RVANews

Founding Fathers: self employment and the work/life balance

John Sarvay — Fri, 13 May 2011 16:00:01 +0000

The first year was awesome. Sort of.

The upside of starting a consulting business at the height of a recession is that there's always plenty of time to spend with your wife and young daughter.

The downside risks are that you continue to have plenty of free time and you run out of money, or the business takes off and all of that spare time evaporates.

Welcome to the last three years of my life as a father, and new business owner.

Knowing it's coming doesn't make it easier. Neither does seeing your wife and eight-month-old daughter waiting for you at the door.

On November 12, 2008, I wrapped up a twelve year run with Luck Stone Corporation. They gave me a generous severance check and the option to extend my health care benefits – for slightly more than our monthly mortgage.

Bear in mind that this was when more than a million people a month were hitting the streets. The recession was just gaining strength.

I was lucky. Within a week, I had interviews with two of Richmond's top employers. I was on the phone for several hours during one interview, and when I hung up Nikole – Thea bundled in her arms – asked what I thought.

"It's an industry I know well, it's in the midst of major change, they need someone with my skills," I said. "The job is tactical, not strategic, and won't stretch me, and the salary is about 60% of my last job. And they expect another round of layoffs in two months."

Awesome.

It was at that moment that I realized my 15-year run with corporate America – essentially limited to a stint at Circuit City and my long stretch at Luck Stone – had come to an end.

Nine days into my new job as an unemployed American, I decided to start my own business.

By nature, I'm a planner. I map things out. I ponder and sketch out ideas. I decided to take a few months to regroup and develop a solid business plan.

A tiny voice in my head whispered, "Run like hell."

I used to ignore that voice. Not this time.

There was no business plan. Within 60 days, I'd networked my way through coffee, lunch or dinner with more than 250 people around town. I had a snappy logo, vibrant business cards and a website. I even had a paying client.

I ran. I sprinted, really. And I haven't stopped – even now I'm moving at a good new-business-marathon pace.

That's how Floricane, a strategic planning and facilitation consultancy, was born – and has stayed alive. Thrived even.

Being a business owner has changed everything. It transformed my relationship with Nikole and Thea.

The first year was the best – we essentially lived off of a generous severance from Luck Stone, a major slice of my 401(k), a community benefactor, and one good contract with a nonprofit in Hopewell. I'd never been to Hopewell before 2009.

I used to leave for work every morning at 6.30am, and often didn't get home until after 6.00pm. This new life meant an extra four hours of day with Nikole and Thea.

It really was the perfect time to have more time – Thea was entering the toddler phase of her life, and was much more interesting, and interested.

We ate breakfast and played together every morning while Nikole got ready for the day. I came home early on sunny days so we could hit the playground.

Life was grand until July of that first year. That was when the money dried up.

It started with a phone call from Nikole. "We have $200 in the bank," she said, " and our mortgage is due in a week."

"Awesome," I replied. "I have about the same in the business account."

Suddenly, running a business felt real.

After an exhausting weekend of honest conversation, we decided to stay in the game. And I decided to stop treating it like a game.

One client turned into two, then three, then four.

Floricane rolled into 2010. By Thea's second birthday, I was staying on track with our morning breakfast dates, but more and more evenings were devoted to clients, proposals, and emails. More weekend hours were being spent at the office. I was barely keeping pace with my #GardenWars competitors at RVANews.

So, I staffed up. Not fast enough.

By the end of year two, I was juggling several dozen projects simultaneously with my new team. My brags of a 40 hour work week evaporated. I was beginning to feel the effects of the marathon pace.

I made a quiet commitment at the end of 2010 to begin to reclaim my family life.

No more than one half-day a weekend would be spent at the office. No more than two nights a week with clients or networking events. More blocks of time focused on Nikole and Thea.

My new team has stepped into the breach. We're managing our clients more effectively.

For Christmas, I gave Nikole a calendar with six long weekends blocked out between January and July. We've had a "staycation" and family trips to North Carolina, celebrated our birthdays, even gone on a few dates.

We planted a garden together last week.

I wouldn't trade the last three years – with my wife, our daughter, and our new business – for anything.

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Founding Fathers: Hulking Out

Matt Fisher — Wed, 16 Mar 2011 16:00:12 +0000

I think there are two types of angry people.

The first type are prone to rage because that’s what they’ve observed. Maybe they came from a home where anger was the only valid form of communication. Perhaps, they feel that they’ve been dealt a crap hand by life, and the only thing they can think to do is be hateful about it.

The second type are what I call Hulks.

Hulks are named after legendary comic book character Dr. Bruce Banner's alter ego. Banner is a mild mannered and emotionally unavailable geek. Emotions are illogical, precarious, and more complicated then even his advanced gamma radiation research. Whenever things become emotionally complex for Banner (i.e. his girlfriend breaks up with him or someone insults him on the bus) he reverts to a superpowered caveman who refers to himself as The Hulk. Hulks are angry because it’s easy. They consolidate their complicated emotional portfolio into one all-encompassing and primordially simple feeling: anger.

I’m definitely NOT the former; I don’t feel like the hand I’ve been dealt by life is anything short of a royal flush, and I’m thankful for it every minute. My parents were ever-civil and loving even in their disagreements, and we didn’t use anger or aggression as a means to get things done. I pray daily that my son’s home life is comparable to my own growing up, and I’d feel like I won the lottery if I improved on the job my parents did.

This leaves me squarely in the “Hulk” category.

I was an emotional kid, and I’m afraid my 4-month old -- Cash -- is already the same. I was the preschooler who had a meltdown EVERY day when mom dropped him off. When I was in 4th grade I read a Batman story arc where the Caped Crusader broke up a child smuggling ring. It took days for my parents to calm me down. I was the chubby middle schooler who got beat up in front of the local movie theatre -- and cried about it. As a result, I became the high school dropout who’d rather render someone unconscious with a pair of flea-market brass knuckles than feel lots of feelings all the time.

So now, here I am, a married man with a full-time job and an education, holding the most perfect little human I’ve ever laid eyes on. This is the emotional equivalent of dropping a hydrogen bomb into a volcano. When I held my son for the first time I was rocked to my very core. I realized that all the emotional barriers I’d built up around myself were nothing but childish, neanderthal reactions of a hurt little boy in the body of a grown man.

I’m faced with a choice.

If I stop this charade of he-man antics -- that masks my true weepy nature -- am I dooming my son to the childhood of a blubbery mama’s boy? He’ll constantly fight the torrent of emotions that so often knocked me to the ground on my trip from child to adult. Don’t I want him to see me as a tough guy, unwilling to take shit from anyone? Shouldn't he know that I have the ability to stand strong in the face of adversity for my family?

If I stick with the Hulk, then I run the risk of becoming one of THOSE parents. The low-class freaks you hear about on the news who punch tee ball coaches and threaten 6-year-olds on playgrounds. Just because I can say, with absolute certainty, that I would never hurt my wife or son doesn’t mean that using rage as a crutch against more complex emotions wouldn’t cause extremely serious damage to our family unit!

So what do we Bruce Banners do to keep from becoming awful parents?

I’ve been a crybaby for 26 years, a meathead for 8, and a dad for less then 6 months. I don’t really have any definitive answers on what to do with anger as a father. The only thing I can think to do right now is just let myself feel the feelings I feel and hope to high-heaven that my wife and son won’t be ashamed by my lack of grit.

Photo by tinyfroglet.

Founding Fathers: I am a foodie

Matt Sadler — Wed, 23 Feb 2011 17:00:46 +0000

Sure, the dads occasionally contribute to Raising Richmond, but the conversation there tends to leans more towards the maternal perspective. That’s where “Founding Fathers” comes in. Each month, we’ll be giving a different Richmond dad a place to reflect/opine/wax poetic about a fatherhood-related topic of his choosing. Today, foodie Matt Sadler talks about his familial food successes (and failures).

I am a foodie. I am also a father of a four-year-old boy (and a two-month-old boy, but he can’t eat anything so this doesn’t apply to him). While parenting is higher on the scale of importance, my foodie-ism is never far from the surface. I want my sons to grow up having an appreciation for food.

While it may be unrealistic for me to think that my boys will have the same passion for food and dining that I do, I firmly believe that I can have some positive influence on what they eat and how they enjoy it. Not only can I point them to healthier options, I can also make them appreciate a wide variety of foods and cuisines. Four years into this parenting thing, I've had my share of wins and losses. Here are a few:

What is going well

My child is only addicted to one kind of fast-food: Chick-Fil-A. I’ll tolerate the cons of eating fried foods as long as I know that he will eat his side of fruit with it. Plus Chick-Fil-A is a recognizable food with few mysterious ingredients. I used to work in their kitchen, and their iconic sandwich is a simple chicken breast dipped, coated, and fried. Compare that formula to Taco Bell, where it was recently announced that their ground beef is only 36% meat.

My child knows how to order his own food. It is normal for my boy to walk into a Mexican restaurant and request a chicken quesadilla, a side of guacamole, and a glass of lemonade. Much to my delight and the amazement of the restaurant staff, he eats his guacamole with a fork and not chips.

My son understands that he has to eat the cuisine of a given restaurant. He knows that if we are dining at an Asian restaurant that he cannot order the chicken tenders or cheeseburger -- even if it exists on the menu. We want him to appreciate a wide variety of cuisines and styles, and he knows that ordering the locale's main dishes is part of this life lesson.

What isn’t going well

My son won’t voluntarily touch anything green except tabbouleh. Much to our chagrin, green beans, asparagus, and even non-offensive iceberg lettuce will not go into his mouth.

He has decided that he does not like certain foods before he has tried them. For example, he likes bacon but refuses to eat pancetta. You and I know that the two are basically the same thing (sans the smoking element), and each is wonderful. If I call it bacon, he will eat it, but if I called bacon pancetta, he may not.

Where do I go from here?

The path is dark and the twists & turns are numerous. I can only try to make food choices something important in his life. There will be successes and failures, but I hope to learn from all of them. Here are a few of the tricks that I employ with my son.

1) Positive Reinforcement. The boy loves him some “Special Red Juice” (aka V8), so I am not too worried about his daily intake of vegetables. I am, however, concerned at his stubbornness against trying them. We have “Eating Green Vegetables” on the daily star chart. By making it a goal, he has been more likely to try them. Now we just have to convince him that putting them in his mouth and gagging them out again does not constitute eating them.

2) Implement Variety. I do not hesitate to take my son to most restaurants. I will take him to Thai, Ethiopian, Peruvian, Sports Bars, diners, whatever else is out there that I want to eat. Sometimes the variety is a hit, and other times it is a complete bust. You know you have succeeded to when your kid runs to you and says “Daddy, can we go out for moussaka tonight?” My lone exception is upper-end dining. If the location is a place that people are going to escape their children, I try not to make them deal with mine.

3) Language. I mentioned this before, but it needs reinforcement. How you sell food to your children is often times the difference between success and failure. I laughed when a parent explained the efforts she was going to in order to get the kids to eat chicken tenders. She said, “I know they love French fries so I called chicken tenders, ‘chicken fries’ and they tore them up.” For my kid, I know what he likes, so if I sell it to him as a variation of something he likes, he will eat it.

4) Dining Together. Yes, we try to eat as a family often, as much as life will allow, but I also try to make my son part of larger festive meals. I want him to know the joys of eating good food, talking with his family and friends, and realizing that those are special moments. The table is a bonding point. There are few experiences in life that are more intimate than breaking bread together.

There are multiple factors that go into why your child may or may not enjoy a certain kind of food. Sometimes trying harder or wanting it more doesn’t guarantee success, but it is our duty as parents to be patient with the process. Hopefully, with a little luck, it will all work out.

Founding Fathers: Babies don’t always come from storks

Ryan Smartt — Wed, 22 Dec 2010 11:00:40 +0000

Sure, the dads occasionally contribute to Raising Richmond, but the conversation there tends to leans more towards the maternal perspective. That's where "Founding Fathers" comes in. Each month, we'll be giving a different Richmond dad a place to reflect/opine/wax poetic about a fatherhood-related topic of his choosing. Today, local dad Ryan Smartt talks about his family's experiences with In Vitro Fertilization.

About five years ago, my wife Elizabeth and I decided to jump into the scary, exciting world known as parenthood. We’d been married for a couple of years, so, hey, why not? Everybody’s doin’ it (no pun intended…actually…pun intended).

Our assumption was it would only take a few months of trying and PRESTO…the next Smartt would be on his/her way. After 11 or 12 months without success, we went to see a fertility doctor who basically told us we needed to try “In Vitro Fertilization” or IVF.

I’m not going to lie. This was not easy news to take at first. Why did this happen to us? BILLIONS AND BILLIONS of humans have been born using the old reliable method, so what did we do to deserve this treatment? Why us? It’s not fair. Why us? WHY US?!

Oh, and also, IVF ain’t a cheap proce$$ either.

But mostly, we didn’t know who to talk to about our situation. Elizabeth and I always look to our family and close friends for difficult advice; however, we didn’t know anyone who had been through this and could empathize with us. Nothing felt normal, and to be honest, we were a little embarrassed. So we decided to keep it a secret at first. We felt like we were all alone. I even got depressed.

I also tend to internalize problems, which usually isn’t very healthy. Elizabeth became a little more open about what we were going through with her family and friends, but I didn’t. And guys, I don’t advise keeping everything to yourself if you’re in the same situation we were in. In fact, I would suggest seeking out other IVF parents or support groups. You’d be surprised how many are out there.

With the initial shock behind us, we did our best to move on. What we both decided was that we are two unique people. We’ve had unique experiences in our lives. Heck, it’s amazing we even met in the first place. How many people from Wichita, Kansas (me) and Richmond, Virginia (her) have met in New York City and decided to spend the rest of their lives together? None would be my guess. How many people have spent their wedding night in the ER? (Long story). How many people have written a book about their family history. Essentially, we thought if our personal journeys haven’t been the norm, why would it be any different for our first child?

After coping with the difficult emotions, we moved on to the physical issues of the IVF process. To put it in simple terms, here’s how IVF works: the doctor literally combines several sperm and eggs to create as many embryos as possible. Sounds pretty easy, right? Yeah, not so much.

Without going into too much detail, collecting the sperm is the easy part. But the doctor had to “extract” Elizabeth’s eggs. Going back to 8th grade Sex Education Class, you might remember that women release one egg per month. But the IVF doctor needed several in order to increase the odds of successful fertilization.

So how does one extract multiple eggs? Women actually have hundreds of eggs available, but in order to release several of them for the IVF process, you have to “trick” their bodies by injecting hormones to help release more eggs. It had to be done every day for several weeks. This meant I had to inject a variety of shots into Elizabeth every day for several weeks. Fun! (Or not fun at all.)

Our doctor extracted the eggs, and then combined them with the sperm to create the embryos -- a total of about 16. Then he took the “best three” and re-injected them back into Elizabeth.

The first two times didn’t work. So we had to do it again. Which, of course, took a few months. The stress, the physical pain, and the emotional pain were a lot to handle. Something else to think about: we injected three embryos each time. There was a chance we could have twins or TRIPLETS. For those of you who don’t know her, Elizabeth is a tiny person. How could she physically handle being pregnant with more than one baby? How could we handle dealing with two or three miniature humans after they’re born?

Jumping ahead to June of 2006. We went to Germany for a family trip with Elizabeth’s parents and her youngest sister to search for their family roots (this is also a chapter in AN AMAZING NEW BOOK.) The morning of the day we went to the tiny town where Elizabeth’s great-great-great- grandfather (who immigrated to Richmond) was born, I went to the pharmacy and purchased a pregnancy kit, which I had never done. I don’t speak German, so I looked up the word “pregnancy” and “kit” and wrote them down on a piece of paper. When I got to the pharmacy, I gave the piece of paper to the pharmacist, she smiled, and she showed me where the kits were. I was very nervous, and for some reason, I also decided to buy what I thought was some toothpaste (which actually turned out to be denture cream... oops.)

I got back to our hotel, Elizabeth peed on the stick, and we waited. For what felt like and eternity…

A dark pink line showed up, and we didn’t know what it meant, so we looked at the instructions, which were in German. There were two options: “schwanger” and “nicht schwanger”. And according to the stick, HOLY SHIZZLE she was REALLY schwanger. But first we had to look up schwanger in our dictionary. BOOYA! You can imagine our excitement when we saw what it meant.

Nine months later, baby Lyla came into our world. She had the sweetest, tiniest, cutest little cry I’ve ever heard. (Her crying is not so cute anymore, BTW.) But Lyla truly is a miracle. And despite the ups and down we’re experiencing with her, I always take a moment each day to think about how lucky we are to have her.

Elizabeth and I look back on our time before Lyla with mixed emotions. The initial shock of what we faced. The physical and emotional strain of IVF. The euphoria of being schwanger. The birth of Lyla. And now we’re asking ourselves…do we want to go through all of that again? Could we have another miracle baby without going through the IVF process?

Throughout this journey, I’ve realized that life doesn’t always happen the way you want it to happen. You have to adjust, you have to make decisions, you have to call audibles, you have to find ways to deal with the cards you’re dealt. You have to rely on the support of family and friends. And many times, it ain’t easy. But you know what? If you can find a way to work through the difficulties, the rewards are great.

Priceless, in fact.

Founding Fathers: Parenting OUTside the box

Anonymous — Tue, 16 Nov 2010 17:00:57 +0000

Sure, the dads occasionally contribute to Raising Richmond, but the conversation there tends to leans more towards the maternal perspective. That's where "Founding Fathers" comes in. Each month, we'll be giving a different Richmond dad a place to reflect/opine/wax poetic about a fatherhood-related topic of his choosing. Today's contributor tells about what it's like to be a gay man helping to raise his partner's two young boys.

“He won’t eat the one with pepperoni, and don’t forget his brother will only drink the blue Gatorade, but you can give him the red.”

"Alright," I respond. "I’ve got it." The whole time I think to myself, “WOW, this is not how I used to spend my Sunday evenings”.

Now, I’m sure this scenario doesn’t sound that unfamiliar to many parents reading this article. And quite honestly I could have anticipated this part of the deal when I started dating someone who had two children. But for me, this situation is a bit more complex, mostly because when I came out to my family as a gay man I never really imagined having a family of my own -- let alone an instant family of four.

So here I am, in a family I never thought I would be in, and happier than I ever thought possible. Because just like for all of you parents reading this article, I don’t believe there is anything more challenging, exciting, and rewarding than helping shape the young hearts and minds of our children and watching them grow into their own person.

While my experience of becoming a parent was virtually instant, the process of parenting is one that every day becomes more interesting. And as a gay parent it is in-fact remarkable. Why? Because every day I am reminded of just how innocent, impressionable and honest children can be. And that gives me such a sense of hope for our future.

Just like you my days are now filled with carpooling, homework, packing lunches, and bedtime stories alongside, of course, laundry, grocery shopping, and picking up behind a couple of very active six- and 10-year old boys. Oh, and did I mention going to work? The only difference is that in our house it is all boys. And it is great.

What makes it great? It is the simple things: a conversation on the way to school about a dream car, the new friend at school or maybe even a little crush. Or it might be a series of questions about why dad was in a grumpy mood this morning, what we are going to do this weekend, or whether or not they can have an extra piece of candy later. But the best part of the whole thing is having the opportunity to be a part of watching these two young boys grow up with hearts and minds that are wide open to the diversity of our world.

My partner and I are often asked, “How are the boys?” or “Are they doing OK with your relationship?” And the reality is that they’re fantastic. They know that they are loved unconditionally and that we will do all we can to support them becoming the greatest people they can be, because just like for the rest of the parents out there, our children are our most important responsibility.

As members of a minority group that is often faced with varying degrees of discrimination, we are well aware of how harsh the world can be. We are likewise aware of the challenges, teasing and bullying, that children often face in their day to day lives. Therefore we make teaching respect and authenticity a significant part of our parenting. However, we are also realistic, which is why I have chosen not to disclose my name or those of our family members.

We are realistic in our understanding that for our young boys, our relationship as gay fathers can and probably will create challenges for them. We are realistic in our understanding that no matter how much we love them, there are people in this world who will try to tell them that our relationship as gay men is sinful or wrong or sick. We are realistic in our understanding that our boys will face their own ridicule, harassment and bullying. Yet we are hopeful because of their innocence, their honesty and their growing respect and genuine compassion towards all people.

The reality is that many of their experiences are not unique to their situation as children with two dads. As parents, we are all often challenged in our responsibility to do our best to raise our children to be healthy, positive, and productive adults. Doing so calls us to put our children’s needs before our own. And that is why I hope that if nothing else, readers of this article will take away the message that in today’s diverse world one of the most important needs our children have is to know the value of kindness, respect and empathy towards all people. Because, to echo the message of Gene Harris in the last installment of Founding Fathers, The view from the rocker, “there are absolutely no guarantees in life, except this: if you don’t try your best in all you do, failure is guaranteed, but if you do all the right things, you have a good chance -- maybe even a very good chance -- of achieving your goals."

Take the time to be sure your children know you love them for who they are.

Take the time to teach them to love others for who they are.

Founding Fathers: The view from the rocker

Gene Harris — Tue, 19 Oct 2010 11:00:44 +0000

Sure, the dads occasionally contribute to Raising Richmond, but the conversation there tends to leans more towards the maternal perspective. That's where "Founding Fathers" comes in. Each month, we'll be giving a different Richmond dad a place to reflect/opine/wax poetic about a fatherhood-related topic of his choosing. Today we hear from Gene Harris, a local writer, producer, and director who is also partly responsible for creating RVANews editor, Valerie Catrow.

Okay, all you young, new fathers out there. At some point, while you’re holding your brand new, beautiful baby in your arms, and he or she is feasting on a nice, warm bottle, and the mother of the child has dropped into exhausted and much-deserved sleep, you may slip into a quiet reverie and start to wonder what it’ll be like, years from now, when your kid has grown up, moved out, gotten married, and (miracle of miracles) turned you into a new grandpa. What will THAT be like?

Here’s what it will be like: You won’t believe it. Trust me. I’ve got a pretty new grandson, and I still can’t really believe it. Because to be a grandfather, you have to be OLD. And I’m not OLD. No way.

After all, that geezer I see in the mirror every morning isn’t really me. It’s just some old codger that’s kidnapped the real me and is now holding me captive inside this decrepit hulk. And that old man who takes his cholesterol meds every night isn’t really me. And that aging bald guy who can’t remember where he put down his glasses 10 seconds ago isn’t really me. And those 20- and 30-somethings sitting in my den yakking aren’t really MY grown children, are they? Mine are still upstairs playing Space Invaders, right?

Wrong, Geritol Breath. I have to face facts. That geezer in the mirror is me, and if I didn’t believe it before, the proof is right before my eyes, in the person of that beautiful, wiggly grandbaby. Get used to it, Gramps, you’re OLD.

But with age comes experience, and with experience comes wisdom, or so they say. I don’t consider myself to be particularly wise, but as I sit here in my rocker, and review my journey through parenthood’s peaks and valleys, I do believe I’ve managed to pick up a few pearls along the way. Maybe I can pass some of them on to the current whippersnapper generation of new dads who may be reading this.

Pearl #1: Parenting is a long haul, so there’s no sense in worrying yourself to a frazzle about it. Parenting is tough enough without constantly fretting about whether or not you’re doing it right. Take your responsibilities seriously, but don’t expect perfection -- that’s an impossible goal. Do your best, but try to have fun doing it. You’ll figure this out by the time you have a second or third child. Relax, use some common sense, set some reasonable boundaries for your kids, and when something goes awry, use it as a learning experience for both the child and you as a parent.

Pearl #2: Your children’s education is all-important. My wife is a teacher who has taught in both public and private schools, and her experiences have convinced me that the single most important factor in how well a child does in school -- regardless of the amount of money spent by the school system, regardless of the skill and talent of the teachers, regardless of the teacher/student ratio, regardless of the extracurricular offerings, regardless of any of this -- is how much the parents care about whether their children are learning anything. If the parents care, their kids will do well in almost all circumstances. If the parents don’t care, the kids won’t. Simple as that.

Pearl #3: DO NOT try to mold your kid’s lives according to your own desires for them. Let your kids be who they want to be -- as long as what they want to be is legal, not harmful to anyone, and has some sort of worth. Your kid might want to be a basketball star or a concert pianist or a nuclear physicist or a teacher or an 18-wheeler operator or a bartender. No matter. Your job as a parent is to expose your children to as many different aspects of life, culture, and knowledge as you can, letting them gravitate toward what they feel has meaning to them, and lending them your encouragement and support -- which brings us to:

Pearl #4: We’ve all heard and been told something like the following: If you study diligently, work hard, and believe in yourself, you can accomplish anything you set your mind to. We often hear this from someone who has achieved great success in some endeavor, relating how they got this advice from their parents or some other venerable mentor at an early age, took it to heart, and persevered to become successful in their chosen field. Your parents probably told you the same thing from time to time, and I’m sure you want to give your own kids the same heartwarming and encouraging advice. Who wouldn’t?

Well, guess what. It ain’t true. For every hugely successful person in any field of endeavor you care to name, you can find two hundred also-rans floundering about out there, maybe having reached some modicum of success, but having achieved nothing near what they set out to do. And I’m sure nearly all of these folks had the same amount of desire, perseverance, and self-confidence the successful ones had. It just didn’t work out for them, for whatever reason -- lack of talent, inferior education, unforeseen circumstances, bad advice, you name it. So the idea that you can accomplish anything you set your mind to is pretty much a myth. Bummer.

But here’s the thing, the really important, redeeming point, and what you need to impart to your kids: If you don’t study diligently, if you don’t work hard, if you don’t believe in yourself with all your might, you have no chance of achieving your goals. Tell your kids that there are absolutely no guarantees in life, except this: if you don’t try your best in all you do, failure is guaranteed, but if you do all the right things, you have a good chance -- maybe even a very good chance -- of achieving your goals. And here’s a larger point: maybe whether or not you achieve your goals isn’t really that important, because the reward isn’t really in the achieving; it’s in the striving, the struggle, the effort. That’s how you find out who you are, and what you’re capable of. It’s how you achieve self-realization, which might just be the highest goal any of us should be striving for. Just do your best. That’s really all anybody can ask. It’s good advice for kids -- and good advice for parents.

And that’s the view from this grandparent’s rocker.

Founding Fathers: From oops to awesome

Shane Jimison — Fri, 17 Sep 2010 11:00:21 +0000

Sure, the dads occasionally contribute to Raising Richmond, but the conversation there tends to leans more towards the maternal perspective. That's where "Founding Fathers" comes in. Each month, we'll be giving a different Richmond dad a place to reflect/opine/wax poetic about a fatherhood-related topic of his choosing. Today we hear from Shane Jimison, local attorney and (as of Wednesday) a brand new dad to a baby boy named Hank. This piece was written a few weeks prior to his son's birth.

My wife Kristin and I spent the first seven years of our marriage actively trying not to get pregnant. Thirty-three sounded like a good age to maybe get rolling, so we thought we’d have a couple of years left of being dog-only parents. That all changed on Valentine’s Day 2010. I had not one, but two pregnancy tests with that purple plus sign hurled at my head. (Full disclosure: the second stick deservedly hit me in response to my plaintive query of “are you sure?” Yaz birth control? You can suck it.)

The next day, while she sat at home -- catatonic and weeping -- I went to the bookstore to grab a copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting. I couldn’t find it. There were shelves and shelves about infertility, but I had to ask for help in finding the expectant parents books. It kind of hit me how lucky we were at that moment.

We kept our news quiet until we could tell our family and friends at 12 weeks. What Kris doesn’t know is there are several bartenders, CVS clerks, and old ladies I met that knew I was going to be a dad. I had to tell someone, right? Because I wasn’t forced to live with my head in a toilet for 20 weeks, my excitement level was much higher than hers for a long time, as she began referring to the fetus as “that little asshole.”

Once the 12 weeks passed, we could tell our families and our friends and that brought with it a tremendous wave of “We’re really doing this... maybe it’s even going to be fun.” I read that my wife would start feeling better after the first trimester. She didn’t, so my job became convincing her that at some point, she would feel better and be as excited as I was. To no surprise, this happened when she started eating solid foods again.

One night before dinner, I casually mentioned that I had a few names running through my head. Turns out she did too and she said, “Out with it.” We agreed on names in about 30 seconds, and thankfully, Ted Theodore Logan or Bill S. Preston, Esquire met with her approval. The big 20 week ultrasound came, and sure enough, Baby Jimison had a penis, assuring that my family name lives on and our time-honored collection of fart and poop jokes will last another generation.

As of this writing, according to my “I’m Expecting” app on my iPhone, we are at week 34. The baby, who we once saw on a monitor as a pea that flickered is now 17 inches and 4.75 pounds. He beats the heck out of my wife’s internal organs, but when I put my hand on her stomach he calms down. I hope I have the same effect when he escapes out of his amniotic prison. We no longer have to refer to him as the size of a fruit or vegetable, because he is a person at this point and I can’t wait to meet him. I’m pretty sure he is going to be awesome.

So kid, when you read this, realize your mom did not have an easy pregnancy. You showed up uninvited. You made her sick for five months. You beat her up. You threw her hips out of whack. She was tired for weeks. Moody. Irrational. Downright angry, for no good reason. There is nothing you can do to repay her so do as I did with my mother and don’t even try. All you have to do is just love her as much as I love her and she will know that every discomfort was worth it ten fold. And if not, I hear macaroni wreaths are all the rage at Christmas.

Founding Fathers: Gender roles, my people!

Ross Catrow — Tue, 10 Aug 2010 17:00:28 +0000

Sure, the dads occasionally contribute to Raising Richmond, but the conversation there tends to leans more towards the maternal perspective. That's where "Founding Fathers" comes in. Each month, we'll be giving a different Richmond dad a place to reflect/opine/wax poetic about a fatherhood-related topic of his choosing. First up is Ross Catrow, co-publisher of RVANews, co-founder of PharrOut, and father to a 20-month-old little boy.

Guys, have you ever noticed that magazines/books/weeklies/blogs of the parenting and home & garden variety assume that the INAPTLY named realm of "housewifery" is unappealing or inapplicable to men? What gives? I do declare that the gender roles for home life are all out of whack, my people!

Part of my solemn familial pact* with my wonderful wife is that I keep our family of three fed and watered. This is an agreement we've had since before breeding, but it has transitioned to our post-birth lives. I'm sure many dads find themselves in a similar position -- especially during the first couple weeks of life (the child's, not their own) when mother-of-child is busy recuperating. Now, if you are a TV sitcom dad from the 1950's and 60's you're probably guffawing from your leather wingback chair -- careful, don't drop your pipe! But, if you are like the rest of us, your definition of the responsibilities, or, nay, the LIKES AND DISLIKES, of men and women have changed since Dick Van Dyke tripped over that ottoman.

People, it is 2010. Things have changed since the mid-20th century: the Berlin Wall has fallen! women can vote! men are allowed to be parents and cook foods!** UP IS DOWN, LEFT IS RIGHT! But if you take a gander at the media offerings for parents (or people who enjoy food -- How to Be a Domestic Goddess, I'm looking at you) it's like we're all living in Pleasantville.

Allow me to anguish over the following example from Parenting Magazine's website: they have a "mom" link in their main site navigation. Where is "dad"? WHERE DID HE GO? Allow your rage to come to a half boil. Now realize that Parenting Magazine is specifically for "moms with babies and toddlers." Proceed to full boil. This is not an isolated incident.

I pulled up the homepages of several parenting magazines and counted the number of times they mention "mom/mother" and "dad/father." The data do not lie:

Magazine	Mom/Mother	Dad/Father
Parents	15	0
Parenting	14	0
Parent & Child	10	1
Family Circle	8	0
Baby Talk	8	1
American Baby	7	1
Family Fun	3	1
Kiwi	1	0
Cookie	1	0
Total:	67	5

Surprising? I figured "mom" would get more mentions, but I didn't expect such a disparity. I'm not the only one to notice this either, as one person on Twitter said:

[You] don't like Parenting? I feel like its made as if fathers either don't read or don't exist.

Some of these magazines, Parenting as I now realize, are specifically for mothers, which is totally fine. But why not call your magazine something like, oh say, "Motherhood." What this says to me is that taking care of a family, aka parenting, is strictly a mother's job, and fathers simply cannot or should not be bothered -- or can't read. Isn't this the opposite of what we're asking of fathers nowadays? I mean sure, sometimes I wish I could cast aside my parenting responsibilities like the dried husk of a cicada, but I don't -- and neither do any of the dads I know.

Most of those dads are incredibly involved in their children's lives at a meaningful level -- and the expectant fathers are incredibly excited to be. This isn't just a weird clique of super dads I somehow wandered into. I mean heck, have you seen that guy on Bethenny Getting Married? He deserves a father/husband Oscar. But, maybe that guy is a harbinger of popularizing the nüdad, the more involved dad. I mean, even choosy moms aren't the only ones choosing Jif these days. So, maybe there is hope!

But, probably not. Just now, while finishing up this article, I just saw a Clorox commercial where a bumbling father changed a child's diaper on the kitchen counter. Sigh. Along with being illiterate, apparently we are morons. Fantastic.

* The other parts are much more arcane and macabre.
** Excuse my blatant abuse of historical fact, you can learn about the incredibly interesting Women's Suffrage movement here and reacquaint yourself with that whole Wall thing here (I think Bono was involved).

(Photo courtesy of Susan Howson)