Ladies and Gentlemen,

It may appear as though the Tell Me a Story site is on its way out. Why? I didn’t do as much with it as I intended, but will be creating a new one! While “Tell Me A Story” was my first site, the new one will (hopefully) be better and have a little experience behind it

What is the intent of that site? Simply, deserts of all sorts.

How would it differ from other cooking, restaurant, or desert type sites? It will discuss all sorts of confections at all sorts of locations … restaurants, bakeries, specialty shops, grocery stores, ice cream shops, and anything in between.

It will explore places where confections can be found and differences between each, to include highlights from each such as dark chocolate versus milk chocolate, are they moist or crumbly, creamy or tart, or do they have and additions such as cinnamon or caramel.

We will begin with the most exotic of exotic … the chocolate chip cookie! Here in the United States, the chocolate chip cookie can be found anywhere and the first stop will be at an array of independent sandwich shops in office spaces … starting at the Cafe Ballston right across the street from where I work! Then, the Woodburn Cafe in Annandale, Fair Oaks Express Cafe in Fairfax. Then will expand to Harris Teeter, Wegmans, and other grocers, before hitting up some bakeries!

Please return soon to see the changes!

I’ve often said that if someone needs material for a speech, ask a veteran. Vets have material for any genre possible … drama, comedy, horror, adventure, mystery … you name it!

As Veterans Day came and passed, I spent time thinking of those who have served and the sacrifices they’ve made in order to provide, and defend, the freedoms we have today.

I also reflected on experiences I’ve had throughout my own military career. Many of my experiences have been quite mundane, but there were more than a few that I will likely never forget..

One of those memories involved training at what was known as Fort Eisenhower (formerly called Fort Gordon), Georgia. For those who are unfamiliar with Fort Eisenhower, it is the US Army’s main facility for training anything communications related … anything from cable, to radio, to satellite, to computers, or anything else someone could imagine.

Yet, along with these commands, the Drill Sergeant, or unit leader, will make other calls depending on where the group is headed. For instance, if the unit leader wants the formation to turn left or turn right while in motion, the calls are “Column left, march” or “Column right, march”.

When these directions are called, those in front will make the appropriate turn and pick up a “half step”, or march in a forward direction at half speed until the entire formation has made the turn. When that turn is completed, the unit leader calls, “Forward, march!” and the formation would return to normal speed.

That was, of course until I realized the soldier behind him was making fun of the poor guy! Private John McDoulett had always been our “class clown”, and he too thought this half-stepping bobblehead was quite the sight! Not only was McDoulett half-stepping with the rest of us, but he had a huge grin painted across his face, mimicking the same motion as he too stepped in his left foot.

This was too much for me and my military bearing! I found myself laughing to the point of tears! Fortunately neither of us got in trouble for it! I’m not even sure if our Drill Sergeant had taken notice, but I could only imagine what this looked like from an outsiders perspective! This poor soul was likely unaware of his body mechanics, his head was shaking with each step, the guy behind whose parody was spot on, and the soldier to his right laughing at the wrong time! I’m sure it was a sight to see!

Not only that, I can only imagine what was going through this poor soldiers mind, likely unaware of the clown behind him, idiot to his right laughing hysterically, wondering if he too would be let in on this joke!

Unless the poor man happens to be reading this blog, I’m almost positive he never was!

At 53 years of age I’m glad to see that people have taken mental health more seriously over the past couple years. As a kid there seemed to be a stigma against psychological disorders. Today, the idea that encouraging folks are able to associate actions with mental health is quite encouraging. The stories of Vietnam vets with untreated PTSD, unflattering stories of folks with schizophrenia, or using the term “going postal”, were all too real at that point of history, but it’s comforting to hear how things have changed.

As result, there has been a significant impact to way symptoms are approached within the larger medical community. While the physical aspects of health such as stomach aches, hearing loss, and heart attack are obvious, the influence cognitive functions have on quality of life and health overall have really been studied just about 100 years or so.

While medical professionals have long understood the ties between the brain and muscle movement, impacts on things such as stress and anxiety on a persons physical health, or impacts of on a persons performance at work, are relatively new.

Many of these studies have been rooted in the likes of Freud and Pavlov can be credited with really getting that started. It has been through their efforts, and the efforts of those who have followed, where we find ourselves today, with this aspect of the medical community, having grown in ways we would have never imagined.

It is also because of their combined efforts that we can better understand ourselves and the actions of those around us.

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While the importance of mental health has grown tremendously, especially over the past couple of decades, I personally believe the psychology associated with the workplace needs more attention. Please let me explain in terms of my own place of work.

I am a Federal employee within one of the US Governments Operations Centers and have been here way too long. I’ve joked that I 13 years into a two year sentence, which is about 18 in dog years … mainly because it feels that way at times.

Let me clarify. While our leadership like to refer to our unit as an Operations Center, it is actually a Watch. Many people don’t realize that there’s a huge difference between the two.

For instance, an Operations Center can enact change … which means the person in charge of a specific shift has the authority to direct someone to take action on an event, and they can expect it to occur.

On the other hand, a Watch can bear witness to an event, provide their chain of command with their details of the event, and keep a record of events as things progress.

Of those who move on to other things … before they either die or retire … there are a few who are promoted within the same organization. Those who do seem to have a connection, some form of relationship with another human, that helps that move to occur.

Each of these folks have a few great ideas on how to improve the workspace. Sadly, they tend to reach a point where they seem to forget their roots, only to repeat many of the same actions they complained about in the past without realizing it ever happened.

Add these to the cyclical complaints from leadership about typos, formatting, and employees eventually second guessing their own judgement, and after enough time, a persons mental health is impacted. Time creeps by with the only real change being to organizations scope of work … and sadly, for the individual, the only thing that really changes, are the grey hairs and which President has their picture on the wall.

That is where I find myself. Fortunate enough to have a job, seemingly unable to get moved, watching leadership unwittingly regurgitate some prior “change”. Hopefully I will be able to move on soon.

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Just in case you’re curious, I started my current job in November 2010 and was removed from the watch in February 2020, just as closures due to COVID were about to kick in. While I now work in the “Standards and Evaluation” branch, I’m still part of the Watch. The which means we turn “changes” into new versions of old Work Instructions, make sure folks on the Watch are aware, and run exercises accordingly. Sadly, I’m still part of the cycle, but at least I’m aware of it!

But, how did I get moved? Simple, a phone call.

I found myself at work that fateful day, griping quite bitterly to a coworker about a proposed change to the schedule when the phone rang.

A coworker picked it up, only to interrupting my gripe session by handing me the phone saying, “Lee, it’s your wife.”

“I’ll be right there,” I replied, as I continued to rant.

“You need to take this,” he urged.

“I’ll be right there!” I replied again with a little more urgency.

“NOW!” This caught my attention and I took the phone.

“Hey Honey, what’s up?”

Through tears in her eyes I could only make out four simple words, “Jeff called … Dad died!”

“I’ll be home as soon as I can,” I replied. My personal stress thresholds had been breached. I hung up the phone and lost my composure with everyone to see.

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I soon realized one of our big bosses was present for the entire rant about the schedule. He also heard me lose my mind as one foul word after another spewed from my mouth for everyone on the Watch to hear.  The news of my father-in-law’s passing was the straw that broke the camel’s back.  The boss quickly reworked the schedule for there to be coverage and I was told not to return until after the funeral.  With COVID picking up steam, my return had me supporting the Federal efforts upon my return.

Once that mission ended, some 16 months later, I was placed on a new Standards and Evaluation team. While this group is still tied to our Watch, at least it’s a fixed schedule. Unfortunately, we’re performing many of the same tasks I witnessed others perform in years prior … developing and promoting standards, reworking and recreating instructions and checklists, low level exercises to check the performance of those on the Watch, and training folks to ensure they’re performance meets the standards of our leadership. Things I grumbled about are things I am now part of … I still can’t seem to get away. Ironically, I’ve heard some members of the Watch gripe about us the same way we griped about our own predecessors. On the positive note, my current bosses seem to think I’m doing a pretty decent job.

While I am still unhappy with what I do, I don’t complain. I still have a job with decent benefits and I continue marching toward an eventual retirement. But, the impacts on my own mental health remain, and I’ve witnessed other long-term Watch Standers as they too are beginning to show cracks in their own armor. Change continues to occur as our unit evolves, but nothing really changes. Stressors remain, but I don’t believe our leadership realizes how upset folks are about certain aspects of the Watch. I sense that there is a level of artificial stress simmering just below the surface, and I hope I’m wrong. I would hate to get word of another Watch Stander losing their composure like I did that fateful day in 2020.

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Occasionally I’m reminded about an interview question that goes something, “Why are you leaving your current job?” Or, “Tell me about your biggest work related accomplishment to date.”

Legitimate questions, but the first one always seems tricky. I’ve always wanted to answer, “I’m looking to leave my current job because frankly, I’m sick of their crap and am looking for someplace else to work so I can eventually get sick of their crap as well.” Correct answer, probably. Actual answer, not yet. Maybe someday, but not yet.

For the second one, of all my working years, I really can’t think of an answer. Sad, but true. There are things I’m glad I’ve been part of, and things I’ve been proud of at work, but I really can’t think of a “biggest work related accomplishment”, but if there was one event I’m glad I was part of, and it was due to a single discussion. One I had with a coworker.

One day about 5 years ago I overheard another coworker ranting about his work environment … more specifically, the organizational structure, why he didn’t believe it was working as it should, and why he didn’t seem to believe leadership really cared. When we’ve all heard folks gripe at work about something or other, in most cases we simply let folks get their gripe off their chest. While we may get sick of those gripes, I’ve come to realize that in many cases, venting seems to help the person involved, at least in the short term.

I slowly began to repeat points back to him, not only to make sure I heard him correctly, but to ensure he heard what was coming out of his mouth. Before long, the tone began to subside. The talk was still there, but the tone was slowing to a simmer, and then I had to speak up.

“Fuck ’em.”

“What?”

“You heard me!” I replied.

“No, I’m not sure I did!”

At this point I knew he’d snapped out of it. “I can’t do that, I don’t even drink!” he replied.

“I guess you’re driving then, huh?!”

And not only was that best day I’ve had on my current job, but I’m glad to say my buddy is still alive! The rest of the crap we’ve had to deal with could, and still, can be flushed without missing a beat.

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While the most noteworthy workday I’ve had can be summed up in a conversation, it is apparent that things really haven’t changed. About a month ago, I went looking for my boss for something of minor importance, only to find him talking with our FBI liaison about their Watch.  As the conversation ended he muttered something about spending seven years working on their floor.

As he walked off I’d muttered something along the lines of, “Just seven? I’d been on ours for just over nine and now I’m on psych meds.”

Apparently, my boss thought I was joking and laughed it off. I’d been on anti-depression, anti-anxiety meds for just shy of a year at that point and he treated it like a joke. Granted, I’d never brought it up, nor have I mentioned it since, but with the big deal folks have made about mental health in the workplace, I’d expected more than what I’d just witnessed. Is this truly the norm? I hope not. Will things ever really change? I doubt it.

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Earlier I’d mentioned how I’m glad to see that people have taken mental health more seriously over the past couple years. While I’ve used my workplace as an example as to how situations can wear on a persons mental health, it by no means suggests that that my place of work it is a cause of mental disorders.

I’m also glad the efforts of mental health professionals have not only reduced many of the social stigmas of the past and improved the way we interact with those around us. The National Alliance of Mental Illness has also publicized statistics that help folks to relate. Some have caught my eye more than others. For instance:

• 1 in 5 U.S. adults experience mental illness each year
• 1 in 20 U.S. adults experience serious mental illness each year
• 1 in 6 U.S. youth aged 6-17 experience a mental health disorder each year
• 50% of all lifetime mental illness begins by age 14, and 75% by age 24
• Suicide is the 2nd leading cause of death among people aged 10-14 

With stats like that, more than likely there are folks in our social, professional, and family circles that are either currently working through some issue, or already have, even if we don’t realize it’s occurred. It is from this perspective that I believe we need to be cognizant that folks around us are possibly struggling with something in their lives, whether social, psychological, or physical, and we may never be aware. I also believe we should be empathetic enough to understand that when someone loses their cool, it might be the result of a personal struggle with rather than something we caused.

And, when it comes down to it, please take a few minutes to talk. It may not only mean the difference between a good day and a bad, but it may mean the difference between life and death.

Please, let’s look out for one another, and help when you can.

In 1993 country group Alabama had a hit titled “Cheap Seats” that touched upon the very fabric of our country that minor league baseball provides countless communities across this great of ours.

The game itself adds to the local sense of community during the summer months on par with the Friday night lights of high school football in the Fall and Winter, along with county fairs and other festivals throughout the year.

While I am a die-hard introvert, I regularly went to the games alone. But on occasion I would have company … my brother, father, or a high school friend were the most frequent.

My brother and I were at a game and the stadium was only about half full. We grabbed seats in the back row that day, which may seem odd, the seats in the back row of the Prince William Complex were actually pretty good. Close enough to see the close plays and high enough to see the entire game … they were almost perfect!

That day’s game wasn’t unusual, but one thing occurred that day that I will never forget … we finally brought home a foul ball. The pitch, the crack of the bat, and the ball flew just over our heads, landing in the grassy area just outside. My brother and I saw it sitting in plain view, in a patch of deep grass, right next to a small tree.

“Really?” they called back.

“Sure did!” I replied. I didn’t think they’d fall for such a line, especially with the ball still setting there, apparently just out of their view, but well within ours. The poor kids gave a distraught shrug and walked away.

The next wave of kids approached, and my brother decided to take a turn, “Hey, you’re too late! Someone already got it!”

“Really?” they replied.

“Yeah, one of those other kids got it,” he responded. They too shrugged and walked away, the ball untouched.

My brother and I looked at each other, smiled, and had to laugh.

Then a third wave, the same lie, the same result.

When I walked over to look, there it was, untouched. I grabbed it, looked up at my brother, and we had a heck of a good laugh! Thirty years later, our mother still has that ball sitting in my brother’s old room, an unspoken monument to those games so long ago. Sometimes I feel bad about misleading those kids, but years later I’m sure they don’t remember. But to me that ball will always be a trigger for me as I cherish that Ball Park, those games, and those beautiful summer days that filled one of the most incredible periods of my life.

The man nervously approached the counter when the clerk motioned. He was just shy of his 25th birthday, and at the end of his rope. He lost his job a couple weeks prior, bills accumulating, a “pay or get evicted” note taped to his door just the day before. When she saw the note, his young wife had walked out, taking his young child with her. She simply had enough.

In mind of this young man, this his was his last hope. He’d come to believe this was the way to get his life back on track, to save his home, his marriage, and to remain with his young child.

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It wasn’t long before the police arrived. Interviews conducted, fingerprints taken, the drawer inventoried, and video recordings examined.

Between the prints and license plate number, police were able to identify a suspect. Before long, a warrant was issued, then served.

It was the same young man, his prints were a match, and at this point, the poor young man was willing to cooperate.

Police concluded their search, the money still missing, the young man was taken to jail.

The young stuck to his story, even with his lawyer, but money would never be found.

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After work, the clerk stopped by her parent’s place and picked up her two young kids, then headed home.

She was young herself, a single mother struggling to make ends meet. She had grown up underprivileged and hoped to make things better for her young family.

“Kids,” she exclaimed. “You’ll ever believe what happened to me today!”

This afternoon was just amazing. The coloring of the autumn leaves were stunning, the air was crisp, a chilled bite that was common this time of year, with only a handful of clouds in the sky.

His pace along this trail had purpose and hoped to make his destination before the sun set beneath the western hills.

The flora and fauna seemed to be trying to grab his attention. Maple, oak, and aspen were just gorgeous. Squirrels scampering through the trees, the occasional rabbit running by, deer feeding on the grasses, and herons, oh the herons! He had always been in awe of these gorgeous birds. Between their patient, delicate steps as they fished and their ability to navigate their large wings between the trees as they flew was a sight to see. The hawks circling above were graceful as well. Their strong wings made keeping aloft seem so effortless, the occasional swoop on unsuspecting prey was done with focused, as smaller animals found themselves scurrying to safety.

And there he was, barely 30 minutes away from the busyness of one of Americas largest cities, in a setting that felt oh, so far away from it all.

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Lee had spent more than a little time on these trails since he was a kid. Some of his fondest memories growing up involved his father who would take him fishing along this very stream several times a year. In High School, he would join his friends as they would swim along many of the same spots, bringing tents for camping, and the occasional beer or cigarette they were able to acquire.

This place was filled with memories. Memories of a time that was so much easier. This forest would become a sanctuary over time; a refuge, an escape, a place where he could simply get away. More than a few times Lee found his soul calmed a pair of hiking boots, a fishing rod, and a few hours away.

That was what brought him this particular day. The need to get away.

With growing responsibilities which included a job wrought with big projects, low budgets, and short timelines, an inordinate amount of office politics. He didn’t feel as though he could ever to do much right in the eyes of leaders and peers alike. So he began searching, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t ever seem to find a new place to work, inside the organization or out. He so desired to step away from the drudgery of the place, even if the new place would eventually become more of the same.

At home, kids wouldn’t stop fighting. They always seemed to be getting in trouble both at school and home. One of the two always seemed to be picking a fight. He would hit and kick for no apparent reason then resort to screaming and blowing his top when asked to stop or put in time out. The other, a perfectionist, who was normally a great kid, but would lose his cool when things didn’t go as he thought it should.

Lee’s parents continued to ride him about just about everything … where he lived, his job, the way he dressed, the car he drove, and even their grandkids. They were always griping about everything from eating habits, to visiting more often, and when he did, claiming they need to toughen up.

His relationship with his wife seemed rocky as well. While they rarely ever fought, it seemed as though he could ever do much of anything right. Anything from the town they lived in, to their housing situation, to his work schedule, to spending time together or simply with the kids. Lee began to feel more like a pack mule with little more purpose than to bring in money, pay the bills, and follow orders. He realized something needed to change. But what? And how? After more than a decade of letting this build, Lee was out of ideas … and motivation.

In many ways, Lee had been beat down to the point that he wondered about Tim Robbin’s character Andy Dufresne in the Shawshank Redemption. He regularly dreamed about a real big poster, a rock hammer, a little money, and a boat off the beach of Zihuatanejo. The movie described Zijuatamejo as, “a little place on the Pacific Ocean.” It continues by asking, “You know what the Mexicans say about the Pacific? They say it has no memory. That’s where I want to live the rest of my life. A warm place with no memory.” But that mindset remained just a dream rather than a goal. A desire to visit or achieve a plethora of places or goals. Would it be a little hotel in Zijuatamejo? Fly fishing in South America’s Patagonia? Wintering over in Ushuaia? Sailing into Hobart? Rafting through Guilin? Or riding horseback through Mongolia, Bhutan, Nepal, or the African savanna? Or even just a trip up the Eiffel Tower, across the London Bridge, or a picture at Berlin’s famed “Checkpoint Charlie.” There are countless ideas that have crossed his mind, many linger while others have simply been forgotten.

But at this point, most of these dreams have transitioned over to some middle-aged fantasy fading in the mind of a man whose life got the better of him. Dreams that seemed never to come true … not without what Morgan Freeman’s Shawshank character referred to as a “worn down rock hammer, a poster, and a will that never ran dry.”

Both Lee and his wife would eventually have a long conversation about a month prior to his trek, one where he only dared to touch the surface of what was going through his mind. During this conversation he learned that she was overly stressed as well, especially with the kids, her desire for a home, a long dream to settle in one of the Rocky Mountain States, and ultimately her own health.

They came up with a plan to both reduce the stressors in the near term, which meant giving each other a break. She’d taken some personal time the weekend before, and today was his turn, thus the trek through the woods. He simply wanted to spend a little time alone. Close, but far away, so hiking through one of his favorite places seemed to be a great idea. Lee told his wife where he was going, when he planned to return, and off he went.

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It was dusk as his destination appeared around the turn. It was a westerly facing cliff, some 40-foot high. He took a seat on one of the larger rocks along the trail and took a moment to glance around the very familiar scene.

To the south he saw a hawk circling above, a hunt apparently underway. In the stream below he watched kayakers floating along with the current. Lee imagined the groups day. Where had they come from and where they were going? With the time, he imagined their day would soon end, likely at the boat launch a mile or so downstream.

He also took notice of a small eddy with a handful of fish lazing in the calm. The kayakers would have an easy catch if they were so inclined.

As he sat in the midst of this scene, Lee pulled a sandwich and water bottle from his pack. This was the first time in quite a while that he felt truly relaxed; the storms of his little world seemed an eternity away. As he ate, the wind blowing through the trees caught his attention. He noted the sky slowly turn from blue, to yellow, to orange. The sun highlighted the few clouds as it finally set in the western sky.

Lee turned his gaze upwards as the stars began to shine; Orion appeared in the eastern sky, a satellite passing overhead, then as darkness as fell, Lee knew the time had come. His peaceful trek through time and space, in this very place which he loved so well, had served its purpose this beautiful fall evening.

Lee grabbed a light from his pack, stowed his meal, and rose. Taking in the sights and sounds one last time, he glanced at the stars above, the lights of town in the distance, the leaves rustling with the wind. He stepped cautiously to the edge, barely making out the stream below. He closed his eyes, he took a breath, his struggles of life would soon end. One last step … and it was done.

Being a father both the toughest and most amazing job I’ve ever had.

Are there good days? Yep. Are there bad? Sure are! Is the effort worth it! Definitely!

Why do I say that? I’ve come to understand that everything I do adds to their personality, their life experience, and who they become. I’ve also come to realized that even if they don’t listen, they do watch, they do pay attention.

In many ways not what I say that matters, but rather how I act. While they may not have the patience, the focus, or know-how to grow, it is my responsibility to be there to fill the gaps, and to help them do the same. And while I want to do so much for them, I’ve got to let them be themselves, and as we work through things with a patient eye looking over their shoulders. I’ve got to be these very things for them as they grow, and in many ways, simply to be there for them when they need me.

I’m sure these boys will be telling stories about our escapades, both good and bad, long after I’m gone.

One of the things that I was proud to be part of was Noah’s regular Cub Scouts meeting a week or so ago. This was the second part of a two-part project where they were building a toolbox.

The first meeting involved staining wood … basically painting … and honestly, he wasn’t thrilled about it, but it got done.

The good thing about these toolboxes is the fact that they are designed for kids. There are only 6 parts, simple instructions, and holes were pre-drilled, so we just had to line the holes up and let the kids go at it.

After a brief introduction to various tools, Noah and I stepped over to our table and he grabbed two parts that he thought looked like would go together … the handle and one of the ends. It was as though he knew instinctively where they should go. I made sure they lined up properly and pressed a nail gently into the hole, he grabbed the hammer, and pounded it in in no time! Piece after piece, nail after nail, and within a matter of minutes pride erupted across the face of this 8-year old when he realized that he had just built his first project with very adult tools!

If he were still alive, Allen Wayne Braun would have turned 76 today.  Unfortunately, the Lord called him home just a couple of years ago, but we still take time to remember him on the day of his birth.  Many things come to mind when I think about Allen, the terms father, loving husband, and friend come to mind, but he was a lot more than that.

Allen Braun was born on a farm outside of Fort Wayne, Indiana, on December 18, 1946.  He was the third of four, the youngest of three boys with the sister following a couple of years later.  It has been said that his formative years were extremely hard.  Physical abuse from his father and older brothers occurred more frequently than not, his mother joining in with the emotional side as he grew, and growing on a farm, missing school was all too frequent.

Unfortunately, finishing high school wasn’t in the cards … but Marcia was.

Marcia Lynn Bazinet met Allen through her brother.  She was pretty, kind, and outgoing.  She loved playing baseball with her brothers, watching her Indiana Hoosiers play basketball, and adored this strong, blue eyed, blond haired, farm boy.  It was her kindness that first attracted Allen to this accountant’s daughter, and they were soon inseparable!

It wasn’t long before a romance bloomed.  Stories would be told years later of Allen paying her visits with manure still caked on his boots.  He was so captivated by this young lady that he couldn’t bother getting cleaned up before he’d come calling!  Years later Marcia would tell stories of working the second shift in the local hospital where Allen would wait for her shift to end nearly every night to ensure she made it home safely!

At that time, the late 1970’s, Briargate was considered to be on the outskirts, much of which was still ranch land, thus few would have considered building a home so far out at that time.  But Allen chose Briargate after making a trip to City Hall.  He quickly learned that city planners were pushing growth in that direction, which proved to be a great decision!  At the time, a third of an acre lot in Briargate was inexpensive and homes were cheap.  Today, Briargate lies in the busy north end of town and the house is worth nearly 7 times what the young couple had paid for it!  But at this point we’d all rather have him here than his home and memory.

Allen continued working a lot of factory jobs, sometimes three jobs at once, so Marcia could stay home with the kids.  After finishing his career in a job working on commercial printing presses, he briefly worked in companion care, helping the elderly with day-to-day tasks.  This was a job he adored, but it was a career that was cut short by a stroke of his own.  Fortunately, he was able to recover much of what he lost, but it wasn’t enough where he could go back to work.  He qualified he for disability, retired, and stayed home with his beautiful bride.

While Marcia spend much of her life as a stay home mother, she went back to work after the youngest finished high school, taking a job as a lunch lady in the elementary school just two doors away.  While it was a part-time job, she loved every minute of it!

The family celebrated when their marriage crested the fifty-year mark, but like any other relationships, there were more than a few good times and bad some periods along the way.   Stories where money was tight, child getting out of line, three unfortunate miscarriages, and quite enjoyably, Marcia’s parents eventually joining them in Colorado as well.  Fortunately, even with the tough times, the Braun family always seemed to find a way.  It was apparent that Marcia was the true matriarch and Allen the backbone of the family, Together, they ran a tight ship when needed, remaining the strong, loving parents throughout.  They were truly an amazing team.

Aimee fondly speaks of rules they had growing up.  Rules that included none of the children getting their own car until they turned 18 (and they had to pay for it themselves), the boys hair was not to touch their collar while living under his roof (Mark pushed that once, and failed), and Aimee wasn’t allowed to get her ears pierced until she too was eighteen.  Marcia was able to talk him into changing his mind, lowering the pierced ears by a couple years.  While he permitted it, Allen had quite a fit the day he came home to find his 13-year-old angel with those little earrings.  He wasn’t happy, you could tell, but he never said a word.

As time went by, his children grew, and for the most part started began, got married, and started families of their own.  Jeff, the oldest, always talked about starting a family of his own, but being the shy, introvert he would become, he rarely seemed interested in getting out to meet anyone.  His three siblings often joked that when their parents would go to be with the Lord, realtors would list him as an accessory to the house. 

Whoever would buy the place would always have the opportunity to set an extra plate on the table for dinner.  They would be able to explain televisions that would appear to turn on by themselves and odd noises coming out of the basement.

We could hear the conversations as well.  Friends would say, “We love your new home, but we’ve got this feeling it may be haunted.”

“Why?” the new owner would respond.  “Because the coffee pot turned on by itself or there’s a weird looking guy standing in the corner gawking at us?  No, that’s Jeff.  He came with the house.  If he becomes a little much just ask him to mow the lawn, he’ll disappear for hours.  The lawn won’t be mowed, but he’ll disappear for at least a little while.”

But when you got to know Allen, you did realize he loved his coffee, loved his family, loved the Lord, and loved watching the news on TV.  He would talk quite frequently about farming and everything that went with it.  He was quite fond of everything associated with farming, even with the associated abuses he endured as a child.

Allen was also extremely generous, very easy to get along with, and when you got to know his sense of humor, he was quite funny.  Once we overheard him picking on Jeff about how his lack of a love life and that maybe he “might consider dating men.”  Everyone within earshot that day laughed hysterically, poor Jeff taken aback by his father’s comment simply sat there and blushed.  While today, such a joke may be considered mean, coming from Allen in that day, it was truly hilarious. 

I would meet Allen in 1999, unfortunately I don’t exactly remember which month.  Aimee and I had been seeing each other and she wanted to introduce me to her family.  Like any introduction between a parent and significant other, this meeting was obviously an important one.  Aimee told me later that they were impressed how polite I’d been. When she told me this, “Who, me?” was the first thing that came to my mind.

The run should have been easy, and it shouldn’t take long.

This was to be just one portion of the Air Force Fitness Test, which constituted of a mile and half run.  Two people were running, one of which being graded, the other, to motivate.

Senior Airman Mike Wells was the one being graded.  He was having one heck of a time breaking that 14-minute mark, the time needed to simply pass.

At the time, I was a First Lieutenant, with run scores averaging just about 12 minutes.  I’d volunteer to run with the man, hoping to motivate him enough to break that 14 minute mark.

Airman Wells knew, that passing was imperative.  He had failed several times before, been given ample opportunity to improve, including folks volunteering to help him train.  Another failure would start the process for separation.  The official terminology was “Failure to Adapt”, which included a number of things, the fitness test being just one.

On the morning of the event, Airman Wells was off to a good start.  He passed the other two portions of the test, which consisted of a minute each of push-ups and sit-ups.  All he needed to do was to break the dreaded 14 minutes on that mile and a half run.

On this day the test was held within the Offutt Air Force Base Field House.  This facility was an old hanger, which had been turned into a large gym.  Inside, there was a nearly oval shaped track 4/10ths of a mile around.  The track was long and straight with turns on either end, a hair wider than a basketball court was long, with marks every half mile through the 2-mile mark.  Folks being tested would line up at the start of the straightaway, the finish 3 and 3/4 laps later.   Generally, once folks lined up, one of the two required timers (required to ensure integrity) would give the command of “ready … set .. go!”  As runners started around the track, both timers would proceed to the midway mark on the opposing straightaway and call times as folks ran past.

As Wells made his way to the start, one of the timers asked, “You ready?”

He responded with a nervous laugh, “As ready as ever.”

Each of us could feel Airman Wells nerves as I joined him at the line.  The timer called, “Ready … set … go!”  We were off.  Wells pace was slow, but steady, and likely passable.  I encouraged him to pick up the pace a little, which we did.  Unfortunately it held only for a short time.  Wells slowed, but remained a little faster than we started.  I was happy and pushed to keep it up.

We reached the ¾ lap mark, the eventual finish line, about the same time the timers did.  They made their call, which was right about the point we should be.  I’d mentioned this to Airman Wells, encouraging him to keep it up.  If he could, he should be fine.

Unfortunately, this didn’t hold.  About a half lap later, with 2-1/2 to go, Wells began to fade.  I pushed him to pick up the pace, reminding him of the remaining distance and time.  Wells picked up the pace, then slowed again.  We began to repeat a cycle of push, then jog, and repeat.  I heard the time when we passed and realized we were a few moments behind. 

“Come on Wells!  Two laps to go!  We need to pick up the time!”  He picked up the pace, held for a stretch, then slowed again. 

When we approached the timers the third time, with one lap remaining, I’d called for another push, but Airman Wells continued to jog, appearing as though he was through.

I was ahead, stopped at the line, and asked the timers, “He’s not gonna make it is he?”

“Not at that pace,” one responded.

“He can still make it if he can hold a decent pace,” replied the other.  The three of us gave a discouraged sigh before I spoke up.

“WELLS!” I yelled.  “DON’T LET THAT STROLLER BEAT YOU!”

While I meant for it to encourage this poor young man, the woman with the stroller looked up with a spark in her eye as if to say, “No, you did not go there!”  With that, the race was on!  But not for long.

Both the woman and Airman Wells picked up the pace.  The fire in her eyes was relentless, he looked like he was about to die.  She quickly took the lead, started gaining ground, then gained, gained, and gained some more.  When Airman Wells crossed the finish, some 30 seconds too late, the woman with the stroller was another third of the way around the track, and continued holding the pace.

Over time I think about this young man.  We’ve all heard stories of folks of all walks of life who face adversity, most of the stories involve someone who has overcome a significant challenge, or providing the inspiration to succeed.  The stories of those who fade away are rarely heard, most of which are quickly forgotten.  But what is the difference between the two?  What causes one to succeed, and not another?  What is their motivation?  How do we instill this mindset so more can succeed?

I’ve learned that personal motivation generally falls into two categories: extrinsic and intrinsic.  External or internal. The extrinsic provides something externally to strive for, or at least an external reason to do so.  The intrinsic focuses on the achievement of a personal goal.  Both of which can be viewed in the story of Airman Wells and the woman with the stroller, depending on the story is viewed.  Airman Wells was working to avoid what could be seen as a negative external event (forced removal from the military) and the woman viewing my comment as either a chance to prove something to herself, or act as a “rabbit” to help inspire this young man.  We will likely never know the motivation for either.

Understanding these two forms of motivation and applying it to members of a team can be a challenge.  As a leader, we can set goals to be achieved, provide a reason for it to be accomplished.  Maybe we can present the task as something that has never been done, or maybe describe prior attempts, with the possibility for success, and providing the belief that it can be done.  We can then provide the freedom to create, the resources to succeed, and let them perform.

I do believe in most, well nurtured cases, we as leaders would be surprised with the results the team will achieve.  But with humans involved with this process, this is not guaranteed.  Personal motivation to achieve still exists.  What is in it for the individual or team?  Why would they care?  Is it just a paycheck, or is there something more?

In a case such as this, I believe we can use sports as an analogy.  What are athletes trying to achieve?  A bond?  A skill.  Are they playing to simply play?  Is their sport of choice being used for a scholarship, or as a professional, maybe to “pay the bills”?  Or are they striving to achieve a more lofty goal such as a National Championship, the Super Bowl ring, or World Series title?

Some years ago, I’d heard of a research assignment where a survey was done with players in the National Football League (NFL) which asked them what they did for a living.  Simple enough question, but the results were intriguing.  On one side of the spectrum, quite a few responded with their position on the team, and on the other, folks would respond by saying they were a member of a team.  Basically, “I am a Quarterback in the NFL” or “I play for (a specific team).”  There was little in between.  Ironically, when these results were compared with the final standings of the ensuing regular season, teams who had the better records had more players viewing themselves as part of a team while teams who did worse, had more players that viewed themselves as individuals filling a role.

Granted, every season there are highlights of players making the big play, or scoring the game winning touchdown, but I’ve learned to question whether getting to that point was a team effort with a few players in the limelight, or was it simply a fluke?  In cases where these highlights were in an important game such as a playoff, such as the Houston Astros winning back-to-back no-hitter games in the World Series, it would be the pitchers faces who were in the news, but it was likely a team effort over nine innings, and definitely a larger effort of the entire team getting them to the playoffs to begin with.  If a similar scene would have occurred in the middle of the season, involving teams with average or substandard records, it would still be a significant event.  But for this to occur in the World Series with two of the best teams in the Major Leagues, it is a different story altogether.

Can we apply this mindset to the business world, a non-profit, or a local theater company?  What is the difference between a huge success, a failure, or potential mediocrity?  While successes occur every day, I will argue that some of the most notable successes have involved members with some external or internal motivation to band together in achieving the larger goal, where those who contribute less or teams that barely succeed, are more likely to involve members who may be there just to play the game. 

I do wish there was a way I could prove this hypothesis, or maybe it already has been done with some study or another.  But my mind continues to wonder back to Airman Wells with his fitness test and the woman pushing the stroller.  Did Airman Wells view himself as a member of the worlds strongest Air Force or did he view himself as an individual merely doing a job?  Was there something in his biological makeup that was holding him back?  Did he have another motivation that we will never be aware of?  Would he have succeeded if his mindset, or motivation to achieve, was different leading up to that day?   What about the woman?  Her children were obviously young enough to be in a stroller.  Was she an runner before the pregnancy?  Was she trying to return to her prior level of fitness?  Had she already returned? Or, did she see my “stroller” comment simply as a challenge.

I doubt we will ever be able to answer questions involving these two.  But it is still a talking point which can be used in the discussion of motivating individuals or groups and the desire to reach a predetermined goal. 

I began with the line, “The run should have been easy,” but we know there was a lot more to the story than just running the course.  There is the preparation, the goal, the reason to strive, and so much more.  But the same can be said about any “run”.  What is the goal?  What is involved?  Do folks have the talents and desire to achieve?  I will then conclude with where I began, thinking about the background, the rest of the larger story, so that when it comes time for our team, or ourselves, to excel … the run should be easy.  Don’t “just do it” … take the time and make it happen.