Yes, I know that the first Sunday this December is actually the 7th (and that it may not even be Sunday yet as you read this). Call it my editorial privilege if you like, for I want to honor my dad with this Sunday Mālama. Were he still gracing this earth, my father would have been 85 years young this year: December 6th was his birthday.
It is always a great day of remembering for me, in all sorts of fatherly-inspired daddy-nesses as I celebrate a birthday he can no longer have with us. Not in person, that is. I smiled a lot today, and I even laughed out loud! Twice? No, thrice at least if a certain episode of very silly giggling counts.
Part of my reminiscing had to do with the way my dad impacted my Managing with Aloha philosophy, for he did so in several very significant ways. He provided me with good bones, the resilient muscle of tough love, and the sinewy strong values that would help me stand tall in my convictions, always and forever.
Take 1: Circa 1989
My “Be the Best Boss” posting for instance, published here in mid November, was drafted several years ago and initially published for a newspaper column I wrote, as I sat and thought about a conversation I had with my dad after I’d told him about my first promotion to an executive level position.
This won’t be exact of course, but my memory about it is clear enough to share that it went something very close to what follows: My father was an articulate, nuanced repeater — he’d keep talking about something until he was sure I really got it. He ate up new contexts and connective windows like they were word candy, savoring them in all their delicious possibility.
Dad: “That’s great news! Now you can show the whole world what a boss can actually be.”
Me: “Yeah, right Dad, the whole world.”
Dad: “Sure, why not? People talk story about when good things happen, and when they work with good people, and you can do the stuff that makes them happy, and gets ‘em talking.”
Me: “Well, I’ve already been a boss in those positions that led up to this one, and tongues aren’t wagging yet… am I doing something wrong?”
Dad: “You’re still learning, you’ve been getting where you need to be, and mistakes are useful along the way. It’s all good, as long as you keep finding your decisions and don’t throw them out like some dictator.”
ME: “I know, I know… managers are finders; we’re supposed to find answers in our decision-making, and not just hand them out like pronouncements, thinking that’s what we’re supposed to do.”
Dad: “(laughing) Okay, check. Just know that the higher up you go, the more your impulses can get in the way. Trust your instincts, but muzzle those impulses like a good boss should, and you’ll do just fine.”
Me: “So Dad, who was the best boss you ever had? What made him so good?”
Dad: “You know, I don’t think I’d call anyone in particular the best one, but I’ve done okay with the bosses I happened to get. They were good people, trying to do their best work, or at least they had good intentions most of the time. With one exception I don’t wanna think about, I could talk to ‘em, especially when I needed to. They would listen.”
Me: “I can do the listening part, I think. Sometimes it’s hard to be patient though, when people go on and on about things and I start wishing they’d get to the point.”
Dad: “You keep waiting for them. Let them talk, and let them see you listening and waiting. Just remember how awful it would be if they stopped talking to you altogether. Good bosses are the ones everyone wants to talk to, and they’re the ones everyone wants to work for.”
Me: “It sounds so simple, yet a good boss is kinda hard to find. I wonder why…”
Dad: “So let them find you. Okay?”
Me: “Okay.”
I was so, so lucky, for I had those kinds of conversations — those ‘talk stories‘ — with my dad all the time. All.The.Time. He could read me like no one else could. “Get it out girl,” he’d say to me whenever he sensed I was bothered by something, or lost in thought, “Get it out. I have time.”
He would say it no matter how much time he did, or didn’t have. Part of it could’ve been a father-daughter thing, but every daughter should be so blessed: I’ve never known another human being with a ‘circle of comfort’ so huge.
Always remember there are two types of people in this world. Those who come into a room and say, “Well, here I am!” And those who come in and say, “Ah, there you are!”
— Frederick L. Collins
Always remember there are two types of people in this world. Those who come into a room and say, “Well, here I am!” And those who come in and say, “Ah, there you are!”Take 25 (at least): Circa 2014
So just for fun, let’s link up that conversation memory with that ‘impact’ it had on me, and on Managing with Aloha . . . This became an interesting Sunday Mālama episode of writing for me too, for I honestly did not think of linking-it-up until after I wrote down my remembered conversation with Dad, and I resisted every impulse to edit it.
You may not be a boss, you might not be a manager or a supervisor, but think about the profound impact you can have on someone too.
As a parent.
As a partner: Can everyone be a Partner?
As someone who will eagerly ‘talk story’ and as someone who will patiently listen.
Reading tip: Remember that you can simply hover your cursor over each link to see the title of the post and/or MWA-ism I am linking back to, saving you clicks back to the articles you may remember having read before.
Dad: “That’s great news! Now you can show the whole world what a boss can actually be.”
Me: “Yeah, right Dad, the whole world.”
Dad: “Sure, why not? People talk story about when good things happen, and when they work with good people, and you can do the stuff that makes them happy, and gets ‘em talking.”
Me: “Well, I’ve already been a boss in those positions that led up to this one, and tongues aren’t wagging yet… am I doing something wrong?”
Dad: “You’re still learning, you’ve been getting where you need to be, and mistakes are useful along the way. It’s all good, as long as you keep finding your decisions and don’t throw them out like some dictator.”
ME: “I know, I know… managers are finders; we’re supposed to find answers in our decision-making, and not just hand them out like pronouncements, thinking that’s what we’re supposed to do.”
Dad: “(laughing) Okay, check. Just know that the higher up you go, the more your impulses can get in the way. Trust your instincts, but muzzle those impulses like a good boss should, and you’ll do just fine.”
Me: “So Dad, who was the best boss you ever had? What made him so good?”
Dad: “You know, I don’t think I’d call anyone in particular the best one, but I’ve done okay with the bosses I happened to get. They were good people, trying to do their best work, or at least they had good intentions most of the time. With one exception I don’t wanna think about, I could talk to ‘em when I needed to. They would listen.”
Me: “I can do the listening part, I think. Sometimes it’s hard to be patient though, when people go on and on about things and I start wishing they’d get to the point.”
Dad: “You keep waiting for them. Let them talk, and let them see you listening and waiting. Just remember how awful it would be if they stopped talking to you altogether. Good bosses are the ones everyone wants to talk to, and they’re the ones everyone wants to work for.”
Me: “It sounds so simple, yet a good boss is kinda hard to find. I wonder why…”
Dad: “So let them find you. Okay?”
Me: “Okay.”
It may seem like a lot of link-love to you, but I’m actually wondering if I’ll ever be able to share everything I learned from my dad with you. I looked for a few more of his lessons as they tugged at me in my memory, then realized I hadn’t written those up for publication yet.
Our parents teach us way more about values than we realize, and I bet yours did that for you too.
Postscript: I wrote about my Dad on his birthday last year too: When Children Sleep, Angels Whisper. He is pictured here reading with my son, Zach.
Hau‘oli lā hānau ke Lani Papa ~ Happy Birthday-in-Heaven Dad;
Your influence lives on in this humble life we lead here within earthly places, and our love, born through you, burns strong and bright. We still listen for those angel whispers, and always will.
~ Rosa