BostonWriter Online: Tech. Work. Life.

Travelers' Bill of Rights

 

In my previous post, I wrote about the joy of flying. It was the first blog entry I wrote entirely on my iPhone and it was tapped into the "Notes" application as I was midway between Houston and Boston in the midst of a crazy week. Work projects have been endless. Every minute of my "free time" had been filled with family commitments. In short, the relative solitude that comes along with a long flight was blissful. 

This past week I was traveling once again, this time to my beloved Chicago, for a trade show and a now annual charity "road show" that I helped my company to kick-off last year. It was a whirlwind week and there never was a dull moment. In the span of two days I met with 10 members of the analyst/press community, shot and edited three different video segments and got three press releases out the door. Then, in one day, I had the awesome opportunity and privilege of doing some charity work for the company before flying home. It was an exhausting 80+ hour week but it was gratifying and fulfilling.

My commitments on Friday ended a bit earlier than expected so I found myself at the airport hours before my flight home. O'Hare was bustling - as it always is on a Friday afternoon - and the sheer volume of people flowing through the airport was incredible. I found a seat in the corner of terminal 'B,' broke out my latest issues of Macworld and Game Informer and tried to make the three hours move by a bit faster. As I thumbed through the pages of the magazine, little snippets of conversation drifted by. I would look up occasionally to do some people watching. And during this long wait, I've come to the conclusion that there are an awful lot of jackasses in this world. A few examples:

• Airline employees who have completely forgotten - or have never learned - how to treat customers with even the most basic sense of respect or decency
  
• 'Frequent Flyers' who feel compelled to tell anyone they meet about their current medallion status, their favorite airport or their next five international destinations
  
• Individuals who argue with TSA agents because they don't want to unlace and remove their shoes

The list could go on.

So this time while traveling, rather than think about the peace and solitude of flight, all I could think about was how there should be some laws of basic decency - a code of conduct, if you will - for travelers. So, I submit for your review, my recommendations for the first few core components of a "Traveler's Bill of Rights:"

• You have the right to be free from listening to the egotistical (and likely fabricated) recounting of trip details of complete strangers
  We don't care about the dollar value of deals you closed, the amount of alcohol you consumed with your clients or the number 'encounters' you had while away from home. You're not impressing anyone, you're annoying everyone and you make the unpleasantries of travel even worse... just shut up.
  
  
• You have the right to call B.S. on any airline employee who knowingly and willfully passes along untruthful information about flight status
  If it's 7:30 and the 4:15 flight has not yet arrived at the gate, no one believes you when you make your fifth "should be here any minute now folks" statement. Pass along real information when you have it, keep quiet when you don't and keep your cool when multiple passengers ask you for assistance and/or options. It's your job. If helping people is not your cup of tea, find another profession.
  
  
• You have the right to complain to management - and get satisfaction - whenever you catch airline employees, airport employees or so-called 'travel assistance professionals' getting out-of-line
  During my wait at O'Hare yesterday I witnessed one airport employee literally yell at an elderly woman because she wasn't getting into the wheelchair quickly enough, two gate agents commenting - openly and loudly - about the "stupid questions that some customers ask" and another gate agent say "what-EVER" - in pitch-perfect teenage girl tones - when an elderly woman complained that she had been waiting for 15 minutes for a cart to take her to the next gate and they sent a single wheelchair. If she needed a wheelchair, she would have asked for a wheelchair. If you weren't going to send a cart, you should have made that clear. If you make a commitment to send a cart and you send something else, you owe either an explanation or an apology.
  
  
• You have the right to send any travelers who complain about security gate policies and procedures to the back of the security line
  Yes, you need to remove your shoes. No, you can not take the 20 oz. iced coffee through security. Yes, you need to remove your laptop from the bag. And no, you can not complain if you're randomly selected for additional screening. No one cares if you're running late. This is how the world works these days and the TSA folks are trying to keep you safe. Try saying "hello" to them or use the words "thank you" from time-to-time and I'm sure you'll find your trip through security much more pleasant and you won't run the risk of pissing off the 20 people behind you who are ready and willing to follow the rules.
  
  
• You have the right to confiscate and destroy the cell phone of any traveler who refuses to power off said device after the third request
  I'm sure you think that e-mail is critical, but you're just not that important. It's true. Get over it. 'Nuff said.
  
  
• You have the right to remind flight attendants of the 'attendant' component of their job description as often as necessary until they get the message
  Some flight attendants are wonderful. Most make Nurse Ratchet from 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest' look like Mr. Rogers. We pay a lot of money to move ourselves and now our baggage from one point to another. We typically deal with significant stress during the time between leaving our home or hotel and boarding the aircraft. (For details, please see above.) By the time we actually get onto the plane and get into our seat, we're now in your hands and it should be a relatively pleasant experience from this point forward. It's not our fault that you can't break a $20 if we want to buy a snack. If you whack our elbow or knee with the drink cart we would prefer a "sorry" to a "you need to keep out of the aisle" comment. Last but not least, it would be great if you could muster a smile every now and again. We understand that you have a stressful job. Please understand that travel isn't always a picnic for us either. The big difference is that you are paid to deal with this, we are forced to pay increasingly large amounts of money to deal with this and - most importantly - it's our dollars that go into your paycheck.

I know this post is a bit more snarky than my usual ramblings, but I'm sure that those of you who travel have encountered one or more of these annoyances as well. Would love to read your comments. 

Flights

For some odd and inexplicable reason, traveling always renders me a bit pensive and introspective. Maybe it's the long hours in solitude. Maybe it's the monotone hum of the engines. But in these moments of quiet - these moments when I am surrounded by a hundred people but disconnected from them all - I am at peace. I know the phone will not ring. I know there will not be an urgent e-mail. I know there will not be a call for help from the next room or a neat and tidy list of errands to run or repairs to be made. No cacophony of headphone-wearing children each singing their own tune. No sound of dogs tromping up and down the hallway or staring out the window barking at phantoms. No creaky floorboards or leaking pipes. No drone of distant lawnmowers reminding me of tasks yet undone. No pending meetings. No subtle reminders of work not yet completed. No missed deadlines. No judgment calls. Nothing. All of that is 30,000 miles beneath my feet and though I'm screaming through the air at hundreds of miles per hour, I am still. My mind, quiet. My time is my own, as are my thoughts. Soon enough I'll be back on the ground. Back to moving sidewalks and parking lots. Back to toll booths and old cars and box scores. It will be dark when I pull up the drive. The art deco lamps on the mantle will be left on, casting their warm glow and throwing shadows of red and gold across the wall. I'll walk down the hallway and look in on each of the kids. My son's aquarium will be gurgling, the soft piano of my daughter's 'Charlie Brown Christmas' CD will be coming through the speakers of her little stereo and the sounds of a gentle rain or lightly crashing waves will drift from the 'Nature Sounds' player in the baby's room. Such is the soundtrack of sleep. I'll make my way upstairs - stepping over a sleeping dog or two - and climb into bed. I'll close my eyes and maybe, just maybe, get a few hours' sleep. Soon enough there will be e-mails and deadlines, projects and progress. But for now, peace. 

Balance

The phrase that I would use to describe my lot in life is "more blessed than one man deserves." I have a good job. I have an amazing wife and a wonderful family. We don't live in a McMansion and our cars are old, but we have some toys and take vacations and manage to do it all on one salary. Some months are better than others, but on the whole, we're getting by. My good luck extends to the friends and extended family department as well.

I hang out with a pretty diverse crowd and, for the most part, everyone clicks. We come from different walks of life - lawyers, building managers, carpenters, IT gurus, teachers, landscapers, marketeers - but we all tend to be cut from the same cloth and motivated by similar things: namely love of family and passion for our respective careers. We get together a few times a year as a group and more frequently in smaller packs, but I'm always fascinated by the fact that despite wide range of vocations we represent, we all tend to struggle with similar issues. 

The current trends we're all wrestling with these days are balancing office demands with personal demands, as well as reconsidering the whole sacrifice/reward equation. The economic climate of the past 12-18 months has not been a picnic for anyone, so for the most part we're all firmly entrenched in the 'happy to have a job' camp. Partly due to current conditions but mostly due to our own personal DNA, most of us have been working burnout hours... even more than usual. With many of our employers making cutbacks or reducing investments, several of us have ended-up doing the job of 2-3 people. Fine. Cool. Again, better to be over-worked than under-employed. However, there is a tipping point.

The concept of "work/life balance" is a bit tough to define these days, due in large part to the fact that life doesn't fit into neat little boxes anymore. When I was a kid, my Dad got home at 5:00, dinner was on the table at 5:30 and the evening news came on at 6:00. He didn't have a Blackberry to check. He didn't take conference calls on the drive to or from the office. He didn't bring home a laptop that allowed him to get in an extra couple of hours of work during the nights and weekends. When he was home, he was home. Period.

My friends and I, however, never seem to be "off the clock." Most of us have the wonderful ability to work from home on occasion. Early this week, in fact, I did just that... plugging away at my home office while my car was in the shop. The flexibility to do so is very much appreciated and makes life MUCH easier when such things occur. Kids get sick. Cars break. Life happens. But technology-enabled flexibility is something of a double-edged sword. The same laptop and iPhone that empowers me to work from home - often with greater productivity and focus without the drive-by distractions and random politics of being in a busy office - also empowers me to respond to e-mails while attending my son's Little League game, exchange instant messages with a co-worker at midnight, then work on a presentation at 4 a.m. while drinking coffee on my deck the next morning. So the fundamental question remains: is this technology-enabled flexibility a blessing or a curse?

Like most things in life, it's a bit of both. I think it all boils-down to setting boundaries. The 24/7 culture and availability that technology breeds, combined with a passion for one's career, is particularly well-suited for today's economic climate when people are forced to wear many hats. It's also a great combination should you choose to work for start-up companies or organizations that are at an inflection point - that "grow-or-status quo" transition period. It becomes a challenge, however, when the 60 or 70 hour weeks necessary to finish a specific project or initiative becomes the norm and is expected. (Another common concern that my buddies and I discuss over a beer or two around the campfire.) Throw a tough economy into the mix where the 'traditional' rewards mechanisms (a.k.a. bonus and salary increases) are replaced by the "keep plugging because you're lucky to have a job" mantra and you've got the perfect recipe for burnout. A marathon is not a collection of sprints... it requires a distinct strategy to ensure that you still have gas in the tank as you approach the finish line. And if you're not making more money, you at least want to feel like you're making a difference. 

One of the greatest blessings of having this group of friends - this oddball band of brothers - is that we bring similar but different perspectives to the mix. Some come from families of means but most of us share a blue-collar upbringing. Some have kids that are grown and either in college or already graduated. Most are like me with young and growing families and we're figuring it out as we go along. Some are walking the career path they've chosen since the beginning of their post-grad years while others left the rat race and started their own businesses in a completely different field. Some work for very small companies with a handful of employees while others work for multinational conglomerates. No matter where we are in life or what we're going through, we can always count on someone who has "been there, done that" and can offer advice and a fresh perspective.  So whenever we get mired in the stress and drama of day-to-day life it's off to the movies for a brainless sci-fi flick followed by a cup of coffee and a chat, a bottle of Sam Adams and a pow-wow around the campfire or simply getting the families together for an impromptu cookout and letting the kids run amok while the grown-ups relax on the deck and get caught-up on each other's lives.

For most of us, the concept of "work/life balance" is a bit odd. Work is a big part of our lives and, truth be told, if any of us won the lottery tomorrow we would probably be back to work shortly after buying that Ferrari. (Or, in my case, after buying that Shelby Cobra 427 S/C.) It's during the moments when work becomes our lives that the balance is thrown off and a bit of perspective is just what the doctor ordered.

Good Investments

Mrs. BostonWriter and I met when we were 19 years old and have been together ever since. It was around four years into our relationship - which was roughly two years after graduating from college - when she began sending the not-so-subtle "shit or get off the pot" vibes so I made it official. Goodbye flying lessons. Hello fiancee. (She still likes to think she nudged me across the finish line but my head and heart were way ahead of her.)

Since we're both of good New England Catholic stock we didn't live together until after the honeymoon, but we did buy a house. I lived by myself in this little 50s-era Cape Cod style for the entire year before the wedding while working my tail off doing freelance work and ramping-up the little marketing business that I had just started. We would see each other a couple of nights during the week and hang out on the weekends. Life was good.

Then one day she lays this on me: "Honey... I think we should get a dog."

"Definitely," I excitedly replied. "I've always wanted a dog."

"Really?!? That's great! Let's go to the pound and see what they have," she said while simultaneously grabbing her jacket and heading for the car.

Now bear in mind: I thought we were having one of those "let's-make-a-laundry-list-of-everything-we're-going-to-do-after-the-wedding" conversations. Unbeknownst to me, we had transitioned into one of those "let's-go-and-get-a-dog-right-now" conversations. So off we went to our local MSPCA.

We arrived at the shelter a bit early and there were several people already queued-up and waiting for the doors to open. There was a man in a Jeep CJ7 with a Great Dane (which was larger than the Jeep) who claimed that the freakishly large animal needed a friend. There were a handful of people who were dropping off cats for adoption. (And really, who could blame them... evil little soul-stealing furballs that they are.) There were a few families who, like us, were waiting to go inside and adopt a new member of the family. And then there was a jet black border collie / springer spaniel mix who was waiting patiently by his master's side.

We were leaning against the bumper of our car watching the swirl of activity when I made eye contact with this mutt for the first time. He was a really interesting looking dog and seemed to have a great disposition and an old soul, but the eyes told me that it was all an act - a thin veneer of calm that he was just barely holding together. Still, there was just something about this beastie that I really liked.

"Check that dog out," I said to the soon-to-be Mrs. BostonWriter, pointing to the mutt.

"Ooh," she replied. "He looks a bit koo-koo, doesn't he?"

"Really? Maybe a bit," I said. "Still, he seems kinda' cool."

It was at that exact moment - at that precise time that we were looking at him - that a little boy ran up to the dog and threw his arms around the mutt's neck, ignoring his Mother's cries. The crowd amassed outside the shelter - now fully-engaged by the shrieks of the high-strung mother - and waited to see what would happen next. The dog threw his head straight-up as the child gave him a bear hug... and smiled. I swear to you, the animal smiled. The boy held on for a few seconds before the mom apologized to the owner and pried her son from the dog. 

I immediately approached the owner.

"Hey there," I said. "Nice looking animal you have there."

"Yep. Keno is a great pup. I hate like hell to give him away," the man replied.

"So why are you doing it," I asked, while kneeling down to introduce myself to Keno.

"He's my Dad's dog," the man explained. "I got it for him so he wouldn't be so lonely, but now he's in the hospital and just can't take care of him. I train German Shepherds for a living and have several at home and they just didn't click with Keno, so I'm hoping the pound can find a good home for him. He really is sweet."

"Do you mind if I take him for a walk," I asked.

"Be my guest," the man said, handing over the leash.

"C'mon, Keno," I said while making a "click-click" sound with my cheek. 

The dog immediately stood and proceeded to take me for a drag down the winding dirt road behind the pound. He paused to sniff bushes, stare at horses and bark randomly at nothing in particular. The logical side of my brain told me that my wife's knee-jerk assessment was spot-on... this dog is, in fact, certifiably "koo-koo." The emotional side of my brain, however, told me that this was the dog for us. After a bit of cajoling, my fiancee agreed with one stipulation: we were going to change his name. An hour later, "the artist formerly known as Keno" was in the back seat of our car and we headed for home. 

Jet black with little tufts of white fur at the end of his toes and a bit on the muzzle, we decided that the dog looked an awful lot like the mascot and logo for The Black Dog Tavern on Martha's Vineyard. Despite the fact that Keno didn't have a drop of Black Lab blood in his veins, the resemblance was uncanny. Perhaps they were distant cousins, we mused, so we decided to rename the dog Nantucket after the 'other' island off the coast of Cape Cod.

In the weeks and months to come, Nantucket - a.k.a. Tuck, Tucker, Wondertuck, Tuckeroo - would chew his way through a kitchen wall, eat a complete set of wicker furniture, shred several L. L. Bean dog beds and have innumerable accidents throughout the house. After climbing onto the kitchen table and eating my General Gau chicken while I left the room for a split second, I declared that he was going back to the pound. It was an act that served as the punctuation mark for a very long week with the dog but Mrs. BostonWriter talked me out of it and Tuck stayed. 

He eventually settled down and, in the years that followed, has been right by our side through the ups-and-downs of life. He's been best friend to, and co-conspirator with, our three kids. When we moved across the state and bought a new house, he helped to turn it into a home. He comforted my wife and I as we dealt with the stresses and strains of life - including a miscarriage, random family medical challenges and perhaps even the occasional argument or two. (I'm Sicilian, she's Irish... hey, it happens.) In short, he's become part of the family and we couldn't imagine life without him.

On July 4th, good ol' Tuck turned 15. He spends much of the day napping now, needs some help getting up the stairs and getting him to play fetch with his favorite squeak toy is a 50/50 shot at best, but anyone who comes close to give a scratch behind the ears or a welcoming "hello" is immediately met by a wagging tail and a smooch. He's a heartbreaker for sure.

So here's to crazy dogs and all who love them. Happy Birthday, Tuck. The world's a better place with you in it. 

Quit yer whinin'!

As I write this post, I'm sitting at my Mac and I'm literally covered in dirt. The pool is up, it's filled with water, the pump & filter is installed... now all we need is electrical service run out to the pump. Digging the trench is my job and, I have to admit, I completely underestimated how much time and effort it would take to dig an 18-inch deep gully across a small patch of my back yard. The challenges are compounded by the fact that we live in an exceptionally rocky area so my afternoon and evenings have gone something like this:

• Shovel for a bit
• Swing mattock (the pick axe thingy, not Andy Griffith... he's "Matlock") for a bit 
• Stoop to pull boulder out of ground 
• Move up two inches 
• Repeat 

There are times when I'm in the middle of said project when I begin cursing, grunting and otherwise pissing and moaning about how miserable I am. Then tonight, just as I was beginning my second such rant for the evening, a thought occurred to me: I'm doing this work so my family can enjoy having a pretty sizable pool in the yard - something that I've always wanted as well - and that there's a means to an end. 

Then I realized that in the midst of one of the worst economic times in recent memory, I am blessed enough to have a job that I love and the means by which to have this pool installed. I'm healthy enough that I can do this digging and hauling on my own. And that my kids are thoughtful enough to periodically run outside to see how they can help or to bring me a cold drink. Then, to cap it all off, I feel incredibly selfish and childish for even complaining in the first place.

God has a wonderful way of reminding us of the blessings we have in our lives and I'm grateful of the very subtle and polite, but firm and unquestionable way of saying: "Okay, enough whining kid... get back to work."

Pool Construction Day #1: Big Pile o' Mess

Swimming pools. I'm convinced that there's a little something extra mixed-in with the chlorine to cause pools to be irresistible to children. On one hand it's endearing... I have wonderful memories of splashing around with friends and family. On the other hand, it can be frustrating... after spending thousands of dollars on a Disney vacation, all the kids want to do is hang out by the pool. We could be staying at the Holiday Inn or the Grand Floridian, it's all the same to the kiddos as long as there's a pool.

So as wifey and I began to make our vacation plans for the year - Disney in December, Cape Cod in August or maybe another visit to the Outer Banks - we, like most American's in 2009, sat around the kitchen table and took a hard look at costs & expenses. We wanted to get away but it just seemed a bit silly - almost wasteful - to spend all that money for one week of fun. That's when the idea of a pool entered into the equation.

We've always wanted a pool but, for one reason or another, never got around to it. So this year we decided to get serious about getting some quotes and seeing what it would take. After checking references, evaluating costs and doing some number-crunching, we came to the conclusion that this year's summer vacation would be spent in the back yard. Contractors were retained, permits were pulled and today the construction finally began. 

The first steps were to determine exactly where the pool is going to live, followed by determining how much leveling work was to be done, followed by a few agonizing hours of digging, driving and dumping across the lawn. (I must be getting old... I get chest pains when I see my carefully manicured lawn being disturbed.) 

The kids were completely enthralled by the process and the novelty of seeing heavy equipment tooling around the yard was deemed "cool" by my son. My daughter stated "Oooh, Daddy... they're WRECKING our lawn." (Thanks, hon... I didn't notice.) 

Seeing the pile of sand in the driveway disappear was a welcome sight. The kiddos also got a kick out of having their own, private, giant-sized sandbox for an afternoon.

Now it's off to knock-down some of the mountains of dirt that were excavated from the site of the pool and try to rake-up the dirt caked-in from the equipment treads. Tomorrow we should see a bit more activity as things begin to look... well... decidedly more pool-like. In the meantime, I see that Disney released a new "meal plan included" promotion for a Disney World vacation. Hope we made the right call. 

Little milestones, big thoughts

A few weeks ago, we celebrated the one-year birthday of baby Sam. This incredible little premie who caught his poor mother and I by surprise in nearly every way is now a crawling, babbling, cake-smashing infant who is thisclose to toddling and talking. It seems like moments ago he was this helpless little thing in a layette and every drop of formula consumed and every diaper change was logged with the frequency and precision of a scientific experiment. Today he's 20 pounds of laughter, blue eyes and sparsely-toothed smiles. He is, in a word, a miracle.

Today, as I busied myself packing Sam and his two siblings into the van for our typical round of Saturday morning errands, my wife let out a chuckle while slipping a bottle and a few extra diapers into the large red bag that has become her constant accessory for the past 12 months.

“What?” I asked.

“It just struck me that, at 37, I never thought I would still be packing diaper bags,” she replied.

I paused for a moment to roll my eyes and nod in sympathetic agreement, then trotted down the stairs with Sam on my hip and made sure that the two older kids grabbed their coats from the rack on the landing and were appropriately dressed for the day.

My oldest – our firstborn son who is a miracle in his own right – is your typical nine-year-old boy. At times he seems to be every bit the silly kid we've known him to be, with a goofy sense of humor and an easy laugh. At other times, he can seem a bit of an introvert – you can almost see that some of the magic is disappearing from his world and he's trying to make sense of it all. He is a voracious reader and his book selections oscillate wildly... one minute it's Calvin & Hobbes, the next it's Stephen Hawking. He is an incredibly complex kid and never ceases to surprise me.

Next down the steps, just ahead of me, is our middle child – my six-year-old girl. She is, beyond the shadow of a doubt, going to take the world by storm when she's older. Getting her through the teenage years is going to be hell on earth, I can just feel it in my bones. I also sense that she's going to be nobody's fool and, as a Dad, that makes me smile from ear-to-ear. She can be moody, stubborn and argumentative with personality and confidence that's inversely proportional to her petite frame. She can also be carefree, silly and heart-breakingly sweet. Her teacher once told us that she is a natural born leader. I couldn't agree more and I can't wait to see the person she becomes.

Then there's Sam. The little guy who has been a surprise every step of the way. We never intended to add a third branch to the family tree and were shocked when we discovered he was on the way. (I vividly recall the “you're what?!?!?” phone call with my wife.) We were shocked when he decided to make the scene six weeks ahead of schedule. And now that he's here, I can honestly say that I'm amazed by him – by all of my kids, really – on a daily basis.

Growing up has a funny way of altering your perceptions. Deep down I knew that I have always been cut out to be a Dad, but I never in a million years would have guessed just how much I would grow to love and appreciate even the most mundane activities in the ebb-and-flow of daily life. Rounding-up the kids and herding them to the breakfast table, running errands, giving them rides on the lawn mower after I've finished cutting the grass of my very middle-of-the-road suburban home... all of it brings a smile to my face because I know that each of these moments are fleeting.

I think all of this is rooted in a deep-seated realization that time accelerates as you get older. When you're a child, those few days before Christmas seem to be passing in reverse. When you're watching the clock on the last day before vacation, you would swear that the very laws which govern the passage of time have made a special exception for you and your buddies. Once you're out, summer days are endless and rife with adventure and possibility. Parents are immortal. Fun is a God-given right. The opportunities are endless.

As we age, however, and as the gravity and unpredictable nature of the world sinks in, we grow to understand that life is a bullet train punctuated by collections of these wonderful little moments. The lost sleep due to comforting a child who is convinced there are aliens in the closet. The hours spent watching baseball games that end in scores of 37 – 2. The evenings that you spend sleeping on the sofa because your child with the head cold finally fell asleep in your arms and you don't want to risk waking her up. All of these times that can be easily dismissed as necessary inconveniences of parenting are defining moments and gone before you know it. Viewing such events through this lens, you'll quickly come to the realization that this is what it's all about.

Sometimes you catch glimpses of it, like a shape you notice from the corner of your eye that disappears when you turn to look. Other times it hits you square in ways that are as unambiguous as they are breathtaking. The greatest blessings and the most profound sources of joy can often be found in the most trivial of routines.

So despite all the times we've lamented the fact that our sports cars have become minivans, that our vacations typically revolve around theme parks and that a simple date of dinner and a movie now requires weeks of planning, we've finally come to the realization that we wouldn't have it any other way. These times are precious.

A Fine Line

One of the things I admire most about my Dad is his work ethic. He started his career working in the tanneries of the Merrimack Valley, back in the heyday when that area was a booming center of manufacturing and production. More often than not he would work at least one weekend day, usually Saturday, and when he wasn't working at his job he was working in the yard. Somewhere along the way one of his managers recognized that my Dad had the right skillset to go into sales, so they gave him a shot and he never looked back. Once he hit this phase of his career, he was traveling up to 50% of the time and in later years started his own company, which he ran until his retirement a few years ago.

During this time he missed some of my baseball games and practices, there were school events he couldn't attend and there were many times when we said "good night" via telephone, but I never felt cheated or slighted in any way. In fact, quite the opposite... I saw how hard he worked and knew that he was doing it for us. Whenever he came home from a trip, we would invariably go out to the back yard and toss around the football or the baseball and catch-up on the events of the past week. It just seemed natural... the way things are.

I'm not sure if times have changed or if it's my own sense of parental guilt, but I feel like the call to be "SuperParent" today is pervasive and unrealistic. I have friends and acquaintances whose children's lives are so packed with extracurricular activities that they keep a spreadsheet tacked to the refrigerator, color-coded with which child is going to which event and which parent is responsible for taking care of transportation. Weekends are back-to-back multi-sport affairs, games with traveling teams and other such events. Everything is scheduled, every minute of the day is mapped-out and the parents are forced to run from the office to the ballfield to the McDonald's drive-thru with stopwatch precision. Missing a game or a practice is unheard of and inexcusable.

When a child becomes passionate about a sport or activity, it's critical to feed that enthusiasm and encourage participation. Some of life's greatest lessons can be learned on the ballfield - focus, drive, determination, teamwork, etc. However, there are equally important (and perhaps even greater) lessons which can be learned off the ballfield as well. Simply stated, kids need time to be kids and scheduling every waking moment cheats children out of a something that is vital to their long-term success and health. Having downtime to read a book, play in the backyard, draw, write creatively... all of these activities enable children to stretch their minds and ensure that their brains are as fit as their bodies.

Spending time and taking an active interest in their lives is what I consider to be one of my most important and most enjoyable jobs as a parent. I also feel that my kids need to know - in no uncertain terms - that they're the most important thing in my life, but that I have other responsibilities which need to be honored. This is one area where my personal parenting philosophy comes in direct conflict with what seems to be the way the world is turning these days. My wife, God bless her, has the most important job in the world: being a full-time Mom... but that means the household income rests firmly upon my shoulders. I love having this responsibility and we wouldn't have it any other way, but it also means that often times my job simply has to come first. I can't make every practice, coach every team, spend my evenings and weekends bouncing from the baseball diamond to the hockey rink to the karate dojo. It's just too much. 

When I come home from work or when I have free time on the weekends, I want to spend that time interacting with them for longer than the 15 minutes it takes to drive from one place to another. I want to know about what is happening at school, what they do with their friends during recess and what is on their minds. Maybe I'm just being selfish or maybe I haven't been able to crack the code of balancing work, life and multi-sport parenting, but I am jealous and protective of family time.

A few years ago we tried to go with the flow - to follow the herd and say 'yes' to our kids' multi-activity requests - and it was the most miserable three months for everyone. My son was playing baseball and soccer and my daughter was playing soccer and had other activities as well. At the time, we only had two kids so we could do the divide-and-conquer routine better than we can today, but it was still exhausting. I was also an assistant coach for the boy's soccer team which meant that I needed to get to the field early and help to get things set-up and get the pre-game practice started. Saturdays were spent rushing from one end of town to the other, practices a couple of nights during the week... no one was having fun. The few free hours that we had on the weekend to just be a family - to take a day trip to the zoo, watch a movie together or simply just play a board game or two - were often times filled with other commitments to our extended family or attending one of the many birthday parties which seemed to occur on a weekly basis.

After that season, my wife and I made a new rule: one activity at a time. It's sometimes tough, especially when their friends' schedules are jam-packed, but on the whole it has been working for us. I think there's a great lesson to be learned by forcing the 'or' instead of indulging the 'and.' My son can play baseball or take karate. My daughter can take dance class or play soccer. This approach gives them time to be kids, it gives us time to be Mom & Dad instead of a taxi service and - most of all - collectively it gives us time to be a family.

The past year has been particularly hectic for me on the career front. Although I'm traveling far less than I have in previous years, I have been working longer hours and will often get up in the middle of the night so I can work while everyone else is asleep. (I know it's not a sustainable model over the long term, but it allows me to have my cake and eat it too - spend time with the family and still crank through a lot of projects.) I rarely make it home for dinner during the week but once I'm home I can just relax with the family. We do homework, read books, watch Animal Planet... all of the stuff that seems so trivial and mundane but I sincerely miss when we're too busy to just enjoy such downtime. 

My son is starting up baseball season so there will be a couple of nights each week which will be spent at the ballfield, but it's not a constant and it still leaves him time to be the wonderful silly nine-year-old that he is. My daughter has her afternoon dance class during the week, so there are no conflicts and she'll spend a couple of evenings running around the playground with her buddies while my wife and I entertain the baby and cheer on my oldest son from the bleachers. The concept of activities in moderation seems to be the best path for us and is good.

I'm sure I will not be able to make it to every game or practice, but my oldest is of an age where he's starting to understand that I work so hard because I love the family so much - not because I love my job more. I am so blessed to wake up every day and do work about which I am passionate and enjoy even during the challenging times, but it is a means to an end. He realizes that things like houses and vacations and eventually college tuition requires money and that money comes from Dad's office. (And he has already stated his intent to attend M.I.T. when he's 17. Heaven help me to make those payments!) He also knows that when I can't be around to do all of the fun bits, it's by necessity and not by choice... and as he grows older, there's a valuable lesson in that as well.

At the end of the day, I'm not sure where all of this is leading. He may look back at this time with fondness and respect and realize that Dad was working his tail off to provide for the family, just as I often look back in awe and wonder at my Dad. Then again he may end-up sobbing on a therapist's couch somewhere, detailing how Dad ruined his life. Who knows. My dearest wish is that he falls somewhere in-between - recognizing the things I did right, understanding how he would like to do things differently with his kids and, ultimately, blazing his own trail through this world. I'm slowly starting to realize that this parenting thing is more art than science and finding the balance that works for our family makes all the difference in the world. 

Small victories

The past couple of days weeks months have been... how can one say this tactfully... well... s***y. All of my projects at work seem to take one step forward two steps back, I've gotten stuck in the middle of random political wrangling and despite working burnout hours, I'm still behind schedule on just about everything. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love my job but I'm in one of those career moments when you feel like giving it your all isn't enough. I've been there before and I've invariably learned something new - about myself or about my profession - and have come out a bit wiser on the other end. Still and all, it's a bit frustrating when you're in the middle of it. Needless to say, Friday couldn't come fast enough this week.

As I arrived home last night - missing dinner with the family yet again - my daughter met me at the door and asked if we were going to the movies. She has been asking to see "Monsters vs. Aliens" every night for a week, so I more-or-less expected it. I began preparing my typical response ("not tonight, honey, Dad is tired... maybe tomorrow") but decided instead to say "go and get your coat on." She stared at me for a minute, momentarily stunned and frozen to the spot. "Well..." I said, moments before she ran screaming gleefully down the hall.

Ten seconds later she was back at the top of the stairs, raincoat in hand and sneakers halfway on her feet. My son emerged from his bedroom, Nintendo controller in hand, and asked if we could wait until he finished his level on "SpiderMan2" before leaving. A few minutes later, we were all in the car and discussing what goodies we could grab from the snack bar. (After dropping 25 pounds, I decided it was time to give myself a break and live a little.) We listened to my old Save Ferris CD. My son told me all about his MCAS tests. My daughter recited the Pledge of Allegiance a dozen times. A typically random evening.

The movie was great and the 3D effects were phenomenal. The kids were well-behaved. The popcorn was fresh. Maybe things were looking up, I thought to myself.

After the movie we crossed the parking lot, my daughter holding my right hand and my son holding my left, and got into the car. My daughter was out cold the minute her seatbelt clicked across the booster seat. My son announced that he was closing his eyes not because he was tired, but because he wanted to think. I hit shuffle on the iPhone and turned down the volume to a barely audible level.

As we arrived home, my son bolted from the car to squeeze in 10 more minutes of video game time before gong to bed. I scooped up my daughter from the back seat and carried her across the brick path leading from the driveway to the front door. As I walked in, my wife met me at the top of the stairs to help me get the girl out of her coat and sneakers and into her bed. We each gave her a kiss on the cheek and left her alone to drift back to sleep.

As we walked down the hall, my wife asked if she could heat up a plate of dinner for me. I informed her that popcorn was a suitable substitute for that evening. (She and the kids had long since eaten before I got home.) She smiled a bit at the thought of her psycho dieting husband having a dinner of popcorn and Sprite, kissed me on the cheek and said "you're a good Dad." It was the nicest and most meaningful thing I've heard all week. At least I'm doing something right. :)

Perspective

It's official: I am now squarely stuck in one of those hamster wheel / Groundhog Day ruts. First I was having "one of those days." Three days later I chalked it up to having a bad few days. Last week I decided that I was having a bad week. As I left the office yesterday and noticed a flat tire, I began to get suspicious. As I was considering my late night tire shop options, I fielded a phone call from my boss and learned that yet another one of my projects was taking a step backwards. It was then that I resigned myself to the fact that I'm in one of those "running to stand still" cycles.

At times like this I try to think of King Solomon, telling myself that "this too shall pass." I love my job, I love my company and I have some truly wonderful co-workers. I'm happy with my pay. I'm happy with the variety of work that I'm doing. I truly am blessed and have so much to be thankful for... especially in this economy. However, after months of late night and early morning work, I feel like I should be accomplishing much more. Lately almost every project that I've touched has either been delayed, postponed or simply died on the vine. When I do accomplish those minor victories of pushing something across the finish line, another couple of big projects land on my plate. It's very frustrating.

So there's the double-edged sword of being passionate about your career. When you pour so much of yourself into your job, you take these bumps in the road rather seriously. From a purely logical point of view, I understand that the events of the past several weeks are simply the tacks and course corrections of business... all activities which are particularly common and frequent in technology companies. When I'm in the moment, however, it's tough not to begin second-guessing myself. Did I do something wrong? Am I working on the wrong things? Are my strategies off-base? It's maddening.

Still-and-all, I wouldn't trade this for the world. I would much rather have everything that comes with loving my career - ups and downs, highs and lows - than simply wake up every morning, put in my eight hours and collect a check. I know that the log jam of projects will eventually break free, that the obstacles will turn into opportunities and that the 60-70 hour weeks will ultimately generate positive results. Getting there can be a challenge some days (or weeks, or months) but the journey is never dull. The trick is to learn something along the way.

And now, as I glance at the clock on my Mac, I'm learning that I'll be late if I don't hop in the shower and get out of here. Have a good day, all.