For the second year in a row I attended a day of scout camp with my son. Last year was the first time he attended the full week of events. After the first day he didn’t want to return, but each day improved a little more than the previous. By the end of the week, he was sad to see the camp come to an end.

Last year I didn’t let my son out of my sight. It’s not that I don’t trust Lincoln. Of our four children, he’s known as the one who not only keeps rules but reports himself when he trips up. When the boys split up into groups to play Red Rover.  I worried he might turn his arm or wrist. I checked in with him dozens of times throughout the day to make sure he was having fun.

But this year I decided to take a few steps back from, and give him some space to navigate his way through camp without my influence.

I don’t know where his self-confidence began to take root, but I’ve noticed he’s more sure of himself since he began playing baseball. He also speaks his mind more often and carries himself with more confidence.

Near the end of the day, a much larger boy swiped Lincoln’s hat and held it just out of his reach.  Last year I would have got involved and demanded the boy return the hat.  When I was about ten years old a teammate grabbed my hat and wouldn’t give it back until I hit him in the groin with a baseball. Effective but not the best way to treat a teammate.

But yesterday was a reminder that my son doesn’t just have my DNA, but that of my more rationalized, evenly tempered spouse. Lincoln realized the other boy was looking for a reaction, but he didn’t go looking for a baseball. He looked at the boy, held out his hand and said, “Please return my hat”.

His hat was returned, and I came away from the experience with an increased appreciation of my son’s maturity.

Here’s the stock performance from Microsoft, RIM, and Apple since June 29, 2007, or the same day Apple released the first iPhone.

In just five years, Apple released a product that has become a larger revenue and profit machine than all Microsoft products combined.

But at least Microsoft has Windows, Office and many other products to lesson the blow, and is down less than 5%. But RIMM, without another cash cow, has been decimated, having lost nearly 90% of it’s value in five years.

This is what disruption looks like.

–Link to full interactive chart

Nine months ago I escorted my daughter to a meeting at the middle school. In a few weeks she’d be starting 5th grade.  But on this night she’d be introduced to a number of instruments and be invited to join either the middle school band or orchestra.

The violin caught her attention. Then the viola. Then another instrument or two until she eventually decided on the cello.

Fast forward to tonight where we joined a gym full of nervous parents who were gathered to watch their children perform in the final concert of the school year. I thought back to the many early morning practices Luca attended while the rest of us were still in bed. Most mornings, it was my job to get her off to the bus stop where we had a few minutes to chat before the bus arrived.

Whether it’s the sounds coming the keys as she plays the piano or the vibration of the strings as she draws her bow over the face of the cello, I’m hearing something that burrows deep into my soul. Sure, I’m a proud father, but I’m mostly in awe of her passion and dedication for music, much like her mother.

So there we sat on the benches waiting for the students to arrive and take their seats on the gym floor in front of us. It was hot and muggy. Our kids, as well most adults, were having a hard time staying seated, and I began to wonder if the concert would outlast the battery on my iPhone.

A few minutes before the concert was to start, the students began filing in gym, instruments in tow. I looked for Luca but didn’t see her. Maybe the cellists come in after everyone else?

Without warning, Anna sprang to her feet and began yelling, “Luca!!! Luca!!! Luca!!!”

As Luca walked across the floor with her cello, Anna kept calling her name until she got closer, looked up and nodded at her sister.

Anna sat down with a big grin on her face that said, “Yep, that’s my sister”.

It’s been a full 24 hours, and I still smile when I think of how excited Anna was to see her big sister last night.

It’s hard to imagine this experience means much to anyone else, but I wanted to capture it. You know, before they hit their teens and can’t stand either other.

11 years ago I drove our gutless but reliable Subaru Outback down 405 towards Overlake Hospital where our first child would be born a few hours later. We named her Luca.

Although I’d had about eight months to prepare for her arrival, I was as stunned as the day Kim told me I was going to be a father. I had no words to describe the feeling nor was I sure how to reply so I did what came naturally and hugged her while thinking, “I’ve got to get my act together.”

Any apprehension I felt before that day, disappeared the first time I wrapped Luca in a blanket like a burrito and rocked her to sleep.

Today I’m lucky if she’ll jump on my lap while I’m at my computer or on the couch. She prefers to position herself so that she can text with friends while I rub her feet. I wonder what I did to deserve such a lovely daughter who is like me in some ways, but better in so many others?

Yesterday afternoon, I snuck in the back of the gym to watch her principal recognize students for their achievements in subjects ranging from music to math. After the assembly, we spent a few minutes talking before I kissed her head and sent her back to class.

On the return drive to work, I thought to myself, “I just took over an hour out of my day to spend maybe two minutes with my daughter”.

Maybe, after 11 years, I’m beginning to get my act together.

Had I been out of town on a business trip I would have missed it.

If I were still commuting to Redmond I would have missed it.

Had my day been stacked with one meeting after another I would have missed it.

If I were still working for a boss who managed by intimidation and fear I would have missed it.

But I don’t and I didn’t.

On short notice I left work and drove three miles to my daughter’s school where I stood in a downpour waiting for her to emerge from her math competition.

That I had left my jacket in the car and was getting soaked didn’t matter because there was no way I was going to miss her smile when she recognized I was there to meet her.

These short and often unplanned interactions with my children may seem insignificant to many, but I’ve learned they are often the best moments in a day. But you have to be present. No elaborate weekend activity can make up for lost time.

Early in my career I relied on my spouse, neighbors or friends to pickup the slack because my job required a lot of travel.  And even when I was in town, I was taking calls and replying to email that never seemed to end. This is no way to live, but I had little to compare it to.

I won’t make that mistake again. No title or amount of money is worth having to miss out on these interactions.

I doubt today meant as much to my daughter as it did to me. But I’m betting that my cumulative efforts will pay off down the road. Because when the day comes when her smile is nowhere to be seen, I still want to her know that I’ll be there for her.

I looked over to catch my son and his friend tossing kettle corn in to the air and attempting to catch it in their mouths. They were laughing, cracking jokes and clearly enjoying themselves as they waited for the hockey game to begin.

My fears had been proven unfounded, and the Zambonis were still laying down fresh ice.

Maybe fears is too strong a word, but I  had concerns how this night would go. My son’s friend lost his father to cancer the day after Christmas. And before you think that I possess the kindness and sensitivity to provide a night of escapism for this young boy you should know Kim is the one who made it happen. All I did was provide the transportation and kettle corn.

It’s a wonderful sight to see your child genuinely connect with a friend, and that’s what I saw tonight. They shared the same jokes, finished each others sentences and even joined in the “Portland sucks!” fan chant after the Thunderbirds scored their third goal.

On the ride home, I asked my son’s friend to tell me about his brother, who I found out earlier, is a Marine serving in Afghanistan. The reverence in his voice told me how much he admired him. He went on to explain that his sister had recently joined the Naval Academy.

“It’s just me, my other sister and my mom now.”

As I drove along the Green River that connects Kent to Auburn, I listened to this 8-year boy share details about his father. He spoke with a confidence and pride that belie his age. I suspect that having to deal with a personal tragedy this young age tends to accelerate the maturity process.

I thought back to my father helping me sculpt my pinewood derby when I was eight and wondered who will do the same for him? Who will show him how to grip a curveball, throw a spiral, or talk to him about girls in a few years? These things have a way of taking care of themselves is what I tell myself.

The game went longer than I’d anticipated. I hoped his mother would understand, but we weren’t far from his home now.

Given his brother and sister’s military service, I asked if he planned to serve when he got older. He didn’t answer immediately, and I wondered if he’d heard me.

“I’m going to join the Army because my dad was in the Army.”

We pulled up to his home, and Lincoln walked him to the door.

As I waited in the car I thought to myself how it was a good thing I was the only person sitting in the front seat tonight.

I left work early to pickup Luca who stayed after school to participate in the math club. She hadn’t shut the car door before launching into one story after another. She told me how much she loves her teacher and her friends before pulling out her report card and giving me the run down of her grades.

She’s like a water faucet that’s either turned off or on full blast. There’s no in-between.

She’s not as talkative on the morning drive to the bus, and I understand that these opportunities don’t come around often so I turned off the radio and listened.

I can’t help but see that my influence with her is slowly being transferred to teachers, and friends, and and classmates. Then there are books, TV and music as well as others I’m not aware of yet. I’m still around, but my voice has company, and a lot of it.

Tonight she asked me to help her print pictures for a science fair project. We took turns trimming colored paper that would be used to frame the pictures. I showed her how to access documents on my computer from any other computer in the house. She showed me the chart she created in Excel. She was quick to point out that her principal taught her that.

Years ago had someone explained to me the amount of sheer joy I’d experience learning how candy crystals form from a little girl who still loves Scooby Doo, I would have thought they were deranged.

Days like today don’t come around often. But when they do, it’s hard to imagine a better day.

Before I could drive or was interested in girls, I spent many summer afternoons fishing at a small secluded pond about a mile from our home. My friends and I mostly fished for perch that we’d catch and release by the dozens

One afternoon we watched as an older boy cast his line far out into the middle of the lake and landed a pike which fought on the line for what seemed like an hour. He eventually brought the fish ashore while the rest of us stood around in awe. We’d never seen such an unusual fish come out of that pond, and we spent the two summers trying to land that elusive pike. Any firm bite was attributed to a pike, but none of us ever caught one. Perch were never quite as exciting again.

Those lazy summer afternoons spent with friends were a memorable time of my life, yet it’s hard to imagine a similar scenario repeating today. I’d like to believe that I’m not influenced by the never-ending media reports of missing children and abuse, but I am.  My mother and father kept close tabs on me as a young boy, but they also gave me the freedom to explore ponds, rivers, fields and tree forts  outside of our neighborhood. I’d like to my children to have that same freedom to forge their own friendships and enjoy outdoor activities.

With the internet and cable news reporting every missing child it’s impossible to know if anything has really changed since I was a kid. In the 70’s and 80’s we usually only heard reports of missing children if they were from our town. Today, incidents that take place thousands of miles away often feel as though they are one town or neighborhood away. 

I have no idea if I’m keeping my children any more safe then my parents did with their children. We didn’t have Nintendo, Xbox and iPods to keep us entertained at home so we were constantly looking for adventure, even when it took us a mile or two from home. 

I wonder if many of the outdoor dangers have been replaced by those online.

As we head into Spring I need to remember that my kids naturally want to spread their wings and explore. And that I don’t need to freak out if they happen to ride their bikes a little further down the street.

Each Tuesday morning I get up early to drop my daughter off at the bus stop. We don’t say much to each other as we wait in the dark for the lights to peer around the corner. When I see the lights, I push the button to open the van’s sliding door. Luca grabs her backpack and cello. I pat her on the head and tell her I love her before watching, what looks like a large cello with small feet,  cross the street to the bus.

I won’t be there when she gets home from school so I rely on Kim to share how her day went. The same goes for our three other children. Monday through Friday I’m a part of their lives in short bursts lasting but a few minutes here and there.

I had no idea how I’d take to fatherhood. In all honestly, I didn’t know if I’d have children. I recall telling my mother a few years into my first marriage that I didn’t need children to be happy. I’m certain my answer was, in many ways, a reflection of how I felt about myself twenty years ago. What I tried to convey to my mother was that I was already happy and having children wouldn’t change that.

What I didn’t realize twenty years ago was how much joy children would bring into my life.

Last night we piled the kids in the van and drove around town without a destination in mind. Lincoln and Anna were reciting lines from Napoleon Dynamite. Kai tried his best to join in while Luca was telling us about the latest book she read. It was pure chaos. I can’t imagine the 20 year old me getting excited about spending a couple hours in a van full of kids driving around Seattle in a rain storm.

Kids have a way of recalibrating my priorities. Balancing my personal hobbies, my career, and my friends occasionally comes at the expense of spending time with my family. I’m blessed to have married a woman who loves being a mom to our children. We’ve both learned to recognize when the other needs a breather and not take it personally.

Most of my friends around my age are watching their kids go off to college. Our oldest won’t head off to middle school till next year. That used to bother me because I was jealous they’d get to travel, purchase smaller cars and do all that fun stuff financial planning commercials tell us empty nesters are doing.  Maybe I’ll feel the same way after my kids hit their teens and begin dating and driving.

But next Tuesday morning those same friends should be jealous of me.