A Gift of Grace

The four of us sat around the campfire -- me, my wife Amy, and our two daughters, Beatrice and Bryce. We talked about anything and everything. We talked about the nice Thanksgiving we had at my sister's, the first time in three years. We talked about Christmas being our favorite time of the year, especially for Beatrice (who already had me listening to Christmas music before Thanksgiving, again). We talked about going to Disneyland again after the holidays and what we looked forward to. We talked about school and what they looked forward to and not looked forward to. Like Monday after a holiday.

As we sat around the campfire, I watched our kids' animated faces in the firelight, and again witnessed the years that had already rushed by since they were babies. A joyful journey of multi-dimensional universes: from holding their tiny bodies close, to  toddler-ville, to childhood, and now to today's sassy teen world. I looked at my wife, the firelight highlighting her beauty as if she hadn't aged a day since we met.

But I knew our faces were older, softer, with deeper lines etched along our foreheads, eyes, and mouths where there none years ago. I smiled at her as I listened to our daughters share. I imagined us sitting there together 20 years from now, always comfortable sharing our lives with each other. Our girls all grown up with lives of their own sharing the adventures they've had. Their ups and downs. Their hopes and fears. Their passions and dislikes. Their loves and heartbreaks. Maybe they had spouses of their own, and children of their own, and we now all sat around the campfire together (God, let that be a long time from now). 

Back to our campfire moment at hand, though. The flames danced below us and the stars shone brightly above. Our girls were teens again and we talked and laughed and the smiles kept coming. I'm grateful every day for my family, but there was something more magical this time about that campfire time. A closeness that transcended the bounds of time as I traveled from the past to present to future to present again. Being everywhere all at once would usually be overwhelming for me, resulting in tears, but this time I embraced it all with a joyful smile, living lifetimes in moments, and moments that felt like lifetimes. 

No matter where I went in time, I felt tethered to the love that surrounded me, one that kept reminding me that every moment I experience with my family is a gift of grace. 

Reciprocal Ripples

"You guys judge too much," Bryce said to us at our latest family meeting.

"I don't think we do," my wife Amy said. "We try not to."

"Yes, you do," Beatrice said. "Like about Trump for example." 

Fair enough, I thought. But c'mon.

"Your dad and I talk about current affairs and things that affect our family, yes, but that doesn't always mean we're judging," Amy said. "Sometimes maybe, but not always."

"What about other people we know," Bryce said. "Like family or friends."

Ouch. Not fair.

"There's a difference between talking about someone we know and care about, than simply dumping on them because we wish them misery," I said.

"Still judging," Bryce said.

"No, it's not."

"Well, what about The Masked Singer?" Beatrice said. 

Funny. And true. But in a entertaining way. The Masked Singer being the singing competition show where famous contestants dress up in elaborate costumes and sing and a celebrity panel (and the audience) try to guess who they are. It's a family favorite of ours. 

"That's different," Amy said. "That's fun judging -- and a fun show!"

"Still judging."

Sigh.

When the girls were little, we knew they didn't pick up much of what we discussed out loud near them or in front of them. But over the past few years, they definitely pick it all up. If they do overhear, and ask us questions about what we're talking about, we do our best to give them context and clarity about why we're saying what we're saying. 

And while we don't deny we've been judgy at times about what we've discussed in front of our children, it's never done out of malice. Anger and frustration sometimes, but never malice. This is why we've worked on as adults and parents is finding joy in the success of others, of those overcoming obstacles and improving their lives and mental health, and more, and how we can help or support their success (you might have heard the German word Freudenfreude that means this). In other words, what it's like to have empathy. Something our girls remind us of every single day with their own actions (their sassy words are another story). 

As opposed to deriving pleasure and joy from someone else’s suffering or misfortune (you might have heard the German word Schadenfreude that means this). Why do so many long to see others fail? Get thoroughly excited by it even? Especially when political leaders, sports figures, actors and musicians, and others closer to home like family and friends, fail. Why? Because it can make someone feel better about themselves, about their own situation? Yes, it can. I know, because we've been there. 

But not anymore. (Mostly, we mean. We are human after all.) No matter what happens, we'd rather celebrate the personal wins of others and how we can all pay it forward in kind to others. Reciprocal ripples that buoy our interconnected souls. 

Yes, I just wrote that. No judging. 

Our Family Safety Zen

The last thing I should've done was to get in their faces, but that's exactly the first thing I did. The reaction was swift and effortless, as if my hand was already ready to flip the switch when provoked.

"Dad, that boy just poked me and laughed at me," our oldest daughter Beatrice said to me. "He's bullying me and I'm not comfortable and want to go."

She definitely looked uncomfortable and that was all the provoking I needed. I turned and faced the two teen boys and took a step toward them. Both wore baseball caps and one wore sunglasses.

"Leave my daughters alone," I said.

They instantly read my look and tone and both of them tensed. The one without sunglasses took a half step back. They were big kids, but I was a bigger adult.

"What do you mean?" the one without sunglasses said defensively.

"Your daughters?" the one wearing sunglasses said. "We didn't do anything."

I wasn't sure if he was making fun of us or me, but it didn't matter. Thankfully, they didn't say another word. 

"Leave them alone," I simply said again. I could feel my anger seething. 

I turned around to check on Beatrice and her sister Bryce. Beatrice was uncomfortable but Bryce seemed fine.

"We're going to go back to the car," Beatrice said. 

"That's fine," I said. "Or, you can wait here with me until I get our food and we can go back together."

"I'm fine, Dad," Bryce said. Beatrice didn't say anything. "I saw him bug Beatrice but he didn't bug me."

The two teen boys at this point were ordering some food of their own and then they sat at a table away from us. I don't remember them looking our way again or saying another word.

We had been on our way to go camping for the weekend and stopped to get food and gas. My wife stayed with our car and camper, and dog Jenny, and me and the girls went to McDonald's. As soon as we walked in the door I saw the two teen boys teasing each other and screwing around with the touch screen ordering system. A mountain bike lay on the floor near the bathrooms and I assumed it was theirs. The girls and I went ahead and ordered on the other side of the touchscreen system from where the teens were.

I was already on edge because of what had happened just prior to going to McDonald's, I was the one watching the car, camper, and our dog. Amy and the girls had gone to cookie store to get some treats. We were parked in a shopping center parking lot parallel to the main road, and coming up the sidewalk was a man pushing a shopping cart full of what I assumed where his belongings. In front of where we were parked was the shopping center security guard sitting in his car. As soon as the shopping cart man got close, he immediately pulled out his phone and start filming and cursing at the security guard. The security guard got out of his vehicle and confronted the filming man, which just made him angrier and he cursed continuously accusing the security guard of following him. 

I definitely felt like mental illness was in play here, and these days you just don't know who may pull out a knife or a gun, so I readied myself to roll up the windows and lock the doors. I had no where to go otherwise. The shopping cart man continued his way up the sidewalk past where we were parked. I told myself not to look him in the eyes, but I did, and thankfully he just glanced at me and then kept pushing his cart down the sidewalk. 

After the confrontation with the teen boys in McDonald's, we got our food and walked back to where we parked. Beatrice felt better because we left and Bryce kept saying the boys hadn't bothered her. I told Amy about what had happened and that I knew that I overreacted. Of course there's nothing wrong with protecting our children if they feel unsafe, but I did get too verbally aggressive with the teen boys. And, I didn't give Beatrice a chance to use her own Kidpower and tell the boys to stop herself.  

Again, nothing else happened and we went on our way down the highway to the campground. But from the shopping cart man to the teen boys, I felt rattled and angry, and instead, needed to channel our family safety Zen. The camping eventually did the trick. 

Then came the flat tire, which is another story for another time...

Tending to the Teamwork

It felt like my brain lurched forward and then ground to a halt. It reminded me of when I was in high school and my El Camino's timing chain broke and I threw a rod. Literally meaning the engine no longer worked and I most likely would have to replace the entire thing, which I did. 

Fortunately that wasn't the case with my brain. However, as I continued to deliver my organization's annual candidate experience award ceremony that evening after completing our conference, already exhausted from the months of preparation and handwringing, I put myself on automatic pilot. The suit and tie I hadn't worn for three years squeezed me a little tighter than the last time due to extra covid pounds. The stage spotlights bore down on me and I could no longer feel the cool conference room air on my face. 

But I kept handing out awards, and smiling, and wiping my brow, and smiling, and all the cameras kept on taking pictures and videos. While on autopilot, I could only think of two things: missing my daughter's first soccer game of the season earlier that day, and I the fact that I wouldn't even be standing there on the stage giving these awards away if it wasn't for my amazing work team. 

The first thing was a no-brainer because I always miss my family when I'm traveling for work, and they miss me. We also work well together as a team, with my wife Amy of course leading the way. When I'm not there, she still architects it all and keeps things running. When I am home, I'm an integral part of our finely tuned engine. A loving one that purrs like a kitten with the power of a 350 horses under the hood (just like my old El Camino, before I threw a rod). 

We've instilled teamwork with our two daughters and it shows wherever they are -- at home, in the classroom, on the soccer field -- wherever. And when one isn't feeling the greatest, the others step up to do whatever needs to get done. Well, most of the time that is. Our girls are teens now, you know. 

When I played football in high school, we had a banner up in the locker room that read "T.E.A.M. -- Together Everyone Achieves More." Ain't that the truth. Besides living that tagline at home, my work team embodies the same spirit. Mercy me did they ever at our first in-person conference in three years. We all wanted it to succeed, needed it to succeed, and it did. The execution and teamwork was impeccable. Not only with my team, but also with the many volunteers who helped us this year. 

Yes, my brain locked up at the end of our event, and thankfully my team had my back. Now I'm home again, exhausted and sick, and my family's taking care of me. Tending to the teamwork is a win for all.