Wednesday, October 14, 2020
“The Stride”
Once upon a time there was something called, “Take your child to work” day. It was a real thing that we did back in the day. It was a special day for me because my dad didn’t work where we lived, New Hope, PA. No, every day he got up before dark and took the train to his faraway work place, New York City. This was going to be a double adventure for me; ride the train to Dad’s office and see New York City. It was a magical day for a youngster.
In the pitch dark, we drove to Trenton, NJ to catch the train. We entered the train and I immediately noticed the dress code. Everyone in dark suits, white shirts and thin ties. Fortunately, I was sporting my Sears blue suit and red clip-on tie so I felt up to standard. Every person had a newspaper folded in one hand and a brief case in the other. This was before smart phones so all the men knew each other and conversed easily about this or that. Dad introduced me to the regular commuters and I learned what a firm handshake was. With an aching hand, we arrived at Penn Station and everyone – I mean everyone – rushed out of the train at the same time. There was a hustle and energy that gripped everyone. They had places to go, things to get done. What exactly? I had no idea but these looked like important people doing important work.
Here's the thing. I will always remember my dad’s STRIDE when we alighted the train. That confident stride getting ahead of the sea of fellow commuters. I was doing the run-walk (mostly run) thing barely keeping up. I remember thinking, what’s the hurry. But that was NYC and Dad in those days. There was no straggling. There was no nonsense. His stride was a metaphor for his work life in my mind: a man in a hurry to take care of business in the right way. And he did, being the first in his family to graduate college and rising to the top level of his company providing for our every need. The American Dream.
Fast forward nearly two decades. I’m a few years into my career and Dad is finishing up his. We're talking and I'm whining about my 30 - 40 minute commute and ask, “Dad, how can you commute 1 ½ hours each way or 3 hours per day for 30 years, that’s crazy?” Without skipping a beat, he replied, “Son, it’s tough for the first 25 years, then you get used to it.”
Mic drop! Ouch, that covered the whining about the job topic. Message received. Good talk.
Dad didn’t speak much career advice. He modeled it: Stride onward; doing what is necessary without complaint.
RIP
Love, Robb
