Author: Neil Davis

The voice had come from behind me as I waited in line at the bank to cash a check. “They say you shouldn’t feed them any nuts.” I glanced up at the bank tellers. Even if I had been armed with a pocketful of pistachios, I didn’t really see the danger in throwing a few across the counter. “Yeah, they say the little one could develop an allergy at that age,” the voice added. Then I understood. My daughter, Sadie, was there with me, no more than 2 months old at the time, snoozing soundly in the stroller. Or maybe…

What’s in a name? Everything. Or so I thought before my daughter was born. Maybe the true goal is in realizing that a baby name is just a name.

The photos popped up on my phone during a basketball game. I was on my couch watching the Syracuse University men’s team steal a rare comeback win and calculating their odds of making the NCAA Tournament. My daughter was trying on ball gowns at Boom Babies, texting me pictures of any dress that was a potential slam-dunk. “This is the one!” Sadie captioned over a shot of her in a shimmering full-length sheath of amber. She looked beautiful. I agreed it was the one, despite the fact that the price tag suggested it was at least three. The dress went…

You have my permission to skip Thanksgiving. Seriously, if I invite you over to my house and you don’t show up, no hard feelings. We will still be friends on Facebook. I might even continue to “like” every gratuitous picture that you post of your cat. The truth is, I’ve never hosted Thanksgiving, nor any event nearly so significant. I recall once co-hosting a Memorial Day barbecue, but Thanksgiving can be a bit more formal, ranking much higher on the holiday spectrum. Most guests show up having showered, some even wearing socks. I imagine that they generally set their expectations…

I am not a doctor, but I have seen enough TV and movie births to make me an expert obstetrician. The babies I helped deliver on Friends alone should have been enough to earn my medical degree. Strangely, Hollywood has yet to send it. Maybe that’s because most real-world babies are not born in a taxi or a Walmart. They do not pop out 3 months old, clean and speaking in voice-over narration. Mothers in labor rarely conjure up a demon-like voice. And I won’t even get into that scene in Twilight: Breaking Dawn. But the movies do get one thing right: Something…

It began with one online ad. I had been innocently reading a news article when my eyes strayed to the sidebar where Disney World was promoting its seasonal vacation deals. The company does this each spring, offering last-minute bargains for any impulse vacationers looking to save a few (hundred) dollars—and willing to brave the humid swamp of central Florida in summer. Seldom am I enticed by advertising clickbait. But last year, Toy Story Land had just opened in Hollywood Studios, celebrating the animated world where Woody, Buzz and all their friends come to life. My daughter Sadie had been raised…

Back when I was a veterinary technician, I often heard owners self-righteously proclaim, “I would never feed my dog that.” Yet I discovered that the statement was often not the strict truth. It was uttered by owners-in-denial, shaking their head as they wiped Dorito crumbs from their dog’s mouth. Of course, sneaking a little treat to one’s dog is not the worst thing in the world. It’s always done out of love. The dog enjoys a special snack while the owner gets to provide that moment of drooling bliss. Cue the panting tongues and wagging tails. In my experience, most…

A coworker of mine used to come to me seeking advice. She was 22, fresh out of college, and had apparently deemed me old enough to dispense wisdom. Each day, like a mountaintop guru, I awaited the next conundrum. “I need help adulting,” she would complain. Then she would ask for guidance on anything from meal preparation to money budgeting. In other words, basic life skills. Most people would say adulthood begins shortly after someone graduates from high school. By age 18, a person is eligible to serve on a jury, drive at night, play the lottery, or get a…

April 7, 2003: If you’re a Syracuse University sports fan, it’s a date engraved in your memory. That night, the SU men’s basketball team, led by Carmelo Anthony, completed their run through the Final Four in New Orleans, finally winning a National Championship. Hakim Warrick made the block, the final buzzer sounded, and the players piled onto one another at center court in victory. For a fan base that had seen its share of oh-so-close-defeats, the moment was glorious. I had been watching the game at home. As celebrations began across Central New York, I turned to look for someone—anyone!—with…

My hair is turning gray. There’s a chance I need reading glasses. I drive the speed limit and I appreciate the artistry of a well-groomed lawn. Go ahead, call me old. The typical signs of aging have never bothered me. I’m a father, I look forward to voting, and I occasionally check my 401K. If I ever forget my age, I can always rely on the Teen Choice Awards to set me straight. I have zero interest in watching Riverdale, nor do I care what the Maze Runner is running from. I guess it’s been a few years since I…