assassination attempt of President Donald Trump and it seems just like yesterday. I was inside the pool area of a YMCA celebrating my nephew’s birthday when news started circulating that shots were fired at a Trump rally. From the initial photos I saw and the chatter I heard, I thought it was a minor incident that involved a BB gun or air rifle.

Boy, was I wrong.

The day Trump was shot will be one of those days that people will always remember.

My family moved from the pool into the YMCA lobby where we watched live coverage of what was unfolding in Butler, Pennsylvania. It quickly became apparent that things were much more serious than I originally thought. This wasn’t a BB gun. Although President Trump escaped death by millimeters, someone else—Corey Comperatore—did not. That night I couldn’t sleep and ended up penning this blog post during the wee morning hours.

My dread wasn’t politically induced. It could have been Joe Biden or Kamala Harris helplessly under the scope of an AR-15 and I would have felt the same sickness in my stomach. No one should be a sitting duck just waiting to get decapitated in front of a live crowd and millions watching at home.

This morning, the most prominent thought going through my mind is how different this world would be today if President Trump hadn’t so slightly moved his head. And trust me, I am not entertaining this thought in the context of whether we would be better off or not. Rather, I am just conceptualizing the million things that would be different from what they are today. Who would be in the White House? Where would Donald Trump be buried? What would be done today to mark the anniversary of Trump’s death? How many views would a presidential candidate getting his head blown off have on YouTube?

Thankfully, we don’t know the answers to these questions. But sadly, political violence is still a very real thing. President Trump would once again be targeted for assassination that summer and even more alarmingly were the recent shootings in Minnesota. State Representative Melissa Hortman and her husband were murdered while State Senator John Hoffman and his wife were shot but survived. You don’t need to take it from a blogger that this is wrong.

May an incident such as what took place in Butler never occur again and heaven forbid that a gunman should ever succeed. It is my hope that President Trump will remain safe during his term along with every future successor and aspiring successor as well. Don’t Blink.

There is not much someone like me can add to convey or capture the grief felt from the Texas floods. I am lucky to have my family completely intact in my dry corner of the country.

So, I am aware that anything I write will ring hollow. However, even though I tried to immediately space it from my mind, the thought of losing my children to such a savage disaster has entered my head. Sloan is the age of some of the girls who lost their lives while attending Camp Mystic. They went to swim, make friends, sing songs, and grow closer to God—all things that scream my daughter’s name. I couldn’t imagine her going to camp and not coming back.

The other story that rips my heart is that of Blair and Brooke Harber. They went to visit their grandparents and brought their rosaries with them. Sadly, the waters carried the sisters away around 3:30 a.m. on Friday. They were found deceased 15 miles from their cabin…their hands locked together in an incredible display of sisterhood.

Some of the acts of heroism have been documented. A Coast Guard rescue swimmer named Scott Ruskan, 26, is credited with saving 169 people from the floods, including Camp Mystic survivors. Not bad for his first rescue mission. By my count, he saved nearly seven people for every year of his young life. He had this to say about his heroic actions:

I’m just a dude. I chose to enlist in the Coast Guard. Anyone is able to do this. Anyone’s able to do this job; if you raise your right hand, do it. So, I’m just happy I was given the opportunity to help these people out.

Yep, anyone is able, but most take the route that I did and don’t. During such a dark tragedy, the heroism and humility of Ruskan brings a glimmer of respite. Please pray for those who have died, those who have lost loved ones, those who are helping with the recovery effort, and everyone else impacted by this disaster. Don’t Blink.

I had the chance to spend a lot of time with my dad during his latest trip around the sun. And trust me, I never take it for granted after going several years where I would only see him a couple times every 12 months. It is a blessing to live in the same county as him.

Stuffing my face with pizza while hanging with my dad this past fall.

But back to the time spent together during his stint as a 67-year-old. We attended games, sailed on a cruise, celebrated holidays, worshipped at church, chowed down at restaurants, drank beers on the deck, and much more.

My dad and I on the cruise in April…we had a lot of fun!

Perhaps my favorite memory with him though occurred shortly after his birthday. On my last day at Washington State University, he traveled with me to Pullman. He walked around campus while I took care of business and handed in my equipment/lap top/phone. Once all the formalities had played out, I invited him to my office. He hung out with me for those last few minutes and then helped me carry my few boxes to the vehicle.

I took this photo of my dad in my old WSU office a couple moments before we walked out for the last time.

What made such a seemingly mundane moment so special? I think it was the fact that I got to have him by my side as a I closed a chapter of my life. Taking the job at WSU was a nice career progression but more importantly it re-united me with my parents and siblings. After living out-of-state for 15 years, it was nice to return to Washington. It was also really nice to work at my dad’s alma mater. He earned his undergraduate degree at WSU and he bleeds crimson and gray. His pride for the Cougs rubbed off on me when I was a kid. Taking a job at WAZZU was cool for both of us. Ending my tenure by walking off campus with him just seemed fitting.

My dad and I pose for a photo inside the Field House prior to a WSU game. He is a true Coug.

And the burgers and shakes at Cougar Country before we left Pullman was the cherry on top. 😋

The burgers we had at Cougar Country were good but so was this turkey my dad carved during Thanksgiving 2024.

I want to wish my dad a very happy 68th birthday. I am grateful for all he does for me and my family. I admire how he fills his days when he is not around grandchildren by volunteering for Hospice and the local food bank. If that wasn’t enough, you won’t find a better event management staffer when you encounter him at a sporting event or concert. But even if you stripped away his grandfather duties, his service to the community, and his many retirement activities, one thing would still remain: an incredibly awesome human being.

My dad working an EWU football game as part of his gig with Allied Universal event management.

Cheers, dad! Don’t Blink.

On the way to work today, I listened to the on-air personalities of Hits 1 discuss something that really “bugged” them. The guy who led off the topic described his annoyance at those who give nicknames to people they don’t know. He then went on to list common generic nicknames such as “boss,” “hoss,” “buddy,” and “chief.”

However, the group of commentators focused mostly on “boss.” Aside from the term being disrespectful and annoying, they also called it “condescending.”

When it comes to my personal preference, I don’t mind generic nicknames. And, actually, out of the ones listed above, I don’t mind “boss” most of all. In fact, I actually like it.

Whenever someone calls bestowed on me in a customer service situation. For example, when I go to Take 5 for an oil change, the employees there will usually call me “boss.”

In my view, “boss” is the new “sir.” Of course it depends on the tone used, but mostly I am called “boss” in a humble way that conveys I am a valued customer and what I say is going to be granted. From the way that I see it, even though I am not a real boss in the context, the term seems to shift power to me. I appreciate it.

So if you are someone who uses the term “boss” a lot to address people you don’t know, please don’t let the people from Hits 1 deter you from doing so. You can call me “boss” any day. Don’t Blink.