The Stroller

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.

This was where Airman Wells and I found ourselves when the time came … lined up at the start.  All four of us, Airman Wells, the timers, and myself, knew the stakes.  The timers and I gave him an extra moment to make sure he felt ready.

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. 

It was about then I’d noticed another person on the track.  A woman, pushing a stroller.  A stroller with two young kids, and she was jogging at a fairly good pace, especially with the children in hand.

Our cycle of push, jog, and repeat continued, but soon, the woman with the stroller had unintentionally become involved.  The cycle transitioned from push, jog, and repeat, to push, pass the stroller, jog, get passed by the stroller, and repeat.

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.

Airman Wells stood there, gasping for air, discouraged.  Unfortunately, there was nothing more we could do.  Results were filed, the paperwork made its way through the appropriate offices, and Airman Wells soon became a veteran with a General Discharge.  Hopefully things have turned around for the young man.

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.

There I Was #1 – The West Virginia Classroom

Well, there I was … in a classroom … in an FBI facility … in the middle of West Virginia.

Would you believe I was there on purpose!  Not too many people can say that, but it’s true.

There I was … with a buddy of mine … in that classroom … with 32 of West Virginia’s finest looking back at us!

We were there without handcuffs, warrants for our arrest, or even any moonshine!  (Although, at that moment I could have used a little.)

Funny thing is, while there someone did ask about my marriage to my second cousin. 

I know, I know, who in the world would marry their second cousin?  Well, I can’t speak for anyone else, but my marriage to that first cousin just didn’t work out!  But here we are, some 21 years later, and things are going a heck of a lot better!

It would seem as though we’ve surprised just about everyone.  Nobody from either side of our families believed it would last … especially that first cousin … and wouldn’t you know it, shortly after we were married, my dear bride told me she was pregnant!!

I remember thinking that I’d hoped our kids looked like her side of the family, mainly because my side isn’t the most pleasing to the eye.  Since then we’ve wound up with two handsome little boys, and wouldn’t you know it, one looks just like her little brother and the other is a splitting image of her daddy!  I couldn’t be happier!

But that’s not why we were in that classroom that fateful day. 

It was March 2009.  I was working in computers, my buddy in training, we were trying hoping to get some equipment hooked up to the internet, and that equipment needed to go in that very classroom. 

Not only had Al Gore’s little invention been in West Virginia just a short period of time, but the Pony Express was still running in some parts of the State and would continue for another couple of years … so we weren’t too optimistic about finding that connection. 

With that equipment being deemed essential, it couldn’t wait and we had to take a look … the sooner, the better!

We met up at the classroom just after 10:00 that morning and when we looked through the window, we found it was packed!  Packed with those 32 West Virginian’s I’d mentioned a few moments ago, and it looked like our trip was coming to a quick end … until the door opened.

We hadn’t noticed someone in the room looking back at us, so she took us by surprise when opened the door and asked, “Can I help you?”

We explained our plight and were about to excuse ourselves when she invited us in.

“This is the newcomer’s brief.  The person scheduled for 10:00 hasn’t made it yet.  If you’d like to take a quick look, go right ahead!”

So, we looked at one another and headed through the door.  Before I knew it, my buddy dove headlong under the desk and all I could do was stand there and watch!

I started to get a little self-conscious as my buddy mooned those 32 West Virginians.  About the time it crossed my mind a full set of teeth was looking back at me, I realized that I should something!

“Good afternoon!” I started.  “My name is Lee and I would like to welcome you to the FBI.  I understand that someone was slated to be here at 10:00, and unfortunately neither of us are that person.  I was sitting in those seats about a year and a half ago, and during that time I’ve been pleasantly surprised. This beautiful facility is the home to an incredible mission and is staffed by a great bunch of people.  I’m truly glad I took this job.  I’m almost certain that in eighteen months that you too will say the same thing.

“While my buddy and I stopped by to look for an internet connection to support a new piece of equipment, there are two things I can almost guarantee that you’ll never experience in your time here.  Well, I’ll almost guarantee you’ll never have to experience it again.  First … crawling under desks in the workplace is the exception and not the rule.  And second … this is likely the only time you’ll be mooned during normal duty hours!”

About that time my friend pulled himself out from under the desk, jumped to his feet, and gave a big sigh.

“Did you find it?” I asked.

“Nope,” he replied.  “We’re going to have to come back when we have more time.”  He turned on his heel and headed out the door, leaving me momentarily by myself, so I quickly turned to the group one last time.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” I began.  “Once again congratulations and welcome!  I hope you enjoy the rest of your day and I look forward to seeing you around campus!”  I then followed my friend out the door.  We had a quick discussion on that connection while standing in the hallway, planned on coming back later in the week, and went our separate ways.

With lunch the next thing on my mind, the scene then left my mind almost as quickly as it occurred.  I didn’t think about it again until the next morning when I came back to work.

I barely got to my cubicle when another coworker approached.

“Hey, were you in one of the classrooms yesterday morning?”

“I sure was, why do you ask?”

“Well, my brother just started with the FBI and was in that room when you walked in.  Not only did he say it was the best impromptu speech he’s ever heard, but he thinks he may know your second cousin!”

Geocaching With My Boys

Would you believe me if I told you my two young boys are willing to leave the house, parting from their electronics, and go romping through the woods? Not only that, but they’re doing it willingly!!!!

I know this sounds too good to be true, but to paraphrase the philosopher Kurt Angle who once said, “It true! Oh yes, it’s true!” But this wasn’t always the case.

We’ve never had much of a problem with our 6-year-old. He does love his TV and video games, and loves the outdoors, but more times than not, he won’t suggest it himself. Generally someone else has got to make the recommendation.

Our 8-year-old is a different story. I’ve come to believe that he’s allergic to the fresh air, and acts as thought he would die without his electronics. When he does leave the home willingly, a playground is usually involved.

However, that has recently changed. These two are not only willingly leaving the house, and running around the woods, but are asking to go out on their own! What changed you may ask? Well, I’m glad you did and I’m about to tell you!

A couple weeks ago I was about to take-off for my afternoon run, jog, walk, or whatever you call it, when my youngest asked to go along. I knew he couldn’t go as far as I wanted to, so an idea come to mind. Years ago a coworker introduced to Geocaching.

For those who are not familiar with the term, Geocaching is an online, GPS based scavenger hunt, with hides all over the world. There just happened to be a “kid friendly” hide in the park between our home and their school that I hadn’t found, so I told him there was something I wanted to look for and could use the help. My wife then pressed the older to go along … and off we went!

A few minutes later we were at a trailhead close to the cache, my phone telling us we were about 1/10th of a mile to ground zero, and we began to walk to the ageless childhood tunes of “Where are we going? What are we looking for? How far is it? and Are we there yet?” Then … there it was … a plastic container, hiding in a hollow tree, filled with a log book and trinkets.

The boys were highly intrigued by this new found “treasure”. After we examined the cache and signed the log, they wanted to keep going. While this extended hike was unexpected, it wasn’t long before we found ourselves in the field behind their school.

They didn’t recognize it at first, but a group of kids playing T-Ball caught their attention.

As we continued on, it finally clicked, “This is our school!! Did you know there was another way to get to our school!!!” Though I did, I didn’t want to destroy the moment, and let them continue to explore! Their excitement was just contagious!

When we finally returned to the house, this adventure was all they would talk about! They spent much of the evening telling Mom, every little detail of what took place!

After work the next day Aimee told me that their “adventure” was all they would talk about. My youngest finally asked, “Dad, can we go on another adventure and find more treasures?!” How could I say no to that?!

A couple days later we took off again, aiming for two child friendly caches in another park. This time we found a creek and a “bamboo forest”, a sight they still talk about. A couple days later there were finds in a wooded area behind some town homes, and more recently, a half-mile trek through some trails which concluded with a new playground to explore! What a day! We even wrapped up this weekend with my oldest asking if we could go ride our bikes.

“You want to do what?” I asked.

“We want to take our bikes down the trail we went on before!” We had taken bikes down that trail a month or so prior and my eldest seemed more interested in complaining about the outdoors than riding a bike, and now he was asking to do it again? On his own?

So, off we went, I with little hope this would be a good idea, but I was happily surprised. We went about a mile and a half round trip, and if it weren’t for the time, I believe we would have gone a whole lot further!

Why this sudden change? I’m not really sure, but I’m not overly concerned. All I know is that at least some of this was sparked by a little plastic box, behind a tree, in the woods behind their school, that had the word “Geocache” taped all over it!

The fact that these kids are asking to go outside is a minor miracle! My boys are now willing to leave the electronics behind, go outside creating memories, and I’m not going to complain!

TFTC! (Thanks For The Cache!)

The Angel Ceremony

In September 2005, I turned 35. For my birthday the US Air Force gave me a gift. They gave me round trip tickets for a 130-day vacation to the sunny resort of Kuwait City, Kuwait!

Well, it wasn’t actually a vacation, unless you consider working 13 hour days, every day of the week, for 125 days straight, a vacation! But then again, this trip turned out to be the most incredible experience of my 23 year military career … outside of marrying my wife and adopting my two boys of course!

While the war in Iraq raged a mere hour’s drive to the north, my tour was extremely cushy compared to my peers, and I really didn’t feel as though I was in a war zone. For instance, I lived in a hotel, had a food allowance, and my own rental car. Few others could say the same.

Our base was a significant location for the throughput of supplies and personnel between American sites in Europe, Iraq and Afghanistan, which at that point of time, made us quite busy. When I left my home station, I understood that I would be an Executive Officer, which in the Air Force is an aid to the Commander. But upon arrival, the Commander told me I wouldn’t be doing traditional “Exec” duties, but instead, I’d responsible for supporting Coalition Forces and Distinguished Visitors that passed through.

The reason for this was because we didn’t have a “Protocol Officer” that would normally fill this role, and if he were to pick up this duty, he would never be able to do his own job … that being, the actual management of supplies and personnel as they traversed into the war zone or out.

The first couple of days I was awestruck. But with the number of Colonels, Generals, Admirals, Members of Congress, Senators, Governors, Japanese, South Korean’s, Italians, Australians, and who knows who else I forgot, it didn’t take long for this young Captain’s head to swell, swell, swell!

Not only did I quickly come to understand the importance of this role. I quickly realized I had pull! I’d become the person who could get things done! I was the guy to go to! There was nothing I could do wrong, and nothing could change my mind. My air of self-importance continued to grow until another Captain set me straight.

Jay Johnson was that Captain. He was a member of the Texas Air National Guard, the Chief of Aircraft Maintenance there in Kuwait, and the happiest-go-lucky person I’d ever met. Apparently he’d taken notice of my “air of superiority”, and was going to do something about it. Even if he didn’t take notice, or consciously take it upon himself to knock me down a notch, he did it anyway.

In many ways, it was needed. I had taken a liking to my situation and my new “sphere of influence”, I had let it go to my head. Even with the Iraqi border just a stone’s throw away, the area was in a state of relative peace. In my egocentric mind, the entire “Global War on Terror” was still an event that was somehow “over there.” At home I’d watched the news, I’d heard coworkers talk about their own deployments, and I’d even seen the damage done to the Pentagon on 9/11. But to me, at that time it still seemed to be a story … a story I was emotionally disconnected from.

It was here that Jay found me. He would change my entire life, with an announcement over the intercom, “Angel Ceremony, 20 minutes, runway T2.”

Such announcements were regular occurrences, and I paid little attention until Jay brought it up.

“I never see you at those ceremonies, why don’t you ever come?” he asked

“What are they?” I replied.

“What do you mean, ‘What are they?'”

“I’ve been too busy, especially for something that happens almost every day. What are they?” I asked again.

“I’m not telling you”, was all he would say.

“So, let me get this straight. These ceremonies take place almost daily, I know nothing about them, you’re not going to tell me what they’re about, and you believe I need to take time out to attend?”

“Yep.”

“Maybe some time, but not now. I’ve got too much going on.”

“Okay,” he replied. He then turned and walked away.

I thought that was the end of it, but that wouldn’t be the case. The next day, the same announcement again, “Angel Ceremony, 20 minutes, runway T2.”

Jay and I happened to be in the same area once again when the call came about. “Hey Lee, ya coming?”

“Nope … busy.”

“Okay,”

This conversation found a way to repeat itself for several days. He’d invite, I’d decline, we’d go our separate ways, and admittedly, I was getting a little upset. Then one day he asked, “What have you got going on that makes you so busy, that you cannot attend one, short ceremony?”

I proceeded to rattle off my schedule for that day, and Jay gave a smile suggesting that he could see through my bluff.

“Man, you are busy!” he replied with a grin, turned, and walked off. That only upset me a little more!

The next day, the repeated itself, and I finally spoke up, “Jay, if I go to one of these ceremonies, will you get off my back?!”

He looked as though I caught him off guard, thought for a moment and replied, “Yeah.”

“You promise? You’ll get off my case.”

“Lee, if you attend just one, I won’t pester you again.”

And like before, we went our separate ways.

About 8:30 the next morning, the call went out, “Angel Ceremony, 20 minutes, runway T2.”

But this time … I was in luck … or so I thought. I was the only one in the office and had to meet some Embassy folks at 9:00. Even if Jay was around, there wasn’t enough time.

Then, my phone began to ring. I looked at the Caller ID and saw that it was Jay. He may get me next time, but not this time!

“Good morning Jay!”

“Good morning Lee, did you hear the announcement?”

“I sure did, but I can’t make it.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve got to meet some Embassy folks at one of the gates at 9:00.”

“Which gate?”

“The one near the pizza place”

“Cool, it’s right next to T2, you’ll have plenty of time.”

Seriously? I mean, seriously?

“Jay, let me get this straight. It’s 8:30, the plane is supposed to be parked in 20 minutes, and I’ve got to be at the gate at 9:00. That would give me 10 minutes for a ceremony and get to the gate, no matter how close it is. Do you really think I’ve got time for some ceremony and get to the gate?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “There’s no set-up, no tear down, and they take about 5 minutes. You may even have enough time to grab a pizza.”

I thought about it for a moment and decided I’d give it a try. If this occurred like he claimed, at least he’d get off my back!

“Jay, I’ll show up, but if things get running behind, I’ll have to take off.”

“Understood, if you have to leave, I’ll pester you with the next one.”

“I’m sure you will!” I replied. “You do remember promising that you’d stop pestering me if I go.”

“Lee, if you make the ceremony, I’ll keep to it. I’ll meet you at the gate in 15 minutes.”

All I could do was sit there and stew. I can’t believe I let him talk me into this, but he did, and I really wanted to get him off my case. So I took a moment to gather what I needed for the 9:00 and headed out the door.

A few minutes later I found myself parked at the gate and walking to the flight line. I found Jay walking my way, smiling ear to ear.

“Well, here I am!” I said. He nodded quietly, putting a finger to his lips as though he wanted me to be quiet myself.

“Huh?” I asked. He put his finger to his lips again, indicating that I need to be quiet. But again, I spoke.

“This thing has got to be quick …” I began, but this time he was more forceful. This time I took the hint, looked at the clock on the phone and continued to wait.

A minute or two later, a C-130 landed and taxied over to where we were. When parked and the propellers came to a stop, Jay started toward the rear of the aircraft, motioning me to follow. It was then that I noticed our group quietly coming out of the woodwork and numbered about 20. We lined up in two rows at the aircraft, one on either side facing inward.

Jay stood at the front of the left column and indicated that I stand at his side. As the flight crew opened the ramp, I gave Jay a nudge and pointed to the clock on my phone … 8:50 AM … right on time. He quietly indicated that I should be patient.

About that time something attracted my attention. I turned to see a small truck had backed to the end of our column. I watched the driver, a Soldier, step out. He opened the rear doors to reveal that it was empty.

At the same time, six Marines entered our ranks, lining up in two rows of three at the back of the truck, facing one another.

As the driver latched the doors, with the Marines in place, the Soldier took his spot beside one of the doors and gave a nod.

With a quiet voice, one of the Marines called, “Detail … attention!!” With that, the entire group stood to.

“Aircraft, face!”, the Marines turned in unison toward the C-130.

As they did, Jay called, “Parade … rest!” The two columns of Airmen followed suit.

“Forward … march!” called the Marine, the six marching in unison toward the aircraft, slowly making their way inside.

During all of this, I found myself impatient. I had just a couple minutes to for my next appointment, but here I stood. Stuck, and hoping this group would pick up the pace.

“Detail … halt!” was called. “Center … face!”

Still impatient, unable to see inside, I could only wonder what they were now facing. “Come on guys!” I thought. “I’ve got to go!”

“Ready … lift!” I wondered what they were picking up, but really didn’t care.

“Detail … attention!” Jay called out. The two columns and the Soldier by the truck all came to.

“Rear … face!” was called from within.

“Present … arms!” called Jay. All but the Soldier rendered a salute, I still hoping this ceremony would come to a quick end.

“Forward … march!” was called, the rhythmic step of boots was heard on the metal floor, and the Marines now began their exit, I hoping we were about to conclude.

And then, … it happened. I saw the boots of the first two Marines start down the ramp. From where I stood, I could only see up to their knees at first, followed by stripes of red and white, the second pair of Marines, followed by a field of blue filled with stars. Then the third pair.

As they slowly marched by, I finally hit me what was taking place. Emotion swept through my being as I struggled to keep my bearing.

“Who is that?” I wondered. “What happened? Where are they from? Does their family know? Are they married? Do they have kids? Siblings? Parents? What were they like? What did they like? What were their hopes and dreams?”

The questions continued as the Marines made their way towards the truck … a truck I then understood belonged to Mortuary Affairs … the group that would help that poor soul … that Fallen Angel … make their last trip home.

It was in that moment that I really understood the gravity of this Global War on Terror. It was not a story, it was not a movie, it was real. It was something that was occurring at that very point in time, just a few short miles away. That could be any one of us covered by that beautiful American flag, carried by those six young Marines, as we made our final trip home.

“Detail … halt!” called the Marine. “Center … face! Ready … lift!” The casket was then lifted to meet the floor of the empty bay. Then they paused.

The Soldier marched slowly, yet purposefully, to the end of the casket. He aided the Marines in guiding this Fallen Angel inside.

As the Soldier passed each pair of Marines, they would drop their arms and come to the position of attention.

Once inside, the Soldier paced backwards, until he was beyond the Marines, and stopped … coming to attention himself.

“Detail … present arms!!!” the Soldier called. For a brief moment, we stood in silence. All at attention. All saluting. Showing respect for the to this poor young soul.

While we stood only for a moment, it felt like an eternity. The entire time my eyes welled up with tears, thinking of this young man or woman, their family back home, and that had just happened. I came to really understand, to appreciate, the sacrifices of those who came before, and were sure to follow. I came to think of my own service and what it really meant. I thought about my own family and what would happen to them, if that were me in that truck.

“Order … arms!” the Soldier called. All present dropped their salute. “Detail … dis-missed!”

At that, all turned on their heels, stepping off to continue with their days.

All … but one.

I remained, still barely at attention, my hand still hung in the air trying to hold a salute, … watching … just watching … as the Soldier closed those doors and began to drive away.

As he did, I felt a touch on my back. I turned to see my friend.

“Thank you for coming,” he said with a smile, and headed off to work himself.

I’d looked at my watch and still had a couple minutes to walk those 50 yards or so to the gate. As I did, I’d thought about what had just happened. An experience that changed my life forever.

The last thing that came to my mind as I approached the gate, watching my visitors approach the other side, was Jay’s promise to never ask again. He kept that promise, never asked again, and never had to. I made every ceremony I could from that moment on, leading a couple ceremonies myself. Showing the due respect for all Fallen Angels who came before and have come since. I’m certain that we wouldn’t be able to live the lives we do if it weren’t for their sacrifices.

Thank you, thank you all.

Jacob’s Gotcha Day

Four years ago, Jacob Ezekiel Proctor joined our family.  May 14, 2018 was his “Gotcha Day”.  It was that day where our little family, along with Jacobs older brother Noah, became whole.

It was the day, after several months of paperwork, that we were able to travel and finally meet our little one!

Our travel to China during this trip had similarities, and differences, to the trip to meet Noah.  Similarities included our trip to Tiananmen Square and the Great Wall.  Differences included a trip to Nanning and a ride on the “bullet train” through some of the most unique mountain terrain I’ve ever seen and wondering through the city of Guangzhou via subway for a “retirement party for one” at an Irish pub called Hooley’s.

While some of the experiences have been incredibly trying, and many more have been incredible blessings, but we couldn’t think of our lives being any different.

We recall him singing familiar lullabies in Mandarin upon arriving home, for comfort we’re sure.

We recall his first visits to family in Colorado and Virginia.

We recall the first pictures, the games, the toys, and stuffed animals he hugged for comfort.

We also recall climbing on the furniture, getting in trouble at school, and continual picking on his brother!

He has been all boy, happy-go-lucky, and a true blessing to the entire family!

Jacob, we realize you are likely the only person who had NO say in this entire process, but thank you for being our son!  We love you!

The Short Inspection

It was way too early on a beautiful Saturday morning when the Cadre woke us up.

“EVERYBODY GET UP, GET DRESSED, GET OUTSIDE, AND GET IN FORMATION!  WE DON’T CARE WHAT YOU’VE GOT ON, WHETHER OR NOT YOUR BUNK IS MADE, WHETHER YOU’VE SHAVED OR SHOWERED, JUST GET DRESSED AND GET OUTSIDE!”

It would appear as though I wasn’t the only grumpy person this morning!  The entire cadre seemed a little cranky, the entire Company of soldiers less than chipper, each or my ragtag group peers standing outside wondering what just happened!

“Bravo Company, a Health and Welfare Inspection has been initiated,” the First Sergeant began.  “We will be looking for any form of weapons, drugs, alcohol, food substance , or other paraphernalia that should NOT be in your rooms, whether legal or illegal.  When dismissed, you need to go directly to your rooms, prop open the door, open your wall lockers, and stand at the position of parade rest at the end of your bunks!  Drill Sergeants will be going through your belongings one room at a time.  The first person in each room who recognizes the Drill Sergeant entering the room will call the room to attention and follow their direction accordingly.  If your possessions are found to be within regulations, you will be released for weekend.  If you are found to be in possession of something out of regs, disciplinary actions will ensue.  Are there any questions? … No?  Great! Company, attention!  Dis-missed!!”

At that, we scurried back to our rooms, propped open doors, and proceeded to wait.  I knew I was in trouble from the start.  I had a box of hot chocolate in my wall locker, which qualified as a “food substance”.  It was one of those variety packs that were individually wrapped they were quite enjoyable during those cool fall evenings.  Unfortunately, there wasn’t much place for the box to be hidden.  It was on the top shelf, in the back corner, behind shampoo and shaving cream, right next to a mug setting in plain view.  So all I really could do was to stand there and wait, with the din at the other end of the hall, slowly growing closer, and closer.

Then it happened, “Good morning Proctor!”

“Room, attention!” I called.  “Good morning Drill Sergeant!”

I was in luck.  Drill Sergeant Talbert was a slight of a man, coming in at a whopping 5’3” and maybe 140 pounds.  The brim of his campaign hat was about even with the lockers shelf.  There may be a chance!

“At ease Proctor!  Are you hiding anything from me?”

How was I really supposed to respond to a question like that?  “Why yes Drill Sergeant, I’ve got an illicit box of Swiss Miss in my locker.  It’s on the top shelf, right behind the Pert!” 

Uh, no …

“No Drill Sergeant, I am not!”

“Are you lying to me Proctor?  If you’re hiding something, you know I’ll find it!”

“I’m sure you would Drill Sergeant!”

Sergeant Talbert began the search.  He started with my shoes and glanced under the bed.  He then went through the desk before heading to the wall locker.  My stress level rose ever so slightly as he went through the drawers holding socks, shirts, and shorts.  He moved to the hangars, both military and civilian clothes.  Then the shelf.  Drill Sergeant Talbert rose to his toes for a glance, returned to his feet, then spun turned towards my direction.  I braced for impact as I was about to learn my fate ….

“You’re good to go Proctor!  Secure your locker and enjoy your weekend!” 

Excuse me?  Good to go?

“Roger that Drill Sergeant!”  I was closing the doors about the time he was leaving the room, but I was stopped before I could get it locked.

“PROCTOR!  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

I turned to find Drill Sergeant Sullivan standing in the door.  Sullivan was a lot bigger, standing about six foot tall, cresting 200 pounds.  He looked and carried himself like someone would think a Drill Sergeant should!

“Drill Sergeant!  Drill Sergeant Talbert has inspected my room and said I was good to go!”

Sullivan paused for a moment and we caught eyes, waiting to see who would flinch first.  He took a step back, and leaned out the door, still glaring in my general direction.

“Drill Sergeant Talbert!” he yelled.

“Wassup Drill Sergeant?”

“Did you get Proctor?”

“Yep, sure did.  He’s good to go!”

At that, Drill Sergeant Sullivan shifted his weight back into my room, still holding his gaze.

“You’re lucky Proctor, you know I would have found something!” 

“Roger that Drill Sergeant!”  He then turned and headed off to the next room, not realizing how lucky I really was!

Little things in life …

It has been said that the little things in life are what really matters. It doesn’t take long for some such memories to come to mind, and just a little longer for the flood gates to open! For our family, there are more than a few…

Family

A Ball Field
A movie
Or Travel!!!!!!

We will always remember that first apartment in Panama City, Florida, the Assistant Manager tearing around the property in a golf cart, her boss always fussing at her to slow down, but she’d never take heed and continue on.

That same apartment whose roof leaked and rain would pour into the laundry room with every storm!

There was our time at Offutt Air Force Base in Nebraska, where we adopted a dachshund / shih-tzu mix named Gracie who ruled our roost for nearly seven years. She reigned from her throne atop of our couch pillows, and parked next to the gate, where she would protect us from the elementary school kids and they walked home.

We remember our first home in Colorado Springs, which we still rent out today. We were fortunate to have a garage and a fenced back yard for Gracie to play.

It was from here where we traveled the Rocky Mountain states and really grew to love the West.

It was also here where someone broke in while we were out and placed Gracie outside. Oddly, nothing else was removed from the home, but there were signs that someone was there, and we believe we may have scared them off. We weren’t sure if we should call the police, or laugh at poor Gracie who failed miserably as a guard dog!

Our house in West Virginia was a different story. It was a Cape Cod of nearly 2,400 square feet, set on the side of a hill. Quite picturesque, but mowing the yard was quite the challenge!

While we used this home as a base to explore Appalachia, the threat of losing power was present every time a storm rolled through! But fortunately, there was a Wal-Mart a half mile away … in a straight line.

We could see the main entrance from our porch, but being West Virginia, the drive was just about three miles away, with a one-lane tunnel under the interstate along the way!

Other things we’ve come to enjoy along the way include a good meal, a sunset, an occasional concert, or a walk along a stream.

Whatever those little things are for you, don’t ever let them go. Ours have helped us get through the hard times, better enjoy the good, and we’re sure those little things in others lives serve the same role.

The Parental Experience

I never realized how much I could love someone until I met my wife. We didn’t realize how much we could love another until we had children. There is something about those kids, so genuine, so innocent, so dependent.

Every day we look at them and not only are we amazed at how much they’ve grown, but are humbled at the fact that our actions will impact them forever. It’s as though their adult versions, from decades in the future, are looking back at us, demanding that we do right by those two.

This is something we think about every single day, and we would do anything for them to ensure they have whatever they need to grow, thrive, and survive.

One of the most significant things we do for them involves our youngest, who requires a blood transfusion once every four weeks.

For the most part, these trips have become father / son days where we spend time reading and doing art projects, or playing games and watching videos on a tablet.

Our trip last week was much of the same, with one important difference that stretched me to my limits. As we were parking, my son started complaining of a belly ache. Simple enough I’m sure. But thinking he may be hungry, we got food into his system, and soon, he seemed fine.

The day continued without much of a second thought. The process went smoothly, we watched videos and played with slime, with the anticipation of a car wash on the way home sitting in the back of our minds. Overall, this was a great day and looked to be a great finish!

Once the transfusion was complete, we packed up our belongings, hopped in the car, and headed off to clean up the car. Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

Ten minutes later we came to a complete stop. Rush hour traffic had kicked in and the interstate was horrendous. It was then that my son began to complain about his stomach once again. I realized this may be more than just hunger, but I offered food once again, hoping for the best.

He proceeded to open the bag, poured everything on the back seat, and grabbed what he wanted.

He then mentioned something and I thought he was finished, so I reached toward the backseat and he handed me the bag, with what I imagined would be the rest.

As he placed the bag in my hand it felt like a warm liquid. I though it may be the slime, but something didn’t seem right.

“Is this the slime?” I asked.

“No, I threw up!” he replied.

Eww … just eww!

While that wasn’t quite as traumatic as helping his constipated brother in the Air and Space Museum a few years earlier, it was close. But, I was impressed by the fact that a six-year-old had the foresight to empty a bag prior to throwing up!

I set the bag on the passenger side floor, rolled down his window, and said, “We’re out of bags. If you need to throw up again, please throw up out the window!”

Obviously, my stress level was rising, especially since we were still setting in traffic, in a construction zone, with no way to pull off. Then, he started to complain that his back hurt and began to cry. I turned to check on him and found him laying on the floor, curled up in a ball, and there was nothing I could do! For some reason one of us was feeling a little strained!

So, as my stress level continued to rise, I called my better half, and unfortunately, she didn’t answer, which really didn’t help my thoroughly happy mood!

Ten minutes later we were able to get out of traffic, and another ten minutes later we were home. I was still in a lovely mood and my poor son still feeling ill. I placed him in our bed, got him some water and crackers, we turned on some cartoons, and soon, both of us were feeling a lot better. Unfortunately, the trip to the car wash has still not taken place.

Aimee finally called to see where we were and it was obvious that she hadn’t heard my message … so I put her on speakerphone and proceeded to fill her in.

But as a good husband, all I could say was, “Thank you, I’ll remember that next time.” But what I wanted to say was, “Honey, I just went through hell with this kid. I felt horrible already and really don’t need a lecture!”

When she too got home and heard my message, she told me it sounded like a car accident. “Really? ” I thought to myself. “A car accident? Gosh, I wonder why!”

But now, with our lives returned to normal, I went to go clean the car … which included the food, laptop, slime, and the bag filled with puke.

And while the smell permeated the closed confines of our car, a phantom sensation of warm puke in my hand, I thought about both kids … both at their current ages and the grown men they will become. I realized that this experience likely brought us closer, Aimee and I looking forward to walking beside both of them, helping them through the hard times, and hoping that someday they will look back and think that we were good parents.

And if at some point in the future they find themselves reading this post, I want them to know that we love them! I’m proud of them and we’ll always be there for them … puke in our hands and all!

The Retirement Party

The adoption of our second child from coincided just about perfectly with my retirement from the Air Force Reserves.  We were adopting from China and our return occurred some five days prior to the ceremony.

Funny thing is, I didn’t want a ceremony. I wound up being pressured … no, guilted … into having one.  We wound up having the ceremony at the Auld Shebeen’s Irish Pub in Fairfax, Virginia, mainly because I liked the place and was close to where I was living at the time. But this proved a challenge with our impending trip. With the dates being so close, the initial legwork began well prior to our departure, was completed the over those five days after our return, and the minute details were attended to via email while we were away.

Why Auld Shebeen’s vice any other locations? There were several, beside the fact that I like the place and it was close to home of course!

  • Let’s start with alcohol, I wanted people drink if they wished.
  • It was off base, so we didn’t have to worry about access.
  • There were multiple types of alcohol.
  • Most people can find something to eat at an Irish restaurant.
  • Well, there actually a lot of alcohol.
  • Auld Shebeen’s has a room big enough to have a ceremony, and
  • I really wanted to have drink during at my own ceremony.

But the ceremony in itself concerned me. As mentioned, I really didn’t want to have one. A lot of folks don’t realize that there is no regulation that requires retiring military personal to have a ceremony, but someone in the unit got it in their crawl that I needed to have one! If I was going to bow to pressure, I might as well drink! 

What changed my mind? My wife Aimee was the deciding factor. When I told her about the frustrations wit my coworker, a distraught look crossed her face and she asked, “You’re not having a ceremony?”  Well, a happy wife is a happy life, so my mind was quickly changed. 

A couple days later I was back to work and approached this person in question. I let her know about the discussion I had with my wife and told her about my change in heart. She was ecstatic!  The ensuing conversation went something like this:

“Where are we going to have it?” this young lady asked.

“How about an Irish pub,” I replied.

“Great, there’s one in Fairfax.”

“How about one in China?’

“We can’t have one in China.”

“Why not?”

“We’ve got clearances.”

“You do realize I’m about to travel to China?”

“Yes, but you’re about to retire. It really doesn’t matter at this point.”

“Maybe not here, but I still need one with my civilian job.  Besides, I had a clearance when we traveled for our first child, and I’ve renewed it since.”

“Fair, but what about travel costs?” she replied.

“Good point,” I concluded.  “Let’s have it in Fairfax.”  But, now I had this desire research Irish Pubs in China. Would it even be possible to visit an Irish pub in China, while adopting a child? Are there even any in China?  If so, how would I get there, especially if they weren’t close to our hotel?

That evening I began to research the three cities we would be visiting and see what options I had.  In Beijing, a city of 21.5 million, only one appeared in my Google search. Unfortunately, it wasn’t all that close to where we were staying.  Nanning, a city of 7.25 million had an English pub, but nothing Irish, and that too was nowhere close.  In Guangzhou, a city of 15.3 million, had three, one of which … Hooley’s Irish Pub … was located just a couple blocks from a subway stop. 

Then I thought to myself, “Self!  You know very well there’s a subway stop right outside of the hotel where we’ll be staying!”  From the information I gleaned online and an App for the Guangzhou subway, this seemed doable! With information in hand, I approached Aimee, told her what I wanted to attempt, and why.

“No, it’s too dangerous.  Our adoption agency says there’s too much crime and recommends that folks stay close to the hotel unless we were going somewhere adoption related.”

“But from what I can tell, the subway seems easy to use. Western expats seem to use the system without much of an issue!” I countered,

“I think it’s just a little too risky.” The husband card got trumped, a minor dream began to fade.

So there was only one thing to do in a situation like this … pout.  After nearly 17 years of marriage, I’ve gotten pretty good at it! 

But, even with my hopes dashed, I could still continue to dream, and did quite a bit of dreaming over the next several weeks until we finally arrived in Guangzhou, with our newly adopted little man in tow. It was then that I realized that an attempt had to be made!

“Honey, you know how I get something in my head it tends to stew. If I don’t try this, I’ll wind up kicking myself,” I challenged.

“I still think it’s too risky.  Besides, we were reminded that we shouldn’t wonder too far from the hotel.”

“If I can’t figure out how to use the subway, I’ll be right back.”

“Fine.  If you make it, please call me when you arrive and once more before you leave to come back.”

She sounded upset, and I hate to upset my wife, but I just couldn’t handle coming this far and not trying, so off I went.

One of the recommendations I’d seen on the internet was the use of the ticket vending machines. As I entered the subway station, that is just what I did. My first contact wasn’t as productive as I had hoped and turned my attention to the ticket counter.

Once there, I found a clerk who didn’t speak any English. I should have never assumed we could communicate, but I had become so accustomed to clerks who spoke at least some broken English in the United States, but that was not the case this afternoon! But, like many of the broken-English-clerks in the United States, he too looked at me as though I had an extra hand growing out of my forehead.  But, I wasn’t about to quit … not just yet.

I returned to the vending machine for another try. For some reason my comprehension of the written Chinese language hadn’t improved over the past 2-3 minutes, so I felt as though my adventure was about to come to an end!

But, as I was about to give up, something caught my eye.  There was a new clerk at the ticket counter!  Maybe, just maybe, my luck had changed!

As I caught this woman’s attention, it must have been obvious that this middle-aged white guy wasn’t a local.

“Excuse me Ma’am, may I buy a ticket?” I asked.

She then proceeded to tell me about here stock, with some of the best broken English I’d ever heard! “This one 24 hours, this one 3 days, this one a week, this one for a month.”

“24 hours?” I asked, pointing at the first card. She nodded.  “How much?”

“20 Renminbi.”

“For 24 hours?” I asked and she replied with a nod. The fact that a 24 hour subway card, in a large city, went for the equivalent of $3.20 mind boggling! “One please!” A moment later I was off with card in hand!

The next stop was the platform.  I quickly learned that all passengers had to place their bags on a conveyor belt and proceed through an x-ray machine, just like an airport.  I wondered what event occurred for this to become the norm, but quickly made my way through.

Once through, finding my way around the station was easy.  Rail lines in Guangzhou are oriented by color and number. Stations at the furthest ends were also listed which Indicate the direction trains at specific platforms are headed.  Also., the app I’d picked up prior to my travel proved to be invaluable. Before making my way to the pub, I needed to take a very specific picture.

A coworker and I had spent some time looking at the subway map two weeks prior. He pointed out a particular station and requested a picture of myself standing in front of the sign.  When I saw which one, my sophomoric mind kicked in and I really wanted to help out an equally childish coworker, which lead to a very touristy picture at the Longdong station.  I’m sure more than a few locals are aware of this linguistic snafu and shoot their heads at the stupid Americans who took their pictures around the same spot!

Once the selfie was taken, I hopped back on the train. One transfer and about 10 stations later, I was at my stop. Finding my exit, I quickly realized the map on the Pub’s website was not to scale, nor did I locate the best exit, thus began a long winding walk to the Pub.

Some 10 minutes later, I found myself at Hooley’s and let my wife know I was there.  As I walked through the door I was taken a little by surprise.  For some reason I found it odd that all of the few mid-afternoon patrons, at an Irish Pub, in Guangzhou China, were Caucasian.  Sadly, they didn’t even look Irish! Not a red hair between them! The only other folks present were the two bartenders, who were ironically Asian. The entire group glanced at the stranger in the door , shrugged me off, and went back to their business.

Feeling a little self-conscious, I ordered a pint of Punk IPA and took a seat. I later learned Punk IPA was English, and I found it exceptionally good, but my recent travels through Guangzhou’s hot, humid, climate may have had something to do with it. Id like to try that brew again just to verify!

I proceeded to take a couple pictures and began looking for souvenirs … shirts, shot glasses, etc. It didn’t take too long to realize there wasn’t anything for sale.  So, in my slightly buzzed confidence, I decided to take another approach … the glasses.

Each of the glasses used for serving had the restaurants logo on them, so I asked the bartender if I could buy a couple.

A confused look sprang across her face and she asked, “Why?” That really was a pretty good question.

The first couple things that crossed my mind were, “Just because,” “Why not?” and “I really don’t know.” But instead, I pointed to myself and said, “Tourist.  To take home. For a souvenir.  Memories.”

This poor young lady had to use a lifeline and made a quick call.  Seeing how I didn’t understand a word she was saying, I could only imagine the conversation that was taking place, my mind creating imaginary conversations the entire time! “Hey boss, you’ll never guess what happened. This chuckle-head walks in, buys a beer, and asks to buy a couple glasses … He’s a tourist … Yeah, I know how much we paid for them … Double it? … He might … Of course, we’ll definitely split the difference!”

As she hung up the phone, she turned to my direction, held up a finger and said, “Forty.”

“For one?” I asked and she nodded.  So I handed her 80 Renminbi for two and a little more for a second pint … which proved to be a great idea, especially since I was still fairly dehydrated and had to make my way through the heat and humidity in the fairly near future. But, in the meantime, I was feeling good, and better with each passing sip! 

As I finished the drink, I called Aimee to let her know I was leaving, and headed out the door. Then it hit. As I stepped from the air conditioning into the south China heat, my little buzz became big buzz, and I began to wonder what the penalty was in Guangzhou for being drunk in public.  Rather than return to the pub and wait it out, my mind thought it best to start walking to the station, which became a concern as I somehow navigated the two busy streets along the way!

But somehow I managed to make it safely to the station. As I entered and approached the guards, my drunk mind had an epiphany. The guards at the first station dealt with an American tourist.  These two were facing a drunk with two thick bar glasses in his backpack.  While the differences between these two are slight, my drunk confidence wondered what could go wrong!

But that didn’t stop my anxiety laden mind from wandering. Are Chinese police allowed to hit drunks? Do they have Miranda rights? Would I be innocent until proven guilty on this side of the Pacific? How about a phone call? Do I have a phone number for the American Consulate? Am I going to be the next stupid American with his face sprawled across American media? That would actually be a cool taking point! But how about food? Is it bread and water? Maybe a labor camp?

There was only one way to find out, and all of this should have crossed my mind a lot earlier, but as I stood there, I realized that I walking back to the hotel didn’t really sound like fun. So I took my chances with a potential international incident, placed my bag on the conveyor belt, and stepped through the x-ray machine when asked.  A tense moment later, the officer pointed to my bag and indicated that I could proceed. I smiled, said thanks, and headed off to the train.

Some 30 minutes or so later, I was back at the hotel, adventure complete, neither the consulate nor the media were aware, and after sharing my story with my wife, we headed off to dinner.

When we returned home with our beautiful new addition about a week later. I downloaded the pictures from Hooley’s and prepped an email to the coworker who pressured me into a ceremony. The pictures were accompanied by one little line, “Retirement ceremony for one, care of Hooley’s Irish Pub, Guangzhou, China.” 

Question – The Walk?

Over time I’ve asked friends, family, and coworkers, “What would it take for you to walk off your job?”  Or, if walking off is too extreme, “What would it take for you to give your boss your two weeks notice?”  Or, “If you returned home this evening and were presented with something … a phone call, a piece of mail, a package, anything … that would cause you to give your boss your two weeks notice, what would that be?”

I never ask this because I don’t really want folks to quit on short notice, but rather to see what’s important to them, what their dreams are, to see if I can spark some dream in the lives of those I’m talking with.

Unfortunately, most respond with a new job offer, found out that they’ve won the lottery, or were retirement eligible.  All of these are legitimate answers, and very safe especially when folks have responsibilities such as a spouse, kids, mortgages, and the like.

But what else is there to life? What types of things are being put off due to the time constraints associated with a job? Vacations? Kids T-Ball game? A second honeymoon? A pet project?

What is it that keeps us at the job we’re in, what is being missed along the way, and what is the threshold where we just say, “Nah, this is too much! I’ve sacrificed (fill in the blank) way too much,” and then do something about it?

I’ve actually walked off jobs twice, once in High School when I was working for Pizza Hut and the other while in College when I was working for McDonald’s.  The reason for the first was along the lines of “Nah, I’m good.”  The second was because I found a better paying job.  Good reasons at the time, but I’ve never just left, especially as an adult, especially one with responsibilities.

Unfortunately, there are more than enough times over the past 40 years where I have pushed aside my hopes and dreams for jobs that don’t seem to matter.  But due to the fact that I still need to be the “responsible adult” and provide for my family, my dreams are set aside, and never get readdressed.  Maybe soon I will find a way where I can make those dreams a reality and politely walk away.

The closest I’ve come was after college when I was still moving furniture.  Two of us were in the waiting area about noon one beautiful Friday when the Dispatcher approached us with two small jobs.  The first was slated to take two to three hours.  The Dispatcher handed us the paperwork and held onto the second set of paperwork, just in case someone else came back early enough to run with it.

The two of us took off and returned about 3:00 and proceeded to check in.  The second job hadn’t been filled and the boss was waiting for us.  So my partner went to take care of the truck while I went to take care of the paperwork and pick up the second set.

As I stepped into the waiting room I saw a good friend about to leave for the day.

“Larry! Where ya runnin’ off to?” I asked.

“Going fishing. You coming along?”

“Sure am,” I replied.  “I’ll be right there.”  I then proceeded to drop off that first set of paperwork and follow Larry out the door.

No sooner did I hit the parking lot, but my co-worker had pulled the truck around to the front.  He immediately noticed something was missing.

“Where’s the second set of paperwork?”

“With the Dispatcher,” I replied.

“Why?  Weren’t you supposed to be returning the paperwork from the first job and picking up the paperwork for the second?”

“Yep.  I dropped off the first set of paperwork, but I’m going fishing.”

“Uh, there’s still work to be done!”, he came back.

“Good luck with that, I’m going fishing.”  My co-worker just stood there dumbfounded as I got into my car and followed Larry to one of the quaintest bass fishing ponds I’d ever seen.

It was nothing against my co-worker, and I do hope the job was taken care of.  But, I’m surprised I wasn’t fired!

Have you ever just walked off a job?  If so, why? If not, what’s the closest you’ve come?  Please, tell me the story!