Take a Number

24.

That’s the number I pulled from the “Please take a number” dispenser at the auto licensing agency. I took a seat and motioned for Luca to sit next to me while we waited for our number to be called.

I need car tabs. The department of licensing website is a maze of confusion, and I wasn’t clear on exactly what paperwork was required.

So I called the licensing agency first thing this morning and got lost in phone tree hell. Pressing zero to talk to someone hung up on me the first two times. I called back and was told call volumes were too high to remain on hold and to call back later. Lovely service.

This afternoon I finally got through to a woman after waiting on hold for 20 minutes. To say she wasn’t thrilled to to speak to me would be an understatement. I asked her to list everything I needed to bring with me to the licensing agency. She rattled off the items while I took detailed notes. When I asked if I could read my list back to her I swear I heard her eyes roll.

I organized my paperwork. I was good to go!

Or so I thought as my number was called and I approached the counter to pickup my new tabs. The young women glanced over my paperwork and began shaking her head almost immediately.

“I called ahead to make sure I was prepared. Am I missing something?”

She didn’t answer. Instead she pulled a skinny piece of pink paper from the drawer and began jotting down a list of items and signatures I was missing.

She didn’t say a word, nor did she look at me. I wanted to slam my hand on the counter and say, “Hey, can you acknowledge I’m here or is that too much for you?”

I left without new tabs after spending my morning dealing with people who treated me worse than the skin heads that enjoyed hassling me when I served as a missionary in Germany. At least they would look at me before spitting on my name tag.

Luca sat in the back of the car playing her Nintendo while I drove without saying much. I was frustrated as I pulled into Taco Time. Luca asked if we could go inside. I had no desire to speak to anyone, but thought it would be a good idea to settle down before heading home.

I ordered lunch for us that included cinnamon Crustos which Luca loves, especially when she doesn’t have to share with her siblings. We sat across from each other at the table while we waited for our food.

Of course, when our food arrived they’d given us a beef instead of bean burrito which is the main reason Luca chose Taco Time. I immediately began making a mental list of everything that had gone wrong today. All the calls and waiting in line to be treated like crap. I felt as though I’d wasted my day and should head home and try again tomorrow. Nothing was working.

That’s when Luca said, “I’ll go order me a bean burrito. It’s not a big deal”.

And she did and returned to her seat across from me where she sat on her knees and leaned towards the table. She told me she loved having her grandparents in town. She asked when we would leave for our vacation to Utah and how long we’d stay. She told me how she’d learned to swim and couldn’t wait to show me. She usually asks me what my worst favorite color is but she didn’t, and it’s a good thing because I never know how to answer that question.

In less than two minutes my day changed.

How many fathers had lunch with their daughter or son today and learned a little more about what makes them tick? If that’s all I was able to do then in no way was today a failure.

I like to say that I see a lot of myself in her, but that’s not entirely true.

Today I saw in my daughter something I’m still trying to gain.

Simple Living

In 2004, we sold our home and moved to southern Utah. We rented a small home, owned one car and my commute to work took less than 10 minutes.

We had no mortgage or large loans hanging over our heads.

What we did have is freedom. We’d signed a month-to-month lease on the home so we felt as though we could pack up and leave at any time. That’s such a wonderful feeling, yet it’s one I’d forget less than a year later.

When the air conditioner broke down, the owner picked up the tab. There were no major financial surprises like a $3500 water heater replacement.

Because we lived under our means, I didn’t feel compelled to spend my nights and weekends climbing the corporate ladder. There was no pressure to inflate my billable hours. My work remained at work.

We spent our free time at the swimming pool or the park. And Kim’s parents lived around the corner so we spent a lot of time chatting over dinner. I formed a strong relationship with my in-laws that remains today. I can’t overestimate how much my children enjoyed living close to their grandparents. They would move back today.

A year later we left the gorgeous red mountains of St. George and returned to the Seattle area where I haven’t been as successful living a simple life. I continue to reflect on the lessons taught in one of the most influential books I’ve read, The Simple Living Guide by Janet Luhrs.

I picked up the book over ten years ago on a recommendation from my brother-in-law and have thought back to the many people profiled in that book who had few possessions yet lived happy and fulfilled lives. More than one example has stuck with me over the years, but I remembered one specific story as I spent the afternoon working on my twelve year old car.

Luhrs tells a story about how she saved money by driving older cars. One morning around the breakfast table, her teenage son begged her to trade in her older car for a new SUV. Over the next few days, she test drove new SUVs that would accommodate her family. She got a firm price quote that included trading in her older car. She also called around to find the best loan terms.

Then she gathered her family explained in detail the new SUV she’d found. Of course, the children were thrilled and wondered how soon it could be parked in their driveway.

That’s when Luhrs began to explain how taking on a new car loan and higher insurance premiums would change the family. In order to afford that new SUV, she explained how it would require her to work a few extra hours each day so not to expect help with homework. She also wouldn’t be able to attend their soccer and baseball games because she’d need to work Saturdays.

Her children began to understand the sacrifices they would need to make in order to afford the new SUV. Luhrs presented the facts and allowed her children to decide what was more important: new SUV or time with mom. Put in those terms, their older car didn’t look so bad.

In many ways, I’ve tried return to return to how I felt in 2004. Kim and I often discuss why our family was happiest during this time. I know part of it was living so close to family. That’s a major benefit especially with younger children. But I’m convinced that’s only part of it.

St. George is much smaller than Seattle so we had fewer distractions pulling us in many directions. In Seattle, I’m more likely to spend my free time at a tech gathering or sporting event. In St. George, that time was spent pulling my kids around the park in a wagon.

I wish I were better at finding balance because I know it only gets more hectic as children become more involved in school and church activities. Although it can be uncomfortable, I have to say no more than I’d like. Over-committing myself, be it with work, church or friends, takes the same toll on my body and mind that debt does. They zap both time and energy.

I look at my calendar this weekend, and it contains not a single event or commitment. Maybe I’m beginning to make progress.

Time to pull out the wagon.

What’s a Real Job?

“Are you going to get a real job?”

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been asked this question. I believe most people define a “real job” as one that requires reporting to an office at a designated time each day to participate in the rituals we all recognize from Office Space.

I’m don’t know how to answer the question because I don’t know what a real job is anymore.

But whenever I’m asked the question, I’m reminded how much time I’ve spent sleep-walking through life. I don’t know if it has to do with how I was raised or the church with which I’m affiliated or my natural inclinations. It’s probably a combination of each. But I feel as though many of my friends and family are supportive of my decisions as long as I color within the lines when it comes to managing my career.

And not just my career but many of the major decisions I’ve made over the past 40+ years. When faced with a decision, I’ve often selected the path of least resistance because, well, explaining a desire do otherwise leads to confused looks and far too many questions. Only later do I kick myself.

I’m not saying that many decisions didn’t turn out well. Just that some were made giving no consideration to alternatives. Some of these feelings come from being raised in a Mormon family where members are taught to fall in line, turn the other cheek and don’t do anything outsiders could consider batsh*t crazy.

Despite all that, I’m happy with how how my family is evolving. It’s not always smooth, but I like what I see in my children day to day. Until a few months ago, 60 hours of my week was spent outside our home. At best, I was a part of their lives for a few hours each weekday. Now I see them more in a day than I did in a week.

Kim and I walked around the track at our local middle school last night. Our kids played on the football field as we walked. Every few minutes one of them would run over to us, tell us something in their out-of-breath voice, then run off to play again.

Other than Luca begging for ice cream,I don’t remember much of what they said. But I enjoyed how they kept us involved in their conversations.

We walked a few miles before loading the kids in the van and driving home. When I pulled into our driveway and turned off the car, my 3-year old son began yelling, “Get me out, Dad, get me out!”

I know the feeling. Wear, say, and behave this way. Get me out!

I want to raise children who color outside the lines like Anna who twirled her way around the football field last night. I want to encourage them to respectfully question the status quo. I want them to do well in school but not at the expense of suffocating an inquisitive soul. I want them to be as mindful of how they treat others as they are about their assignments and grades.

I want each of them to figure out what brings them joy and pursue that. I don’t want them to be like me at 43 years old and say, “I wish I had become a teacher.”

But that would put a stop to the “real job” questions.

A Pile of Expectations

When I attend church, I’m reminded of all the times I come up short in my responsibilities as a church member, husband and father. There are times in my life where work, family and religion live together in harmony.

That’s not how it’s felt lately.

Pick two, any two and I’m within my comfort zone. But add one more and I sputter, veer off the road and crash into a pile of expectations.

I sat at my computer this afternoon doing a little of everything except being productive. I was aware that Luca was sitting at the computer behind me, but paid her little attention. Her brother and sister were off having fun running through the water, but Luca didn’t want to wear a swimming suit until it was too late.

“This is my time to chat with Luca”, I told myself. She’d been at the beach with her grandparents for the past week.

Then again, maybe I should let her cool down. She doesn’t look happy. I’ll wait till she looks like she wants to talk. Yep, I’ll keep waiting.

And so I waited.

And waited some more before my mind drifted off to some part of the web I wouldn’t remember thirty seconds after closing my browser.

That’s when I noticed Luca pushing her chair towards mine. What does she want? Probably to fetch her favorite snack: refried beans and tortilla chips. Or maybe she wants to borrow my iPad. Or beg me to play Sorry or Apple to Apple with her.

But I was wrong.

Luca scooted her chair next to mine then leaned over and put her head on my shoulder without saying a word.

It shouldn’t take my daughter’s affection to snap me out of a funk. These concerns of mine won’t matter a week or even a day from now.

All those imperfections I see in myself don’t matter to her. She sees a shoulder to lean on when things aren’t going her way.

I’m glad I was wrong.

People Are Strange

One of the few facts I knew about my father as a young boy was his adoration of The Doors music. Wikipedia didn’t exist back then, and I was too young to know Jim Morrison was a controversial figure who was the first rock artist to be arrested while performing onstage, among other dicey antics.

As newlyweds, my father even convinced my mother accompany him to a concert when the Doors toured through Utah. The thought of Jim Morrison performing in Utah still makes me smile. To this day, I’m not convinced my mother has forgiven my father for buying those tickets.

Yet, I never really embraced the Doors. Their music felt distant and Morrison’s voice didn’t connect with me. Even the organ reminded me of church, which was painfully boring to a boy wearing a clip-on tie and attempting to remain awake during the three hour service. It wasn’t until years later when I watched Apocalypse Now and heard The End that I began to understand the mystery of the Doors.

This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end

My mother couldn’t stand the Doors and especially Jim Morrison. When I began listening to rock music in my teens, I’d often use a comparison to them when my mother would express displeasure in my choice of bands. For example, “Hey, at least David Lee Roth didn’t expose himself onstage”. No matter how raunchy my music was, it was never worse than what the Doors performed.

It was the early 80’s and groups like Van Halen, Def Leppard, and Rush were popular. MTV was all the rage and we had it before many of my friends. Girls were still too scary to approach so we’d spend Friday nights in front of my parents 19-inch Magnavox watching music videos. I even began to like Big Log by Robert Plant after the twentieth viewing. I swear MTV played Big Log every sixth video.

The only solo effort from Plant I still enjoy is In the Mood and then not even the entire song. The first minute of the song rocks because Plant doesn’t sing, and the last minute rocks because Plant makes up incomprehensible lyrics. But that didn’t stop me from singing along. I’m still surprised my mom didn’t ask me to explain the title of the song. Or ask why Plant swims in his boxer shorts.

It wasn’t long before I sat in the locker room after a baseball game and one of my teammates played Pink Floyd’s, The Wall. I heard Comfortably Numb and was hooked. He let me borrow The Wall and Dark Side of the Moon and I’d found my favorite band that still stands today.

Most of my friends thought Pink Floyd was too strange. That made me like them even more. I was listening to Mother while they listened to Billy Jean. There were a few older boys who loved Floyd, and when I discovered them, was invited into their unofficial Floyd Fan Club. We sat around listening to their albums trying to decipher the lyrics. We probably should have started with Comfortably Numb.

Those are fond memories. I’m glad my parents let me discover my own musical tastes minus the heavy handed tactics. One of my friends purchased the Business as Usual album by Men at Work only to have his father toss it in the fire before he could play it. I’m not kidding. The guys who gave us the vegemite sandwich fed the flames.

His next album, REO Speedwagon, was safe at our house. Imagine if he’d brought home Motley Crue?

How close do you monitor what your children listen to?

Air Jordans

In 1992, I was a student at the University of Utah. I happened to run through Nordstrom on my way to catching a bus to campus when I saw these shoes. I stopped, held the shoe in my hand for a minute before flipping it over to see the $125 price tag attached to the sole.

Ouch.

My part-time job delivering vacuum cleaners and chemicals to LDS churches around the area paid for my books and not much more. But I was able to save five bucks here and there by bringing my lunch to school instead of eating at the cafeteria. I filled in at work a few times that month when others were sick.

Eventually I was able to save up enough money to purchase the Air Jordans. When I stopped by Nordstrom, all they had in stock was the white model. I had to have the black so I waited another week.

They were well worth the wait. They are still the favorite basketball shoe I’ve ever owned. They were comfortable and very lightweight. Unfortunately, that comfort came at a price as the leather was soft but thin and not very durable.

I love the red accents, the extended rubber tongue and loop near the back which made pulling them onto my feet a cinch. I still believe they are the best looking basketball shoe ever made. I wore them out in less than a year playing basketball at the Deseret Gym.

I’d pay $125 on the spot to find a pair today.

Do you have a favorite shoe?

The Finish Line

As my children go through life I keep my fingers crossed they are learning lessons that will anchor them as adults. Such lessons range from, if the burner is red, don’t touch it, to asking permission before borrowing any item that belongs to someone else.

Kids learn many of these lessons at home. But, as I learned this week, lessons aren’t always predictable and sometimes they teach more than the intended target.

My oldest son, Lincoln, signed up for a track and field camp this summer. He enjoys the practices where he can participate in each event without the pressure of competition. Although he’s enjoyed learning the long jump and taking part in the shorter races, he prefer the distance events.

That’s Lincoln in the blue shirt, taking his time down the final stretch.

Every other week, a meet is held where children around the greater Seattle area are invited to participate in a number of events. Although the atmosphere is geared towards having fun, the children earn ribbons and the events are timed. The kids also race in front of an audience which enhances their desire to perform well.

One lesson I want my children to learn is to be humble in victory and gracious in defeat.

Two months ago, Lincoln’s pinewood derby won 9 of 9 races, and he took home the first place trophy. I was proud at how he carried himself that evening. At the time, I didn’t realize this was his first taste of competition, and he came away without experiencing a loss.

Fast forward to the last two track meets where he finished dead last or second to the last in each race he entered. By the time the third meet arrived, he said his muscles were sore. Or he was tired. Or whatever might get him out of competing. We told him, if he was tired, he could enter one race instead of three most children do. He’d run hard the day before at practice, and we explained to him that some soreness was to be expected.

When we arrived at the track he broke down in tears. We’d packed up the family and travelled about 50 minutes to the high school where the meet took place. Kim and I considered heading back to the car and calling it a night. But we discussed it and decided that Lincoln should compete in one event. He’d committed to the program, and I didn’t matter if he crossed the line last as long as he gave his best effort. Also, his team from Auburn was counting on him.

Lincoln sulked his way over to his coach and entered the 100 meters. Although he got off to a good start, he came in last place. He probably didn’t enjoy running past all those parents only to cross the finish line after everyone else. After the race, he came over to us. He didn’t complain or make excuses. We hugged him, told him we loved him and were proud of his effort.

As I stood next to Kim, just off the track, the girls racing the 100 meters ran in front of us towards the finish line. As they crossed, a man handed each of them a ribbon. Parents were there to greet them and more hugs were exchanged.

That’s when I noticed one girl. She was still running down the track nearing the half way mark. Well, she wasn’t running, she was hobbling. But even that’s not a good description of what I saw. This little girl with long black hair, was rocking back and forth from one leg to the next, angling her body down the track. As she got closer to me, I noticed she was wearing a brace on both legs. Her legs didn’t bend at the knee like the other girls who were off preparing for their next event.

As she neared the stands, the parents erupted in applause and encouragement.

I turned to Kim and said, “I wish Lincoln were still here to see this.” He was off playing with his friends under the stands.

There will be more opportunities for Lincoln to learn that winning isn’t everything. I know that after witnessing this brave little girl, I focus less on the winning and more on enjoying whatever sport he decides to take up.

Simple Backup

It happened again today. A friend called me asking for help in reviving his PC that will no longer boot. He believes he caught a virus. I plugged it in, and sure enough, it won’t boot.

“Do you have your important files backed up?” I ask.

Queue the awkward pause. I got my answer.

Unfortunately, I’ve seen his scenario play out half a dozen times over the past year. A family shares an older model PC, usually running Windows XP or Vista. Files are saved haphazardly to a local drive. Malware and viruses enter the computer and eventually slow or shut it down. Or worse, a hard drive bites the dust.

And nobody backed up files to an external drive, CD/DVD, or online.

So this post is for my friends and readers who are in a similar situation. Eventually your hard drive will crash or you’ll catch a virus, or your children will delete the folder where all your financial data was saved.

I could tell you about nifty online back solutions or explain how I use a couple of small programs to copy files from one drive to another. But I’ll save that for a later post.

If you do not have a backup solution, stop what you’re doing and order this 500 gig drive from New Egg. Or this 1 TB drive if you have a lot of videos, music or other files that take up more space. This is not the most elegant or even the most effective backup solution. But it’s far better than nothing at all.

About a year ago, I advised my father to pickup an external drive and it’s saved his behind a number of times.

If your hard drive dies, and you end up paying someone to extract your data off it, you could be looking at hundreds if not thousands of dollars. And that’s the best case scenario.

About 10 years ago, I lost a years worth of pictures around the time our second child was born. I’m still kicking myself because I knew better.

Don’t let that happen to you. Grab a drive and backup your files today.

Another Father

I was asked to speak in church on Father’s Day. I’ve written much about my father so I decided to share how another father has influence my life.

In the summer of 2005 I accepted a job in Seattle while our family was living in St. George, Utah. The job started immediately which meant Kim and our three young children would remain in our home for over a month while I got settled into my new job and searched for a place to live during the crazy run-up in home prices.

Although I was able to fly back to Utah a few times, it was a stressful time for us, especially Kim who was on her own to pack our belongings and clean our home on top of raising our children. It was August when temperatures in Southern Utah can soar to well over 110 degrees. I lost track of the number of times I scorched my hand that summer while grabbing the car door handle.

We owned one car at the time which remained in Utah. I got around Seattle by bus which gave me a lot of time to reflect on my decision to uproot our family. I wondered if I was making the right decision to move our children away from their grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins. I wondered if I’d accepted the right job at the right company? Was the timing right? As the primary financial provider for my family, I wondered if making the move would eventually result in a wider selection of career choices. Given the ebb and flow of the technology sector, there were no guarantees.

I called Kim each evening to hear how things were going back in St. George. We’d chat for a while. I wanted to be there to help but couldn’t. But what I didn’t realize until later was that my family was watched over by another father, my father-in-law who lived a few blocks away.

Without waiting to be asked, he stopped by our home each day. One afternoon he replaced a burned out light bulb on our porch. Another time he brought over a phone when the battery ran out on our cordless model. And when I reminded Kim that the next morning was trash pickup she went outside to find that her father had come by, taken the cans to the curb, and returned home without saying a word.

My father-in-law stepped in to provide assistance when I wasn’t able to. This is an example of one father who understood that fatherhood requires leadership and offered it unconditionally to his extended family.

Time Well Spent

A couple of weeks of rain had my kids asking to see my iPhone to check the weather app for the first sun filled day of the month. Saturday rolled around, and I carefully selected an activity that included one part fun (water) and one part work (clean the van).

I filled a bucket full of sudsy soap and water, and it wasn’t long before Anna was sporting a bubble beard. You’d think four kids would spread out and each take a section of the van to clean. But no, they huddled around a tire to watch a ladybug.

We’d been outside over 30 minutes and only the tires and front grill were wet let alone clean. We’d hadn’t even looked at the inside of the car. I stood back and watched the kids play wondering how much longer we’d be outside and how I was going to explain to Kim why the kids were soaked.

We eventually cleaned the outside of the van, and I considered sending them to the backyard to play while I cleaned the inside on my own. That way, I’d clean it my way in a fraction of the time. Without any shenanigans.

Later that night I found the only couch in the house not already inhabited by kids, dogs or dolls. Before long Kim began to play the piano in the same room.

I watched as she played a song she’s been working to perfect. I never tire of listening to her play, and I don’t mind hearing the same song over and over as she learns each note and adds her own nuances.

With about a minute left, Kai jumped on the piano bench and began banging out a tune of his own. My first instinct would have been to gently remove him or at least try to block his little finger from the keys. I liken it to someone taking a black Sharpie to a painting that’s minutes away from completion.

But didn’t Kim didn’t react as I would have, and this is yet another reason our kids will be OK as long as she’s around.

She continued to play. Kai continued to do his thing while reminding her that he was there to help.

I thought back to earlier in the day as we cleaned the van. I decided to allow the kids to help me clean the inside. I would have vacuumed first. They washed the windows first. I would have cleaned from front to back. They started in in the very back and cleaned the vinyl cargo insert. They did it their way which was different than how I would have done it.

They saw firsthand what happens when an ice cream cone scrapes the ceiling or how a Swedish Fish melts into the seat if left in the sun. On reflection, the extra time was well spent.

I’m not at patient as Kim when it comes to including the kids in these type of activities. But I’m learning as I go. And maybe, next time, I’ll be the one running from Kai and the hose.