The (Not so amazing) adventures of Max

Third Entry: The Garage Adventure

Friday, August 4th

Four days until high school, and today was a different kind of torture: "family cleaning day." Which, in my house, is code for "digging through piles of stuff we should have thrown out years ago." Dad decided it was time to clean out the garage, so we spent most of the day surrounded by dust, cobwebs, and boxes labeled with cryptic notes like "Old Stuff" and "Things."

It started off as expected. Mom was in full drill-sergeant mode, handing out instructions while Dad pretended to lead but mostly just reminisced about old sports trophies. Sam was supposed to be "helping," but he mostly darted around the garage with a broom, acting like it was a sword. He called himself "Sir Sam, Protector of the Sacred Boxes." Creative, but not helpful.

The highlight was when I found an old baseball glove that looked like it had seen a thousand summers. It reminded Dad of the time he pitched a no-hitter in high school. I nodded and pretended I hadn't heard the story 50 times. Ben would say that's my "I'm so interested" face. Leo calls it my "survival mode" expression.

Speaking of survival, about halfway through the cleaning session, Sam discovered an old hornet's nest. Empty, thankfully. But you'd think it was a grenade the way he shrieked and ran. Dad jumped back like he'd seen a ghost, and Mom dropped a box of books. I'll admit, I laughed so hard I had to sit down. Sam's hero status as "Sir Sam" took a hit today.

After we cleared out most of the junk, Dad uncovered a half-broken ping-pong table from the corner. He looked at it like it was a long-lost treasure. And just like that, our chore turned into an impromptu family ping-pong tournament. I'm proud to say I beat Sam with a ridiculous trick shot, which he claimed was cheating, but I call it "strategy." Mom managed to win against Dad, which will definitely be a story she'll bring up for weeks.

So, yeah, the day wasn't all bad. We didn't just clean the garage—we made it an arena of triumph (and over-competitive yelling). Tomorrow, I'm meeting up with the guys for a final summer hangout. We're planning something big, but knowing us, it'll probably end with one of us covered in dirt or grounded.

Four days left. Might as well make them count.