There was a discussion topic on leadership that was introduced in one of my meetings a few months ago. It was a theme that I had heard before with different subjects, but the question was often posed in the same manner – if you were accused of being X (in this case a good leader), would there be enough evidence to convict you? The premise is that the audience, in silence, will take mental inventory of their achievements or actions against a given standard and either receive some affirmation or realize a gap exists and develop a plan to mitigate. Without fail, participants begin to nod thoughtfully as they appear to mentally check off every positive attribute and smile subtly to suggest that not only would there be enough evidence, but that the jury would return the verdict within a matter of seconds and ask openly why there was any question in the first place. While I love the confidence, I often find myself at odds with the individual assessments going on around me. If we’re honest with ourselves, we have to realize that in all of our endeavors there is room for improvement… that whatever level of mastery we have achieved to this point only signals progress, not arrival. Otherwise, we are fooling ourselves or robbing ourselves by buying into the lie of complacency. So, with that in mind, I began to contemplate. Not about leadership, but about fatherhood. The questions lingered… would anyone accuse me of being a good father? would there be any evidence to support the accusation? I couldn’t say. It’s been several weeks weighing on my mind… I just don’t know.
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No parking lot attendant. No check in station. No makeshift lot on a vacant parcel of land opportunistically guarded by an enterprising local. Just an empty space on a side lawn in a well kept neighborhood; there was no crowd and no hassle. We unloaded the kids and the gear and made our way past one of the stately homes down the side street toward the beach. The paved road came to a dead end quickly, and a gravelly path guided us toward a walkway that seemed to disappear into a grassy dune. We strolled our way up the sandy boardwalk; our path beset by reeds and wildflowers until the trail crested and the planks beneath our feet gave way to a sugary mound of soft warm sand. The stroller sunk down into the sand, but the mound sloped downward enough to allow gravity to lend a hand as we descended into a yawning entry and were introduced to the Atlantic Ocean.
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The security agent unzipped the backpacks and laid them out on the screening table. Something within both of them had caught the attention and concern of the agent at the monitoring station. There were too many options to consider as to what the contraband could be, so I primed myself to stay ready to explain away whatever he pointed out. The boys started walking over. The security agent pulled out the lunchboxes that were packed in each of the backpacks. He slowly unzipped the first one.
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3:20 AM. It was really happening. We were about to load up the boys and plod our way towards a 5:40 flight to South Carolina. My head was in a fog as I went through the motions of getting ready and getting the final items packed into the car. Kendra was in fluid Super Mom mode…she was out of the shower before I was fully awake, and she had dressed two sleeping children by the time I got out myself. Her mother spent the night to make sure we didn’t oversleep and miss our flight, and she was a great help in keeping the house together while we got everything ready for the trip. She helped direct traffic that morning as we checked and double checked, took inventory of the kids, and shuffled out the door. 4:01. Semi-conscious and teeming with anticipation, we backed out of the driveway.
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September 28th, 2009
bdye
I entered through the sliding glass door to find him standing on the couch. His face was sheer elation. His broad grin exposed his tiny glistening teeth with two wads of chewing gum tucked into his cheeks. He heaved with laughter as he extended his hand to reveal a mostly empty pack of gum… the same gum I had taken from him and put away mere minutes beforehand. His eyes were still red, and his face still held the tracks from the tears he’d shed over the incident. All the stomping and hopping and the drooping of the shoulders and casting back of the head in protest had vanished from his mind. Only joy remained. He stood there victorious. He had his prize.
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