I sat in my car parked just outside the school. I was 20 minutes early before our two oldest children would walk through the doors towards the buses lined alongside the playground.

The sky was overcast except for a slice of sun that shined down upon a row of maple trees.  Occasionally a gust of wind whipped through the neighborhood and knocked hundred of leaves off the branches blanketing the streets. It looked like a delivery truck carrying bright yellow and red Post-It Notes had turned over setting the street ablaze with color.

I don’t often have the opportunity to pickup my kids from school. I’m sure Lincoln will tell me what he did at recess, and Luca will explain what she had for lunch. I think back to what I did in third grade, and all I remember is running home from school because my teacher slammed a ruler down on my desk. I probably deserved it.

The bell rings four times and the kids begin running in all directions. Excitement reflects off their faces. I can’t tell if the children are carrying the backpacks or vice versa. I stand just outside Lincoln’s class which doesn’t mean much because he runs out the door and right past me. “Oh, hi Dad”, he says when I catch up to him. He’s wearing a blue and gold crown he made in class.

“Did you know this crown makes me a king?” he asks.

“Oh does it? What does a king do?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. I think they sit around and wear hats”

Luca’s class exits from the back of the school. Lincoln and I stood on the sidewalk hoping she’d notice us as she walked towards the bus. A few minutes went by, and I wondered if she’d already boarded the bus. She would not be happy if I picked up Lincoln and left her on the bus.

As I was about to look for her near the school entrance, I saw a girl in a red sweater running towards us. Her blond hair bounced up and down. But it was her smile I recognized.

“Dad! Dad! I love when you come get us!”

She removed her backpack, threw her arms around my neck and gave me a cold kiss on the cheek.

I threw both backpacks over my shoulder, and took each of them by the hand.

Just in time to skip through the leaves falling in the breeze.

If I were to sum up my father in one sentence it would be this:

He’s planned out where he’ll spend Thanksgiving through the year 2017.

That tells you a lot about my father. He’s incredibly organized, and he likes to plan out his days, weeks and holidays. He flies to Seattle a few times each year, and I look forward to the phone call the night before where he shares the flight details with me. He not only tells me his arrival time and airline choice, but he shares with me his seat assignment, plane make and model, weather forecast (Salt Lake City and Seattle) and whether he’ll be served a snack or full dinner.

This level of detail and organization didn’t always translate well to the habits of a young boy. My father liked to get up early each morning and accomplish a lot of  before noon. His schedule was front loaded while mine was back loaded. There were times I wanted to mow the lawn or weed the garden later in the day when shade appeared. That didn’t always go over well with my dad.

But over the years, I’ve come to appreciate my father’s way of organizing his life, and I believe he’s able to appreciate mine. I could not keep his schedule, and he could not keep mine. That’s OK.

I’m more spontaneous. I don’t plan out as many elements of my day as my father does. I’m certain some of our differences are generational. My father spent over 30 years teaching in the same school district. I can hardly imagine spending 3 years in the same job. My father is the loyal, life-long employee and I’m the nomadic free agent.

As I help raise our children, I wonder which of my traits I will pass on to them. I also wonder which ones they’ll wish had fallen off the family tree.

One of my father’s best traits today is one I don’t remember him exercising very often for the first 20 years of my life: telling his children how much he loves them. This is something I’m trying to do more of although it comes more naturally with my daughters. I don’t know why.

Tonight, when I tucked Lincoln into bed, I kissed him on the forehead and told him I loved him without giving much thought to it. As I got up to leave he asked:

“Dad, why do you tell me you love me every day?”

“Because I don’t want you to forget”

He giggled a few times and, although it was dark, I could see a smile stretch across his face.

I think my dad would have been proud.

Years ago I attended a banquet at Brigham Young University where Jeffrey R. Holland spoke. He was the president of the university at the time. He was introduced to the group by his wife who described him as the ultimate multi-tasker. She told us about how each morning he’d sit at the kitchen table eating his breakfast while reading the news, taking notes and conversing with his children. She explained how he felt like he was wasting time by not working on more than one thing at a time.

When I heard President Holland speak, I felt like a slacker. When I’m having  bowl of cereal for breakfast, I struggle to chew and read the back of the cereal box at the same time. I can’t imagine adding a few more chores to my breakfast.

Over the years, I’ve thought back to this talk. Technology has made it easier to multi-task since then, but I wonder if we’re better off for it?

I’m not saying what President Holland does at breakfast is wrong. I’m not as busy as the president of a university and can’t imagine the demands it places on his schedule. But I don’t believe that juggling multiple tasks or responsibilities works in all situations.

I’ve been guilty of bringing my iPhone to the dinner table. I know I shouldn’t do it, but it’s not easy to keep it in its cradle while I spend those few minutes with my family. I’m on email for 12+ hours a day, so why do I need to add a 13th?

I took a day off work on Wednesday. When it came time to pickup Anna from the bus, I’d normally take my iPhone along in case I get bored. At the last minute, I placed it back in its cradle.

I made the short walk to the bus stop where I stood on the curb with my hands in my pockets wondering if Anna would be surprised to see me. The warmth of the sun felt good to my face. This is my favorite time of year in Seattle. Just enough blue sky and crisp air to get us through the cold, dark winter months.

The brakes on the bus squealed as the bus descended Lea Hill and turned onto our street. The bus driver waved at me as Anna came bouncing down the stairs. Her blond hair danced off her shoulders as she ran across the street to give me a hug.

“Dad, why didn’t you go to work?”

“Because who would have chased and tickled you after you got off the bus?”

She held my hand as we walked towards home. Well, I walked and Anna skipped and sang goofy songs. She explained why we should walk on the sidewalk and showed me where a mean dog lives. Every sentence is filled with excitement.

Not once did I think about my iPhone. But I did wish our home were a few blocks further from the bus stop.