Always Leave with I Love You

When my daughter Tess turned two years old, she quickly got into the stage of talking -- and she has never stopped.

She was no longer just repeating phrases.  She knew when to say thank you, when to say please.  She knew when to ask for what she wanted – and unfortunately she knew when to scream and whine, too [At age 10 today, she is still pretty good on the "please," and she can still whine with the best of them].

A Late Night Visit

One night, when I was typing away and working in the basement at about 10 p.m., this little toddler came downstairs.  She was still in the mode of coming down one stair at a time on her butt.

As she got to the bottom, I said, “Hi, Tess,” to my little surprise guest.

“I want you, Daddy” was the reply.  She came over sat in my lap and we talked a bit.  I showed her what I was doing, and when she couldn’t play on or crash the computer herself, she became bored (a trait she inherited from her mother), and said, “I want Momma.”

So I told her Mommy was upstairs and she waddled back to the stairs.  She got to the bottom of the stairs and turned to me and said, “Bye, Daddy.”

I said, “Good night, Tess.  I love you.”

12 Steps to a Father's Heart

What happened next was one of those moments you know is a treasure for the memory bank.  It wasn’t something they would play on “America’s Funniest Home Videos” or that would win an Oscar for “Best Short Film,” but it was a moment I recognized then as a memory I would want to capture and replay in my head on days in the future – days when she would be mad at me, or when she would leave for college, or be walking down the aisle at her wedding.

Tess grabbed the banister and walked up one step.  Then she turned her head and yelled in that sweet Tess, child-like voice, “Good night, Daddy.  I love you.” And I said, “I love you, too.”

And then she went up the next step, and turned and said, “Good night, Daddy.  I love you,” and I responded.  Each step another turn, another sweet message.

There were 12 steps from our basement to the first floor in that house, and 12 times Tess grabbed a little piece of her father's heart in a way only a daughter can.

The truth is exits can be tough, but there aren't many better ways to leave a room than with a heartfelt "I Love You."

I remember that night I woke up at 4 a.m. from a dead sleep and went back to the basement.  I typed the original version of this essay that late night, hoping to capture for myself and for her – one moment, one memory that might last forever.  On that night, I could still turn and look at those stairs, walk into her room and see her in those blue pajamas and hear her sweet voice.  Today, it is a fading memory that I hold in my heart and in these words.

“Good night, Daddy.  I love you.”

“l love you, too, Tessie.” …  And I always will.

Editor's Note: This post is based on a series of essays I wrote from 2005 to 2009 and updated for Truth Is...

Values Should Be More Than Something You "Have"

I admire people who have clear moral convictions in life.  Those who see the world as black and white.  It must certainly make life a lot easier.

I am a bit more of a gray guy on many issues.  I tend to listen to lots of perspectives and usually find some virtue in arguments on many sides. My wife would tell you that when I am in a "mood" I will over think everything.

In the end, I may just have a gut feel that makes me lean one way or the other on an issue.  And ashamedly, at times, I may just make the easy choice and go along with my crowd. I might stick with a long-held belief, without any fresh examination or justification, and choose a side simply "because."

What's for Lunch?

Recently, we were on a trip to South Carolina and one simple dining choice got me to thinking about what issues would really stir me to take a stand -- and did my morality or values have a price?

We were driving down 95 South  looking to stop for lunch.  With three picky kids, that means finding the right pizza,pasta, chicken fingers and french fries -- or some combination thereof.

My wife and I were indecisive, and we kept stumbling upon Chick-Fil-A restaurants.  They looked very nice and clean from the outside.  I had a vague recollection about the food being good.  We loved the funny billboards with the cows.  And, the parking lots were always full.

We finally pulled into a Chick-Fil-A, but then my brain decided involuntarily to regurgitate a memory about Chick-Fil-A having been in the middle of a controversy over gay marriage.

I was fuzzy on the details, but I recalled that the CEO made some comments about his personal views on gay marriage and his entire company became embroiled in a messy situation and litany of protests.  You can read more about the situation in this recent USA Today story on the company.

And, so there I was at this mini-moral conundrum.  I have friends and co-workers who are gay, and I have supported gay marriage for a host of personal reasons.  So would I park and partake of some delicious Chick-Fil-A, or would we keep on driving?

If you are Catholic, you can probably relate to those Fridays in Lent when you go to the cafeteria and stand in-line for 15 minutes to get that hamburger special you love, only to realize as you are standing there that it is FRIDAY IN LENT and you aren't supposed to be eating meat.  Do you pretend you forgot that rule and enjoy that carnivore's delight anyway?  Or, do you groan and head to the salad line with your Catholic soul and good standing preserved -- at least for this week.

In the case of Chick-Fil-A, I couldn't do it.  We drove around the parking lot and headed back out onto the road.

Morality of Convenience or Conviction?

It made me think about what other issues would drive me to take an action and how far would I go to stand up for something I valued?  Was my morality one of convenience or conviction?  

There were another dozen fast food restaurants within spitting distance of Chick-Fil-A.  My family certainly wasn't going to starve because of my "stance" on Chick-Fil-A.  It seems even a columnist who is gay has written about having faced a similar conundrum.

I raise this question because the truth is that sometimes your "values" need to be more than something you "have" -- like an old book on the shelf -- they need to be something you "do" and "demonstrate."

I have a good friend, who to this day will not buy gas from Exxon.  It has nothing to do with the Exxon Valdez, which most of us are familiar with.  It dates even farther back to some controversy he recalls from his childhood, which I have long since forgotten.  He would drive the extra blocks for another gas station, and I remember thinking when I was younger, "This is crazy.  It's all the same gas."  But for him, it pushed a button.  It was one demonstration of his values.

Taking a Stand

The Chick-Fil-A turnaround made me think about when I had made a moral stand on anything (this certainly wasn't it)?  How strong were my convictions and values?  What actions do I take that really demonstrate my values?

• Had I ever walked out of a meeting or spoken to a colleague who made a racist joke in my presence?
• Did I ever march for a cause that would try to right some social injustice?
• Had I given my seat on the bus or subway to an older person?
• Did I ever stand up to a boss who was not acting appropriately? 
• Had I ever supported a candidate because of their position on one issue I deeply valued?

And, most importantly, do I teach my kids about my values?  Not only with lectures (you can imagine the eye rolls), but more effectively with my actions.  Do I explain to my children not just what I hold as values, but why I hold them?

I think that may be part of the lesson.  Take time to think about your values.  Examine them.  Question them. Understand them.  And, find those cases where you would actually do something to demonstrate them.

Then pick the opportune time to talk about them with your family, your kids ... maybe even for longer than the thirty-second u-turn out of the Chick-Fil-A parking lot.

Relaxing Takes a Lot of Work -- and Isn't All That Relaxing

August.  It's peak vacation time.  Everyone is squeezing in those last minute trips to soak up every bit of fun before the kids go back to school and the post Labor Day frenzy at the office begins.

It's time to lay back and chill out, right?  Hit the beach.  Head to the mountains.  Leave the the laundry and cooking behind.  Go somewhere to just sit back, enjoy the kids, read a book and be pampered. Maybe stop shaving and forget about work.  But, the truth is relaxing takes a lot of work.

Lessons in the Work of Relaxing

In fact, the pre-relaxing stress can drain you.  My wife Elena is the most relaxed and laid back person I know.  Last year, she was stranded on I-95 in Delaware with three kids and a broken down  minivan loaded with  a week's full of beach gear.  Just imagine!  She never broke a sweat and kept smiling for the entire tow back to NJ (I was stranded in NJ with my new job).  She even emailed me a photo of the "fun."

But, Elena isn't relaxed when it comes to her vacation planning.  She takes her relaxing seriously.  She attacks vacations with a precision and efficiency that make a NASA launch seem like child's play.
 
She begins with research.  Whether it is Disney, Lego Land, the Outer Banks or Seabrook Island, you can be sure she has examined every house, hotel, on-line brochure available.  She has looked at every promotion, deal and "expert guide" a good Google search can get you. She has mentally checked on everyone's pet peeves, allergies and dietary needs to make sure we will all be happy. 

Then there is the pre-trip shopping ... days of packing ... mapped-out directions and alternate routes ... making sure the kids have every swimming goggle, DS game and snack they desire ... collecting enough hardware -- headphones, mini-iPads, a SanDisk for wireless movie storage -- to put a Best Buy out of business  ... and cleaning the house from top to bottom before we leave ("I like to come home to a clean house"). 

Before we step out the door, my laid back sweeetheart could use a pre-trip drink and a day at the spa.  But, she is ready to relax.

Disentangling from Work

Elena is so terrific on the prep, I just have to pack a bag, load up the car and get in the driver's seat to mindlessly follow her every command.
 
My one pre-trip job is to get myself disentangled from work, so that I can be fully present and enjoy the time with family.



Like Elena, I start well in advance. Block my calendar and adjust my schedule.  Then I basically try to get that vacation week's worth of work done ahead of time.  Lots of late nights the week before vacation to get the deck cleared and hand-offs ready. 

I recently did an interview for a magazine with one our executives about this topic, and she shared some awesome tips that I have been trying to follow more and more.  Here is my take:

1. Set the boundaries -- It's hard to disconnect.  Some people can walk out the door and not look back.  Others need to stay tethered constantly.  Everyone has to find a balance and a boundary that works for them.  I am no role model (ask my kids and wife).  I have a compulsive need -- or work ethic -- that makes check my email, but on vacation I do it once a day now.  Being able to sort my email and direct traffic keeps my stress level down and helps me relax.  I don't have to wonder what might be festering at the office or come home to 1,000 emails on a Sunday night. 

My biggest change has been using two phones.  When I leave work, I forward my work cell phone calls to my personal cell phone, so co-workers can get me in an emergency (they rarely do).  But this does two things: I don't feel guilty or stressed because people know I can be reached, and it takes the temptation of work email off my phone as a constant distraction and source of worry. 

2. Be Transparent -- There are inevitably going to be intrusions from work.  It is the world we live in, but everyone is in the same boat and most people I have worked with will respect your boundaries and encourage you to take a break.  People want to think they will get the same courtesy -- and protection -- when they are away.  Set up your "out of office" on email and voicemail, pointing people to other colleagues.  Be clear in your messages if you will be checking -- occasionally or not at all -- and stick to it.  Once you break that boundary, the flood gates may open or you become ensnared in something that sucks you right back to work mode. 

3. Make It a Priority -- Work comes with all sorts of pressures -- real ones and ones that we build up in our own minds from being insecure or uncertain of our situation.  Make family time a priority and think about the long-term benefit of that.  Will it matter to me if I made that conference call two weeks or two  years from now?  Instead, think "Will my kids and I share a moment, lesson or a laugh -- and will that memory matter in 10 days or maybe even 10 years from now?

My executive used a phrase I really liked.  She tries to be "mentally present where she is physically present."  When I am with my family, that is where I am.  Hopefully, I am no longer peaking at an email, or dashing off for a quick call, or even thinking about work.  I can make time for that, too, but be fully present where you ARE.

A friend of mine shared a great article with me today about a practice that the company Daimler has undertaken to help its employees disconnect from work and find time to relax:

"The German carmaker Daimler is offering its employees a blissful solution. With the company’s “mail on holiday” inbox feature, correspondents will be told to contact someone else because all email sent to this person while they are on holiday will just be deleted. That’s right: destroyed. Gone. Imagine the calm of getting home. No horrifically bulging inbox. Nothing to “catch up” on."

The truth is ... relaxing sounds simple, but it takes a lot of work.  When you get it right, though, isn't it worth it? Relax...
 
  

God looks out for fools, children -- and stupid fathers (a.k.a., fools)

You may have heard some form of the old adage, "God looks out for fools and young children."  Some versions say he looks out for drunks and the United States of America, too.  

Whatever the source (The Bible or Otto von Bismarck), I would amend this saying.  In my case the truth is ... God often looks out for fools by another name -- stupid fathers.

Eleven years ago, we adopted a dog named Sadie.  She was a mutt who had been living on the street in Montclair, N.J., and we took her into our home.  She was about 40 pounds when we got her, mostly white fur with brown and black markings on her face.  Long pointed ears like a bunny and a long tail.  One blue eye and one brown eye.  

Sadie today.  About 12 years old.
Older, slower and lot calmer.

A unique dog in her looks, she was even more "unique" in her antics.  You see, Sadie was also certifiably crazy.  Just ask her vet and behavioral specialist at the time.

I could tell crazy Sadie stories for days -- and have to most people who will listen -- but this post is about one lesson she helped teach me more than 10 years ago.

Dopey Daddy Daycare

I had come home at about 8 p.m. one evening when my daughter Emma was about one-year old, and I had to take Sadie and Emma out for a walk because my wife was running late for an appointment.  I got Emma all packed into the ultra-cool, rugged jogging stroller with knobby tires, hand brakes and racing blue colors. I put on Sadie’s leash, grabbed a flashlight and rolled out.

Classic jogging stroller
with classic fit dad 

Everything was going fine.  We lived in a quiet suburban neighborhood.  It was dark outside, so none of our neighbors would be out walking and very few cars just drove up and down our block.  Emma was happily drinking her bottle and Sadie walked calmly next to her stroller with her leash in my hand.

Now, Sadie wasn’t crazy like a vicious, rabid killer.  She was crazy like a scared-of-her-own-shadow, extremely anxious and nervous pup.  When she saw a stranger or another dog she would go nuts, jumping around, barking, trying to get to them -- or away from them -- it was hard to tell which in all the panicked, frenetic movement.

On this night, when Sadie left a "deposit" on our neighbor’s lawn, it presented me with a bit of a dilemma.  With a flashlight in one hand to see what I was doing and a bag in the other hand to do what I was doing, I had one last piece of the puzzle to figure out.  What to do with Sadie and her leash?

I had one of those big discerning moments that you think about later in life.  You reflect and wonder, "What were you thinking?"  I remember thinking that this wasn’t a good idea at the time, but it would only take a second. And, then I proceeded to clip Sadie’s leash to the stroller’s handle. CLIP!

I looked around and didn’t see anyone.  As I bent over to pick up the dump, I heard a sound behind me down the road from where we had come.  It was a man and his dog out for a late night walk about 50 yards down the street. 

In an instant, I turned my head back to look at Emma, the stroller and Sadie.  It was already too late.  Sadie had heard them, too, and had been spooked.  She took off down the street at full speed with Emma’s stroller flipped over like a dragster on a raceway and careening behind her.  I screamed at that dog words and sounds I have not spoken since.

Sadie stopped dead in her tracks.

As I ran about 15 yards down the block, I was prepared for the absolute worst.  Emma was crying hysterically and Sadie sat there frozen -- for the first time in her life.  Luckily, Emma had been strapped so snugly into that stroller that when it flipped she didn’t get dragged on her head or face.  She was scared , but not scraped.  Sadie and I were just scared.

The lesson here is that when you get that little twinge in the pit of your stomach that says, “This isn’t a good idea,” go with that feeling and stop what you’re doing.  On that night, God gave me a pass. A near miss on a potentially devastating accident.  A wink, a nod, and a big "this one is on me" gesture from heaven. 

The truth is sometimes we get a little more help than our actions would deserve...

Editor's Note: This post is based on a series of essays I wrote from 2005 to 2009 and updated for Truth Is...

A sockless life is a happy life

The truth is socks don't belong on feet -- at least not in my house.

I honestly don't know what it is about the socks in my house.  I walk in from work every night and I can follow the trail of socks from the mudroom ... to the living room floor ... to under the couch ... to between couch cushions ... to the stairs going up to the bedrooms.  Fallen "foot" soldiers strewn around my house.

A herd of socks forced together for photo

It's as if they are creatures with lives of their own.  Like those dried up crabs you find on the Jersey shore -- limp, still and stinky.

And there are rarely two socks together.  They live lonely, solitary lives once they leave my kids' feet.  They seem to repel each other.  Or, maybe they are like every bad horror movie where the two teens say, "We'll have a better chance if we split up," then one of them gets gutted by some chainsaw wielding psycho.  One lost single sock is all you ever find.

No socks were hurt in the documenting of this story

History of the Sockless

This is not a new phenomenon or unique to my house.  Apparently, the U.S. military has a long history of trying to solve the Lonely Sock problem, dating back to the Civil War.  You can read more about it here.

My family has never been big fans of socks.

The most famous of these demonstrations was Tess who quit soccer after a few weeks -- due to sock irritation.  Tess was about 5 and wanted to try playing soccer with her friends.  Like all good suburban parents, we signed her up, got all the gear -- soccer ball, cleats, shin guards ... and official fuzzy soccer socks.  After weeks of having tears over the socks every Saturday morning, it was over.  She would practically undress herself on the drive to the soccer field trying to get her socks comfortable and feeling just right. Screams and tears -- over socks.  Soccer would have to wait for another day.  Tess has now become a dancer and favors flip flops and dance shoes over ever wearing socks.

Barefeet rule 

The kids play basketball in the driveway in their barefeet. They run through the lawn chasing each other in barefeet.  If they are forced to put on sneakers, they probably don't have on socks.  There is rarely a moment in the house when socks are ever on their feet.

I went seeking the truth about why they don't wear socks and so I asked Emma:  "They make your feet all sweaty and stinky."  I asked Tess: "I don't like fabric on my feet."  And finally, I asked Will, my truthteller.  "I hate socks," he said quite simply.  "But why?" I pressed.  "BECAUSE I HATE SOCKS."  Duh!

So a sockless life seems to be a happy life -- at least for my kids.  No matter how much the sock "debris" around the house drives me crazy, it's a small price to pay for happiness.  Ironically, their grandfather always wears socks.  Lawn mowing accident.  Nine toes.  Long story for another day...  ;)