50 years married? That's love. Real love.

We celebrated my parents' 50th wedding anniversary this weekend with family and friends.  Fifty years?  Wow.

Think about it.  Fifty years ago, there were about 3 billion people in the world.  Today, there are more than 7 billion (and my parents only contributed me, my sister and five grandchildren ... slackers).  Fifty years ago, the average cost of a house was $13,000, the average cost of a new car was $2,500 and a gallon of gas was 31 cents.  Today, people build treehouses for $13,000.

Truth is ... you don't last 50 years without being in love ... real love.  Not the Nora Ephron romantic comedy love. Or the Hallmark, tearjerker commercial love. It's the "I've seen you at your best, your worst, your highest, your lowest" kind of love -- and it's beautiful.

Bill and Gerry -- 50 years

Bill and Gerry went to Snyder High School together in Jersey City back in the 1950s.  Dad spent time in the Air Force, traveling to exotic places like Mt. Hebo, Oregon, before having a career at AT&T Bell Labs.  And, Mom served as an executive secretary at a shipping company in Harborside in downtown Jersey City. And after being a stay-at home mom, later in life she was an office manager for a chiropractor and a secretary at St. Peter's College (read about her tales of wisdom in this earlier blog).  

They shared their vows at St. Paul’s Church on May 8, 1965, just a few miles from where we had their party on Saturday.  They have lived in the same Greenville neighborhood their whole lives. First on Danforth Avenue, then two blocks over to Terhune Ave. Then another block over to McAdoo Avenue.  They are not world travelers ... not millionaires ... not quoted in The Sunday New York Times.  But, after 50 years, they know a thing or two about love ... real love.

It's the Love, Real Love...

Their love has grown over 50 years and shown itself in all the little ways.  It's the love that allows you to keep quiet -- and still smile -- when your wife tells you the same story for the hundredth time in 50 years about the time the Pepsi truck lost its parking brake and demolished your car on Fowler Avenue.  It's the love that allows you to keep reading your book when your husband snores so loud in his chair that it could wake the dead -- but he insists he's not tired or ready to go to bed.

It’s the love that perseveres through struggles -- losing your parents and loved ones -- and holds you up through tough days of sickness and surgery.  It's the love that sees you through depressing times and life's unexpected changes.  Love that makes your partner provide the encouragement and nudge that you may need to get back on track.

It's the love that laughs and celebrates with you -- all the births, christenings, birthday parties, graduations, weddings, etc. Your permanent date.  Your other half.  The one who has built a lifetime of precious memories with you.

It’s the love that builds communities.  Nights working the food tent at the Our Lady of Mercy Carnival, cooking sausage and peppers and coming home smelling like grease, so the school could have a little more money.  Calling bingo games in the smoke-filled Maria room, so the kids' school could have a little more money.  Shoveling the snow, picking up a newspaper, sharing flowers or stopping for a chat together with your elderly neighbors on McAdoo Avenue.

It's the love that builds friendships over dinners at Just Sonny’s or Laico's.  Playing Trivial Pursuit with friends in the kitchen to all hours.  And barbecues – oh so many barbecues in that small yard on McAdoo Ave.

It’s the love that builds families.  From the old days in Brick and Toms River, or Norristown and Clifton, building memories for your kids with their aunts, uncles, and grandparents.  It's making the 10-hour drive the last few years to vacation in the Outer Banks of North Carolina so you could build even more memories, now for your grandkids with their aunts, uncles and cousins -- and, of course, Nana and Pop.

We tease them a lot because it's fun, but our family's respect, love and admiration runs deeper than they will ever know.  Love... real love ... isn't found in a Hollywood film or a Huffington post sob story.  On many days, it's found in a two-family home in Jersey City in the hearts and lives of Bill and Gerry.

The Perfect Place to Show off Inept Parenting? The Doctor's Office

If you ever want to feel inept as a parent just take your kids to the doctor's office.  The doctor's interrogation -- I mean questions -- are quick to reveal what a negligent, inadequate and careless parent you are.  Or at least it will make you feel that way.

Can You Repeat the Question?

When I was about nine years old, I was sitting on the living room floor with my dog Buddy watching television.  Buddy was a black Lab and terrier mix.  He must have had a sore ear that night as we watched television because when I rubbed his head, he yelped, turned quickly -- and bit my face.

It wasn't a Cujo, horror film kind of bite.  He snapped at me and because we were sitting so close, one of his sharp teeth went right through the skin under my bottom lip.  Clean through. A nice bloody mess.  You could've stuck a straw through the skin to my teeth.

My father got the unenviable task of taking me to the Greenville Hospital emergency room alone.  Standing at the counter, talking to the nurse who was filling out the paperwork, poor Dad almost got stumped on the third question.  "Patient's name?" she asked.  Got it.  "Address?" OK.  "Birth date?" ... "Uhm," said my Dad as he turned and looked down toward me.  "What's your birthday?"

We got through that and when they told us it could be a long wait (someone came in right before us with 21 stab wounds -- that's a whole lot of stitches), Dad decided my cut didn't look that bad.  We could always come back in the morning.

It's funny the things you remember.  The truth is medical interrogations bring out the worst in any parent.  You feel like you are on trial, facing a cross examination from a mix of the SuperNanny, Judge Judy and Alicia Florrick from The Good Wife.

The Inquisition

Flash forward to my own recent parenting gem in the doctor's office.

I know my kids' birthdays -- or at least I have them readily available in my smart phone so I can avoid such scarring moments for my own kids (just kidding, Dad).

I took Emma and Will to the doctor recently during the height of this winter's germ scourge. Their school friends were dropping like flies, and they soon succumbed to the bug.

As we sat in the exam room, I first had to face the nurse and explain why we were there.

"Will has been home with a sore throat and a bit of fever this week, and Emma woke up today with a 102 fever, glazed eyes and sore throat," I explained.

"Are you really this child's father? 

"Well, her temperature is perfect now.  98.6," said the nurse, brandishing a temporal scanning thermometer that looked like something Dr. Bones used on Star Trek. How could that be? How did she not have a fever?  Betrayed!

Truth was I hadn't even checked her temperature since that morning.  Once her mother decided she could stay home from school, the battle was lost. Why would I take her temperature again.  My orders were simple: "Keep them alive.  Get them to the doctor.  Pick up their medicine."

The doctor came in a bit later and had questions of her own.  No problem. I had this figured out now. I wouldn't look like "inept, know nothing" dad.  I would look like nurturing, "father knows best" dad. I wanted my kids to be strong and independent -- they could answer the questions themselves.

"Go ahead, Will.  Tell the doctor how you're feeling," I said.  Will did a nice job in his sad, soft-spoken voice, describing his sore throat when he swallowed.

I played the supportive dad, helping him out a bit, sharing what I knew about his allergies and asthma.  Whew.  Not bad.

Then came more questions.  This doctor was RELENTLESS!  Is this the Inquisition?

"What did you have for breakfast, Will?"  Oh, crap.

"I had Cheerios and chocolate milk," he said.  Not exactly high-protein eggs, nutritious oatmeal and orange juice, but hey it was better than the cinnamon buns his mother usually gave him.

We got our orders, and the doctor was actually very nice. She spoke to me very slowly when she gave me instructions, wrote it down for me, and didn't give me any stern, disapproving stares.

Full Circle

Bringing things full circle, my dad recently accompanied me on a trip to the Urgent Care with Will. My dad didn't want to go, but my mother made him. Maybe he was scarred by the trip to Greenville Hospital for the dog bite, too, and he didn't want to be questioned about his grandson. He probably doesn't know his birthday either -- and he doesn't have a smart phone.

Will was under the weather.  Poor little guy had strep.  As we sat in the waiting room, my dad fell asleep in the chair before we even saw the doctor. With age comes some privileges. He never had to answer a single question.

The Walking Dead and Parenthood -- It's All About Family

I am a long time fan of the television show Parenthood, the sappy, award-winning drama about the everyday trials, tribulations and tragedies of the Braverman family. Every week, I record the latest episode on my DVR and then sit on my couch and sniffle over all the heartwarming and gut-wrenching moments.

Kristina's recovery from cancer. Hank's and Max's struggles with Asperger's. Joel and Julia's marital problems.  Amber's struggle with growing up and finding her way. Adam's stressed out existence as the one everyone depends on. Zeek's heart trouble and mortality. It all gets to me. I am a sensitive guy.  And my wife kindly reminds me, "It's just a television show. What is wrong with you?"

Parenthood is one show that my wife and I would make time to watch together. I would watch so I could  get all sentimental and think about how I hoped someday I would sit on a porch like Zeek with my daughter and have her tell me I was a "the best" father (sob... sob...). My wife Elena would watch the show so she could sit and laugh at me for acting like an idiot on the "crying couch" with my daughter Emma (also a sniffler).

Now, switch gears. I have recently become addicted to a different kind of show: The Walking Dead. This hit show with a cult-like following portrays people's struggle to survive in the weeks and months after a zombie apocalypse engulfs the world.


Skulls smashed with axes. Gun shots to the head. Herds of mindless zombies walking and devouring live victims in their path. The base reality of survival -- kill or be killed -- in all its raw glory. I sit there on my iPad watching episode after episode, cliffhanger after cliffhanger, addicted to this show.

As I watched the final episode of Parenthood tonight, I got to thinking, "How could the same person -- me -- love these two vastly different shows?" And the truth is it's all about family. The strength we find in family. They ways we define family. The bonds and commitments we have to each other.

It may seem odd, but here are a few of the family lessons, these shows share:

Family always has your back -- In Parenthood, no matter how many fights they might have or how much they might snipe about who was their parents' "favorite," in the end they always made up and stood up for each other. Adam and Crosby disagreed about the future of the business they started together, and things got very ugly. But in the end they were brothers and that trumped being business partners (eventually). In The Walking Dead, they were always willing to put their lives on the line for their group. When T-Dog got bit by a zombie, he didn't hesitate in sacrificing himself to the zombies to help Carol escape. Family means making sacrifices, making apologies and always having each other's back.

Cherish those "moments" -- Don't lose sight of the simple family moments -- the points scored in a basketball game, the excitement over a report card, crazy singing in the car... Or, the beauty of nature you can share -- the sunrise in your yard, the walk on the beach, the snowmen that you build. When Adam successfully bakes a souffle with a student with special needs, and neither of them had ever done it before, that was awesome -- a small victory against the world. When amidst all the death and hopelessness created by the "walkers," little Carl talks about the peaceful looking deer he got close to in the pasture, that is rejuvenating. The fact he could still see beauty in all that despair was cool. Don't let those "moments" pass unnoticed.  Enjoy them and remember them, always.

You don't choose your family -- or maybe you do -- At the end of the day, he's "my blood" is what redneck, arrow-slinging hero Daryl says about his choice to stay with his evil, racist, masochistic brother Merle. At the same time, their group is a band of strangers who bond like a family to survive and would do anything for each other (even chop off a friend's leg with an axe to save him from "turning"). In Parenthood, when Amber sleeps with her cousin Hattie's boyfriend, or when little Sydney screams at her newly adopted brother Victor, you know it will all work out. You're family -- for better, or worse.

I know this all may sound crazy and farfetched, but there has to be some reason I find these two insanely different shows so fascinating and enjoyable. If it's not the common theme of family, then I may have to admit that I am a weepy, emotional sap who cries at Hallmark commercials, while secretly wanting to enjoy the adrenalin rush of decapitating a crazed zombie with an old, rusty bread knife.

The Secrets of Super Heroes -- and Families -- Through the Eyes of a Seven-Year-Old

My little guy Will is a shy 7-year-old boy. He doesn't have whole lot to say to most people. Probably like a lot of little boys.  Words are just an unnecessary disruption between butt smacks, ear flicks and tickle fights.

Will speaks in brief sentences and one-word responses (Hi ... Bye ... Thank you...  Chicken fingers, please... More ketchup... I'm bored... Next question... Can we go home now?).

Light Him Up!

He fidgets and mumbles a bit when strangers try to speak with him (this means anyone who is not his mom, dad or sisters).  But once in a while, someone can hit on a topic that will get him excited. You see this little boy literally light up and give you a glimpse of all the wheels that are churning in that mind of his.

This week, we were in Ohio visiting with family and having to talk to lots of people.  Will was his usually quiet self, floating in and out of rooms of adults and older cousins to build Legos, watch an iPad or play video games by himself.

I had been teasing him all week that Batman wasn't really a superhero, just a rich guy with a bunch of gadgets and no superpowers (see this YouTube video).  Well, we visited with his Aunt Rita and she knows a whole lot about superheroes and comics (could be that she lives in Seattle, or that she owns a movie theater in Ohio. Not too sure how she gathered such knowledge). They compared notes on superheroes I had never even heard of, and he was quite excited to talk to her about all the members of the Justice League, their back stories and what made them superheroes.

Every Superhero Team Needs Key Players

Tonight, I decided to see what else he thought about superheroes and I got quite an education from my little genius.  He is actually quite a philosopher and I think he already has the makings of a doctoral thesis in the works.

According to Will, every good superhero team needs a few key players, and he can describe them and draw examples if you ask. As I listened to him, I was impressed with the characters he named and the traits he identified. The truth is I started to think about how his traits were needed in any good team or family.

• Every superhero teams needs a "strong guy, Dad." The Hulk. Thing. Maybe a Three-headed Dragon (see drawing).  Every family needs that "strong" person, too.  A family protector.  The emotional anchor. The person who can make the sacrifice, take the hits and just keeps on coming at you.
   
  
• He also said every team needs someone who can make things (see drawing). Weapons. Swords.  Someone who can use a frying pan (it's not a shovel or a mushroom, Dad), a drill, or a chainsaw to make important stuff for the team. They might even "have telekinesis, Dad." This might be the family member who cooks the meals, fixes the backed-up toilet, or can assemble an 800-piece Lego set.
  
  
  
   
• Every team also needs someone "who can control people's minds," according to Will (see drawing).  What? They "can make little people like themselves and control them with their hat." I think, in more politically correct terms, this might be someone who can "influence" people to do what they want.  The talker. The peacemaker. The diplomat. Or if you're more sinister, quite possibly, Rush Limbaugh or Taylor Swift.
  
  
  
• And, every superhero team needs a leader.  Captain America. Someone who rallies the troops, sets the plan and leads them into battle.  Someone who has the final word -- and can use arrows and a fire sword to provide clear direction.
  
  
  

• And, this one may surprise you -- but it may be the most insightful point of all.  Every team needs a "weird guy," too.  Someone who is a little different, or maybe funny like stretchy Mr. Fantastic or "the Green Goblin. He is crazy and funny, Dad." Every team and family needs that person who brings something unique to the mix. That laid-back person who sees the humor in life, keeps everyone smiling and loose, and keeps life and battles in perspective. In most White Houses, I think we call that person Vice President.

It was a great conversation that I may visit again with Will.  He has more points of views on animal-based superheroes and super pets, he tells me.

I learned a good deal about superheroes, power and teamwork from my conversation with Will. And, I learned a whole lot about a little boy who may just be my superhero.

The Christmas Letter Is a Gift -- To Me :)

Some people bake Christmas cookies and make rock hard fruit cakes.  Others have Secret Santa gift exchanges or ugly holiday sweater parties. Still others collect special ornaments or visit the tree at Rockefeller Center.

Traditions are part of the holidays, and writing our annual family Christmas letter is mine. For the past 10 years as the last turkey leftover is eaten on Thanksgiving weekend, I take out my note pad and start drafting the letter to go with our Christmas mailing.

Back in 2004, I wrote that it was going to be a "new tradition we hope to continue as a nice way to recap the year's highlights for our close friends and family, and to establish a nice record of family history." A modest goal indeed.

Recording Family History

You see I am a typical forgetful father.  I can tell you the starting line-up for the 1986 Mets, sing the lyrics of Rick Springfield's Jessie's Girl, and remember the name of the bully who hit me with a broom in third grade.  But, but don't ask me where Emma went to pre-school (Joyful Noise), when Tess started walking (2005) or how much Will weighed when he was born (9.9 pounds and 23 inches). I need cheat sheets.

I don't have the maternal memory that my mother has: "Well, 1975, that was the year you lost your first tooth, your sister had a crush on that Polish boy who lived on Fulton Avenue and your Aunt Gladys passed away. Oh, and I weighed 98 pounds.  Can you believe that?"   Mothers remember that stuff.  Not dads. So, I write my letters.

Sharing Milestones and Memories

My wife makes fun of me every year for writing the letter, but I know she would miss it if I let it slip.  And friends tell me how much they look forward to it.   I used to send it to just a few friends, but then the word got out and people who didn't get "the letter" felt slighted.  "Why didn't I get your letter this year, Bill?"

The truth is I enjoy reading through the collection of all the letters each year and remembering the milestones and moments of our lives: the joyous baby births, school updates and fond memories of those who passed; the unforgettable weddings, vacations and visitors to NJ; the new plays, kiddie quotes and crazy dog adventures. It's all right there, captured in my memory lane binder (yes, a binder -- just like work).

The Making of a Good Christmas Letter

I know Christmas letters aren't for everybody. Some people hate them.  Some people mock them.

I would like to think I have learned something over 10 years, so here are five tips for writing a good Christmas Letter:

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1. Know your audience - Are you writing this for the neighbor you nod hello to? No, you're writing it for the family members who want to see if you mention them. For the friends you haven't seen in years, but whom you would love to visit "if they were in town"; for your kids to read about themselves when they get older and you want to embarrass them; for the older version of you someday reading Christmas letters that make you chuckle and cry.

2. Keep it brief -- No more than one page.  Even if it was an amazing year in which you met the Pope, flew a rocket to the moon and built an entire village from tiny saplings in Appalachia, people don't want to read more than a page.

3. Don't brag -- Your kids are the cutest, brightest, etc. We get it. Tell the stories or moments that help us know them a bit better. Will wants to be a snakecharmer. Emma was an Oompa Loompa.  Tess is planning to open a salon/dogwalking service when she grows up

4. Humor never hurts -- Give readers the family update, but be colorful or specific on the people, places and biggest events of the year.  Paint the picture. Tell them about the dog chewing up the windowsills, the kid who broke your big screen TV, getting trapped on an elevator with the family in London, kids vomiting on vacation. People like to know you might have had a tougher year than they did.  ;)

5. Be thankful -- It is Christmas. Be a little sappy and count your blessings.

Truth be told, my Christmas letter is a very special gift. A gift for me that I happen to share with others.

Happy holidays and God bless...

Thanksgiving -- A List of Unappreciated Treasures

No surprise that I got to thinking this week about what I am truly thankful for in my life. As Thanksgiving approaches, I have a lot blessings in my life -- great family and friends, wonderful wife and kids, health, good job, etc. These are not things that we should take for granted.  They are things we all appreciate and they top the list when I think about my annual Thanksgiving toast.

But then I thought about other things that I enjoy.  Oddities that go unnoticed or unappreciated.  The conveniences, the technologies, the little treasures that make me happy.  The truth is there are many things that we take for granted.  Here are my top five "unappreciated" treasures:

Cheerios -- They are simple, delicious and healthy,.  They can travel.  They are just as delectable when you are 2 years old as when you are 92 years old.  I will eat them dry for a quick snack in the car.  They will be my cereal of choice when I grab the complementary continental hotel breakfast.  Every Saturday morning, I will make a nice tall glass of chocolate milk (with Quik, of course), and fill my glass with Cheerios.  Perfection.  Cheerios, those whole grain oats have been around since 1941, and they are a simple and reliable pleasure that I always appreciate.  You can read their history here.

GPS and Google -- I am nostalgic about many things, but not driving directions.  Global Positioning Systems (GPS), Google, etc., are amazing. I have no sense of direction.  I once crossed the Tappan Zee Bridge three times because I couldn't figure which side I should be on to get home. I know, pathetic. When I was growing up, you would call the person or place you were visiting to request directions.  I remember painstakingly writing down directions, praying that there would be no more than 3 or 4 turns off the highway, knowing I would wind up lost.  My glove compartment had an envelope with every set of directions I had ever written.  From a road trip to Syracuse to my friend's house in Monmouth Beach.  Times change.  This year, I went to Spain  and found my way around Barcelona and Sitges using Google maps.  How wonderful is it that my kids will never have to squint their eyes and try to read directions placed on the center of their steering wheel, as they drive down a dark road by themselves.  I love this stuff.


 
Smiles -- Smiles are infectious happiness.  My wife smiling at me across our desk.  My kids smiling at me to see if they can get out of trouble.  A friend nodding and smiling at you across the aisle at church.  Or, even a stranger smiling and saying good morning as they hold a door open. A brief grin makes anyone feel a little bit better.  It makes you know things aren't so bad if you're having a tough day.  It challenges you to think about what is worth smiling about in your life. A smile gives you hope and makes you warm.

 

On-demand anything -- Life is busy and hectic.  So many things have to happen at a certain time.  Get the kids to school.  Make that conference call.  Be at that practice.  So much is beyond our control.  When I am ready to finally collapse on the couch, and I want to watch a show or a movie, I don't want to channel surf.  I appreciate being able to call up Scandal and blast through the commercials.  When I get on the treadmill on a Saturday morning, I don't want to watch the news, cartoons, etc.  I want to catch up on The Blacklist. When I was young you scheduled a lot of your life around the TV you watched. It's nice that one pleasure can now be scheduled around me.

Laughter -- I don't mean the polite chuckle.  I mean real laughter.  I mean milk out of your nose laughter.  I mean the way comedians Bobby Collins and Dom Irrera would leave me and my friend Mark with tears running down our cheeks at a comedy club.  I mean laughter like the first time you saw the movie Airplane! or heard Robin Williams go on a riff!  That kind of laughter releases endorphins, relieves stress and improves your health.


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So, those are just a few of the unappreciated treasures I am thankful for this year...  What are yours?

Leaving a thumbprint on your life

We all meet thousands of people in our lives. Some we encounter in fleeting moments. The man  we bump into while waiting in line for a burger.  The woman we talk to in line at the post office.  The retail person who helps us pick out the right gift for our wife. The contractor who spends weeks in our house painting and putting up walls. Their impressions on us may come and go like dust on a nightstand. Easily noticed, but quickly wiped away.

Other people spend more time in our lives. Family members. Classmates. Neighbors. Co-workers. People we meet on our daily commutes or at favorite watering holes.  These people usually leave more of an impression on us.  More than we may even realize.

The truth is there are many people in our lives who leave their thumbprint on us.  A mark that is there for life, but not noticed until you look for it.  They may have shaped our outlook on life; taught us skills we will always use; or provided comfort at a critical time.  They leave an indelible impression that we don't notice or appreciate until we are prompted to reflect.

This story is about my former co-worker and friend John, who passed away this week, and the thumbprint he left on me.

The Original News Junkie

John was  a newsman.  He spent many of his early years as a reporter and would fondly recount his days working for the United Press International (UPI) wire service to me.  It's where he got his discipline for writing and his passion for the media. He loved the news. Everything about it. John was the original news junkie.

The Original News Junkie

I met John many years after he left the newsroom, when he was a veteran PR guy for AT&T and I was a young pup still finding my way around corporate America.   John was a well-respected and beloved media relations pro and we became good friends when we both worked in the Corporate Media Relations office for AT&T spinoff Lucent Technologies.

When his daughter called me this week to let me know he had passed away, I thought about John and all the little ways he had helped make me who I am because of the man he was to me.  We hadn't talked in over a year, but ironically, the day before he died I was speaking about him to an executive I was coaching.

Here are three quick stories that tell you about John and the thumbprint he left on me.

1) Media Relations is about Relationships, Stupid.

I never saw anyone who was better at building a relationship with a reporter than John.  He was so affable and friendly. He knew reporters' birthdays, their kids' names, their dog's names, where they played golf, favorite sports teams, etc.  He made a connection. He knew that their professional relationship didn't have to be an adversarial one.  He had lived in a newsroom and knew that world -- the editorial pressures, the changing landscape, how to pitch (not spin).  He was a voracious reader and knew more about reporters and outlets than anyone I have met since.  He was someone every journalist respected and trusted.

Princess Telephone

You can do a lot of "good" media relations with a great story to tell, but try having a "no win" story to defend.  For years, John "owned" the AT&T -- and then Lucent -- Consumer Leasing beat.  Even after Lucent sold the business, the buyer contractually obligated us to continue handling the media relations.  The basic consumer leasing news story went something like this -- "Grandma passed away and her kids discovered she had been leasing her telephone from AT&T and its successor companies for 30 years even after law changes, technology and economics made this seem like lunacy.  The kids discover that Grandma spent $25,000 over her lifetime leasing a "Princess" phone that she could have bought for $25 from RadioShack."  Every consumer reporter's dream story.

John had the talking points and background down pat, and he would talk every reporter through it with credibility -- and without sounding like a heartless bastard.  In the best case, he would talk them out of writing a story.  More often than not, we were satisfied if John could just get our statement into the story -- which he usually did.

2) You're a Leader Now, So Sound Like One

John had seen me grow up as a fresh-faced kid from AT&T and so when I first got promoted to lead part of the Corporate Communications team at Lucent, I didn't know how he would react having to report to me.

The first day of the news, John walked into my new office, closed the door and said, "Let's talk."  He knew it was a tricky situation when your mentee now becomes your boss.  We had a candid talk about how things were going to work.  I had so much respect for him and needed his help, his insight, his support.  He respected me, liked me and was proud to see me get my new position.  We agreed to be very candid and open with each other.  And we also agreed that there would be times when I might make a decision that John wouldn't agree with and that would be my call.  If John had an issue, he respected me -- and my position enough -- to talk to me in private.

After my first big staff meeting, John came into my office, closed the door and put a piece of paper on my desk.  It had all these little check marks on it.  He looked at me. I said, "I don't get it, John. What is this?"

"That is how many times you said  'Ya know' and "Uhm' in your staff meeting." These were engrained verbal crutches that I didn't even notice or hear when I was nervously speaking to a crowd. His point was these people look up to you. If you're going to be a leader, then sound like one.

Today, people like to say feedback is a "gift" in some hokey, corporate posterized motto.  But, for John it really was a gift -- and that was how I received it.  After every staff meeting, I would come back to my office and find a piece of paper on my desk.  Fewer and fewer check marks.  It was our secret.  He made me aware of a weakness and held me accountable to work on it. That was a gift.

3) You have a job to do.  Be a professional

At one time, John and I worked for an amazing woman, Jane, whom we loved.  One day, quite surprisingly, Jane passed away .  We had literally seen her one day, and the next morning we came in to be told she had passed away over night.  It was a complete shock to the whole team.

John was a very dignified man and walked out of the room where we were told the news, and he went quietly back to his office. I went to his office to see how he was doing.

John was sitting at his computer, pounding the keys like it was an old typewriter from his UPI stringer days.  He was writing Jane's obituary and press release.  The message was clear, "This is horrible news, but we're professionals and we have a job to do for Jane and the company."  I pulled up a chair and sat with John as we worked on the obit.  John was the consummate pro.

What impressions will you leave?

Lots of people pass through our lives every day -- and we pass through theirs.  I hope I am leaving some good impressions, some lasting, positive thumbprints on others, the same way John did for me.