Jaws of Amazingness

Children are, generally speaking, pretty amazing. Sometimes they do something that shows wisdom beyond their years. Sometimes they do something athletically that you would never have thought possible. Sometimes they show kindness and compassion that no adult would ever be capable of.

And sometimes they manage to get their teeth in places you'd never thought possible. Like the most depressed part of their brother's face.

Seriously, how did he get his teeth in there?

After interviewing all involved parties I still have no idea what happened, and, at this point, I'm not so sure I care. I feel like Ron Burgundy after Baxter pooped in the fridge and ate a whole wheel of cheese. I'm not even mad at him. I'm just amazed.

Fortunately, band-aids can even fix roughish brother relationships.

Service from my Pants

I am going to tell you a tale of Service. Customer Service. Service so great, you will want to punch the person next to you and tell them that in all of your days on this earth, you have never heard of Customer Service such as this. I am talking Replacement Pants. Oh yes. It is fabled lore of yesteryear when a company stood behind its products so much that they would replace them should anything happen. However, these days that kind of chivalry is unheard of. 


If you read this blog with any kind of regularity (meaning frequency not the other "regularity"), you will know that I am kind of obsessed with Bonobos pants. They have a shapely fit that makes my backside look like that of a man with an entirely nicer backside than mine. They step up my game even though I don't have any. If you are into brevity, I really like their pants.


Now that you are up to speed on my brand addiction, here's how the rest of this goes down. It was Thursday, 6/14. I woke up and started to get dressed for work as I would any other day. However, realizing it was Thursday, I figured I should wear my Bonobos "Thursday Browns". Before I put them on, i decided to let the good folks at Bonobos know that I'd be wearing them:

Thanks to @bonobos, I know what day it is. ow.ly/i/HcqB
— John Shepard (@RunShepRun) June 14, 2012

They replied back with something witty as usual and my day went on. Around 10:30am I was picking up a bike that a co-worker was letting me borrow for the next couple months (long story). So,I went to the guys car and gave the bike a spin in the parking lot and to my car. On the way, my Thursday Browns caught in the spokes of the bike and ripped. Shock, devastation,& anger all crossed my mind. Followed by this tweet:

@bonobos aaaaand the pants ripped today.
— John Shepard (@RunShepRun) June 14, 2012

What happened next completely threw me for a loop. I was told by a Ninja that they would email me immediately (almost if to console me) and to talk about the pants.
I received an email shortly after in which they were were going to ship out another pair of pants immediately but they wanted to verify which pants in fact I ripped. I couldn't believe I was going to get Replacement pants for something I did on my own free will and accord to F up. Even a 20% discount on my next pair would warrant a blog post, but a brand new pair? Incredible.

So, guys, please, go buy some stuff from Bonobos. They are a truly incredible company with unbelievable customer service.

Getting a round house kick of tremendous customer service from the @bonobosninjas. No one does it better. #happycustomer
— John Shepard (@RunShepRun) June 14, 2012

What we got

Turns out my 11 year old, Michael, missed the memo on getting me iDevices and high fives and landed squarely in the middle. In a moment of "this doesn't sound like a gift, but it's actually an awesome gift," he offered to let me teach him to mow the lawn for Father's Day. Recognizing that this was super-thoughtful and not the norm, I immediately assumed the worst.

Of course by assumed the worst, I don't mean that questioned the motives of my little man. I questioned his butt. As in, I thought "just how stinking far is his 8 pound, 6 ounce caboose gonna be able to push a lawn-mower in 95 degree heat with his spindly arms and his get-that-kid-a-sandwich frame?" as I pictured myself mowing the other 98% of my lawn after his stamina gave out. As they almost always are, my instincts were total crap.

The whole thing was a much sweatier affair than this picture makes it appear.

I spent about ten minutes talking him through the setup (I did pour the gas in myself) and safety ("your siblings appendages won't grow back") and we started mowing. I did the first couple stripes to get him a decent corner to turn in and let the mower stop. Much to my surprise, he was able to start it himself before he started moving. Then he mowed. And mowed. And mowed. And then he mowed the front yard, too. Did he miss a patch here and then? Sure. Did he finish the job with his scrawny little build? Definitely.

So I guess, in the end, the gift wasn't so much the lesson. Or the lawn. Or all of the future lawns (which is AWESOME!). I think the real gift was watching my oldest just impress the living bejeezus out of me by doing way more than I expected he would be able to as a gift to me.

Happy Father's Day.