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.  
 

    

"I don't like nuts" means I don't want nuts on my #$&$&# sundae

I don't like nuts.  Never have.  Never will.  I don't like the taste.  Don't like the smell. Don't like the texture.  I don't like nuts.

Not peanuts.  Not walnuts.  Not almonds.  Not macadamias.  Not pecans.

While I have been known occasionally to grab a handful of cashews, that doesn't really count. I still hate NUTS!

And for the longest time, people never took me seriously. Long before the nut allergy frenzy that we live in today, people dismissed not "liking" something as trivial.

Scars Run Deep

I can remember being out for dinner with my girlfriend in college back in the early '90s.  We were at Houlihan's in Weehawken on the waterfront at the peak of its popularity.  The crowds were crazy.  Thousands of people on a weekend night.  It was always packed.

We had enjoyed a nice dinner, and I decided to order an ice cream sundae to cap it off.  I asked the waiter if the sundae had nuts, and he said it did.  So, I explained that I didn't really like nuts and didn't want any on my sundae. "No problem, sir," he said, as he looked around the restaurant at all the beautiful patrons and potential big tippers.

"No nuts? No problem!"

I had fallen for this before.  It's "no problem" until the waiter forgets, the guy in the kitchen makes the standard sundae. and I am left sitting there biting into nuts when all I wanted was some nice ice cream.  Blech!

So, I stopped the waiter who seemed a bit distracted and said, "Seriously, I hate nuts, so please make sure there aren't any on my sundae."  He chuckled like this was a silly question and said, "No problem."

You know what happens next.  Sure enough, my chocolate sundae comes out, gets placed on the table in front of me and BINGO!  Walnuts splattered all over my sundae.  Aaarrgghh!

The truth is .... people don't take "not liking" something seriously.

Upping the Ante

Flash forward a few years later.  I was at a  restaurant on Long Beach Island with a bunch of friends.  We had enjoyed a nice dinner and I decided to order a brownie sundae.  Now a brownie sundae is very tricky.  At least with a regular sundae the walnuts are on top.  With a brownie sundae, you don't know what you've got in there until you bite into that brownie -- and you wind up with crunchy nuts in your mouth and it ruins your entire meal.

I had gotten older and wiser since Houlihan's, so this time when I asked for my brownie sundae from the waiter I decided to up the ante. I asked him if the brownie had nuts in it.  He said he didn't think so in a dismissive, "why does it matter, dude" type of tone.

I stopped the waiter and said with a meaningful pause, "Can you check because I am DEATHLY ALLERGIC to nuts."

I don't know what made me say "deathly allergic" that night. It may have been the scars of countless other waiters who dismissed my comment about hating nuts, not liking nuts, not wanting nuts, etc.  It may have been the joking, good mood we were all in that night.  I may have just tossed it out there as a social experiment.

The waiter brought out the brownie sundae.  Three scoops of chocolate ice cream topped with a mountain of whip cream and chocolate syrup .  All of it sitting on one of those gigantic TollHouse chocolate chip cookie brownies.  It was beautiful.
I gave the brownie a skeptical look.  My friends joked about  nuts being in the brownie, having never heard me say I was deathly allergic before.  As I was about to dive in, the young waiter came flying out of the kitchen, tripping over himself a la Jack Tripper from Three's Company, and grabbed my plate.  Apparently, his boss told him the brownie had nuts.

Finally, people paid attention.  It didn't matter if you spent years politely saying you hated nuts or didn't like nuts.  If you wanted their attention, say you're "deathly allergic."

I used this statement many more times over the years and I never had an issue with my desserts. It became a running joke with my family and friends.

The Joke Is On Me

Several years later, however, my wife Elena and I were visiting some very good friends in London and we went to a posh restaurant for dinner. Once again, we enjoyed a great dinner and I decided to cap it off with brownie sundae.  I asked the waiter about nuts in the brownies, and I told him I was DEATHLY ALLERGIC to nuts.

Now, this wasn't Houlihan's or some 18 year-old waiter in LBI.  This was the big leagues.  And as we sat there, I noticed a cluster of waiters and staff gathering in a corner of the restaurant, talking in whispers and looking in our direction.  Finally, the maitre d' came over.

"Sir, the waiter told me that you are allergic to nuts.  May I ask if you are feeling okay?" he said.  "I feel fine," I replied.

The maitre d' then explained to me that they were very concerned and were about to call an ambulance because the fish I had eaten was encrusted in NUTS. Ooops.  It tasted delicious.  Who knew!

I apologized profusely to the maitre d' and explained that I wasn't exactly allergic, blah, blah, blah.  Needless to say, my wife and friends were ready to kill me for causing such a scene -- and my  "fatal" allergy was miraculously cured -- forever.

As proof that God has a sense of humor -- or maybe a sense of irony -- today I have a wonderful six-year old son named Will. Cutest kid you'll ever see. Will is allergic -- SERIOUSLY allergic -- to nuts ... to shellfish ... and to all sorts of things.  Times have changed. Waiters will fall all over you when you utter the word allergies nowadays in a restaurant. And, I carry my bag of Will gear with me whenever we go out on the weekends -- epi-pen, inhaler -- whatever we might need.  I don't really like to put the words "death" and "allergies" in the same sentence any more -- unless I am telling a story about me being an ass.  ;)