Shipbuilders, College Kids, and Goodbyes

Ship

I talked to Rob about what was about to happen. He is excited. His daughter is moving on. He mentions Sandy, his wife, is having a hard time with the impending transition.

Over half a dozen kids we know are moving to different cities this week. They are headed off to college. Some parents we know are beside themselves with anxiety and grief. Others are overjoyed.

Jen listed their names.   We’ve known these kids for years.   We’ve watched as they showed the slipperiness of time.  The way only kids can tell time’s story.  You see a kid every few weeks, months or years.  Predictable platitudes thrown from our tongues:  “They grow up so fast.”   “Savor every moment. They are fleeting.”   “Before you know they’ll be grown.”

We hear but do not listen.  The days are long.  The years are short.  Changes are infinitesimally small and incremental.  There are barely perceptible leaps that occur where you sense that from one day to another, this isn’t the same kid as yesterday.  I’ve noticed this if I spend as a little as two nights away from my girls.  It wakes me from my slumber to realize time is passing.

They grow.  Then they go.

We are shipbuilders.  Our kids are the ships we build.  Every story read and bedtime snuggle, karate class, traveling volleyball tournament, word of encouragement, each late night figuring out homework (Damn you, new math!), punishment and grounding, birthday party, tutoring session, and difficult discussions about life is part of the construction.  These are what we build with.

We pour ourselves into building the best ship we possibly can.  A strong and resilient one which can withstand storms and crashing waves.  One that’s hydrodynamic and capable of cutting forward through the sea.  A ship that can complete its journey to find a life of its own.

Some of us start building before our babies are born.  We open savings accounts, sign up for pre-school waiting lists, play Mozart to protruding pregnant bellies.

When they’re born, we work hard, long and late.  Some of us to ensure we have the resources to build the ship.  Others are working on the ship itself.  Then the day comes.  The ship is as complete as we can make it.

It is time for the ship to cast off.   That’s why we did this.   We said hello to a 5 to 10 lb infant so we can say goodbye to an 18-year-old young adult.

We might want to keep them at home, keep them from harm, keep them for our joy.   The ship is not built to be a collectors’ item in a museum.  It’s built to sail, to face and overcome the elements, to seek beyond the horizon, to discover the unknown.

I know many who are torn, tired and teary about seeing their baby boy or baby girl move away.  You did your best.  You built your ship.  It’s time to push your work out into the vast sea that is life.

I’m 12 years away from seeing my ships drift off into the distance.  I don’t know what it’s like to push the ship from shore.   I hope and pray for you shipbuilders to find joy in seeing your ship set sail for the destiny that is their life on their own.

A ship in port is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for.  -Grace Hopper or John Shedd

 

 

 

Are you Giving This Rare Gift?

I messed up.  The clicker sounded.  I knew it was coming.  Feedback is part of the process.   It was my first and last “um” of the speech.   I was delivering an impromptu “Table Topic” speech at Toastmasters.

Toastmasters uses active and impartial feedback to help speakers improve.  “Um”, “so”, “and” are utterances that can receive a click.  All speech issues are counted and reported on.  Feedback comes in either real-time or before the one-hour meeting completes.

Later in the day I met my kids and nephew for t-ball practice.  Ellie, one of my twins,  was whining.  She said Aaron, her nephew, is being a bully.  I asked him, “Are you being a bully?”  He said, “No.”  I asked Ellie what happened, ” He said I cry too much and that I’m lazy because I don’t want to carry things.”   I paused.  It was a parental moment when I didn’t know what to do.

I told her, “You do tend to cry a lot.”   She insisted she didn’t as she whined and cried.  I told her it was feedback.  It wasn’t good or bad.  The world is telling her something about her behavior.

We proceeded to have a 10-minute conversation with huffing, puffing, whining, crying and eye-rolling as she fought against carrying her lunch bag with her water bottle.  She was proving her nephew’s point.

I started counting how many times Ellie cried for the rest of the night.  Generally, we focus on positive reinforcement.  I saw this as an opportunity for continued impartial feedback.  She said it annoyed her.  I told her it was to help her see how often she chose to cry.

For at least 20 years, the mantra of business is “more, better, faster, for less.”   The mantra produces useful constraints in some cases.  More often, it means more scope across fewer people with less direction and less feedback.  It’s difficult to perform when you don’t know how you’re performing.  It’s like driving without a speedometer, darkly-tinted windshield, soft brakes and a steering wheel with a lot of play.  Feedback comes in the form of accidents.  It’s expensive to correct.

At the end of the Toastmasters meeting, they reported on my speech defects.  In one minute and 48 seconds, I said “um” once, “so” four times, “and” twice, and I used 2 crutch words.   The feedback wasn’t painful.  It was matter of fact.  It was specific.  It was timely.  It was constructive.  I could process it and improve from it because it was about a specific, discrete performance.

I decided to join Toastmasters.  A main reason for my decision is the feedback.   It’s a rare gift.  It would be foolish for me to not receive it.

Are you giving the people in your life the feedback they need to get better?

 

A Hot and Happy Mother’s Day

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Mother’s Day started at 3:41 am.   “Eric, the air conditioner isn’t blowing cold air.”   Jen and I get up.  We walk through the house.  I fumble with the thermostat.  Jen checks outside to see if the unit is freezing (that happened a few years ago).  We don’t find anything wrong. I’m tired and frustrated.  “What […]

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Action Is the Stuff of Heroes

I stepped out of the house through the screen door on to the front steps.  “Daddy do you want to play ball with us?” asked one of my twin 6-year-olds, Evie.  I answered, “Of course!”  I walked on to the lawn.    It was the first time we’d all been outside playing together.   Evie jumped […]

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Don’t Feel Like It? Do It Anyway!

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“You don’t get what you want by doing what you want,” I told her. This might be a bit advanced for a six-year-old. This is the hand my kids were dealt. A dad who speaks in platitudes. A dad who tries to program his kids with a way of thinking that makes their life easier […]

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What Happens When You Smile?

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I smiled at her.  She relaxed.  I kept looking at her with a soft toothless smile.   Her eyes widened a bit.  She smiled back, disarmed.   Her face said, “You see me and you like who you see.”   Her response evokes joy from me.  A small virtuous circle swirls upward. This happened with both my girls, […]

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3 Reasons You Suck With Boundaries

Jen looked across at me, listening patiently.  A homeless guy rides by on the street behind us on a rental bike.  The teachers from the local art magnet school are chattering at the next table.  The sun shines.  It’s 72 degrees.  The day is perfect despite either a hangover, restless sleep or both. It’s our […]

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The Cost of Growing Up

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I leaned over and put my face in front of hers.  I looked her in the eyes.   I told her, “I miss you.”   She lit up.  Evie’s one of my 6-year-old girls.   She showed me on a calendar that she was off school next week (Spring Break). She talked about us spending more time together next […]

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The Power of Gratitude

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I schedule to leave for my kids PTA meeting and singing performance at 4. I maintain a weak boundary. Two conversations and a couple of emails later I leave at 4:36. I’m harried. I get to the glass doors to leave. The sky opened up between the time I planned to leave and the time […]

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How are you? I Own A F$#&ing Coat

He sat across from me in the booth. We were half way through breakfast. James asked, “So, how are you?” I paused. I reflected. I realized. It had been 20 degrees for 2 weeks straight. The trivialities of my life flashed before my eyes. Earlier in the week I attended a memorial for a friend, […]

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