10 guaranteed predictions for an eventful 2026

Do you realize we're entering the last half of the 2020s? 

Actually, that's untrue.  As I recently realized, we entered the last half of the decade on Jan. 1, 2025 – presuming you aren't one of those maniacs who believe a decade ends with a year that ends with 0 (those people had quite a run at the end of the last century, when they insisted the millennium didn't end until the end of 2000, rather than the end of 1999. I blame them for everything bad that's happened since). The first half of the 2020s included 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023 and 2024.

Anyway, it's a new year and (unless you're an extremist), it's the seventh (!) year in the 2020s. As such, it's incumbent on me to give you a preview of what's to come as we continue the most insane decade since the 1960s (that decade included the assassinations of JFK, Martin Luther King Jr., Bobby Kennedy, Malcolm X and more; the Vietnam War and related protests; the Cuban Missile Crisis; the moon landing; Woodstock and more. It tops Trump, COVID, Trump, Trump and Trump. Barely).

With that in mind, let's kick off 2026 with 10 guaranteed predictions, some of which are personalized.

1. This is the year that you keep your vow to eat better and exercise more. You'll end 2026 healthier and more optimistic than ever. Or maybe not. Maybe you won't even make a vow. One of those will happen.

2. After 2025's mild summer and a mild start to winter, we'll have a wild-weather 2026, with spring floods followed by an early and hot summer that will break records. Or perhaps not. Maybe it will be another mild winter and summer. Or a normal one. Who knows? One of those is likely true.

3. In a related matter, the winter weather will lead state-level fire and weather people to issue warnings that it could be a really bad fire season because there was either too much or too little rain. No matter what happens, we're always warned about that.

4. Re-read the previous paragraph and insert the word "flu" for "fire." And ignore the parts about rain.

5. NBA superstar LeBron James will drop hints every month over the rest of the season that this will be his last season, but will deny that's what he's doing while he's dropping even more hints. In late summer, he'll announce that he's returning to the Lakers on a cheaper contract. Or perhaps not. Maybe he retires, maybe he plays somewhere else. One of those will likely happen.

6. You'll spend too much time worrying about and considering the ramifications of November's midterm elections, which could flip control of the House of Representatives (or perhaps even the Senate) to Democrats. Or you won't. One of those is true.

7. On July 4, America will celebrate its 250th birthday with celebrations and joy and unity, showing a new sense of a national purpose. Or not. This one I'm pretty sure is a "not." In fact, I'm sure it's a "not." So disregard this and re-read the prediction about the fire season.

8. Netflix, Amazon Prime, Peacock, YouTube and other streaming services will continue to collect the rights to show live sports and entertainment programming, making us pay hundreds of dollars a month to see what we used to be able to see on 100 (or fewer) cable channels. Then they'll create new bundle packages that allow you to watch what you want without spending all that money. Or that won't happen. No, it probably won't happen, but this is slightly more likely than a shared sense of national purpose on July 4.

9. This year you'll get organized and have a plan that minimizes the stress of the holidays by paying attention all year and getting the perfect early for the people who matter most in your life. Or not, with you going to the mall on Amazon in a desperate search for an acceptable gift at the last minute. One of those or something in between will be true.

10. The biggest news story of 2026 will be something that is not on our radar at all right now, but 365 days from now, we'll consider it the defining thing of the year. I don't have an alternate for this prediction, because it's a lock.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

It's that time again: How well do you know Solano County?

It's a tradition unlike any other . . . except the Masters golf tournament, Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, July 4 fireworks, the Dodgers outbidding everyone for free agents, that family member who always has a great new idea that really isn't great, people complaining about the government some other things.

But it's a tradition. It's time for my annual Solano County knowledge quiz, which originated when I started writing this column in 1935 as a way to supplement my income during the Great Depression (which, honestly, wasn't all that great). It's 20 questions about Solano County. You may know the answer to some, most or (probably not) all.

Away we go, with the 2025 version (which, as always, contains some familiar questions):

1. Name Solano County's seven cities.

2. What five counties share a border with Solano County?

3. Within five degrees, what is the average high temperature in Fairfield in January?

4. What three members of the House of Representatives represent Solano County?

5. Within 10 miles, what is the distance on Interstate 80 from the eastern border between Dixon and Davis and the western border past Vallejo?

6. Within 10 years, in what year was Suisun City incorporated?

7. What was the largest agricultural crop (by dollars) in Solano County in 2024?

8. Who is the man who would risk his neck for his brother man?

9. Which of Vacaville's prisons has more inmates, California State Prison Solano or the California Medical Facility?

10. When was the last presidential election in which Solano County voted Republican?

11. Fairfield is larger in terms of geography than Suisun City. Is it eight times (or more) larger?

12. Allan Witt Park is the largest community park in Fairfield. Who was Allan Witt?

13. Within three years, in what year did Rancho Solano golf course open?

14. What is the largest (in terms of student body population) school in the Fairfield-Suisun Unified School District?

15. Who is older, Tony Wade or Kelvin Wade?

16. Catherine Moy is the mayor of Fairfield. Who were the three previous mayors?

17. What is the name of the independent minor league baseball team in Vallejo?

18. Within 20,000, what was the population of Solano County in 2020?

19. Within 400 miles, what's the distance from Fairfield, California, to Fairfield, Connecticut by road?

20. According to Zillow, is the average value of a home in Fairfield more than $600,000?

ANSWERS

1. In alphabetical order: Benicia, Dixon, Fairfield, Rio Vista, Suisun City, Vacaville, Vallejo.

2. Contra Costa, Napa, Sonoma, Sacramento, Yolo.

3. 56.6 degrees, which seems high.

4.  Mike Thompson (D–St. Helena), Doris Matsui (D–Sacramento) and John Garamendi (D–Walnut Grove).

5. 42 miles.

6. 1868.

7. Almonds, with a gross production value of $78.45 million.

8. John Shaft.

9. California State Prison Solano, with about 3,700 inmates. CMF has approximately 2,100 inmates.

10. 1984 (Ronald Reagan)

11. Yes. Fairfield is more than nine times larger than Suisun City.  Fairfield is 37.6 square miles and Suisun City is 4.1 square miles. 

12. A longtime city councilman (and one-term mayor) from the late 1940s to early 1970s. Also a barber.

13. 1990.

14. Rodriguez High, with an enrollment of more than 2,000 students.

15. Tony, by two years.

16. Harry Price, Karin McMillian, George Pettygrove.

17. Seaweed.

18. 453,491

19. 2,915 miles.

20. No. A December Zillow report said the average home in Fairfield was valued at $595,621.

SCORING

0-4: I hope one of your correct answers was the Shaft question.

5-9: Solid. These are difficult.

10-14: Outstanding. You're either a history expert or you're like the next group.

15-20: You cheated by looking at the answers first.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Ranking the best sports-related gifts of childhood

There are few years when Christmas is the best. Santa is at his peak, you remember the traditions and the season seems to take forever before the magical morning when you open presents.

You can make the case that Christmas is most magical when you're 4 or 5.

Giftwise, though, I nominate ages 10 to 12 as peak Christmas. That's when you have an idea of the source of those gifts, but you also have some things you really want but see no path to getting them other than at Christmas. You're too young to work and in my day, parents didn't randomly buy us anything except food.

My best childhood gifts were always (always!) sports related. I wasn't a great athlete, but boy did I love sports. Even more, I loved the stuff that went with sports and the only way I could get those things (which weren't that expensive, but beyond 10-year-old Brad's budget) was as Christmas gifts.

With no further ado, here's a countdown of 10 sports-related Christmas gifts of my childhood, providing a window into what my parents had to seek out during those years and their hits and misses. This list doesn't include sports games (Electric Football, Monday Night Football, APBA baseball), but actual sports-related equipment.

10. Raiders rain poncho. My stepmom got it for me shortly after marrying my dad. I hated the Raiders. I loved the 49ers, but I'm sure she thought, "Oh, it's a football thing. He'll love this!" and I had to play along. For the next few years, I wore it only during downpours. Otherwise, I'd suffer wet clothes before putting on that silver-and-black monstrosity.

9. Generic football jersey. Same era as the poncho. It was yellow with brown numbers and some green. I remember thinking maybe it was a knockoff of the Steelers or the Packers, but couldn't tell. It was No. 15, so I thought maybe it was Bart Starr? I wore it, but hoped no one would ask me who it was, because that was impossible to answer.

8. Nerf football. I love all Nerf products and was thrilled to get this. A Nerf football! It wouldn't hurt to catch! I could actually grip it! The Christmas morning joy and the longevity of the gift suggests it should go higher on the list, but the fact that it rained constantly in my hometown meant that when I left it outside, it would get waterlogged and weigh five pounds for a month (an 11-year-old boy couldn't really wring it out well), moves it down.

7. Baseball mitt. Few things are more thrilling than your first real baseball mitt and mine came at about age 8 or 9, when I was in Little League. It's not higher because I rarely had someone with whom to play catch (this list is probably explaining why) and other gifts are better for the lone 10-year-old on a dreary June afternoon. That mitt did catch a lot of "grounders" courtesy of throwing of a tennis ball off the garage, though.

6. Shoulder pads. Perhaps the least practical gift on the list (did I really need shoulder pads to play football in the yard with my friends?), but so cool. I would occasionally put them on and spend 45 seconds tugging a T-shirt over them just for the experience. White, cheap plastic shoulder pads seem cool even now.

5. Wiffle ball and bat. I loved this sport as a kid and have written about it previously (actually, my research indicates I've written about wiffle ball 12 times (!), but the linked column is about my wiffle ball peak). Getting the combination of the yellow plastic bat and a few wiffle balls was great. The only reasons it's not higher on the list is that Christmas isn't in baseball season and I could go to a local hardware store and buy them with a few bucks.

4. Red, white and blue headband and wrist bands. Those sweatbands stayed with me for years as I played on our driveway basketball court in 52-degree weather (which does not make you sweat). I loved basketball. I thought sweatbands were a necessity to be a cool player. I don't know if I ever washed them, which may have been a mistake. I'll ask my sisters.

3. Football kicking tee. This probably wasn't expensive, but must have been hard to find. An orange kicking tee with ridges so you could adjust the angle of the ball? Perfect. I found a  2-by-4 board and draped it across two trees that bordered my backyard and spent many afternoons practicing field goals (soccer style kicker!), often with the aforementioned Nerf football. I probably made 5% of the kicks from about 15 yards away, so more time was spent retrieving the ball.

2. Nerfhoop. Every kid I knew wanted one. This was a perfect year-round gift, because I hung it on the door from our family room (the former garage) and could shoot jumpers, free throws and the inevitable dunks. My stepmom and sisters probably told me 1,000 times to keep quiet, but I was dunking! With a red, white and blue headband on! They didn't understand cool.

1. Red, white and blue basketball. Was my obsession with red, white and blue basketball gear more inspired by the nation's bicentennial or by the American Basketball Association? Well, I read magazines and books that included George McGinnis and not George Washington, so make your guess. I'll never forget coming out Christmas morning, seeing a squarish package addressed to me, picking it up and feeling the basketball treads. Yes! Weather didn't affect this; I could play basketball in the rain. No gift of my childhood was used with more frequency than that red, white and blue basketball.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

My sisters and the magical disappearing battleships

I'm pretty sure my sisters cheated while playing against me in a game that is now immortal.

The 2025 class for the Toy Hall of Fame, the world's greatest hall of fame, was announced last month. (FYI, my Mount Rushmore of Halls of Fame also includes the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York, and the International Towing & Recovery Hall of Fame & Museum in Chattanooga, Tennessee.)

This year's Toy Hall of Fame inductees are Slime, Trivial Pursuit and the game referenced in the first paragraph: Battleship.

It's unlikely anyone will look back at the 2025 class as particularly memorable, unlike 2023 (Nerf, baseball cards, Cabbage Patch Kids and Fisher-Price corn popper) or 2000 (Mr. Potato Head, slinky, bicycle, jacks and jump rope), but it's a reasonable class. It's like the Baseball Hall of Fame 2012 class of Ron Santo and Barry Larkin. Both solid stars. Both deserving. But Santo and Larkin were the Slime and Trivial Pursuit of baseball.

I never played with Slime as a kid. However, I was forced to dress as cartoon character Jimmy Neutron in a room full of kids during a family trip to the Nickelodeon studios in Orlando, Florida, with our two young sons. The stunt was part of a knockoff of "Slime Time Live," a popular show on Nickelodeon, so I have a bit of a history with slime.

Trivial Pursuit, of course, was the leading table game for smart people in the 1980s, so not really for me. I loved the "Sports and Leisure" and "History" categories but had no chance at anything in the "Science and Nature" or "Art and Literature" categories. I had mixed feelings about that game, based on whether I was on a team with someone who knew Shakespeare's work or the periodic table of the elements.

But Battleship? It was one of about 15 board games at my childhood home.

The premise of Battleship, of course, is to figure out where your opponent's five ships are on a grid and sink them all, presumably killing all the sailors aboard (that part wasn't emphasized in the game's description, but is clearly the case and could be related to certain current events). You can't see your opponent's board, so you guess positions on a 10-by-10 board: "E5?" "D1?"

Once you get a hit, it's easier, since the ships (which take up two to five spaces on the board) must be positioned vertically or horizontally.

In my memory, while playing against my sisters, I'd get a hit (let's say D5). Then I'd guess D4, D6, E5 and C5. They would say I missed them all.

That was impossible! Those were the only directions their ships could go! Did they have disappearing ships? Did their ships go diagonally (which is illegal)?

I'd suspect my sisters cheated. I'd suspect they made a mistake when they told me D5 was a hit. Finally, I'd guess other spaces, intending to eventually return to the area in which I got a hit. Inevitably, I'd forget (maybe I'd win and forget. Maybe we'd get into a fight and I'd forget. Maybe they'd win and I'd be bored so I didn't care), but there's only one thing I remember from Battleship: My sisters didn't play it straight.

MY SISTERS CHEATED AT BATTLESHIP!

We're all older now and I doubt they'll acknowledge that they cheated on a board game in 1973, but I'm convinced it's true. And the fact that people (by "people," I mean my sisters) could so easily cheat at Battleship makes me skeptical that it belongs in the Toy Hall of Fame.

Alas, it's now enshrined. But now the nine toys that were nominated this year but fell short – most notably cornhole, the scooter and Spirograph– have to be wondering whether Battleship, like my sisters, cheated to win.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Marriage of sports and gambling likely to be fatal to American sports

Gambling–not injuries, television, money or performance-enhancing drugs–is the biggest threat to sports in America.

Unfortunately, the people who run and broadcast sports are so beholden to gambling money that they don't or won't) see it. The people who should love sports the most are feeding the cancer that may kill it.

An overstatement? Nope.

Gambling and sports have a long history. Presumably, the first athletic contests (Races? Fights? Spear-throwing contests?) involved wagers. From the time people began competing, others bet on who would win.

Illegal gambling cast a shadow over American major sports since the start. The "Black Sox" scandal – the biggest sports gambling scandal in American sports history, when Chicago Whites Sox players took money to lose the World Series – took place in 1919: 106 years ago. Then came the college basketball "fixing" scandals that nearly destroyed the sport. Myriad fixed boxing matches. Pete Rose's expulsion from baseball for betting on the sport. Much, much more.

All along, those running the sports wanted to protect their games.

The specter of gambling – particularly shaving points (winning, but ensuring your team wins by less than the gambling spread) – meant that the penalties for involvement in gambling were so draconian that no rational person would consider it (Pete Rose was not rational).

Then . . . our nation embraced gambling. Decision-makers – with the blessing of NBA commissioner Adam Silver, at least – acknowledged that gambling makes sports more popular, so they largely legalized it. The blend of technology and gambling led to myriad phone apps, where gamblers can bet not only on game results, but on whether players will score more or less than a certain number of points or gain more or less than a certain number of yards. Those apps let people make real-time bets on whether a baseball pitch will be a ball or a strike or if the next football play will be a run or pass.

Bad news, right? Gambling – an addiction that so often ruins lives and jeopardizes the integrity of the games – became easy and convenient.

Even worse, those gambling apps (DraftKings, FanDuel, BetMGM and more) realized where their audience was: Watching games. So they began to advertise during games. Then they struck deals with leagues to be the official sponsor. They paid so much that TV broadcasts now show odds on the ticker and announcers talk about what parlay bets they'd make. Former athletes star in commercials about how easy it is to bet.

Gambling apps poured millions (billions?) into sponsoring podcasts and news organizations. Legit sports reporting outlets added betting partners and began running articles that include odds.

Now the piper is being paid. The avalanche of gambling scandals has begun.

One NBA player has been banned for sharing information (that he would fake an injury) with gamblers. At least two others and a coach are under federal investigation for the same.

Two pitchers on the Cleveland Indians face lifetime bans and decades in prison for allegedly tipping off gamblers that they would throw pitches that would not be strikes, so the gamblers could profit on specific bets.

It's chaotic and getting worse. Professional athletes now routinely get death threats because someone lost $200 on a parlay bet that required them to score 20 points or get two hits in a game. Friends of athletes sniff around for information to help them win $2,000.

The leaders of the sports and the media members covering those sports? They wring their hands. They say it's good that gambling is regulated, so they could discover these problems (ignoring that virtually all of the recent gambling scandals have involved "prop bets," which illegal bookies rarely allow). They say people would gamble anyway.

Nonsense. Granted, it's a lot of money. A lot of money.

But it's money that will ultimately kill sports because fans will question whether results are legitimate.

Sports leagues and media outlets are feeding the beast. They're killing their own sport. They're spending their time announcing gambling scandals while protecting the gambling apps that create them.

This is like deciding people will always take drugs, so we allow apps that provide an immediate free hit of whatever drug they use, all while advertising how great the drug app is and having influential people talking about how high you can get off the new methamphetamines.

Professional sports seem healthy, but they're not. The killer and the victim are the same organizations and the only way to fix it is the same thing that gambling addicts need to do. Stop. Now. Pay the price but get away from gambling.

It won't happen. There's too much money involved for everyone to see that they're killing the thing they love.

I hope I'm wrong.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

It may be time to go back to the future for baby names

Who is the youngest person named Doris? Or Marvin?

Is there anyone in elementary schools with those names? Anyone under 18? Anyone under 40?

It seems likely, but who knows? Popular names change over time and we tend to have group think about them. Do you know someone named Ashley or Justin? They were probably born in the 1980s. Someone named Barbara or Dennis? They're likely old enough to receive Medicare.

But wouldn't it be great to go into a kindergarten class and meet a bunch of 5-year-olds with throwback names? Betty. Shirley. Beverly. Ralph. Norman. Earl.

I'd want to meet those parents and congratulate them for either being traditionalists or being the first wave of parents who use those names again.

The thing is, there was a time when kindergarten classes were filled with Shirleys and Normans. It was the 1930s and 1940s, but still . . . names that we associate with seniors were once given to newborns. As time passed, names changed and many returned. Consider the renaissance in the past decades of girls' names such as Abigail, Emilia and Lily – all popular names a century ago. But where are the Ethels and Gladyses and Mildreds?

(It's always risky to make gags about names, because just when you ridicule a name, you find out that a friend named their child that–because it's the name of someone who made an indelible impact on their life. So I apologize in advance. When I say that it would be funny to meet a 5-year-old Doris or Marvin, I don't mean that your child or grandchild has a goofy name. They're different.)

Along with everyone reading this, I'm sensitive about this subject. I realize I have the most white bread name possible – both my first name and last name sound like the entitled son of a wealthy country club member in a 1980s teen movie (which might be the case. Or maybe not). My sons' names ranked 76th and 133rd in the 1990s and my three granddaughters all have names that rank in the top 150 for the decades in which they were born.

In other words, I can't blame people for running with the herd on names. My kids and granddaughters are the Marvins and Dorises of their generations.

By the way, according to the Social Security Administration (your source for baby names and retirement benefits), the five most popular names in 2024 for girls were Olivia, Emily, Amelia, Charlotte and Mia. For boys, they were Liam, Noah, Oliver, Theodore and James. One hundred years ago, the most popular among those names was Charlotte (78th in the 1920s) and James (still third!).

So if you're getting ready to have a child and want to be a forerunner in the what's-old-is-new movement of baby names, allow me to make some suggestions among names that were popular 100 years ago and are ready for a return (although it may be difficult to find a bicycle license plate with that name, if that's a thing anymore).

Here are five suggestions for girls' names: Betty, Gladys, Hazel, Gertrude, Bertha. For boys: Howard, Clarence, Herbert, Elmer, Harvey.

The classics are classics for a reason.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

A gratitude list, from Thanksgiving football to flush toilets

I've been writing newspaper columns for nearly 40 years. I've been writing this column (not this specific one, but the Sunday Daily Republic column in general) for nearly 25 years. For nearly a half-century, I've been able to do one thing: Read a calendar.

There are 52 Sundays per year and it's difficult to come up with 52 good column ideas (which won't surprise anyone who regularly reads what I write). There are, however, some obvious choices: Holidays.

Some are better than others. It's hard (but not impossible) to find a clever topic related to Arbor Day or even Valentine's Day (I've written the "I hate Valentine's Day" column and the "Mrs. Brad loves those awful chalky heart candies" columns).

The next holiday on the schedule? Fairly simple. Thanksgiving is not only one of the greatest holidays in America (ranked No. 2 by your intrepid author in yet another column, 10 years ago), it's a great time to express gratitude. And the Sunday before Thanksgiving is a great time for a columnist to reflect on gratitude and offer up some things for which we should be thankful.

So, here goes. Here are 15 sometimes-overlooked things for which we should be thankful in 2025:

• NFL games on Thanksgiving. We're now in the three-game era, but for most of our lives, Thanksgiving featured two games: A morning game in Detroit, and afternoon game in Dallas. How many other holiday sports traditions are there? Maybe NBA games at Christmas. Maybe the final round of the U.S. Open men's golf tournament on Father's Day. Thanksgiving is better. When I was 10, the Lions hosted a Thanksgiving morning game, the Cowboys hosted the afternoon game. When I was 60, same thing. A great tradition.
• We can stream music and podcasts on our phones  A music service gives us access to a library of songs that is 10,000 times greater than any of us – even the most devoted musicophile – could collect. I often take this modern miracle for granted.
• We still listen to the same 100 or so songs, because as much as we'd like to say we have diverse tastes, most of us have narrow tastes. That's fine. Enjoy what you enjoy.
• Grocery stores have virtually every food you need. Fresh vegetables. Good meat. Canned foods, boxed foods, snacks, healthy food. They also have paper plates, pens, shampoo. And we can put all those things in carts with wheels that we dutifully return to their corrals after using. We may (and do) complain about costs, but think how life would be without a grocery store nearby.
• Even when we have something wrong with us medically, the other 99.99% of our body  functions correctly. How does my leg know how to step onto a sidewalk without me thinking about it? How does my kidney know how to function correctly? How does my skin repair itself when I get a cut? It's amazing.
• Cars last decades now, not just 100,000 miles. I expect my cars to go 300,000 miles, which was unfathomable even a generation ago.
• Showers.
• Egg cartons haven't really been improved. They work perfectly.
• Winter and summer last just long enough that many of us are ready for a change when it comes.
• Flush toilets exist.
• We can wave our credit card by a machine and it somehow works.
• Our body sleeps daily and keeps functioning when we're unconscious. Isn't that amazing?
• We can communicate with medical professionals by our computers. There's still plenty wrong with medicine, but being able to ask our doctor a basic, non-emergency question via a website is a tremendous step.
• Top Ramen, the most reliable food ever.
• When I need a column idea for the Sunday before the fourth Thursday in November, I can write about gratitude.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

Simpler times, when Northern California had just five area codes

If you told me your phone number area code in the 1980s, I knew generally where you lived. Because there were only five such codes in Northern California.

I grew up in the northern end of the 707, as we say now, which made it remarkable when Mrs. Brad and I moved to Fairfield and were still in the area code of our births. We were 707 for life!

However, we were aware of the other area codes (especially during my sports editor days, when I made and received calls daily from coaches): 916 was for Sacramento to the Oregon border, 415 was around San Francisco, but encompassed most of the Peninsula and East Bay Area; 408 was around San Jose; 209 was Stockton and south around I-5 and Highway 99.

That was it. That's all we'd ever need. Your area code mattered.

It was a simpler time, when we had three TV networks (before Fox arrived) and two colors of clothes (black or white).

We also had other oversimplifications to explain our childhood to people born decades after us: Life was simpler. We were happier. Our mothers were depressed and our fathers drank a lot, ignored us and often had affairs (Wait. That didn't happen to everyone?). But dang it, the world was better! There were only five area codes in Northern California!

It turns out area codes were relatively new when many thought they were permanent. Area codes began in 1947, which is a long time ago now, but wasn't that long ago in the 1960s. California originally had three area codes–213 for Southern California, 415 for Central California (which included the Bay Area) and 916 for Northern California (including my hometown of Eureka). In fact, the entire nation had 76 area codes, covering all 50 states (well, 48 states in 1947. Alaska and Hawaii were standing in the lobby, so they didn't get area codes).

The 707 was created in 1959 to commemorate the death of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper (Editor's note: That is not confirmed. In fact, it's wrong) and things stayed the same for decades and decades.

The Big Five area codes remained in place until the 1980s and the arrival of more phones, fax machines and girls whose hair was really tall in front (perhaps not related to phones). The volume of phone numbers grew quickly and new area codes came. The East Bay spun off the 510 area code in 1991. Six years later, the Peninsula became 650 and the northern part of 916 became 530. The next year, the 925 area code split from the seven-year-old 510. In the past decade or so, it's grown on steroids: a bunch of new area codes were "overlaid" to existing area codes. You may not realize this, but Northern California now has area codes 279, 341, 350, 369, 628, 669 and 837.

But . . . my hometown (Eureka) and Fairfield-Suisun are the OGs. They remain 707. An area code, a famous airplane, a lifestyle.

Who knows what will happen next? Will we continue to split area codes or will technology make it needless (mobile phones exploded but fax machines went away, partly offsetting the increase, I presume).

Sometimes I look back at the good old days when there were just a few area codes. When all we had to do was dial 11 numbers (one, plus the area code, plus the number) to make a long-distance call, which was expensive. Dialing such a number incorrectly resulted in a charge on the phone bill. Back then, your parents urged you to talk quickly to grandma because it was a long-distance call (made on a Sunday night, when rates were allegedly cheaper)!

I think back to when we had stickers on the phone with the number of the fire department, since there was no 9-1-1 system. When life was . . . 

Wait a second! That doesn't sound simpler, that sounds harder. Our phones were attached to our kitchen walls, long-distance calls cost a lot of money, you had to dial numbers, there were no answering machines and there was no 9-1-1 service.

Let me change my story. Back when I was a kid, life was so much harder. We had to dial numbers, our moms were depressed and there were just five area codes in Northern California . . .

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

The Dictionary.com Word of the Year is 6-7, which is so 6-7

If you ever forgot that teenagers want to be different, you're probably 6-7.

Don't know what that means? Neither do I. But of course, neither do tweens and teenagers who made that term so ubiquitous that it's Dictionary.com's "Word of the Year" for 2025.

Forget that "6-7" isn't a word. Forget that there's no definition. Consider it an exhibition of the power of teens.

That's so 6-7.

To the uninitiated (which is most of us), 6-7 became a common (overused) phrase this summer among school-aged kids, launched by its repetition in the song "Doot Doot (6 7)" by Skrilla (fun fact: Skrilla's real name is Fred Skrillakowski and he's a 54-year-old truck driver from Iowa. Fun truth: That's not true).

Dictionary.com wrote that 6-7, "is a viral, ambiguous slang term" that is largely nonsensical. Some say it means "so-so" or "just OK," or "maybe this, maybe that."

In other words, if kids wanted to be clear, they could say "so-so," "just OK," or "maybe this, maybe that." Or maybe not. There's a mystery to the meaning – and as always, there's a suspicion among adults that it has to do with drugs or sex.

That's so 6-7.

However, there's a possibility – maybe a likelihood, if you're a sports nerd and know players' heights – that 6-7 really grabbed people's attention when the Skrilla song was used frequently on video clips of LaMelo Ball, a player for the NBA's Charlotte Hornets who stands . . . are you ready? . . . 6 foot 7.

LaMelo Ball is 6-7! Although I'd suggest he's more than "so-so" or "just OK." LeMelo Ball has a reasonable chance to be an NBA All-Star.

But there are other possibilities.

The official Wikipedia entry says, "Some have connected it to 67th Street in Skrilla's hometown of Philadelphia or to 67th Street in Chicago. Linguist and African American English expert Taylor Jones has speculated that it may refer to '10-67,' the police radio code used to notify of a death. ... Skrilla himself has stated, 'I never put an actual meaning on it and I still would not want to.'"

After saying that, Skrilla got back into the cab of his 18-wheeler, called his wife Judy back home in Iowa, and asked if she could cook meatloaf for the first night when he returned. (This is called "continuing the bit," which is 6-7.)

Ultimately, the "Word of the Year" award holds up about as well as the Heisman Trophy in terms of predicting the future. Just go back 11 years, for instance: The Word of the Year was "exposure" and the Heisman Trophy winner was Marcus Mariota. The best you could do to suggest either had a lasting impact is to say, "Marcus Mariota seemed OK until he got exposure and we realized he's a 6-7 quarterback."

Is 6-7 worth remembering? It depends on who's in your life. If you are around a group of 13-, 15- and 17-year-olds, maybe. If not, it will probably fade into obscurity, only to be revived in 20 years when they're in their 30s and complaining about how kids are dumb.

Kids aren't dumb. They want to be different than adults. They want their own thing.

The last thing they want to be is 6-7, if my understanding is correct.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.

My most miserable academic experience was a college science class

Always do your homework, even before enrolling in a class. I learned that in the most humiliating educational experience of my life.

I was midway through my college experience. I didn't live on campus (I lived in town). I had few friends who were in college with me (most of my friends were co-workers, from church or from high school). And then there was Mrs. Brad (who wasn't yet Mrs. Brad).

I was on my own to pick classes. I was a journalism major, but unfortunately, I was required to take other classes. I liked history. I tolerated psychology. I enjoyed radio.

We were required to take multiple science classes. I was terrible at science. It made no sense to me. In high school, I survived because it was a general class and I could memorize well enough to regurgitate facts for a test (while not understanding the subject).

It turned out that strategy didn't help in college. I registered for botany.

Confession: I had no idea what botany was and in the pre-internet age, the only way to find out would be to look it up in a dictionary or encyclopedia. Or ask someone who knew. I didn't do either: I needed a science class and the botany class fit my schedule. How hard could it be?

Very hard, it turns out.

I walked into the first day of class and got a sense of impending doom. I attended Humboldt State University (now Cal Poly Humboldt!), which had a large forestry program. Most of my fellow students were wearing flannel shorts, boots and had beards. And that was just the women (rimshot)!

Botany is the study of plants, it turns out. The class I was taking was a general education science class, but it was also required for those forestry majors who loved science and plants and flannel and beards.

I'd figure it out, I thought.

The botany class was three days a week at 8 a.m., which was a terrible time for someone who worked until midnight several days a week at a pizza parlor. Each Monday, Wednesday and Friday, I'd get to class, sit in a massive lecture hall with 100 other students and the teacher would turn off the lights to show slides. The next moment, the lights came back on, it was 9 a.m. and I'd slept through class. Oh no.

The worse part? There was a lab requirement of two three-hour sessions a week, which seemed impossible. I didn't know what to do, other than to use a microscope to shatter a dozen cover slides (slide covers? Who knows?) per session. I couldn't figure out how to make the microscope work, while my fellow students were talking about chlorophyll and cell walls and nuclei. While wearing flannel shirts and stroking their manly beards.

The most memorable part of the class may have been the persistent gag by Paul, of my co-workers at the pizza parlor. He would occasionally ask me what class was giving me problems. When I'd say, "botany," he'd say, "not lately."

It was dumb, but the fact that it was the highlight shows how terrible the class was.

By the midway point of the quarter, I was failing miserably. My average was in the mid-30s and the lowest D required a score in the 60s, so I went to visit the professor. I could talk my way through this. I was trying! It wasn't my fault! I went to high school with his daughter! (I hoped the last point was the tiebreaker.)

He listened to me, then said there was a great way to ensure I passed the class: Get my score up to a 60 for a D-minus. 

For me to raise my average to that point, I'd need to average an 85 or something the rest of the quarter. How was that going to happen?

I thought I could dig my way out. I'd pay attention in class. I'd solve the broken cover slide problem. I'd understand what chlorophyll was and maybe even wear flannel. Well, not that extreme, but maybe I'd figure it out.

The rest of the quarter was . . . more of the same. I went to class, fell asleep and woke up an hour later. I went to the lab hours and continued to shatter cover slides. I took tests and failed miserably.

I failed the class badly. I wasted an entire quarter by getting up early three days a week. I spent six hours a week learning to hate microscopes. I realized that people with beards and flannel shirts are smarter than me.

The most important lesson? Don't sign up for something you don't understand.

Ultimately, I compiled my science units by taking what were still casually called "bonehead" classes, those intended for students like me, rather than the whiskered, flannel-wearers.

The final class? Biology, taught by a professor who acknowledged that most of us were there for the credits, so he tried to make it interesting to us. And I had a friend who went to college and took the class with me: Mrs. Brad. We were engaged by that time and it was our last quarter of college. A biology class seemed perfect. We both passed.

Decades later, my main memories of college science, though, are of being tired and breaking cover slides.

Botany? Not lately.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.