It Takes a Village

Shocker – my mother had a huge influence on me.  As did my grandmother.  And my wife and my mother-in-law.  (Feral boy – raised by a pack of women.)  And I had professors and managers who helped me grow, and taught me things, as one would expect them to do.  And I learned from ALL of them.  As I say, one can learn to be a good “X” – father, husband, usability professional, shortstop, academic – by emulating a good X or by oh-hell-no’ing a bad one.  But as I look back there are so many others who had an unexpectedly large influence on me, influence that would surprise them.  I hope one or some of them might read this, and be touched by my deep appreciation.

• Gary Foster’s mother:  So, it is Christmas break, 4th grade, circa 1961.  I’m down at the strip mall, maybe getting a haircut.  Out on the sidewalk I meet my classmate, Gary Foster.  Gary says, “Hey, would you like a donut?”  So, c’mon.  No fourth-grade boy offers another fourth-grade boy a donut unless something is up.  Did he sneak a worm in it?  Are there other guys, off behind the bushes, watching to see if I fall for whatever prank has been contrived?  I say, “What, did ya drop it on the ground?”  Gary says, “No, it’s Christmastime.  And my mom always gives me money to buy donuts for my friends at Christmastime.”  Whoa.  Lesson learned.  So, not only did I get to enjoy me a fresh, free, glazed donut in 1961, but decades later, the whole time our sons were in elementary school or middle school or high school, I would give them money at Christmastime, to treat their buds to a soda or whatever.  I am pretty sure I have never laid eyes on Gary Foster’s mother.  And given actuarial tables she is likely no longer alive.  But her influence remains, and if I make my guess my sons will give their kids money to buy their friends treats at Christmas.  Because of Gary Foster’s mother.
• Ms. Stansbury:  I cannot remember clearly my kindergarten nor first- nor second-grade teachers.  But third through sixth, I can picture them perfectly.  The even-numbered grades were tough – Ms. Burton and Ms. Noga hated me.  Well, likely not.  But we seemed to have, um, differing ideas for how the school day should go.  But the odd-numbered years were lovely.  Ms. Harding was generous and warm, and my fifth-grade teacher, Ms. Stansbury, was that person who saw more in me than I saw in myself.  Do you have one such in your life?  I hope so.  And might I be so bold as to encourage you to tell them what a terrific impact that generosity had on you?  Ms. Stansbury might’ve been seen as intimidating – she was tall and angular, and perhaps “no nonsense” would be used to describe her.  But she saw that I had some aptitude, and she was talented and patient in helping me realize it.  When talking with me she would crook her bony forefinger under my chin, gently lifting my face up to look her square in the eye.  And she would tell me, invite me, order me . . . whatever . . . to do something.  I tried a few years back, unsuccessfully, to tell her how much she meant to me.  Note to self:  Don’t wait until people are in their 80s to communicate your love and appreciation for them.
• Judy H.:  Judy is the wife of an ex-co-worker of mine.  We were all part of a community back in the 80s, at Bell Labs.  We were all young marrieds, having babies, watching each other, learning how to be families.  One time we were at another couple’s house, at a birthday party for a two-year-old.  One of the other families, some dear friends of ours, were slightly ahead of the rest of us – their oldest one was maybe seven, and they had a five-year-old, and maybe a two-year-old like so many of the rest of us enjoyed.  That seven-year-old had been the person who had made me realize I wanted to be a parent.  Indeed, there was a time when I didn’t want to have a baby, I wanted to have THAT baby.  Though it was quite clear to me that, even though that family had three babies, it was unlikely I could take one and they wouldn’t notice.  Anyway, at this party apparently that seven-year-old angel was out in the yard and fell, or something, and was crying, and I swooped in to try to make it better.  Shortly thereafter I was back in the kitchen with my friend Judy H., and we were chatting about this or that, and I asserted that I was just a dumb ol’ insensitive guy like, ya know, all the other dumb ol’ insensitive guys.  And Judy said, “Yeah, I saw how insensitive you are.  I just watched from the window here as you consoled Cathy, getting down on your knees so your face was lower than hers, and comforting her . . . .”  It was a sweet thing to say.  And ever since, whenever I am talking to a kid I try to get my face down to their level, or lower, so that they don’t have to be looking up to me.
• Jerry K., IBM Manager:  Actually, Jerry wasn’t my manager, but he was the manager of the group that I was assigned to support.  Kinda my matrixed manager.  He was a really smart man.  And he was, unmistakably, a dick.  Way too thrilled with his own knowledge, and eager to smite someone with it.  He once told me I treated everyone with respect.  Oddly, he offered it as a bit of criticism.  As though I didn’t have the discernment to know who was deserving of my respect and who was not.  But, though I realized his intent, I took it as a compliment.  And I have ever since endeavored to live my life demonstrating that broadcast respect.
• Some cashier at the Apothecary Shop:  When I was 16 I delivered drugs for the Apothecary Shop in my hometown, a suburb of Ft. Lauderdale.  (Sidebar:  In 1967 it was quite exciting to be one of the few people who was privy to the fact of who was on the birth-control pill.  Data that was, as it turns out, of absolutely no use to me.)  There was this older girl (young woman), who was hired there at the same time.  She was nice, and we would chat when I was between runs.  She wasn’t particularly attractive – well, perhaps it is more accurate to say she was out of my league and so there was no reason for me to look upon her with any sort of “ooh I might kiss this person someday, and she me” designs.  But she once bragged, fairly breathlessly, that her boyfriend was the president of Key Club, a service organization in our high school.  Well, I had no idea that that was a thing, but at that moment I set my sights, successfully as it turns out, on being the president of Key Club.  I am 100% confident that that did NOT help me get any girlfriends.  But I learned some leadership skills that help me to this day.
• Some cashier at some Florida Turnpike rest stop, circa 1963:  It is Florida, and it is summer, and it is a road trip.  My mom and sister and I are driving from Ft. Lauderdale to Daytona Beach, as is our wont, of a summer.  Why is Daytona Beach any better than Ft. Lauderdale Beach, you ask?  Good question.  The answer is only slightly more complicated than “They got Skee-ball.”  Oh so slightly.  So we stop for gas and, it being Florida, there is orange juice to be bought.  Well, at this particular stop there is this plastic pitcher unimaginably suspended in the air, and, even more unimaginably, pouring an apparently never-ending supply of orange juice into a punch bowl that, even more unimaginably, never overflows.  As my mom and sister padded around the shop, buying pecan logs or whatever, I stared at that scene, trying to figure it out.  Finally I said to my mom, “there must be a clear, plastic arm that simultaneously keeps the pitcher aloft and pumps orange juice into it, for it to flow back into the bowl.”  (My guess is I used shorter words to describe my hypothesis.)  Overhearing my explanation to my mom, the cashier said, “That boy’s gonna be an engineer someday.”  Six years later, when I entered Florida State, I declared “engineering” as my major.  I hated engineering and changed to math, and then to psychology, but the point is, it is amazing what influence some off-handed statement can have on some impressionable youngster!
• Linda M.:  I have this friend, Linda.  She is so smart, so fun, so wise.  Way more spiritual than I.  One time I said (bragged?) that I like to help young people when I see them in need, especially boys, in hopes that someday someone sees one of my sons in need and likewise helps him.  To that Linda said, “Maybe you do it because one time someone helped you.”  You should know Linda.
• Mark and Marilyn C. – So, do you remember “Cathy,” from above?  The angel (turned Ph.D.) who demonstrated to me that I wanted to have babies?  Her parents are Mark and Marilyn.  As a scientist I tend to be very humble about my claims – PROBABLY there’s no such thing as ESP, but you can’t really prove the absence of something – but I am 99.999% certain you don’t know any couple like Mark and Marilyn.  Consider these keywords:  He – ex-Navy MP, teetotaling, distance-running, apron-wearing, sinewy-could-rip-your-head-off-but-never-would, computer scientist who took full responsibility and joy in raising three daughters.  She – Girl-Scouting board member English professor makes-all-her-own-clothes (not really – but she could), gardening wizard who, beyond all that, just nonjudgmentally affirms everyone in her path.  We call them, lovingly, “The Waltons”; they not only make their own bread, they make their own pretzels.  They make their own hot dog buns.  They were my/our models for parenting.  But the magnificence of their being models for us was, they’d’ve never thought themselves such, nor judged as we, certainly, fell short.  I have told them multiple times in the past how important they were to me, but I would guess they couldn’t allow themselves to hear it.  It is my hope that when they see me telling YOU this, they’ll own how dear they have been to me.

OK, there are more.  That person in the big effin’ truck who chose to let me into the flow of traffic that one time.  The body-builder guy who just basically lifted my little convertible outta the sand when I hadn’t been watching where I was driving on the Texas coast.  The woman who noticed that I just kinda half stood up, as she left the table, and thanked me with her eyes, so that none of the rest of the folks would be embarrassed.  Who are those people, of your village?  Thank them, with your words or with your heart.