Kim and the kids were downstairs decorating Valentine’s Day cards. I decided to slip upstairs and relax. 

How often do you sit back and think? No music or TV blaring in the background. Phone turned off. No distractions or interruptions.

I don’t do this very often. Or when I do, I allow my mind to wander to an email I should send or wonder how tonight’s rose ceremony on the Bachelor will go down.

But tonight was different.

I sat there on a couch a friend gave us a few years back. It doesn’t match the room, and only the dog considers it comfortable. We’ve talked for four years about replacing it. We’ll probably still be discussing its replacement in another four years.

When I sat down on it tonight, I was pleased to find it was missing only one cushion. I turned my body to the side and eventually found a comfortable position with a blanket wedged under my head because I didn’t feel like tracking down a pillow.

And there I sat for a while thinking about nothing. I could hear the rain coming down on the back porch, and occasionally I’d hear one of the kids laugh from the basement. But it’s been a while since I carved out some time to just think.

As I was about to head downstairs to see how the Valentines were coming along, Luca tip-toed up the stairs and curled up next to me. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t try to tickle me or beg for gum or root beer.

We talked for a while. We laughed a lot. She asked me dozens of questions, many of which I couldn’t answer such as, “What is your worst favorite color?” (Pink is her answer)

She whips through topics so fast I can barely keep up. She tells me about a film she watched at school followed by something funny one of her classmates did at recess before explaining why she should be able to stay up late to watch Men in Black 2.

And like that, she was off to check on her Valentines.

I went back to staring at the wall.

But this time the first thought that popped into my mind was this: Everyone should be so lucky to have a daughter who doesn’t care if the couch is uncomfortable and missing cushions.

Luca reached her arms towards me like she does each night. She’s our oldest child but the only one who will not go down unless mom and dad tuck her into bed each evening.

Just a few feet below Luca on the bottom bunk was Anna. She doesn’t have the same bedtime demands. In fact, I wouldn’t have known she was there had I not kneeled down next to her.

I noticed her body faced the wall. Arms at her side. Not a “goodnight” to be heard.

Was she still awake? Was she so tired she jumped in bed on her own? Did she want to be left alone?

Kim sat on the hallway floor reading a book aloud. That way both the girls and Lincoln could hear the story. I decided to lay down next to Anna.

I put my head on the same pillow. Although we had little light, it only took a few seconds of looking into her eyes that I could tell something was wrong.

Could it have been the time at church today when I asked her to sit at the end of the bench? Was it the time Lincoln and Luca yelled at her because she wasn’t able to save them in a game of Super Mario Brothers? Did she feel left out of the conversation on tonight’s drive around town?

I don’t know the reason. But my instincts tell me something is not right with my daughter.

I couldn’t think of what say. I’ve learned that it’s best to keep quiet during these times instead of forcing meaningless small talk.

I brushed the hair out of Anna’s eyes and tickled her back. Still no reaction. At least she knows I’m here, I told myself.

As I was about to kiss her goodnight, Lincoln yelled out, “I have a wedgie!” to which mom replied, “Well, I’m not getting it out”.

Anna giggled for a bit before returning her head to the same spot on the pillow.

Yes, at least she knows I’m here.

Luca invited me to spend the afternoon with her class on a field trip to the White River Valley Museum this afternoon.

The two 3rd grade classes broke up into four groups, and we made our way around the exhibits with the help of volunteers. We listened to many stories about the Native American tribe that lives in our area: The Muckleshoot Tribe.

Our volunteer explained to the children how the tribe used cedar in nearly everything they created. Not only is cedar strong but it’s waterproof. I didn’t realize they often wore clothing made of cedar like this women who is searching for clams.

We watched a short film of a father and son removing strips of cedar from a very large tree. The father mentioned how he wanted to pass on this tribal tradition to his son while he was still alive. The son carefully followed his father’s instructions. Their mutual respect was apparent.

The filmmaker cut to the father who explain he had other children, but had taken the time to only show this son how to harvest cedar in this manner.

And then he said something that’s stuck with me all day.

I do not plan to teach each of my children all the traditions of the tribe. I will teach one or two traditions to each. If I taught all of them everything, they would not learn to rely on each other. When I’m gone, I want them to bond and work together.

At first this sounded strange. But I like it the more I think about it.

I tend to teach my kids the same skills. Sure, one may gravitate towards music while another spends more time playing soccer. But we tend to raise generalists who are self-sufficient. We expect our children to eventually go their own way. The idea of relying on a sibling for a basic need does not fit into our culture.

I’ve wondered how this might translate into teams at work. I’ve worked in groups where everyone has similar skills and others where each person possessed a specialized set of skills. The group I currently manage trends towards the former.

Even though it may go against the grain, I believe this wise father is on to something.

I didn’t know that Seth Godin had released a new book called “Linchpin: Are You Indispensible?” until I read his blog this morning. I found it on Amazon but am going to wait until it comes to iTunes as an audiobook.

While browsing the Huffington Post tonight I came across an article Godin wrote called “Is Control the Answer”.  A few passages struck a chord:

I don’t think it’s an accident that corporations and governments have similar structures.

CEOs are a lot like kings and presidents. They’ve got power and perks and deniability. They order people around, pretend to be infallible and are apparently hired to think big thoughts…

But in business, we’re seeing a divergence. Quite suddenly, markets and systems are changing so fast that top down control isn’t the asset it used to be.

…if your business deals in ideas, control will stifle them. If your organization deals with the public, control will inevitably alienate your best customers.

Power in a world without control doesn’t happen just because you’re elected or appointed or have a great title. Now, power comes from connection and leadership and respect. The way you treat people (all of them, even those without apparent authority) comes back to you again and again, which means that our new leaders embrace dignity and respect instead of the traditional trappings of top down organizations.

I especially enjoyed the part about how leadership is gained through respect and how you treat people. Not just in good times but bad.

It’s human nature to route around those who attempt to control our freedom.

I’ve experienced this with my children. The minute I block off an area of the house, my two-year old sets off on a quest to gain access to that area.

As a teen, I had little interest in drinking Coke until my parents banned it from the house. Once I knew they didn’t approve, I bought one every day.

And when the IT head at a company I used to work for banned instant messaging, the tech savvy showed everyone (including marketing and sales) how to use Meebo.

Next time you exert control over someone, it may be useful to consider what reaction you’ve encouraged. Because the reaction might cause more damage than had you left control with the individual.

I need to remember this advice when dealing with those I manage and those I’m responsible for at home.

Which of the four brushes do I use?

Do I put water on the brush or leave it dry?

Do I use gel or hairspray?

These are the questions I ask myself as I run a comb through my daughter’s hair this morning.

We are supposed to meet Kim at church in fifteen minutes, and it takes me ten to catch Kai racing around the house.

When I say, “We are going to make it on time!” all I hear is laughter coming from the living room.

Yet, I don’t want to rush it.

Few parents will mention these moments to those considering starting a family. They will gush about watching their son hit for the cycle or their daughter’s perfect technique at the dance recital. No doubt, these are memorable accomplishments that make both child and parent proud.

But raising four children has taught me to appreciate the more mundane moments. Maybe it’s a survival technique.

I’m careful to grab hold of Anna’s hair as I comb through a few snarls. “Are you making me pretty, Dad?”, she asks.

I finished combing her bangs before lifting her up by the waist so she could see herself in the mirror.

She flipped her hair and smiled.

And answered her own question.