With the completion of my book "A Tale of Two Cities," I have elected to leave this blog up, but start a new chapter and direction for the next installment. The new blog is Going Around My Elbow and reflects on the myriad detours we all face in life that in the end help make us who we are. Thank you for enjoying my story and I hope you will join me for more.
- Ken
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Faith
Faith is an interesting word. To some it is deeply rooted in religion, for others is the foundation for relationships and some still find it means nothing at all. At various points in my life, it has meant all three. Recounted in this tale are quite a number of events which I have concluded are either direct or indirect actions of God in my life. I am not afraid to admit that when I need Him, He is there - sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly, but always there. In the fall of 2009, I found yet another definition of faith as I struggled to find a way to close the distance separating me from my family.
I was leading the advanced learning strategy on a program to train air traffic controllers for the FAA. No longer centric to the Troy area, I was now traveling to facilities all across the USA. I found myself at locations from San Diego, California to Washington, DC and everywhere in between. Given the Raleigh/Durham International Airport was just a short drive from my house, I made the decision to try and work from there for a while.
My wife had been asking me for months to "just close up the apartment in Troy and work from home." I was reluctant to break the lease and pay the fees, so I waited until it was due to be renewed at the end of October. It was there that I took a leap of faith. Without confirming my desired working conditions with my boss, I turned in the papers so that the termination of the lease would coincide with the Friday before Thanksgiving week, trusting that everything would work out, or else I would be looking for a new place to spend my nights in Michigan.
Call it divine intervention or coincidence, but during the next two months, we had an explosion of work requiring the addition of thirty plus new employees. The wave of new bodies set the office building to a critical mass, ready to burst out the doors. There was not an empty “cube” to be found anywhere, and my office mate and I were being squeezed out to allow for more desks. I saw this as a sign and approached my boss with a solution. Trying to hide a smile, I said to him, “I am willing to take one for the team and give up my office and work from home.” He responded, “Okay!” And that was that. On the 20th of November, I packed my entire apartment into my car and headed back to North Carolina.
The months of November and December went as planned. What with vacations at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and trips for the FAA, I would have never been in the Troy office anyway. Two months of lease payments would have been for nothing. Instead, I got to work from my home office and spend desperately needed time with my family.
As with other times in my life, faith also has its little surprises. Driving home from Thanksgiving, I received a call from a recruiter who had seen my profile on LinkedIn and was interested in interviewing me for a new job opportunity. Trudie was sitting next to me in the car and I could tell she was ready to burst as I completed the call. I told her the news, but since I did not have many details, we were excited, but had to wait.
The interview the following week went well. The job was perfect, and come to find out; it was in a town just 2 hours and 44 minutes from Raleigh. I had another interview a week later and then, due to the holidays, had to wait until the first of the year for the next step. Fortunately, due to my travel schedule for the FAA, I had quite a bit of vacation time backed up (faith or coincidence?) and the first week of January 2010 found me at an all day interview. Interestingly enough, I also discovered that projects I had reluctantly managed the previous three years were strongly relevant during these interviews, and I thanked God for the opportunities I had been reticent to show my appreciation for in the past. Several days later, I was rewarded with a call from the new company that they wanted me to join their team.
During another moment in time when everything stops for an instant, I realized that had I not had faith that God would find a way for me to be home with my family in October, much of what transpired might not have been possible. If I had not listened to God speaking through Trudie, two months of precious time with my children would have been lost. As it was, we found ourselves prepared for the transition, and for the first time we could see a light at the end of a ten-year tunnel.
The economy is changing once again. I do not expect all will be cured overnight. It has taken four long years to return to North Carolina, and may take another decade to repair the damage done to other parts of the country. For now I am simply thankful to God and my family and friends for being there when we needed you most. I will still be traveling between two cities. Fortunately, the distance is drastically reduced, and my family will get to see me each weekend. The drive is even short enough to allow for unexpected events during the week, and the knowledge that I can be home in case of emergencies is a wonderful gift indeed.
The journey has been long, both in miles and hours. I am grateful to God that he has provided for us along the way. We have never gone for want of food or shelter. Against all odds, He enabled us to keep our children's community and education constant. And through it all, our faith in each other and in God has remained strong.
We are going to take the year to allow the kids to finish up with school and then relocate in 2011. And, as the second decade of the 21st Century begins we will have a new home and a new journey. This one we will travel together.
- Ken
Two Cities
Once upon a time, there were two cities. In the north lay a small bedroom community suburb supporting a shining manufacturing pillar of chrome and steel. In the south was the epicenter of a land of tobacco, textiles, and technology. Each represented some of our country’s best emerging from World War II and moving to an era of prosperity.
Since the 1950s, Troy, Michigan and Raleigh, North Carolina, have carefully managed the diversity of their job base by encouraging a variety of industries to invest in their cities. The current fiscal crisis facing Michigan, however, is miring Troy’s progress due to the state’s mass exodus resulting from the demise of the automobile industry. Raleigh faced a similar crisis back in the early 1980s with the outsourcing of textile manufacturing and the anti-tobacco movement. Fortunately, the state of North Carolina had begun diversifying its economic base in the early 1950s making it better prepared to react to the crisis by localizing the economic downturn and minimizing its scale.
If there were a villain in this story, it would be the unions: the United Auto Workers Union and the Textile Workers Union of America. Initially established to help the average factory worker, they evolved into political dynamos whose purpose transformed to one devoted to self-interest. The unions ultimately controlled these companies and helped lead to the destruction of both American industries and their supporting communities. The unions made it impossible for these companies to be competitive in the global economy, and this ultimately led to the affected companies finding alternative ways of either doing business elsewhere or simply going out-of-business.
With a population of roughly 80,000 people, Troy has experienced no major growth in the past ten years. Raleigh on the other hand has experienced a 29.6 percent increase in population growing to 375,000 in 2009. The unemployment rate in Raleigh is 7.40 percent compared with Troy’s unemployment rate of 9.70 percent. Recent job growth for both cities is negative; however, Raleigh jobs have only decreased by 3.30 percent whereas Troy jobs have decreased by 9.3 percent.
Economic slowdown in both areas has introduced some interesting corporate dynamics. While the unemployment rate in Raleigh has remained low, so have salaries. Resulting from the downturn of 2001, income has remained 10% to 30% lower than in years prior. Two key growth characteristics for Raleigh include low unemployment and rising incomes. Although Troy has elected to follow the rest of the state of Michigan in providing tax credits to bring companies to their region, the availability of skilled resources has made staffing a challenge. To solve this problem, businesses are importing resources, like me, from other states or they are supplementing their rosters with virtual employees.
Is there a happy ending to this story? Well, the forecast for both cities is mixed. Raleigh’s commitment to its history, the arts, education, business, and the environment consistently make it one of the most desirable places to live and work. Annual awards for Raleigh include “#1 Best Place to Live in the U.S.” (2008, MSN#1 Best Place for Young AdultsBC.com), “” (2008, Bizjournals), and “#5 Recession-Proof City” (2008, Forbes magazine). Troy has one of the best public school systems in the country and is home to several major universities. Troy was ranked 22nd “Best places to Live” (2008, CNN Money). North Carolina’s economy is expected to continue to grow through the next decade, with Raleigh and Research Triangle Park leading the way. Michigan is more difficult to forecast due to the collapse of the automobile industry and its ripple effect on suppliers and associated businesses. Unfortunately, much of the Troy’s economic prosperity was based on automotive-related business, especially small-scale manufacturing and supply operations. As a result, Troy has no clear forecast and may have a slower recovery due to the larger impact of the state economic conditions.
The more I travel, the more I realize just how many other people are sharing the life I lead. Lay-offs and company bankruptcies are causing many to rethink the job market and explore new ways of providing for their families. Real estate foreclosures and the recession have made it difficult to relocate. “Unconventional” has taken on new meaning. You live and work where you must even if it means separate locations for each.
2009 has become a bedtime story for grown-ups. The moral of the story is to work hard, buy only what you can afford, pay in cash, diversify, pay attention to what is going on around you, and be honest. If you follow these simple guidelines, you should be able to sleep at night.
- Ken
Since the 1950s, Troy, Michigan and Raleigh, North Carolina, have carefully managed the diversity of their job base by encouraging a variety of industries to invest in their cities. The current fiscal crisis facing Michigan, however, is miring Troy’s progress due to the state’s mass exodus resulting from the demise of the automobile industry. Raleigh faced a similar crisis back in the early 1980s with the outsourcing of textile manufacturing and the anti-tobacco movement. Fortunately, the state of North Carolina had begun diversifying its economic base in the early 1950s making it better prepared to react to the crisis by localizing the economic downturn and minimizing its scale.
If there were a villain in this story, it would be the unions: the United Auto Workers Union and the Textile Workers Union of America. Initially established to help the average factory worker, they evolved into political dynamos whose purpose transformed to one devoted to self-interest. The unions ultimately controlled these companies and helped lead to the destruction of both American industries and their supporting communities. The unions made it impossible for these companies to be competitive in the global economy, and this ultimately led to the affected companies finding alternative ways of either doing business elsewhere or simply going out-of-business.
With a population of roughly 80,000 people, Troy has experienced no major growth in the past ten years. Raleigh on the other hand has experienced a 29.6 percent increase in population growing to 375,000 in 2009. The unemployment rate in Raleigh is 7.40 percent compared with Troy’s unemployment rate of 9.70 percent. Recent job growth for both cities is negative; however, Raleigh jobs have only decreased by 3.30 percent whereas Troy jobs have decreased by 9.3 percent.
Economic slowdown in both areas has introduced some interesting corporate dynamics. While the unemployment rate in Raleigh has remained low, so have salaries. Resulting from the downturn of 2001, income has remained 10% to 30% lower than in years prior. Two key growth characteristics for Raleigh include low unemployment and rising incomes. Although Troy has elected to follow the rest of the state of Michigan in providing tax credits to bring companies to their region, the availability of skilled resources has made staffing a challenge. To solve this problem, businesses are importing resources, like me, from other states or they are supplementing their rosters with virtual employees.
Is there a happy ending to this story? Well, the forecast for both cities is mixed. Raleigh’s commitment to its history, the arts, education, business, and the environment consistently make it one of the most desirable places to live and work. Annual awards for Raleigh include “#1 Best Place to Live in the U.S.” (2008, MSN#1 Best Place for Young AdultsBC.com), “” (2008, Bizjournals), and “#5 Recession-Proof City” (2008, Forbes magazine). Troy has one of the best public school systems in the country and is home to several major universities. Troy was ranked 22nd “Best places to Live” (2008, CNN Money). North Carolina’s economy is expected to continue to grow through the next decade, with Raleigh and Research Triangle Park leading the way. Michigan is more difficult to forecast due to the collapse of the automobile industry and its ripple effect on suppliers and associated businesses. Unfortunately, much of the Troy’s economic prosperity was based on automotive-related business, especially small-scale manufacturing and supply operations. As a result, Troy has no clear forecast and may have a slower recovery due to the larger impact of the state economic conditions.
The more I travel, the more I realize just how many other people are sharing the life I lead. Lay-offs and company bankruptcies are causing many to rethink the job market and explore new ways of providing for their families. Real estate foreclosures and the recession have made it difficult to relocate. “Unconventional” has taken on new meaning. You live and work where you must even if it means separate locations for each.
◄◌►
2009 has become a bedtime story for grown-ups. The moral of the story is to work hard, buy only what you can afford, pay in cash, diversify, pay attention to what is going on around you, and be honest. If you follow these simple guidelines, you should be able to sleep at night.
- Ken
Marking Time
The fourth year of our journey began without any fanfare; just a few more gas receipts and another 750 miles on the speedometer. My father once told me the older you get the faster the years go by. I now understand what he meant. And, as if in pace with the hours I travel, the days and months are whipping by like the mile markers along the road with only the occasional rest area break that I call home.
I have come to believe that everyone has their own unique way of marking the passage of time. In fact, the ways we mark time actually change as we grow older. Take my life for example. When I was a kid, time almost seemed to run in reverse. It seemed I would never be old enough to do this or that. I could not wait for my next birthday or Christmas.
Even in school I tried to race as fast as I could. Self-paced learning was my friend, and so with the aid of the SRA Reading program, I was at a high school grade reading level by the fifth grade. I always wanted what was coming next, sometimes sacrificing the things I should have enjoyed most; including a year of my childhood.
The year we moved to North Carolina was a year of opportunity and loss (although I did not recognize the loss until much later in life). We had moved in the spring, right at the start of the fourth quarter of my eighth grade year. I remember sitting in the guidance counselor’s office at my new school, excited about a fresh start, but apprehensive all the same. A girl about my age came in with a stack of books under her arm. I said to my mom, “Hey, they use the same books we used in Florida.” To which the guidance councilor replied, “I think we may have a problem.”
The problem we discovered was that the girl carrying the books was in the ninth grade, not the eighth. Apparently at that time, the schools in North Carolina were a little behind the schools in Florida as far as curriculum went. So, with a little reluctance from my parents, I found myself catapulted ahead in time by a full year. Little did I know that time is a one way street. You can go forward, but you can never go back.
Now, in many ways this was okay. My dream of getting to high school and college more quickly was being fulfilled. I started dating a year earlier than my peers. Heck, my peers were now a year older than me; including the girls. I learned about life faster, but in hindsight I do not think I learned about it better. And as a man heading towards mid-life, if I had the opportunity to do it over again, I think I would have opted for taking it a little bit slower. Some things in life are there to be savored, not gulped down quickly like a meal at a fast food joint.
Fast forward three years and the X’s on the calendar started marking the days to the prom and the end of high school. Planning for the future became more important than living each day. The girl I was dating at the time even spoke of post college nuptials. The madness of graduation was upon us and time was meaningless.
Even during our graduation ceremony we marked time. Time to enter the hall. Time to wait for the speeches. Time to wait for my name to be called (mine was always in the middle, equal wait on both sides of the alphabet). Time to turn the tassel. And then it was over. The first quarter of my life had come to an end; another milestone along the road.
There are moments in my life I know that time has actually stopped, or at least my perception of time has paused for an instant. I had one of these moments a few months later when I found myself sitting at a football stadium in West Point, New York, kissing and hugging my mom, dad and girlfriend goodbye as I started plebe year at the US Military Academy. I remember looking at them that last time and thinking this is it. This is the beginning of my life.
I have felt those pauses on other rare occasions. Performing on stage as Professor Harold Hill to a standing ovation. The first time I kissed my wife on a bench in front of her dorm. My wedding day when I said, “I do.” The first time I held each of my children. The cold grasp of death as my insides exploded. Each goal or basket or point scored by my kids. The quiet seconds holding the ones I love dearest to me.
Still life with meaning might be the way a painter would describe these instances. Life, however, is anything but still. There is vibrancy and motion on the canvas. The images are more like a clip than a frame - a movie not a photograph.
At the Academy we measured time in “butt days.” The Firsties (seniors) asked us each morning, noon and night, “How many days.” To which we would reply, “There are 256 (or whatever number of days remained until their graduation day) and a butt days, sir.” The butt was for the portion of that very day the request was made. Days were important at the Academy, because each day was one day closer to freedom, or so we thought.
When I was a kid, freedom seemed like a great thing to find; freedom to do what I want, when I wanted. I couldn’t wait to be old enough to be free. Naïve little child, I did not realize how free I actually was. This same naïvety followed me from the Academy to design school. College life at the university was the most liberating time of my life, and yet my quest was to get through it as quickly as possible to be able start my career; to reach my next marker. In those few short years, I overlooked the facts that freedom comes from independence, and that independence disappears once you have dependents. And, once you have dependents, you realize that independence is a long time away.
And so it was on the fourth year of my Tale of Two Cities that I found myself acutely aware of how much time was passing by. This was my oldest daughter’s senior year of high school. Her milestones were laid out before her and they were racing towards me at 100 miles per hour. Senior pictures, invitations, college planning sessions, applications, the senior play, the senior prom, culminating at graduation; STOP!
Ironically, at the time in her life when she wanted time to go by faster, I wished it would slow down. Echoes of my words my parents used reverberated in my mind. “Slow down.” “Enjoy the moment.” “You’ll be old enough before you know it.” It was then I realized there was still time; not much, but enough. If I could somehow decelerate, slow down and watch the scenery instead of just seeing the signs go by we might be able to enjoy this time instead of regret its passing.
And so it was that as my daughter raced ahead, I looked for off ramps that would give us more time. I wanted time to be a part of her life’s journey where in the years past we only intersected on occasion. A selfish time to mark the inches and the miles before our roads diverge on the path to her future.
- Ken
◄◌►
I have come to believe that everyone has their own unique way of marking the passage of time. In fact, the ways we mark time actually change as we grow older. Take my life for example. When I was a kid, time almost seemed to run in reverse. It seemed I would never be old enough to do this or that. I could not wait for my next birthday or Christmas.
Even in school I tried to race as fast as I could. Self-paced learning was my friend, and so with the aid of the SRA Reading program, I was at a high school grade reading level by the fifth grade. I always wanted what was coming next, sometimes sacrificing the things I should have enjoyed most; including a year of my childhood.
The year we moved to North Carolina was a year of opportunity and loss (although I did not recognize the loss until much later in life). We had moved in the spring, right at the start of the fourth quarter of my eighth grade year. I remember sitting in the guidance counselor’s office at my new school, excited about a fresh start, but apprehensive all the same. A girl about my age came in with a stack of books under her arm. I said to my mom, “Hey, they use the same books we used in Florida.” To which the guidance councilor replied, “I think we may have a problem.”
The problem we discovered was that the girl carrying the books was in the ninth grade, not the eighth. Apparently at that time, the schools in North Carolina were a little behind the schools in Florida as far as curriculum went. So, with a little reluctance from my parents, I found myself catapulted ahead in time by a full year. Little did I know that time is a one way street. You can go forward, but you can never go back.
Now, in many ways this was okay. My dream of getting to high school and college more quickly was being fulfilled. I started dating a year earlier than my peers. Heck, my peers were now a year older than me; including the girls. I learned about life faster, but in hindsight I do not think I learned about it better. And as a man heading towards mid-life, if I had the opportunity to do it over again, I think I would have opted for taking it a little bit slower. Some things in life are there to be savored, not gulped down quickly like a meal at a fast food joint.
◄◌►
Fast forward three years and the X’s on the calendar started marking the days to the prom and the end of high school. Planning for the future became more important than living each day. The girl I was dating at the time even spoke of post college nuptials. The madness of graduation was upon us and time was meaningless.
Even during our graduation ceremony we marked time. Time to enter the hall. Time to wait for the speeches. Time to wait for my name to be called (mine was always in the middle, equal wait on both sides of the alphabet). Time to turn the tassel. And then it was over. The first quarter of my life had come to an end; another milestone along the road.
◄◌►
There are moments in my life I know that time has actually stopped, or at least my perception of time has paused for an instant. I had one of these moments a few months later when I found myself sitting at a football stadium in West Point, New York, kissing and hugging my mom, dad and girlfriend goodbye as I started plebe year at the US Military Academy. I remember looking at them that last time and thinking this is it. This is the beginning of my life.
I have felt those pauses on other rare occasions. Performing on stage as Professor Harold Hill to a standing ovation. The first time I kissed my wife on a bench in front of her dorm. My wedding day when I said, “I do.” The first time I held each of my children. The cold grasp of death as my insides exploded. Each goal or basket or point scored by my kids. The quiet seconds holding the ones I love dearest to me.
Still life with meaning might be the way a painter would describe these instances. Life, however, is anything but still. There is vibrancy and motion on the canvas. The images are more like a clip than a frame - a movie not a photograph.
◄◌►
At the Academy we measured time in “butt days.” The Firsties (seniors) asked us each morning, noon and night, “How many days.” To which we would reply, “There are 256 (or whatever number of days remained until their graduation day) and a butt days, sir.” The butt was for the portion of that very day the request was made. Days were important at the Academy, because each day was one day closer to freedom, or so we thought.
When I was a kid, freedom seemed like a great thing to find; freedom to do what I want, when I wanted. I couldn’t wait to be old enough to be free. Naïve little child, I did not realize how free I actually was. This same naïvety followed me from the Academy to design school. College life at the university was the most liberating time of my life, and yet my quest was to get through it as quickly as possible to be able start my career; to reach my next marker. In those few short years, I overlooked the facts that freedom comes from independence, and that independence disappears once you have dependents. And, once you have dependents, you realize that independence is a long time away.
◄◌►
And so it was on the fourth year of my Tale of Two Cities that I found myself acutely aware of how much time was passing by. This was my oldest daughter’s senior year of high school. Her milestones were laid out before her and they were racing towards me at 100 miles per hour. Senior pictures, invitations, college planning sessions, applications, the senior play, the senior prom, culminating at graduation; STOP!
Ironically, at the time in her life when she wanted time to go by faster, I wished it would slow down. Echoes of my words my parents used reverberated in my mind. “Slow down.” “Enjoy the moment.” “You’ll be old enough before you know it.” It was then I realized there was still time; not much, but enough. If I could somehow decelerate, slow down and watch the scenery instead of just seeing the signs go by we might be able to enjoy this time instead of regret its passing.
And so it was that as my daughter raced ahead, I looked for off ramps that would give us more time. I wanted time to be a part of her life’s journey where in the years past we only intersected on occasion. A selfish time to mark the inches and the miles before our roads diverge on the path to her future.
- Ken
Saturday, September 19, 2009
A random sequence of events
There are times when our lives seem to be just a series of disconnected events, moments enjoyed or endured and then passed by until the next. Traveling as I do, these events take on new meaning; with definition that keeps me tethered to those who might otherwise drift away. For in these events I find myself surrounded by the memories of what has come to pass and those yet to transpire.
As luck would have it, my most recent journey home centered around a series of such events. Within the span of two weeks, a random set of miracles and tragedies and victories played out before me. Of these events, only one was planned; five years in the making to be exact. The rest just managed to take place while I happened to be home.
This year is the 100th anniversary of the school my children attend. As the Advancement Director, my wife has been orchestrating the centennial gala for the past five years. She has reached out to all of the alumni, going all the way back to the class of 1930. The big night was planned and of course I was going to be there. This was the one event I knew I would not miss.
Unfortunately, while life has its good moments, it also has its bad. A week before the gala event, my wife's father was diagnosed with colon cancer and admitted to the hospital for emergency surgery. Two days later they removed a baseball-sized tumor and a good part of his colon. My trip home was advanced by two days so I could be there after the surgery to help my wife with the kids so she could dedicate time to be with her dad. His surgeon was amazing and by the following week he was back home. As a precaution, he will have to endure chemotherapy. By all rights it is a miracle and we are thankful he is recovering well.
Being home a few days early is always a good thing, even under these kinds of circumstances. Under duress, the strength of the family is incredible. We all comfort and support each other and make it through these events. The miracle is not just that he survives today, but that he survives in our sometimes world gone mad, surrounded by all of us who love him.
Alas, while a miracle saved my father-in-law, tragedy was to greet us the morning of the gala. The morning of the celebration, at the same time as the open house for our past alumni, a wedding was scheduled in the Cathedral. While greeting alumni for a tour, I happened upon one of our priests. Usually joyous of heart, he was troubled that morning. As we embraced, he shared the sad news that the wedding of which he was to preside, had become instead a memorial. The groom was in an automobile accident on his way to breakfast. Another driver ran a red light and the groom was killed instantly. Too late to notify the guests, the bride to be chose instead to remember him through a testimonial from her heart.
The world continued turning and the day went from tragedy to celebration as over two hundred guests shared company while enjoying the memories of the past. The same Father I connected with that morning needed a ride to the festivities that evening. As I was the designated chauffeur, right down to the cap my wife provided, naturally I volunteered my services. I learned I would be transporting not just him, but the Bishop of the diocese and the Rector of the school; thrice blessed through a random event.
The days passed quickly as they always do when I am home. Weather conditions were great and school sporting matches went as scheduled. Our school is small, but determined. We play a strong game; however, with lack of reinforcements, we do not often win. This time it would be different. On the day before I was to return to Michigan I saw not one, but two of my children score the winning shots in their respective sports of volleyball and soccer. Given my schedule, I was fortunate in my timing to witness these two moments of victories.
As I look back I realize my life has been blessed like this from the start. Good or bad, each event has in some way led to the next; random dots on a page over time revealing the picture that is me. Remove any pixel and the image would not be the same. God has a plan; I just have to be patient for it to come to full resolution.
- Ken
As luck would have it, my most recent journey home centered around a series of such events. Within the span of two weeks, a random set of miracles and tragedies and victories played out before me. Of these events, only one was planned; five years in the making to be exact. The rest just managed to take place while I happened to be home.
This year is the 100th anniversary of the school my children attend. As the Advancement Director, my wife has been orchestrating the centennial gala for the past five years. She has reached out to all of the alumni, going all the way back to the class of 1930. The big night was planned and of course I was going to be there. This was the one event I knew I would not miss.
Unfortunately, while life has its good moments, it also has its bad. A week before the gala event, my wife's father was diagnosed with colon cancer and admitted to the hospital for emergency surgery. Two days later they removed a baseball-sized tumor and a good part of his colon. My trip home was advanced by two days so I could be there after the surgery to help my wife with the kids so she could dedicate time to be with her dad. His surgeon was amazing and by the following week he was back home. As a precaution, he will have to endure chemotherapy. By all rights it is a miracle and we are thankful he is recovering well.
Being home a few days early is always a good thing, even under these kinds of circumstances. Under duress, the strength of the family is incredible. We all comfort and support each other and make it through these events. The miracle is not just that he survives today, but that he survives in our sometimes world gone mad, surrounded by all of us who love him.
Alas, while a miracle saved my father-in-law, tragedy was to greet us the morning of the gala. The morning of the celebration, at the same time as the open house for our past alumni, a wedding was scheduled in the Cathedral. While greeting alumni for a tour, I happened upon one of our priests. Usually joyous of heart, he was troubled that morning. As we embraced, he shared the sad news that the wedding of which he was to preside, had become instead a memorial. The groom was in an automobile accident on his way to breakfast. Another driver ran a red light and the groom was killed instantly. Too late to notify the guests, the bride to be chose instead to remember him through a testimonial from her heart.
The world continued turning and the day went from tragedy to celebration as over two hundred guests shared company while enjoying the memories of the past. The same Father I connected with that morning needed a ride to the festivities that evening. As I was the designated chauffeur, right down to the cap my wife provided, naturally I volunteered my services. I learned I would be transporting not just him, but the Bishop of the diocese and the Rector of the school; thrice blessed through a random event.
The days passed quickly as they always do when I am home. Weather conditions were great and school sporting matches went as scheduled. Our school is small, but determined. We play a strong game; however, with lack of reinforcements, we do not often win. This time it would be different. On the day before I was to return to Michigan I saw not one, but two of my children score the winning shots in their respective sports of volleyball and soccer. Given my schedule, I was fortunate in my timing to witness these two moments of victories.
As I look back I realize my life has been blessed like this from the start. Good or bad, each event has in some way led to the next; random dots on a page over time revealing the picture that is me. Remove any pixel and the image would not be the same. God has a plan; I just have to be patient for it to come to full resolution.
- Ken
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Like father, like daughter (again)
The grand finale of our lives came late one spring about mid afternoon. She was absolutely beautiful; a perfect completion to our full house. One look at those eyes and I knew I was truly blessed. We named her Darby after a professor we had in school and just because we loved the name. Her name is Gaelic and means free man (or woman in her case). From there it was up to her to live up to the title; and she has yet to let us down.
One of my favorite parts about being a father is the uniqueness of each of my children. Each of them shares some mix of the mental and physical characteristics of my wife and me, and by ancestry, our parents. Personality, however, comes from within, and she is all Darby. If I had to select one of my children and say, “this one will someday be a CEO,” she would be the one.
Since Darby was old enough to understand the value of a penny, she has been determined to make something of herself. Part of this may be due to the fact that by the time she was three, we were in the midst of our first recession: the big layoff of ’01. When you are the littlest amongst three kids, you learn quickly to make sure you get your share. And she did with stubborn grace; determined to succeed, despite the odds.
"Share" at that time included not just physical items like food and toys; it also included more precious things like time and attention from mom and dad and her siblings. In Darby’s case it also meant growing up a little faster than the first two. Whether it was dolls or skateboarding or target shooting or riding a bike, Darby learned to do it almost the same time her older brother did, and in some cases a little earlier. In that way, she could ensure some attention if by no other means than being caught up in the fray.
One of her “firsts” was the X-Ray for a potential broken arm. Seems she thought it would be a great idea to go down the slide in our backyard on one of the sleds left over from the snowfall that winter. About two seconds into the run she flipped off and the rest is history. The sprain probably took longer to heal than a break would have, but only because she would not let it keep her from keeping up with her siblings.
Another "first" led to a nickname of sorts: Dead-eye Darby! She had accompanied her brother Izy and me to an Indian Guides' gathering at the house of one of the braves. His dad had a shooting range of sorts set up in the backyard for the guys to take turns blowing the heads off of Barbie dolls, wiping out Godzilla action figures and shattering plastic poker chips. After the boys had taken their round, Darby was asked if she wanted a try, and of course she said, "Yes!" Now, the boys had done OK, but little did they realize that underneath those braids lay the soul of a sniper. I don't remember her missing a shot, and neither did the boys.
One of her most endearing traits is the inclusive nature of her spirit. Her inner circle is so big it is a sphere we call Earth. Everyone is welcome as long as they do not hurt anyone else in the circle (although unfortunately there are some that have done more than that). Over the years she has had to become more careful, but even now to most, Darby is a true friend in every sense of the word.
This summer for the fourth year, Darby went to “Grammy and Grampa camp” in the mountains to see my parents, attend drama camp for a few weeks, and spend time with one of her true friends. They see each other once a year and exchange a phone call or two the rest of the time. Their regular lives are as different as day and night, but they are kindred spirits, and their summers are priceless.
This summer was especially wonderful for my mom and Darby. Darby gets much of her strength of character and her way with the arts, like drawing and crafts, from her mom. Her passion for sewing (note I did not say fashion design, that one still comes from mom as anyone who has seen me trying to select a wardrobe will contend) comes from me.
Grammy taught me to sew when I was about Darby’s age. As the mother of two boys, she was determined that we would know how to mend a rip or affix a button when a crisis arose. I took things a little further and reached a point where I could actually make little stuffed animals (I found out girls really like that around Valentine’s Day) and costumes for plays and Halloween.
Several years ago, Grammy had moved on from sewing clothing and taken on the art of quilting. And, as my other two children and my nephew had no interest at all in the subject, she was beginning to think the passion for the needle and thread would end with her. Then a miracle occurs and Darby asks for a sewing machine one year for Christmas. “Is this just a fleeting interest or is there hope?” There is hope Grammy, and her name is Darby.
Darby is the apprentice for whom my mother has waited a lifetime. You see, where many children her age are being labeled hyperactive and attention deficit, Darby is the opposite when it comes to things like sewing. She is extremely patient, and wants to learn everything about the subject. My mother had her for three weeks in which time she passed on the basics of quilting and the results were amazing.
She made a couple of purses, a wallet, and a small blanket for her dolls. Next year they are going to make actual clothing. Thank goodness for “Grammy’s Quilting Camp.”
When I am on the road, I miss all my children, but in many ways I miss Darby the most. I had more time with the other two when they were young. I have watched Darby grow up at a distance, and though we spend time on the phone and online, it is not the same. She is my cuddle bug. When it is stormy outside or cold or I just want to curl up, watch a movie and eat popcorn on the bed, Darby is the one that cozies up to me and will spend the day being happy just being with me. She is the one who says to me, "I could move up to Michigan and live with you, daddy." As they say, “like father, like daughter (again).”
- Ken
One of my favorite parts about being a father is the uniqueness of each of my children. Each of them shares some mix of the mental and physical characteristics of my wife and me, and by ancestry, our parents. Personality, however, comes from within, and she is all Darby. If I had to select one of my children and say, “this one will someday be a CEO,” she would be the one.
Since Darby was old enough to understand the value of a penny, she has been determined to make something of herself. Part of this may be due to the fact that by the time she was three, we were in the midst of our first recession: the big layoff of ’01. When you are the littlest amongst three kids, you learn quickly to make sure you get your share. And she did with stubborn grace; determined to succeed, despite the odds.
"Share" at that time included not just physical items like food and toys; it also included more precious things like time and attention from mom and dad and her siblings. In Darby’s case it also meant growing up a little faster than the first two. Whether it was dolls or skateboarding or target shooting or riding a bike, Darby learned to do it almost the same time her older brother did, and in some cases a little earlier. In that way, she could ensure some attention if by no other means than being caught up in the fray.
One of her “firsts” was the X-Ray for a potential broken arm. Seems she thought it would be a great idea to go down the slide in our backyard on one of the sleds left over from the snowfall that winter. About two seconds into the run she flipped off and the rest is history. The sprain probably took longer to heal than a break would have, but only because she would not let it keep her from keeping up with her siblings.
Another "first" led to a nickname of sorts: Dead-eye Darby! She had accompanied her brother Izy and me to an Indian Guides' gathering at the house of one of the braves. His dad had a shooting range of sorts set up in the backyard for the guys to take turns blowing the heads off of Barbie dolls, wiping out Godzilla action figures and shattering plastic poker chips. After the boys had taken their round, Darby was asked if she wanted a try, and of course she said, "Yes!" Now, the boys had done OK, but little did they realize that underneath those braids lay the soul of a sniper. I don't remember her missing a shot, and neither did the boys.
One of her most endearing traits is the inclusive nature of her spirit. Her inner circle is so big it is a sphere we call Earth. Everyone is welcome as long as they do not hurt anyone else in the circle (although unfortunately there are some that have done more than that). Over the years she has had to become more careful, but even now to most, Darby is a true friend in every sense of the word.
This summer for the fourth year, Darby went to “Grammy and Grampa camp” in the mountains to see my parents, attend drama camp for a few weeks, and spend time with one of her true friends. They see each other once a year and exchange a phone call or two the rest of the time. Their regular lives are as different as day and night, but they are kindred spirits, and their summers are priceless.
This summer was especially wonderful for my mom and Darby. Darby gets much of her strength of character and her way with the arts, like drawing and crafts, from her mom. Her passion for sewing (note I did not say fashion design, that one still comes from mom as anyone who has seen me trying to select a wardrobe will contend) comes from me.
Grammy taught me to sew when I was about Darby’s age. As the mother of two boys, she was determined that we would know how to mend a rip or affix a button when a crisis arose. I took things a little further and reached a point where I could actually make little stuffed animals (I found out girls really like that around Valentine’s Day) and costumes for plays and Halloween.
Several years ago, Grammy had moved on from sewing clothing and taken on the art of quilting. And, as my other two children and my nephew had no interest at all in the subject, she was beginning to think the passion for the needle and thread would end with her. Then a miracle occurs and Darby asks for a sewing machine one year for Christmas. “Is this just a fleeting interest or is there hope?” There is hope Grammy, and her name is Darby.
Darby is the apprentice for whom my mother has waited a lifetime. You see, where many children her age are being labeled hyperactive and attention deficit, Darby is the opposite when it comes to things like sewing. She is extremely patient, and wants to learn everything about the subject. My mother had her for three weeks in which time she passed on the basics of quilting and the results were amazing.
She made a couple of purses, a wallet, and a small blanket for her dolls. Next year they are going to make actual clothing. Thank goodness for “Grammy’s Quilting Camp.”
When I am on the road, I miss all my children, but in many ways I miss Darby the most. I had more time with the other two when they were young. I have watched Darby grow up at a distance, and though we spend time on the phone and online, it is not the same. She is my cuddle bug. When it is stormy outside or cold or I just want to curl up, watch a movie and eat popcorn on the bed, Darby is the one that cozies up to me and will spend the day being happy just being with me. She is the one who says to me, "I could move up to Michigan and live with you, daddy." As they say, “like father, like daughter (again).”
- Ken
Monday, July 27, 2009
Like father, like son
When my son Izy was born, he was extremely small. At around six pounds, he was just a little thing, desperate for warmth, yet alert and full of life. We called him Isaac, for he returned joy to birth, where in the too recent past had been nothing but sorrow. And with that joy came laughter and love and chaos.
Chaos, you might ask? Yes, in the best possible way. Izy learned to crawl and then walk early in life. By ten months he could escape any crib, and locks were but another plaything. We have video of him climbing up on his toy box, getting down a wire hanger, proceeding to our locked bedroom door, placing the hook of the hanger into the doorknob, pulling it until it bent straight, and then plunging it over and over in the lock until he struck the pin and the door opened. It was upon this success that he flashed us an impish grin as if to say, "Want me to do it again."
This year Izy turns thirteen. When I arrive home after my travels, he greets me at the door much in the same way as when he was little; a running bear hug. The only difference now is there is more "bear" in the hug. It's kind of like being loved by a small Abram's tank. But it is love none the less. The love of a boy for his father; a man he looks up to, and emulates while I am away.
Izy is all boy. Whether in the woods playing soldier with his friends or in the crik with a bull whip and his fedora searching for treasure as "Carolina Hub," Izy finds adventure in life. That he is blessed with good looks and charm to boot ought to make me think twice as he rapidly enters manhood. Thank God he is blessedly sandwiched between two marvelous sisters, whose sole purpose is to simultaneously give him someone to watch over and protect while constantly reminding him of his "true" place in the universe.
As it was for me at his age, this summer has been great for Isaac. Being the budding businessman, he started a lawn service in our neighborhood. Having a cash flow has definitely helped his perspective on the value of a dollar; especially when it comes to buying ammunition for his airsoft guns.
Speaking of airsoft guns, this is also the summer of Bond, James Bond. It started with Casino Royale and Quantum of Solace, and continued with the original Ian Flemming novels. Of course, mom was a little shocked with the cover art from the 1960 pulp fiction, however, she was relieved to know that the Bond girl sex appeal was restricted to the covers. Of course his sisters took full advantage of the opportunity with relentless teasing.
I remember when I was Izy's age and "being" James Bond; the gadgets and the adventures and the girls. Of course at that age it was mostly the gadgets and the adventures; the girls were just the pretty things in between the car chases. Nothing more complicated than knowing in the end, Bond always saves the world and gets the girl.
Even with the weight of the world on his shoulders sometimes, being the hero is more than just a fantasy when I am on the road; and Izy perseveres with a style all his own. Oh, he's not perfect. Every hero has an Achilles heel of sorts. But along with tenacity, Isaac has compassion and empathy. He believes in people and in the inherent goodness in all of us. When all is lost, he rallies his mother and sisters and makes them feel safe and secure.
When I look at my son I see in him the strength of my father, the wisdom of my father-in law, the loving-kindness of his mother and my own passion for life and all its potential. He is at the launching point of adulthood, with maturity forced upon him and accepted far too early; and by God’s grace he will achieve the greatness he deserves with the humbleness from whence he comes. In the end it is his trust and faith in God that radiates brightest as he reaches out to those weaker or less fortunate and with that resolute bear hug calls them friend.
- Ken
Chaos, you might ask? Yes, in the best possible way. Izy learned to crawl and then walk early in life. By ten months he could escape any crib, and locks were but another plaything. We have video of him climbing up on his toy box, getting down a wire hanger, proceeding to our locked bedroom door, placing the hook of the hanger into the doorknob, pulling it until it bent straight, and then plunging it over and over in the lock until he struck the pin and the door opened. It was upon this success that he flashed us an impish grin as if to say, "Want me to do it again."
This year Izy turns thirteen. When I arrive home after my travels, he greets me at the door much in the same way as when he was little; a running bear hug. The only difference now is there is more "bear" in the hug. It's kind of like being loved by a small Abram's tank. But it is love none the less. The love of a boy for his father; a man he looks up to, and emulates while I am away.
Izy is all boy. Whether in the woods playing soldier with his friends or in the crik with a bull whip and his fedora searching for treasure as "Carolina Hub," Izy finds adventure in life. That he is blessed with good looks and charm to boot ought to make me think twice as he rapidly enters manhood. Thank God he is blessedly sandwiched between two marvelous sisters, whose sole purpose is to simultaneously give him someone to watch over and protect while constantly reminding him of his "true" place in the universe.
As it was for me at his age, this summer has been great for Isaac. Being the budding businessman, he started a lawn service in our neighborhood. Having a cash flow has definitely helped his perspective on the value of a dollar; especially when it comes to buying ammunition for his airsoft guns.
Speaking of airsoft guns, this is also the summer of Bond, James Bond. It started with Casino Royale and Quantum of Solace, and continued with the original Ian Flemming novels. Of course, mom was a little shocked with the cover art from the 1960 pulp fiction, however, she was relieved to know that the Bond girl sex appeal was restricted to the covers. Of course his sisters took full advantage of the opportunity with relentless teasing.
I remember when I was Izy's age and "being" James Bond; the gadgets and the adventures and the girls. Of course at that age it was mostly the gadgets and the adventures; the girls were just the pretty things in between the car chases. Nothing more complicated than knowing in the end, Bond always saves the world and gets the girl.
Even with the weight of the world on his shoulders sometimes, being the hero is more than just a fantasy when I am on the road; and Izy perseveres with a style all his own. Oh, he's not perfect. Every hero has an Achilles heel of sorts. But along with tenacity, Isaac has compassion and empathy. He believes in people and in the inherent goodness in all of us. When all is lost, he rallies his mother and sisters and makes them feel safe and secure.
When I look at my son I see in him the strength of my father, the wisdom of my father-in law, the loving-kindness of his mother and my own passion for life and all its potential. He is at the launching point of adulthood, with maturity forced upon him and accepted far too early; and by God’s grace he will achieve the greatness he deserves with the humbleness from whence he comes. In the end it is his trust and faith in God that radiates brightest as he reaches out to those weaker or less fortunate and with that resolute bear hug calls them friend.
- Ken
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Like father, like daughter
Driving south in preparation for the week of our annual 4th of July celebration, I realized I was passing the college campus where my daughter is attending Governor's School this summer; and at a time of day when she might be able to have a visitor. As timing would have it my first call resulted in her voice mail picking up, but then I was rewarded by a return call and her sweet voice on the line. She was in-between activities and events, so sure, she would love to go have coffee with her "old man."
It seemed like just yesterday we were moving her into the dorm. She was excited, yet apprehensive of her summer away from home. Oh, she had been to drama camp at her grandparents for several summers, but always for just a couple of weeks. This year it would be for six weeks, and totally on her own. Governor's School is a free opportunity for gifted students in North Carolina to spend six weeks focusing on their area of expertise in a college setting free of the trappings found in your average high school. They study three areas: their main topic (in Alex's case this was drama), philosophy, and sociology (their place in the world). The emphasis is on the experience, not on the grade. Each student selected for the program has already displayed the ability to make the grade and excel beyond the norm. In our current political climate one could say it is a program that for over twenty-five years has achieved the vision President Obama is now pushing for America - reward those who have the skill and desire to succeed with even more opportunity to reach their goals regardless of demographics.
My daughter has been blessed in many ways during her seventeen years of gracing our world. Gator (that's what I've called her since she started walking - something about gator wrestling on the living room floor) has an abundance of friends, she is beautiful inside and out and she is very talented (and that is not just what her proud papa says). This summer, however, the blessing also brought about trepidations as she was to leave her safe haven and branch out to new territory. Fortunately, she heard me describe how wonderful Governor's School had been for me and gave it that "old college try."
Twenty-seven years ago, I too left home for the summer. In my time the program was eight weeks long (budget cuts are affecting everything these days). Unlike Gator, although I had talent, I lacked the social skills to be popular, so true friends were rare. To me, Governor's School offered a clean slate. A place where no one knew who I was or more importantly, who I had been. And, it was a world filled with people just like me. I went with open arms and embraced the summer in ways I had never been able to before.
With my travel schedule keeping me away most weeks and Gator just being a teenager, our time together and conversations in general had dropped off to almost nothing. It was bad enough to know that in a year and a half's time she would be going away to college for good, let alone feel like the bond we had always shared was being severed by boyfriends and just life in general. Whereas my relationship with my younger two children was growing stronger, I felt like she and I were drifting apart. Governor's School just made it worse. A five word text message here and there and a very short late night was all I got for the first two weeks. I was dying to know if her experience mirrored my own, alas I would have to wait.
The wait was more than worth it. As I pulled up to her dorm that Saturday night, she rushed to the car and gave me a huge hug. She said my call actually made her cry with excitement as she left the group she had been with to come see me.
We went into town to have coffee and talk. Gator was bursting with all of the wonder of her first college experience. All of her fears of being away for the summer were washed away and replaced with a longing for it to never end. And it was in her eyes I remembered the passion I had felt during my summer many years ago. It was the realization that high school was temporary and that life was now and what was yet to be. For me it was freedom and opportunity that I had never felt. For her it is focus and direction; and a confidence that she can achieve her heart's desires.
Self perception is an interesting thing. I have always seen Gator as beautiful beyond words, and she is. Ironically, she does not perceive herself in the same light. I, on the other hand, was always the "nerd" at her age. Socially awkward, a math and science guy, to even consider myself in her league was unquestionable. So I would have thought our reactions to Governor's School would have been markedly different. I was proven wrong.
I viewed GS as my golden opportunity to be what I had always wanted to be. That first weekend myself and a few other guys organized a toga party (sans alcohol) as a way to introduce ourselves to the ladies (remember we were "former" geeks) and get the ball rolling. For the rest of the summer we were popular. We experienced life as I always thought my daughter has. Like I said before, a matter of perception.
One of Gator's biggest revelations (and most amusing from a "father's" perspective) was when she announced that she and one of her girlfriends were the "hot chicks" at school. Now, as a father, this kind of conversation is like a double-edged sword. On the one hand, you want your beautiful angel to be adored by all. On the other hand, discovering she is one of the "hot chicks" can take the breath out of you. So, I just smiled and nodded my head and said, "that's terrific!"
Unbeknown to me, although Gator has many friends, much more than I ever had, she still shared the same insecurities that I and many others have shared during high school. Cliques are cliques, and no matter who you are, there is always some group that wants you to feel less than who you really are. This was also true in my little girl's case. Her experience this summer has helped her come to the same conclusion that I had reached: high school is temporary.
I realized that by the time I was her age, I was spending the summer in basic training at West Point. See, I had merged eighth and ninth grades years prior accelerating my high school exodus. At that time I felt I was a man, and by all rights, the little girl sitting in front of me has every right to feel like she is a woman, ready to go forth and seek her place.
We shared an hour and a half that night, just drinking coffee (lemonade for me - never could swallow the other) and talking. It was like God had carved out a little pocket of time for her and I. Her passion for her work radiated from across the table and I felt reconnected with my baby.
In the day-to-day, it is very easy exist and forget your dreams and ambitions. Being part of the group becomes more important than stepping out and being something special, doing something wondrous. As it was for me, this summer has given my daughter a gift. It is a gift that will live within her forever. I still look back on Governor's School with great fondness. It helped shape who I am today, as I can see it already shaping who she is for tomorrow.
There is talk that the budget for Governor's School may get cut for next year. To me that would be a tragedy. For a country that needs the best and the brightest to come forth and succeed, we have a tendency to dowse their flame instead of stoking the fire. For myself and my daughter and all of the other wonderfully talented and gifted students I hope there is always a way to impart the gift so that that gift can keep on giving back to us all.
- Ken
It seemed like just yesterday we were moving her into the dorm. She was excited, yet apprehensive of her summer away from home. Oh, she had been to drama camp at her grandparents for several summers, but always for just a couple of weeks. This year it would be for six weeks, and totally on her own. Governor's School is a free opportunity for gifted students in North Carolina to spend six weeks focusing on their area of expertise in a college setting free of the trappings found in your average high school. They study three areas: their main topic (in Alex's case this was drama), philosophy, and sociology (their place in the world). The emphasis is on the experience, not on the grade. Each student selected for the program has already displayed the ability to make the grade and excel beyond the norm. In our current political climate one could say it is a program that for over twenty-five years has achieved the vision President Obama is now pushing for America - reward those who have the skill and desire to succeed with even more opportunity to reach their goals regardless of demographics.
My daughter has been blessed in many ways during her seventeen years of gracing our world. Gator (that's what I've called her since she started walking - something about gator wrestling on the living room floor) has an abundance of friends, she is beautiful inside and out and she is very talented (and that is not just what her proud papa says). This summer, however, the blessing also brought about trepidations as she was to leave her safe haven and branch out to new territory. Fortunately, she heard me describe how wonderful Governor's School had been for me and gave it that "old college try."
Twenty-seven years ago, I too left home for the summer. In my time the program was eight weeks long (budget cuts are affecting everything these days). Unlike Gator, although I had talent, I lacked the social skills to be popular, so true friends were rare. To me, Governor's School offered a clean slate. A place where no one knew who I was or more importantly, who I had been. And, it was a world filled with people just like me. I went with open arms and embraced the summer in ways I had never been able to before.
With my travel schedule keeping me away most weeks and Gator just being a teenager, our time together and conversations in general had dropped off to almost nothing. It was bad enough to know that in a year and a half's time she would be going away to college for good, let alone feel like the bond we had always shared was being severed by boyfriends and just life in general. Whereas my relationship with my younger two children was growing stronger, I felt like she and I were drifting apart. Governor's School just made it worse. A five word text message here and there and a very short late night was all I got for the first two weeks. I was dying to know if her experience mirrored my own, alas I would have to wait.
The wait was more than worth it. As I pulled up to her dorm that Saturday night, she rushed to the car and gave me a huge hug. She said my call actually made her cry with excitement as she left the group she had been with to come see me.
We went into town to have coffee and talk. Gator was bursting with all of the wonder of her first college experience. All of her fears of being away for the summer were washed away and replaced with a longing for it to never end. And it was in her eyes I remembered the passion I had felt during my summer many years ago. It was the realization that high school was temporary and that life was now and what was yet to be. For me it was freedom and opportunity that I had never felt. For her it is focus and direction; and a confidence that she can achieve her heart's desires.
Self perception is an interesting thing. I have always seen Gator as beautiful beyond words, and she is. Ironically, she does not perceive herself in the same light. I, on the other hand, was always the "nerd" at her age. Socially awkward, a math and science guy, to even consider myself in her league was unquestionable. So I would have thought our reactions to Governor's School would have been markedly different. I was proven wrong.
I viewed GS as my golden opportunity to be what I had always wanted to be. That first weekend myself and a few other guys organized a toga party (sans alcohol) as a way to introduce ourselves to the ladies (remember we were "former" geeks) and get the ball rolling. For the rest of the summer we were popular. We experienced life as I always thought my daughter has. Like I said before, a matter of perception.
One of Gator's biggest revelations (and most amusing from a "father's" perspective) was when she announced that she and one of her girlfriends were the "hot chicks" at school. Now, as a father, this kind of conversation is like a double-edged sword. On the one hand, you want your beautiful angel to be adored by all. On the other hand, discovering she is one of the "hot chicks" can take the breath out of you. So, I just smiled and nodded my head and said, "that's terrific!"
Unbeknown to me, although Gator has many friends, much more than I ever had, she still shared the same insecurities that I and many others have shared during high school. Cliques are cliques, and no matter who you are, there is always some group that wants you to feel less than who you really are. This was also true in my little girl's case. Her experience this summer has helped her come to the same conclusion that I had reached: high school is temporary.
I realized that by the time I was her age, I was spending the summer in basic training at West Point. See, I had merged eighth and ninth grades years prior accelerating my high school exodus. At that time I felt I was a man, and by all rights, the little girl sitting in front of me has every right to feel like she is a woman, ready to go forth and seek her place.
We shared an hour and a half that night, just drinking coffee (lemonade for me - never could swallow the other) and talking. It was like God had carved out a little pocket of time for her and I. Her passion for her work radiated from across the table and I felt reconnected with my baby.
In the day-to-day, it is very easy exist and forget your dreams and ambitions. Being part of the group becomes more important than stepping out and being something special, doing something wondrous. As it was for me, this summer has given my daughter a gift. It is a gift that will live within her forever. I still look back on Governor's School with great fondness. It helped shape who I am today, as I can see it already shaping who she is for tomorrow.
There is talk that the budget for Governor's School may get cut for next year. To me that would be a tragedy. For a country that needs the best and the brightest to come forth and succeed, we have a tendency to dowse their flame instead of stoking the fire. For myself and my daughter and all of the other wonderfully talented and gifted students I hope there is always a way to impart the gift so that that gift can keep on giving back to us all.
- Ken
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
It's summertime!
When I was a kid I just loved summertime (as did probably most of you reading this). Summertime meant sleeping in past 7 AM, playing outside 'til well past dark and spending as much time as possible in the pool, especially when we lived in Florida and there was no such thing as a cool day in July. It was also the time of the great family road trip up I95 where we would inevitably get stuck on the Jersey Turnpike at noon with temperatures approaching one billion degrees (okay, maybe a hundred, but it felt like a billion) in the back of a Ford LTD station wagon; out of dad's reach, but also beyond any wisp of the air conditioner. But it was worth the heat, because we were heading to Connecticut to see my Nana and Pop-pop, the mountains and the streams, and the blueberries and apple trees of summer.
As I look back, my favorite memories started each year at the end of May. Oh, I enjoyed school; probably better than most kids my age (I was a bit of a geek you see), but it was during those three magical months that learned about life. I learned how to swim. I learned to play tennis. I went to church camp, soccer camp and Boy Scout camp. And it did not stop as I grew older; the "camps" just got better. In 1976 there was a math, computer and science program at the University of South Florida that opened my eyes to the reality that I was not the only geek in the world. And then, my junior year of high school I was accepted into the greatest summer camp in the universe, the North Carolina Governor's School; eight weeks on a college campus studying advanced choral music, philosophy and girls (the last part was not officially on the curriculum, however, being a former geek, it was a major change for my self esteem). Rounding out my reasons for summer being the greatest season was the summer of 1987, when I met my wife and best friend during summer stock theater.
Now we have three children of our own, and that break between grades has a whole new meaning. For my wife and I, it means no more carting children to school or staying up late helping with three sets of homework (I think we have done more homework over the past 12 years than we ever did in school ourselves). There is time to work on a puzzle all day long or take a hike around the lake. Personal projects take a priority and the only books they read are those they choose for themselves. And, for a few precious months each year, it means we can watch the kids just being kids.
- Ken
As I look back, my favorite memories started each year at the end of May. Oh, I enjoyed school; probably better than most kids my age (I was a bit of a geek you see), but it was during those three magical months that learned about life. I learned how to swim. I learned to play tennis. I went to church camp, soccer camp and Boy Scout camp. And it did not stop as I grew older; the "camps" just got better. In 1976 there was a math, computer and science program at the University of South Florida that opened my eyes to the reality that I was not the only geek in the world. And then, my junior year of high school I was accepted into the greatest summer camp in the universe, the North Carolina Governor's School; eight weeks on a college campus studying advanced choral music, philosophy and girls (the last part was not officially on the curriculum, however, being a former geek, it was a major change for my self esteem). Rounding out my reasons for summer being the greatest season was the summer of 1987, when I met my wife and best friend during summer stock theater.
Now we have three children of our own, and that break between grades has a whole new meaning. For my wife and I, it means no more carting children to school or staying up late helping with three sets of homework (I think we have done more homework over the past 12 years than we ever did in school ourselves). There is time to work on a puzzle all day long or take a hike around the lake. Personal projects take a priority and the only books they read are those they choose for themselves. And, for a few precious months each year, it means we can watch the kids just being kids.
- Ken
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
The first copy...
There are moments of your life you look back and say, wow, that was exciting. One of those moments occurred today when I sold the first copy of my story. Yes, today was the day of the counter on the Lulu.com account page went from 0 to 1. It is hard to describe the feeling you get when you realize someone was curious enough to want to see what the story was all about. I have no idea who the first reader is, but I want to say thank you for becoming a milestone in this chapter of my life.
Now that it's published...
So the first version of my blog has now been published as a book. I have left the first blog entry on the site as a memory of how this all started and a reminder to myself that from humble beginnings came a great story. For those of you who are new to this blog, please enjoy reading the first entry, it is a predecessor to the first chapter of my book (click here to preview the book form of the same).
My family and friends are already asking, "what comes next?" And to be honest, I am not sure. The "tale" continues. I just flew in tonight after a week home in NC. Work is still in Michigan, and even though we are in a dismal economy, job security is spelled ROAD WARRIOR. And so it continues.
I think the first chapter of the new story will go something like this... "It's summertime!"
My family and friends are already asking, "what comes next?" And to be honest, I am not sure. The "tale" continues. I just flew in tonight after a week home in NC. Work is still in Michigan, and even though we are in a dismal economy, job security is spelled ROAD WARRIOR. And so it continues.
I think the first chapter of the new story will go something like this... "It's summertime!"
Saturday, January 17, 2009
At least I'm not hauling nitroglycerine!
Most of you reading this may not remember (or even have seen, except on TV-Land) the show Little House on the Prairie, but for those of you that do, there were several episodes where Pa Ingalls had to take on additional work to make ends meet on the farm. Pa had to do that a lot, going away for months at a time doing all sorts of jobs. Caroline and the kids would wait for him to return, and just when it looked like he was never coming back, he would come home and all would be well. In this particular episode, he and Mr. Edwards had to haul nitroglycerine to a mine quite a ways from their home. The trip was dangerous under normal conditions and even more so with the explosives.
I tell my family and friends when they ask how I am these days, "Well, at least I'm not hauling nitroglycerine!"
I am one of the many "21st Century Pa Ingalls" in the global market. And this is my story (my humble apologies to Charles Dickens), "A Tale of Two Cities..." In this case the cities are Raleigh, NC, my home, and Troy, MI, my job. Why would I deliberately put myself 750 miles from those I love most? Aaah, now we have the beginnings of the story.
It all started with some investors, a bubble economy, and really bad timing...oh, and did I mention, this was not 2009. No, this story started a little farther back. It all started September 14, 2001, 3 days after one of the darkest days in US History. No bailouts, no forgiveness, just an economic nightmare that for some of us has taken almost a decade from which to recover.
- Ken
I tell my family and friends when they ask how I am these days, "Well, at least I'm not hauling nitroglycerine!"
I am one of the many "21st Century Pa Ingalls" in the global market. And this is my story (my humble apologies to Charles Dickens), "A Tale of Two Cities..." In this case the cities are Raleigh, NC, my home, and Troy, MI, my job. Why would I deliberately put myself 750 miles from those I love most? Aaah, now we have the beginnings of the story.
It all started with some investors, a bubble economy, and really bad timing...oh, and did I mention, this was not 2009. No, this story started a little farther back. It all started September 14, 2001, 3 days after one of the darkest days in US History. No bailouts, no forgiveness, just an economic nightmare that for some of us has taken almost a decade from which to recover.
- Ken
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