Hello My Family!

It started when Philip was just a baby. I'd come home from my office at the end of the day and announce, "Hello my family!"

Baby Philip loved the immediate attention I was ready to give him each time I returned home at the end of the day. When he learned to crawl, he would head off to meet me at the door. When he learned to walk and to run, all activity would stop in favor of rushing to meet me at the door. When he learned to speak, the announcement would be returned with "Daddy!" Even his mom would join him in the excitement of the moment.

Chloe was born when Philip was four years old. With her brother's encouragement, she was just as eager to participate in the early evening tradition. We had to make some rules once Chloe was old enough to realize her brother could outrun her to catch the first Daddy-hug. Philip would hold her hand, and together they would speed-walk into my arms. I'd kneel. Chloe would hug from the left and Philip would hug from the right. After a big squeeze and lots of "Daddy" chants, I’d give Amelia a quick kiss and then head over with the children to a big couch in either the living room or the family room of our home in San Geraldo. With Chloe on one side, Philip on the other and me sitting in the middle, I'd hear about their day. Amelia would referee the order in which the kids would speak so they wouldn’t talk over one another. She’d also translate some of the child-talk descriptions of the day’s activities.

The tradition helped our kids accept that their dad would be gone for most of the day five out of seven days and would sometimes even need to work on weekends. We had the privilege of having Amelia as a stay-at-home mom until Chloe turned nine years old. When we moved to Hermes in 2002 and my commuting time increased, the tradition remained just as important. During 2007 and 2008, I had a particularly long commute, and the tradition continued. More recently, Philip’s enjoyment of computer games now often tones down his response to a simple “Hi Dad,” shout from upstairs. At other times, he wants to engage me right away. In contrast, Chloe still always runs to me yelling, “Daddy!”

When I was let go from my long-commute job in January 2009, I indulged myself in seeing the kids off to school and picking them up at the end of the school day. Chloe particularly enjoyed the situation of having me home so much more. We had to explain that looking for a job was a job itself and so if I was working at the computer or speaking on the phone during the hours I would normally be at the office, she had to act as if I was actually at the office.

A little over a week ago I secured a contract-to-hire sales job working from home. We were not quite set up with a sequestered office in the house. The kids’ playroom was a possibility, but I rejected that idea in favor of opening a large fold-up table in the master bedroom suite. And so my first day began at 6:30 AM and I was behind a closed door for the entire day. The only exception was when I made myself some lunch, but nobody even saw that happen. By 6:30 PM, I’d worked a twelve hour day. It felt good to have a job again. It felt good to have no commute. I powered down my laptop and folded up the table to call it a day.

I walked out the door from the master suite, realizing my work day was over, as if I’d just left the office. Then I realized I was now officially home. As I began walking down the stairs, it seemed perfectly natural to belt out, “Hello my family!” In like manner, the response from Philip and Chloe was no different than if I had made the same pronouncement walking in through the front door.

Negotiating the Laptop with My Teen

I sat staring at my 2003 laptop for much longer than I would have liked. The image of the hourglass on the screen should have been a grandfather clock as far as I was concerned.

As a family we had talked about getting a new laptop for quite a while. We were particularly interested in getting Philip his own laptop, given high school was rapidly approaching. Philip was likewise eager to have a laptop he could call his own. He had his heart set on getting a high-end gaming laptop and was demonstrating his eagerness by saving as much money as possible. Philip had already managed to save over five hundred dollars toward his cause. And we had begun speaking with him about us splitting the cost with him so he could get the laptop he wanted sooner rather than later. Our target had been Philip’s birthday in late February, but my recent loss of employment initially appeared to have put off that investment.

Then the frozen screen in front of me inspired another idea. I needed a faster laptop, but only until I found new employment. Philip wanted a fast laptop and had saved aggressively for almost a year. And lastly, Amelia and I wanted to help him get his laptop, even despite the financial setback of me losing my job. I discussed the idea with Amelia before presenting it to Philip. He loved every aspect of the idea, including taking part in helping his dad find new employment. He could get the laptop he wanted and he could get it earlier than would otherwise be possible. In exchange, he would let me, his dad, use it until I completed my job search.

Philip was sold instantly. But Amelia and I wanted to be cautious. Philip’s dream laptop priced in at almost a mortgage payment. So there was a two week window between the time we first presented the idea to Philip and the evening we negotiated the terms to share the cost and made the actual purchase.

It was during that window that Philip’s behavior reminded me of myself at that time in life. I would see him pacing outside his room and downstairs in the family room. And then he would ask me if he could show me the computer he wanted or talk to me about certain features he really wanted, even though such features cost extra. My favorite pet feature of Philip’s was the illuminated keyboard. He would frequently ask when we would be making our final decision. And he would make various proposals regarding how he would share a greater cost burden so he could get the exact laptop he wanted as soon as possible. I could tell in his mind he was soaring, smiling at a future he envisioned with the illuminated keyboard laptop of his choice. It was difficult for him to empathize with his parents’ caution. And I remember well my mother cautiously weighing any major purchase on my behalf.

This past Thursday I had a seemingly achievable list of objectives for my job search that day. As I attempted to execute each action item without wasting time, I was continually frustrated by the amount of time I spent staring at the hourglass on the screen waiting. And so sometime after lunch, I had made my decision. I was going to get the laptop for Philip. When I got home, I sequestered Amelia to make my case to secure her final agreement. Then we told Philip. He was quite happy as one could imagine. But there was one effect that vanished. The soaring stopped. No more pacing and no more wanting to tell me about an idea he had.

Watching my son soaring will need to wait until the next exciting prospect emerges. Meanwhile, I’m looking forward to a laptop with response times one would measure with a stopwatch, rather than a grandfather clock.

Parenting's Gamble, Part II

The town of Hermes has a population of roughly twelve thousand, but over one thousand people converged on the local indoor skating rink this past Saturday evening to support and raise funds for a local family, the Bergins, whose three-year-old Robert developed a cancerous brain tumor that was caught by doctors in November. I’m so proud to be part of this community. But yet again, I am reminded of parenting’s gamble.

The Bergins have three kids: a son, Ryan, who has been on Philip’s soccer team for the past three seasons, a daughter, Rachel, who is in Chloe’s third grade class and of course Robert.

While Philip hit the video games and Chloe joined her friends skating, I secured a seat on the visiting roller hockey team bench and merely soaked in all of it. I’d brought a book, but I never cracked it. Classic rock was mixed with newer pop alternative music at a volume that allowed for talking at only a slightly raised voice. Announcements regarding the raffle and other festivities for the evening would sometimes preempt the music.

I hadn’t seen Robert since he’d gotten sick just after soccer season ended. Not long after I’d settled down, Sean Bergin, Robert’s father, paused at the edge of the skating rink to thank me for coming. Robert was in Sean’s arms dosing. Robert had a feeding tube and a hat to cover his chemo-balded head. Sean was wearing a backpack that managed the feeding process. “I’m so sorry all of you are going through this Sean,” I said, “but clearly you’re living in the right community.”

“That’s for sure,” he replied. “Thank you for coming.” And he moved along to thank other supporters.

Not long after, the announcer asked the guest skaters to move to the side of the rink to watch a semi-pro figure skater who grew up in Hermes perform. It was the peak of the evening. The speakers began piping in Spanish Guitar and I realized it was an unplugged version of Hotel California. The noise in the indoor rink quickly died down as everyone settled to watch the performance.

It was a beautiful and flawless performance. It gave me time to reflect. I had so many mixed feelings. I was so proud of my town and everyone who had taken part in the fund-raiser. I ached for the Bergin family and wished I could do more for them. I was thankful for my family’s health. And among those thoughts and feelings, I had concerns about our own family’s finances as my initial prospects for quickly returning to the workforce had either decided not to hire anyone, or had selected someone else.

I pushed those final thoughts and feelings to the back of my mind. They could return on Monday. This weekend belonged to the Bergins.