Special
This past weekend we participated in the Tutu Run in Asbury Park to benefit Big Brothers Big Sisters because WE, my family, are the true heroes. It was a short race along the boardwalk, a mile in and then back. Near the turnaround spot there was a man playing his guitar and singing, covering popular rock songs, a bucket in front of him for donations. Ella wanted to give him a few bucks—or, more accurately, she wanted ME to give HER a few bucks that she could in turn give him, a total big salad scenario—but this was difficult to do because we were, ya’ know, in the middle of a race, and my wallet was zipped and tucked between layers of clothes that included a bright pink tutu. After the race, however, as we were driving down Ocean Avenue, my wife had the idea to stop and grab a couple coffees at a place she had spotted along the boardwalk. So we parked, and I ran out to do so. As I reached the boardwalk, lo and behold, there was guitar man about a hundred feet away, still jamming. So I ...