This one is a stream of consciousness I had in the car on the way home from work yesterday. (July 30 2009) I’d been required by HR to execute several annual performance evaluations earlier that day. I say “required” because I don’t like doing them and my colleagues don’t like to be on the receiving end either. These performance evaluations make us all uncomfortable. I don’t think the discomfort comes from the way I handle the review, or what I say. I think the discomfort lies in the fact that my colleagues are being reviewed at all.
These are motivated hard-working professional folks who know their jobs and do them well. They see something that needs doing and they get it done. In most cases they know their jobs better than I know their jobs, and so evaluating them is demeaning to them, and presumptuous of me as the manager. They know exactly what they’ve done this year; and I know only what I’ve observed. Their self-knowledge is complete while my observations are incomplete; their own self-evaluations would be much harder on themselves than I would be.
As motivated professionals they are already striving for perfection. They don’t need, or want, me to point out their imperfections. They are already all too self-aware of their own imperfections, so these annual performance evaluations were an exercise of congratulations and acknowledgement. I deliver a few spoken words to acknowledge that I know who they are and what they have done; it’s an annual word of thanks for the hard work this year, and all the previous years, and the expectation that great deeds will be performed this coming year as well.
Having thought through all this in the car I realized we had Trust. A small eureka moment for me, but that is all I’ve ever had; small short moments of insight. By trusting each other we actually work harder and better. None of us wants to let the other down. I trust my colleagues to know their jobs and do their jobs. We hire good people and let them do what needs doing. That is waaaay more than “their job”. Leaving them alone doesn’t communicate trust; it IS trust. Having that trust is a badge of honor. People of integrity seek it and earn it. A person of integrity will move mountains before betraying the trust placed in them.
I would never attempt to do something as devious as managing or manipulating my colleagues. Any direction or managing by me is done through answering questions or offering an occasional suggestion. We all know who the boss is. If anything, we need to do a better job of forgetting who the boss is. We need to say what needs to be said, and do what needs to be done, and if we have the right kind of environment, my being the “boss” will allow those things to happen freely rather than being an obstacle. I like to think we have that trusting environment where my colleagues know they can say and do what needs to be done without fear of reprisal.
Sorry. Once again that turned into me patting myself on the back. Self-glorification must be what I do best. I really just meant to say that the office is a great group of folks.
July 31, 2009
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Mortality
When I was young, I admired clever people. Now that I am old, I admire kind people. - Abraham J. Heschel
My thoughts have recently been drawn to my own mortality and the legacy I leave behind. There are currently 6 billion people on earth. That’s a 6 with 9 zeros behind it. An estimate of the cumulative population of earth since the beginning of the human species is 100 billion. Our species (Homo sapiens) has been on the planet for 200,000 years. What makes me special and different from all those people who are alive, or have lived?
Did I create something new? Have I had an original thought? Have I felt an emotion that hasn’t been felt before? Did I simplify the complex? Did I have an impact that is significant and lasting? Given 6 billion people currently alive, and 100 billion people who have lived, it doesn’t seem likely that I am unique in any fashion whatsoever. My DNA may be the only unique thing about me, but so what? Everyone else’s DNA is also unique. Having unique DNA isn’t really unique at all.
If I did do something worthwhile, where is my monument, obelisk, temple, pyramid, tower, stadium, museum, library, bridge, road, sculpture, or garden that is named after me and says “There lived a man, and he was good”? Or is it “There lived a man, and he had enough money to have this sign erected with his name on it”? Have you noticed how many people pay the money to have something named after them? We are either really desperate not to die, or are desperate to be remembered.
I’ve always enjoyed the movie “It’s a Wonderful Life” directed by Frank Capra and starring Jimmy Stewart. It explores the question about what the world would be like if one man had not lived. I would like to believe that my life has had some beneficial impact that remains hidden from me. Like Jimmy Stewarts’s George Bailey, wouldn’t it be fulfilling to know that you made the world a better place for others? Who would not die happy knowing they left the world a better place by having lived in it?
Perhaps this mental and public self-torment is just a circuitous way of posing the age-old question, “What is the meaning of life?” One philosophy book I recently read suggested the answer might be Pleasure (hedonism), or Virtue (asceticism), or Knowledge (intellectualism), or a balance of the three; none of the three appeals to me without some balance of the others, which is exactly what the author concluded.
I’ve been listening to several philosophy books and lectures on CDs lately. It’s been interesting to hear about the philosophies developed by Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Thomas Aquinas and others. (Shameless namedropping) I’ve come to realize that some of the most brilliant minds throughout history have spent their lives in pursuit of the meaning of life. The books have made it clear that this is the ONE big question in the world of philosophy and nobody has ever come up with an answer that is universally acceptable. It makes me feel a little bit better that I haven’t done any worse than the big guys.
I don’t claim to know the meaning of life. I think the answer lies in the long list of causal events that resulted in today and this moment. What, or who, caused that first event, which caused all the events since then, resulting in today, and to what end purpose? What is the last event, and what is its purpose? In the long strand of dominos, what started the first domino, and what is the purpose of the last domino?
Sure, I am curious about the answer, but I cannot know the answer. The question about the beginning of the dominoes and the end of the dominos is the Faith question in disguise. Sorry, but I am not going to tackle that one during this posting.
There are lots of questions here, but no answers for you. I am simply doing the best I can with the single domino that represents my lifespan. Doing my “best” to me means attempting to follow the ethical principles laid out by my parents, teachers, clergy, and friends. That makes sense to me. To do otherwise, to not live such a life, does not make sense to me. So maybe that is my answer, for me; to live a principled life.
So, not knowing how I got started on this topic, and having no idea where I was headed, let me exit not too gracefully by listing a few of the principles I’ve collected over the years. I think they are helpful; at the very worst they are just cute phrases.
1. As if you couldn’t tell from previous posts, I love the Boy Scout Law. “A scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty brave, clean and reverent.”
2. There is a Turkish proverb that says, “There is no right way to do a wrong thing.”
3. Isaac Bashevis Singer wrote a story titled Gimpel the Fool, whose moral, is, “Better to be a fool all of your days, than for one hour to be evil.”
4. Don Quixote is my hero, a crazy altruist. Yeah, that’s not a principle, so sue me.
5. Lancelot had the right attitude in the song “C’est Moi”, but ultimately failed in his execution of the mission.
6. Watch the movie The Last Samurai. The seven virtues of Bushido are Rectitude (being right), Courage, Benevolence, Respect, Honesty, Honor, and Loyalty.
7. From the West Point Cadet Prayer – “Make us to choose the harder right instead of the easier wrong, and never to be content with a half truth when the whole can be won.”
8. In high school we used to joke that “good is better than evil ‘cause it’s nicer”. That is a KISS principle – Keep It Simple Stupid.
Finally, to close out another sanctimonious posting, a definition of success I listed some time ago.
Success
He has achieved success
who has lived well,
laughed often, and loved much;
who has enjoyed the trust of
pure women,
the respect of intelligent men and
the love of little children;
who has filled his niche and accomplished his task;
who has left the world better than he found it
whether by an improved poppy,
a perfect poem or a rescued soul;
who has never lacked appreciation of Earth's beauty
or failed to express it;
who has always looked for the best in others and
given them the best he had;
whose life was an inspiration;
whose memory a benediction.
--1904 Bessie Anderson Stanley
My thoughts have recently been drawn to my own mortality and the legacy I leave behind. There are currently 6 billion people on earth. That’s a 6 with 9 zeros behind it. An estimate of the cumulative population of earth since the beginning of the human species is 100 billion. Our species (Homo sapiens) has been on the planet for 200,000 years. What makes me special and different from all those people who are alive, or have lived?
Did I create something new? Have I had an original thought? Have I felt an emotion that hasn’t been felt before? Did I simplify the complex? Did I have an impact that is significant and lasting? Given 6 billion people currently alive, and 100 billion people who have lived, it doesn’t seem likely that I am unique in any fashion whatsoever. My DNA may be the only unique thing about me, but so what? Everyone else’s DNA is also unique. Having unique DNA isn’t really unique at all.
If I did do something worthwhile, where is my monument, obelisk, temple, pyramid, tower, stadium, museum, library, bridge, road, sculpture, or garden that is named after me and says “There lived a man, and he was good”? Or is it “There lived a man, and he had enough money to have this sign erected with his name on it”? Have you noticed how many people pay the money to have something named after them? We are either really desperate not to die, or are desperate to be remembered.
I’ve always enjoyed the movie “It’s a Wonderful Life” directed by Frank Capra and starring Jimmy Stewart. It explores the question about what the world would be like if one man had not lived. I would like to believe that my life has had some beneficial impact that remains hidden from me. Like Jimmy Stewarts’s George Bailey, wouldn’t it be fulfilling to know that you made the world a better place for others? Who would not die happy knowing they left the world a better place by having lived in it?
Perhaps this mental and public self-torment is just a circuitous way of posing the age-old question, “What is the meaning of life?” One philosophy book I recently read suggested the answer might be Pleasure (hedonism), or Virtue (asceticism), or Knowledge (intellectualism), or a balance of the three; none of the three appeals to me without some balance of the others, which is exactly what the author concluded.
I’ve been listening to several philosophy books and lectures on CDs lately. It’s been interesting to hear about the philosophies developed by Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Thomas Aquinas and others. (Shameless namedropping) I’ve come to realize that some of the most brilliant minds throughout history have spent their lives in pursuit of the meaning of life. The books have made it clear that this is the ONE big question in the world of philosophy and nobody has ever come up with an answer that is universally acceptable. It makes me feel a little bit better that I haven’t done any worse than the big guys.
I don’t claim to know the meaning of life. I think the answer lies in the long list of causal events that resulted in today and this moment. What, or who, caused that first event, which caused all the events since then, resulting in today, and to what end purpose? What is the last event, and what is its purpose? In the long strand of dominos, what started the first domino, and what is the purpose of the last domino?
Sure, I am curious about the answer, but I cannot know the answer. The question about the beginning of the dominoes and the end of the dominos is the Faith question in disguise. Sorry, but I am not going to tackle that one during this posting.
There are lots of questions here, but no answers for you. I am simply doing the best I can with the single domino that represents my lifespan. Doing my “best” to me means attempting to follow the ethical principles laid out by my parents, teachers, clergy, and friends. That makes sense to me. To do otherwise, to not live such a life, does not make sense to me. So maybe that is my answer, for me; to live a principled life.
So, not knowing how I got started on this topic, and having no idea where I was headed, let me exit not too gracefully by listing a few of the principles I’ve collected over the years. I think they are helpful; at the very worst they are just cute phrases.
1. As if you couldn’t tell from previous posts, I love the Boy Scout Law. “A scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty brave, clean and reverent.”
2. There is a Turkish proverb that says, “There is no right way to do a wrong thing.”
3. Isaac Bashevis Singer wrote a story titled Gimpel the Fool, whose moral, is, “Better to be a fool all of your days, than for one hour to be evil.”
4. Don Quixote is my hero, a crazy altruist. Yeah, that’s not a principle, so sue me.
5. Lancelot had the right attitude in the song “C’est Moi”, but ultimately failed in his execution of the mission.
6. Watch the movie The Last Samurai. The seven virtues of Bushido are Rectitude (being right), Courage, Benevolence, Respect, Honesty, Honor, and Loyalty.
7. From the West Point Cadet Prayer – “Make us to choose the harder right instead of the easier wrong, and never to be content with a half truth when the whole can be won.”
8. In high school we used to joke that “good is better than evil ‘cause it’s nicer”. That is a KISS principle – Keep It Simple Stupid.
Finally, to close out another sanctimonious posting, a definition of success I listed some time ago.
Success
He has achieved success
who has lived well,
laughed often, and loved much;
who has enjoyed the trust of
pure women,
the respect of intelligent men and
the love of little children;
who has filled his niche and accomplished his task;
who has left the world better than he found it
whether by an improved poppy,
a perfect poem or a rescued soul;
who has never lacked appreciation of Earth's beauty
or failed to express it;
who has always looked for the best in others and
given them the best he had;
whose life was an inspiration;
whose memory a benediction.
--1904 Bessie Anderson Stanley
Thursday, April 15, 2010
John’s Birth / Dad’s Death (part 2)
I am finally coming to the nut of this story; the story of John’s birth and my father’s death. This is the story I knew I would have to write someday, but have not been able to face. I’ve been avoiding it for months, and I am going to avoid it for just a few more paragraphs of context. My open confession is just around the corner.
The year was 1984 when my folks had to fly to Cedar Rapids immediately after John’s birth on July 25. They were forced to leave their car at my house in Stone Mountain, GA. I’d offered to drive their car back up to Cedar Rapids and fly back to Stone Mountain. It was 15 hours of driving spread over two days, but you do that when you are 32 and there is an emergency. I was abandoning Jean at home after some serious surgery with 3-year old Ann and 1-week old John. I also had a demanding job I was also temporarily deserting. I needed to be in several places, but could only be in one of them at a time. We quickly arranged for Jean’s mom to come sooner rather than later to lend a hand during my absence.
I made the trip up to Cedar Rapids roughly a week after John was born. By that time the doctors had determined that Dad had brain cancer. It wasn’t too surprising that Dad decided to fight it rather than go into hospice. Being passive isn’t exactly a family trait. I might be the only passive member of the family, which is why I always asked my folks if I was adopted. (I have to put a little humor in this gloomy piece.)
I spent roughly a week with Dad at the hospital. The drugs and radiation temporarily restored Dad’s mental abilities. Between Dad’s medical treatments we had a great time watching the Olympics and adding our own editorial comments about the athletes’ performances. We took walks up and down the halls with Dad’s IV pole in tow during boring events. During that week I was thinking that this was, in all likelihood, the last time I would see my father. I was deliberating what I was going to say and do when that last moment came and I had to leave him for the last time.
In particular I was thinking about how my Dad and I had not given each other a hug or said “I love you” for 20+ years. We were not demonstrative for the following feeble reason -
I remember during my elementary school years that I gave Mom and Dad a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and an “I love you”, before heading off to bed each night. I don’t know how it started; it may have been taught, or it could have been my own toddler invention. One night, after the hug and kiss, Dad said to me, “Aren’t you getting a little old for this kid stuff?” Dad’s question seemed to contain the answer. I took the question to mean that my behavior was no longer appropriate. So I quit giving my Dad a hug and a kiss, and quit saying “I love you”. I must have been around 10 years old at the time; roughly 1962.
So there you have it; Dad and I had not hugged or said “I love you” to each other for 20 years. Dad was just not a sentimental or demonstrative man. We shook hands. We said “How ya doing?” We pushed each other around in the kitchen in a playful manner like we did when I was a kid. I don’t doubt that Dad loved me. He just couldn’t say it. Yet he did by attending every concert, recital, play, and sporting event he could reach within driving distance. He visited our house as often as was reasonable. That was as demonstrative as my dad could get.
As my last day at the hospital approached I didn’t know what to do. I’d dithered all week long trying to make up my mind. My dad was dying of cancer. We had not said “I love you” in 20 years. Should I dictate what our last moments together will be by finally saying the words, “I love you”, and risk an embarrassing emotional moment my father doesn’t want? Or do I let the last moment play out as he wants it to be? Should I let Dad determine the last words that we say to each other?
Meredith Wilson was right about Iowans in the Music Man when he said, “And we’re so by-gone stubborn, we can stand touching noses for a week at a time, and never see eye-to-eye”. That would be me and my dad.
I delayed my departure for the airport to the last possible moment and still catch my flight. I walked Dad down to the door of the radiation department in the basement of the hospital. I said, “Dad, I have to go catch the plane now”. He said, “Yeah, I gotta go do this”, and threw a thumb toward the door behind him. He put out his hand and said, “See you later.” I shook his hand and said, “Yeah, see you later.” Without any hesitation Dad turned, opened the door, and entered the radiation department. Without saying a word I stood there and watched the door close behind him.
I never saw Dad alive again.
Dad died of brain cancer on September 29, 1984.
I never told him I loved him, but I did, and I do. I hope he knows that.
That is why I tell my kids I love them every time I talk to them.
The year was 1984 when my folks had to fly to Cedar Rapids immediately after John’s birth on July 25. They were forced to leave their car at my house in Stone Mountain, GA. I’d offered to drive their car back up to Cedar Rapids and fly back to Stone Mountain. It was 15 hours of driving spread over two days, but you do that when you are 32 and there is an emergency. I was abandoning Jean at home after some serious surgery with 3-year old Ann and 1-week old John. I also had a demanding job I was also temporarily deserting. I needed to be in several places, but could only be in one of them at a time. We quickly arranged for Jean’s mom to come sooner rather than later to lend a hand during my absence.
I made the trip up to Cedar Rapids roughly a week after John was born. By that time the doctors had determined that Dad had brain cancer. It wasn’t too surprising that Dad decided to fight it rather than go into hospice. Being passive isn’t exactly a family trait. I might be the only passive member of the family, which is why I always asked my folks if I was adopted. (I have to put a little humor in this gloomy piece.)
I spent roughly a week with Dad at the hospital. The drugs and radiation temporarily restored Dad’s mental abilities. Between Dad’s medical treatments we had a great time watching the Olympics and adding our own editorial comments about the athletes’ performances. We took walks up and down the halls with Dad’s IV pole in tow during boring events. During that week I was thinking that this was, in all likelihood, the last time I would see my father. I was deliberating what I was going to say and do when that last moment came and I had to leave him for the last time.
In particular I was thinking about how my Dad and I had not given each other a hug or said “I love you” for 20+ years. We were not demonstrative for the following feeble reason -
I remember during my elementary school years that I gave Mom and Dad a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and an “I love you”, before heading off to bed each night. I don’t know how it started; it may have been taught, or it could have been my own toddler invention. One night, after the hug and kiss, Dad said to me, “Aren’t you getting a little old for this kid stuff?” Dad’s question seemed to contain the answer. I took the question to mean that my behavior was no longer appropriate. So I quit giving my Dad a hug and a kiss, and quit saying “I love you”. I must have been around 10 years old at the time; roughly 1962.
So there you have it; Dad and I had not hugged or said “I love you” to each other for 20 years. Dad was just not a sentimental or demonstrative man. We shook hands. We said “How ya doing?” We pushed each other around in the kitchen in a playful manner like we did when I was a kid. I don’t doubt that Dad loved me. He just couldn’t say it. Yet he did by attending every concert, recital, play, and sporting event he could reach within driving distance. He visited our house as often as was reasonable. That was as demonstrative as my dad could get.
As my last day at the hospital approached I didn’t know what to do. I’d dithered all week long trying to make up my mind. My dad was dying of cancer. We had not said “I love you” in 20 years. Should I dictate what our last moments together will be by finally saying the words, “I love you”, and risk an embarrassing emotional moment my father doesn’t want? Or do I let the last moment play out as he wants it to be? Should I let Dad determine the last words that we say to each other?
Meredith Wilson was right about Iowans in the Music Man when he said, “And we’re so by-gone stubborn, we can stand touching noses for a week at a time, and never see eye-to-eye”. That would be me and my dad.
I delayed my departure for the airport to the last possible moment and still catch my flight. I walked Dad down to the door of the radiation department in the basement of the hospital. I said, “Dad, I have to go catch the plane now”. He said, “Yeah, I gotta go do this”, and threw a thumb toward the door behind him. He put out his hand and said, “See you later.” I shook his hand and said, “Yeah, see you later.” Without any hesitation Dad turned, opened the door, and entered the radiation department. Without saying a word I stood there and watched the door close behind him.
I never saw Dad alive again.
Dad died of brain cancer on September 29, 1984.
I never told him I loved him, but I did, and I do. I hope he knows that.
That is why I tell my kids I love them every time I talk to them.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
John’s Birth / Dad’s Death (part 1)
When Jean was pregnant with Ann we took a childbirth class. One evening the instructor asked the class, “What is the first thing you should do when you begin feeling labor pains?” The instructor got the expected responses. One person said to call the doctor, while another said to go to the hospital. The instructor agreed that those were good things to do, but the FIRST thing to do is call the grandmothers.
The reasoning was that the new mom would be so tired and beat-up from the delivery that she will want the grandmothers to be at the house to help take care of her first, and the baby second. There was plenty of time for that other stuff later, but it was important to get the grandmothers on their way to your house as soon as possible. We thought this was funny, but later found out it was also true.
So it came to pass that Jean’s folks came to visit us immediately after Ann’s birth, and we scheduled my folks to come assist us soon after Jean’s folks left. When it came time to have rug rat #2 (John) we figured we would reverse the procedure and have my folks come first. My mom had three sons and no daughters, so we thought that might be a fun experience for my mom.
Since Ann was delivered via an emergency cesarean section, Jean’s obstetrician determined that John’s manner of birth would also be c-section. The obstetrician scheduled John’s date of birth as July 25. Because the date was predetermined we were able to invite my folks to be present for John’s birth. We also wanted my folks to hang around for a week or so afterward to help change dirty diapers and to watch over 3-year old Ann. We were quite happy to accept as much help as we could get. There would be 18 years of “bonding” remaining after the first couple weeks.
My folks arrived in Stone Mountain a couple of days before the surgery/birth. Mom (Gladys) confided that Dad (Richard/Dick) had not been behaving normally. Dad was 68 years old at the time. He normally had an unerring sense of direction. During the drive from Iowa he did not know his way back to the interstate after exiting for gas. I took Dad to a baseball game, but Dad wasn’t able to follow the action.
One evening Dad went to the bathroom in the middle of the night and could not find his way out of the bathroom. He got confused and mistook the shower knob for the door handle and got soaked. Dad told this story on himself the next morning with great amusement. We weren’t amused, but played along to minimize the embarrassing moment.
Mom and Dad went to an Internist who agreed to see Dad on short notice. After hearing a brief medical history, his recent symptoms, and Dad’s previous experience with kidney cancer, the doctor took a blood sample, and ran Dad through some physical dexterity and mental tests. My normally ultra independent dad kept looking over to Mom for help, but the doctor made Dad do the tests on his own.
John was born the next day, July 25, 1984. When I took Mom and Dad to the hospital to see Jean and John that evening, Dad was shuffling his feet and had to be led by the hand. He was definitely not well.
The results of the blood tests came back the next day and the doctor called our house wanting to admit Dad immediately to the hospital. My folks decided that if Dad was going to be in a hospital that they would prefer to be in their own hometown where they knew the hospitals, knew the doctors, and would have all the comforts that “home” normally conveys. The doctor accepted that, but insisted that they fly, not drive, immediately to Cedar Rapids and go directly from the airport to the hospital. Mom and Dad caught the next flight to Cedar Rapids and went directly from the Cedar Rapids airport to Mt. Mercy Hospital.
The reasoning was that the new mom would be so tired and beat-up from the delivery that she will want the grandmothers to be at the house to help take care of her first, and the baby second. There was plenty of time for that other stuff later, but it was important to get the grandmothers on their way to your house as soon as possible. We thought this was funny, but later found out it was also true.
So it came to pass that Jean’s folks came to visit us immediately after Ann’s birth, and we scheduled my folks to come assist us soon after Jean’s folks left. When it came time to have rug rat #2 (John) we figured we would reverse the procedure and have my folks come first. My mom had three sons and no daughters, so we thought that might be a fun experience for my mom.
Since Ann was delivered via an emergency cesarean section, Jean’s obstetrician determined that John’s manner of birth would also be c-section. The obstetrician scheduled John’s date of birth as July 25. Because the date was predetermined we were able to invite my folks to be present for John’s birth. We also wanted my folks to hang around for a week or so afterward to help change dirty diapers and to watch over 3-year old Ann. We were quite happy to accept as much help as we could get. There would be 18 years of “bonding” remaining after the first couple weeks.
My folks arrived in Stone Mountain a couple of days before the surgery/birth. Mom (Gladys) confided that Dad (Richard/Dick) had not been behaving normally. Dad was 68 years old at the time. He normally had an unerring sense of direction. During the drive from Iowa he did not know his way back to the interstate after exiting for gas. I took Dad to a baseball game, but Dad wasn’t able to follow the action.
One evening Dad went to the bathroom in the middle of the night and could not find his way out of the bathroom. He got confused and mistook the shower knob for the door handle and got soaked. Dad told this story on himself the next morning with great amusement. We weren’t amused, but played along to minimize the embarrassing moment.
Mom and Dad went to an Internist who agreed to see Dad on short notice. After hearing a brief medical history, his recent symptoms, and Dad’s previous experience with kidney cancer, the doctor took a blood sample, and ran Dad through some physical dexterity and mental tests. My normally ultra independent dad kept looking over to Mom for help, but the doctor made Dad do the tests on his own.
John was born the next day, July 25, 1984. When I took Mom and Dad to the hospital to see Jean and John that evening, Dad was shuffling his feet and had to be led by the hand. He was definitely not well.
The results of the blood tests came back the next day and the doctor called our house wanting to admit Dad immediately to the hospital. My folks decided that if Dad was going to be in a hospital that they would prefer to be in their own hometown where they knew the hospitals, knew the doctors, and would have all the comforts that “home” normally conveys. The doctor accepted that, but insisted that they fly, not drive, immediately to Cedar Rapids and go directly from the airport to the hospital. Mom and Dad caught the next flight to Cedar Rapids and went directly from the Cedar Rapids airport to Mt. Mercy Hospital.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
State Swim Meet
John was a really good swimmer in high school; however, John was also swimming in the shadow of Mike.
Mike and his parents moved from California into our school district for Mike’s freshman year of high school. John was in the eighth grade, a year behind Mike. Mike proceeded to win his first state championship in the 500 as a freshman in 1999. When John was a freshman in 2000 and finished fourth in the 500, Mike was in the same event winning his second state championship. In 2001 when John was a sophomore and finished second in the 500, Mike won his third state championship. In 2002 Mike won his fourth state championship in the 500 and set the state record. (4:29.06) John finished second again.
This isn’t a story about good and evil. Mike wasn’t John’s evil nemesis. Mike was simply older, bigger, taller, faster, and had more years of swimming experience. Mike was a good guy and liked by all. It was likewise with Mike’s parents; they were a delightful couple and we enjoyed spending time with them at swim meets. The same could be said of all the distance swimmers and their families that we met over the years.
Perhaps this is a story about deferred dreams or about waiting your turn. When John became a senior and Mike had graduated from high school it seemed as if it might finally be John’s turn to win an individual title at the high school state meet. I assume John wanted a state championship. I know that as a father I was secretly hoping that he could win one. John had already won a fair number of state championships as an age group swimmer, but there is something special about a high school championship.
The thing is we never talked about winning. When we sent John off to a swim meet we simply told him to have fun. After the swim meet we talked about swimming a good time. We talked about swimming a smart race, a good race, but we never talked about winning. The word “win” was nearly taboo.
When it came time for John’s final high school state swim meet I REALLY wanted to break my own rule and encourage John to swim fast, win the race, and go for the state record. I held internal debates and dialogues with myself for weeks on the pros and cons. When the day of the meet finally arrived and John was headed out the door I still hadn’t made up my mind what to do, so all I said was, “Have fun!”, and spent the rest of the evening wondering if I’d done the right thing.
John’s swim club, which is a completely separate entity from the high school swim team, prepares the swimmers for one big meet in the fall and one big meet in the spring. These are known as “shave and taper” meets. The meet will be the most important meet the swimmer has qualified for. The swimmer will shave every hair off of their arms, legs, torsos, and heads (guys only) to reduce drag in the water. The swimmers will also taper off their workouts so they are rested for the big meet. The hope is to swim a great time in the big meet that will qualify you for an even more elite meet. Kids in local meets are trying to qualify for age group state; age group state swimmers try to qualify for regional meets; the swimmers at regional meets are trying to get into nationals, and the folks at nationals are trying to be #1 in the country and qualify for the Olympic trials.
The point of all of this is simply to say that the high school state meet was not a major goal in the eyes of the Dynamo Swim Club and John’s club coach. All of the year-round swimmers know this, but the world at-large doesn’t know this. John had been swimming hard workouts right up to the day before the state swim meet. He wasn’t shaved, he wasn’t rested, and there had been no taper whatsoever. If John was going to win the high school state swim meet, he was going to have to do it while tired and hairy. It was conceivable that a lesser swimmer who was rested and shaved could beat John. It happens all the time in low level meets that advanced swimmers simply “train through”.
When Jean and I were sitting in the stands at the state swim meet, Mike’s parents were seated just a few seats over. Several parents came by to say that they hoped John could break Mike’s state record. With Mike’s folks there I was embarrassed to have people talk that way, but I was secretly hoping the same thing. Other parents asked if John was going to take a shot at the record, and I truthfully said, “I have no idea!” I don’t care who you are; that’s funny. I am the dad and I have no idea what my kid is going to try to do.
I may have been uninformed, but I wasn’t ignorant. Or maybe I was. I knew that the state record was 4:29.06. I’d worked out on a scrap of paper what the cumulative time would be at every 50 yards throughout the 500 yard race. Every time John would hit the electronic timing pad at the end of the lane I would know if he was ahead or behind the pace for the state record.
When the time finally came for John to step up on the blocks for the 500 I was a bundle of nerves. I so wanted him to be brave and take a shot at the record, and I felt guilty for wishing it. I also wanted him to get off the blocks safely and not be disqualified for a false start. The start is the most nerve-wracking time of the race.
The gun went off (They actually use a starting gun. It’s barbaric. Civilized folks use beepers these days.) and John went out fast leaving the field behind. I immediately wondered if he was going for the record. Of course I wondered. I had all the dadgum splits written down. At the first 50, and each 50 thereafter, I compared the time on the clock to the time on my sheet. John was ahead of the record splits, but not by enough to make me comfortable. I wouldn't be comfortable until the race was over.
I kept comparing times on the clock to those on the sheet, and barely had time to watch John actually swim the race. I’d whisper to Jean how he was progressing, but I didn’t want anyone to know that I was keeping track. I was still embarrassed that I cared so much. When it got to the final 100 yards I was tired of watching the clock and the sheet. I realized I was missing my son’s final high school swim meet. I wanted to imprint the image of his swim in my brain.
John’s stroke was long and smooth. He covered long distances with each arm pull. He attacked the walls and his flip turn was so fast you could hardly see it. He held a tight taper coming out from the wall underwater and came up a good ways out from the wall. The cadence was quick, but economical. He was just plain fast. John had a powerful upper body and it was a thing of beauty to watch his back muscles do their job, stroke after stroke. Towards the end of the race his back turned pink, as it always did, from the heat being generated by his muscles. It was an exercise of athletic perfection. It was awesome to watch; simply awesome.
When John finished the race the second-place swimmer had just turned at the far end of the pool. John was nearly a full pool-length ahead when many races are determined by hundredths of a second. The time read 4:28.18, which became the pool record, and the high school state record. Coach Creed went crazy, the team went crazy, the parents went crazy, and I enjoyed watching them do what I wanted to do. My head and heart were going ape-shit with glee, but I simply applauded, accepted congratulatory handshakes from other parents, and gave Jean a hug. I knew that there were good losers, and good winners, and I wanted to be a good “winner”, even though I actually hadn’t won a thing. I was simply the father of the winner.
It turned out that John intentionally took a shot at the record. He was checking the clock after the turn every 50 yards as he swam the race. He knew exactly what kind of splits he needed and knew he was on pace throughout the race. At the end of the race, knowing he was on pace, he simply put his head down and went for it. Way to go, man.
I wish he’d told me ahead of time so I didn’t have to suffer needlessly.
Mike and his parents moved from California into our school district for Mike’s freshman year of high school. John was in the eighth grade, a year behind Mike. Mike proceeded to win his first state championship in the 500 as a freshman in 1999. When John was a freshman in 2000 and finished fourth in the 500, Mike was in the same event winning his second state championship. In 2001 when John was a sophomore and finished second in the 500, Mike won his third state championship. In 2002 Mike won his fourth state championship in the 500 and set the state record. (4:29.06) John finished second again.
This isn’t a story about good and evil. Mike wasn’t John’s evil nemesis. Mike was simply older, bigger, taller, faster, and had more years of swimming experience. Mike was a good guy and liked by all. It was likewise with Mike’s parents; they were a delightful couple and we enjoyed spending time with them at swim meets. The same could be said of all the distance swimmers and their families that we met over the years.
Perhaps this is a story about deferred dreams or about waiting your turn. When John became a senior and Mike had graduated from high school it seemed as if it might finally be John’s turn to win an individual title at the high school state meet. I assume John wanted a state championship. I know that as a father I was secretly hoping that he could win one. John had already won a fair number of state championships as an age group swimmer, but there is something special about a high school championship.
The thing is we never talked about winning. When we sent John off to a swim meet we simply told him to have fun. After the swim meet we talked about swimming a good time. We talked about swimming a smart race, a good race, but we never talked about winning. The word “win” was nearly taboo.
When it came time for John’s final high school state swim meet I REALLY wanted to break my own rule and encourage John to swim fast, win the race, and go for the state record. I held internal debates and dialogues with myself for weeks on the pros and cons. When the day of the meet finally arrived and John was headed out the door I still hadn’t made up my mind what to do, so all I said was, “Have fun!”, and spent the rest of the evening wondering if I’d done the right thing.
John’s swim club, which is a completely separate entity from the high school swim team, prepares the swimmers for one big meet in the fall and one big meet in the spring. These are known as “shave and taper” meets. The meet will be the most important meet the swimmer has qualified for. The swimmer will shave every hair off of their arms, legs, torsos, and heads (guys only) to reduce drag in the water. The swimmers will also taper off their workouts so they are rested for the big meet. The hope is to swim a great time in the big meet that will qualify you for an even more elite meet. Kids in local meets are trying to qualify for age group state; age group state swimmers try to qualify for regional meets; the swimmers at regional meets are trying to get into nationals, and the folks at nationals are trying to be #1 in the country and qualify for the Olympic trials.
The point of all of this is simply to say that the high school state meet was not a major goal in the eyes of the Dynamo Swim Club and John’s club coach. All of the year-round swimmers know this, but the world at-large doesn’t know this. John had been swimming hard workouts right up to the day before the state swim meet. He wasn’t shaved, he wasn’t rested, and there had been no taper whatsoever. If John was going to win the high school state swim meet, he was going to have to do it while tired and hairy. It was conceivable that a lesser swimmer who was rested and shaved could beat John. It happens all the time in low level meets that advanced swimmers simply “train through”.
When Jean and I were sitting in the stands at the state swim meet, Mike’s parents were seated just a few seats over. Several parents came by to say that they hoped John could break Mike’s state record. With Mike’s folks there I was embarrassed to have people talk that way, but I was secretly hoping the same thing. Other parents asked if John was going to take a shot at the record, and I truthfully said, “I have no idea!” I don’t care who you are; that’s funny. I am the dad and I have no idea what my kid is going to try to do.
I may have been uninformed, but I wasn’t ignorant. Or maybe I was. I knew that the state record was 4:29.06. I’d worked out on a scrap of paper what the cumulative time would be at every 50 yards throughout the 500 yard race. Every time John would hit the electronic timing pad at the end of the lane I would know if he was ahead or behind the pace for the state record.
When the time finally came for John to step up on the blocks for the 500 I was a bundle of nerves. I so wanted him to be brave and take a shot at the record, and I felt guilty for wishing it. I also wanted him to get off the blocks safely and not be disqualified for a false start. The start is the most nerve-wracking time of the race.
The gun went off (They actually use a starting gun. It’s barbaric. Civilized folks use beepers these days.) and John went out fast leaving the field behind. I immediately wondered if he was going for the record. Of course I wondered. I had all the dadgum splits written down. At the first 50, and each 50 thereafter, I compared the time on the clock to the time on my sheet. John was ahead of the record splits, but not by enough to make me comfortable. I wouldn't be comfortable until the race was over.
I kept comparing times on the clock to those on the sheet, and barely had time to watch John actually swim the race. I’d whisper to Jean how he was progressing, but I didn’t want anyone to know that I was keeping track. I was still embarrassed that I cared so much. When it got to the final 100 yards I was tired of watching the clock and the sheet. I realized I was missing my son’s final high school swim meet. I wanted to imprint the image of his swim in my brain.
John’s stroke was long and smooth. He covered long distances with each arm pull. He attacked the walls and his flip turn was so fast you could hardly see it. He held a tight taper coming out from the wall underwater and came up a good ways out from the wall. The cadence was quick, but economical. He was just plain fast. John had a powerful upper body and it was a thing of beauty to watch his back muscles do their job, stroke after stroke. Towards the end of the race his back turned pink, as it always did, from the heat being generated by his muscles. It was an exercise of athletic perfection. It was awesome to watch; simply awesome.
When John finished the race the second-place swimmer had just turned at the far end of the pool. John was nearly a full pool-length ahead when many races are determined by hundredths of a second. The time read 4:28.18, which became the pool record, and the high school state record. Coach Creed went crazy, the team went crazy, the parents went crazy, and I enjoyed watching them do what I wanted to do. My head and heart were going ape-shit with glee, but I simply applauded, accepted congratulatory handshakes from other parents, and gave Jean a hug. I knew that there were good losers, and good winners, and I wanted to be a good “winner”, even though I actually hadn’t won a thing. I was simply the father of the winner.
It turned out that John intentionally took a shot at the record. He was checking the clock after the turn every 50 yards as he swam the race. He knew exactly what kind of splits he needed and knew he was on pace throughout the race. At the end of the race, knowing he was on pace, he simply put his head down and went for it. Way to go, man.
I wish he’d told me ahead of time so I didn’t have to suffer needlessly.
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