Amy and I sat at the kitchen table, rubbing our temples, sighing and discussing how — as in how in the freakin’ world?? — will we pay for the private, out-of-state arts college our youngest daughter wanted to attend.

She was accepted. The college even offered her some scholarship money, but it was a drop in the bucket. Florida’s Bright Futures and Florida Pre-Paid wouldn’t fly here, but her heart was set.

Then the phone rang. Our daughter had been at a sleep-over with some pals and called to say, “Sooooo, we stayed up talking last night and decided we want to go to UCF.”

That’s UCF, as in the University of Central Florida, as in our beloved alma mater, as in a state school. As Amy spoke with our daughter, the weight off her shoulders, I ran into the yard, plucked the UCF flag o ff a tree, ran inside and started waving the flag as if the football team was about to run out of a tunnel behind me.

It was …

I’m going to stop right there.

You see, I’ve told this story – from 2022 — many times.

I told it to neighbors hours before I wrote this, in fact.

They were telling me about their college-admission stories, and, frankly, all I could think of was, “I have a better story. I have a better story. As soon as they stop talking, I’m going to tell this better story.”

When I returned to the house, Amy asked how the neighbors were, and I, well, did not have a lot to report from a long conversation.

With that, another 2026 resolution shattered. I had vowed to talk less and listen more this year. To ask more about people before they can ask about me.

As I rattled my brain to recall anything the neighbors said, Amy recalled a recent sermon at our church that asked the questions: What is your ratio of comments to questions? In your conversations, do you seek control or connection?

“Fools find no pleasure in understanding but delight in airing their own opinions,” Proverbs tells us.

Truth be told, decades in the newspaper business equipped me with great stories. I enjoyed a blessed career packed with adventure, celebrities, critters, blunders and backstage access.

And, truth be told, I likely have bored you with the same stories in those decades and beyond. At this very moment, I am itching to tell you my Stephen Stills story. Chances are, you already know my Stephen Stills story.

But 2026 is not over yet, and there is plenty of time for me to shut up, tune in and be present. And as this world goes off the rails, now is a good time to listen to and learn from each other.

It seems few of us are listening these days. We pick our soap boxes and scream, rattling sabers of obvious righteousness and clutching those ironclad opinions Proverbs mentioned.

We love our stories and the sound of our own voices.

Thus, I vow to ease up on my chatter. Humility, as the sermon went, is thinking of myself less. So viva humility in 2026!

But I will say, the Stephen Stills story is a doozy. Perhaps even better than the UCF-flag story but not as entertaining as …

Dammit. Reset the resolution. Again.