Adults unexpectedly forgetting they are adults

These are the kinds of moments you wish would stick.

I was hiding. I'd found a spot in the walk-in closet behind some old dresses, sweaters, and winter wear. The wool was scratching my face. But if I sneezed, I'd be found. I begged my heartbeat to quiet down; surely the searcher could hear it. My sister-in-law hissed at me to stop breathing so loud because I was going to give us away — she'd climbed in behind the shoes. My mother was in the closet across the hall on the floor under old jackets, leather, hoodies, and even an old letterman's.

But my 6-year-old niece was in another part of the house. She found my dad first. He had climbed into the bathtub and pulled the shower curtain. We horse laughed, nearly crying when they finally found my mom under the jackets.

The game of hide-n-seek had happened because fun follows where my sister-in-law Anna Beth goes, and she'd come up to Johnson City for the weekend with us. After the game, we had a dance party with all the kiddos in the playroom. It's the most fun I've ever seen my family have. And, like Dad joining in the game by hiding in the shower, none of us saw it coming.

There's magic in adults unexpectedly forgetting they are adults: a game breaks out, and the team snowballs in size as more people join; a joke-telling contest after dinner, someone starts singing an old favorite, or maybe old friends just get together again.

These are the kinds of moments you wish would stick, never end. For the love of all that is good, I hope you have more than you can count.

When I hear Lionel Richie singing, "We're going to party, Karamu, fiesta, forever," I'm back on I-335 between Emporia and Topeka, KS. My wife, Anna Beth, and our friend Jalynn had been to a wedding in Wichita and were driving back to Kansas City in a rented Nissan Versa. Anna Beth and Jalynn had decided the dancing shouldn't end with the send-off, and the drive home became dancing, karaoke, or anything as long as we were making noise and laughing. My wife didn’t like when I queued up “Kickstart My Heart” and floored it because, well, I forgot I was an adult.

When I see the Big Dipper pointing to the North Star, I think of his brother, the Southern Cross. One night in Zimbabwe, our friend Al was driving us in his off-road, diesel Land Rover he takes around the property. Kyle and I were in the catbird seat in the open air on top as Al ripped us on bumpy dirt roads on his property. The only lights we could see were his high beams shouting out into the bush which caught the occasional impala loping out of his way.

Then, Al stopped, cut the lights off, and killed the engine. We were in an orchard where the smaller trees didn't block the wide-open view of the southern sky.

When you look up, your eyes adjust to the darkness — the longer you look, the more you see. I looked long enough for the shy stars to come out, not just white, but some in orange and purple. There was hardly any space left in the deep indigo sky. And Al pointed out the Southern Cross.

"To think God made all of that for your enjoyment," Al said. Alpha Centauri, “The Big Dog”, Canopus. And the Southern Cross.

I forgot I was an adult again.

That's all I've got today. If you need me, I'll be hoping we find a tennis ball and a stick and a baseball game breaks out. Or I'll just be listening to Lionel Richie and looking at the stars and trying to find the stories in them.

Everyone you meet (All night)

They're jamming in the street 

All night, all night …