I said I was going to 鈥渟end it鈥� when I went to San Josef Bay last Monday, and that鈥檚 exactly what I did.

What is 鈥渟ending it鈥� you ask?

Allow me to explain, faithful Gazette readers.

According to urban dictionary, 鈥渟end it鈥� is teenager slang for 鈥渢o just do it, to say yes to something and don鈥檛 think about it, to have confidence and just Send It!鈥�

It was cold and foggy at San Jo Bay that day, and as I looked out across the sprawling blue/green coloured ocean, I was debating in my head whether I was going to go swimming or not.

I knew life would be much easier if I didn鈥檛 go swimming, but the easy road is something I have rarely, if ever, chosen to travel.

I looked over at my best friend Brian, I looked over at Hanna (who鈥檇 tagged along to experience San Jo Bay for the first time in all its beautiful glory), and then I whipped off my Vancouver Grizzlies jersey and sprinted as fast as I could into the water.

I lost my balance around two feet deep and bellyflopped into the salty ocean water, submerging myself underneath the cool, crashing waves that never stop rolling in towards the surf.

I had officially 鈥渟ent it鈥�.

Other than being cold, it was a pretty fun day at the beach. I did some skimboarding, possibly broke my toe, saw a Killer Whale that actually turned out to be a human paddling around the bay, checked out some cool rock formations, splashed Hanna until she complained about hypothermia, and then got into an argument with Brian about donuts.

Yes, you read that right.

Whenever my best friend and I hang out, the conversation inevitably turns to the subject of donuts; or more specifically, something I like to call 鈥渢he great donut caper鈥�.

What is the 鈥済reat donut caper鈥� you ask?

Way back when I was in grade eight at Port Hardy Secondary School (1998-1999), Brian would come over to my house to hangout at lunchtime, eat pizza pops, and watch Spiderman cartoons.

This is where the story gets interesting.

My dad had a big box of Tim Horton鈥檚 donuts he had brought back from down island, and they were just sitting there in the kitchen, ready to be devoured by my family as an after dinner snack later that night.

Needless to say, the donuts didn鈥檛 make it to dinnertime.

My dad, for whatever reason, decided to come home on his lunch break instead of staying at work, and he immediately noticed the donuts were missing.

He let out a thunderous bellow that echoed throughout the house.

鈥淭YSON! WHERE ARE MY DONUTS!鈥�

We told him we didn鈥檛 know where the donuts had gone, and said that we hadn鈥檛 seen them.

He wasn鈥檛 happy, to say the least.

Ever since that day, Brian and I have steadfastly denied to my dad that we took the donuts and blamed each other for their disappearance, but while walking back from the beach, Hanna said it sounded like it was both of our faults.

So after 19 years of denial, Brian and I have agreed to officially bury the hatchet and release an agreed upon statement of the facts.

Dad, I know you鈥檙e going to read this on Wednesday when you get your paper delivered, so here鈥檚 the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Brian and I have agreed to split the blame 50/50 for the disappearence of your donuts. While neither of us admit to actually taking them from the kitchen, we both admit our guilt in eating them downstairs while watching Spiderman cartoons and then hiding the evidence.

However, I still contend it was Brian鈥檚 idea to fill your bottle of crown royal with water after drinking half of it.

That鈥檚 my story and I鈥檓 sticking to it.

Hope you enjoyed this lighthearted editorial, it was pretty fun to write.

Check out every Thursday for more of Tyson鈥檚 Thoughts.