Dads and daughters

As a very little girl, I used to love playing in a closet just off the back stairs. If I closed the door, I felt alone in a house otherwise teeming with people but safe in a world full of potential adventure and hidden treasures: hundreds of worn paperbacks, my mother’s colored array of high-heeled shoes, and stylish hats in hatboxes from another era.

Exploring in the closet one day, I played with the door’s heavy, brass lock and accidentally locked myself in. Suddenly, I didn’t feel safe anymore. My fun and adventure quickly turned to fear and isolation--feelings mostly foreign to me as a child. Even those dearest to me couldn’t help me escape. My mother couldn’t explain how to unlatch the lock, my brothers couldn’t unlock it from the outside, and my sisters couldn’t comfort me with their kind words.

Leaving something behind

We write to change the world

Not long ago I listened to an audiobook called Sweet and Low, the story of the Brooklyn-based family that created the artificial sweetener by the same name. These family members, unfortunately, through time, allowed selfishness and greed to destroy generations of love and family ties. Author Rich Cohen, the inventor’s grandson whose own family was cut off from inheriting any money, realizes as he writes the memoir that his inheritance was not in the millions of dollars but in the story itself. Words and stories alone can be a legacy bequeathed.

Born to sing

"All God's creatures got a place in the choir"

The other day, after five years of recalcitrant piano practice, my 13-year-old son asked me (once again) why I want all my children to play the piano. “Five reasons,” I told him. Then, right off the top of my head, I listed these

1. It helps coordinate your hands and eyes.
2. It helps make connections in your brain that you might not otherwise make.
3. It gives you a creative outlet.
4. It gives you another language--another mode of communication--to express yourself.
5. It allows you to serve others.

It’s that fourth reason—another way to express yourself—that really sells me on the idea of music in general. Although I’m not a pianist, I still express myself through singing. Moreover, I believe everyone is wired to sing. In fact, one of my favorite children’s tunes affirms this idea:

Leapfrogging mistakes

Sharing mistakes helps others avoid them

One autumn day my friend Judy gave me some of the most delicious, moist pumpkin bread I had ever eaten. Turns out it was baked by Gayle, a culinary veteran. I thought, “Maybe if I get Gayle’s recipe and hear any tricks she has, then I can skip over a lot of bad recipes and make my own scrumptious pumpkin bread.”

Soon after, Judy’s husband Doug taught a class on making homemade rolls. When he was first learning, he consulted with the experts, including his mother who showed him her way and then counseled, “You’ve got to find your own recipe, Doug.” So, he made rolls every day for a month, each time making adjustments to measurements and oven temperatures, changing pan sizes and types, and so forth. By practicing over and over, he discovered his own recipe for perfect rolls. Because he was willing to share both what did and didn't work, it’s now easier for me to make great homemade rolls. 

Chester Carlson, inventor of Xerography (better known as photocopying), spent 21 years trying to get his technology into the hands of the public, eventually revolutionizing how we do business today. Before he got the technology right, however, he is said to have made hundreds--even thousands--of mistakes, many of which he considered valuable enough to patent. Those errors, he believed, were equally critical to knowing what actually worked. So, mistakes are certainly worth something, even if it's just knowing how to avoid them.

Teenagers, I’ve noticed, are not as interested in leapfrogging mistakes as we adults seem to be. In fact, they kind of like “playing around in the pond.” Maybe they are not as anxious to get things right the first time because they think time stands still for them; what they don’t learn today they can always learn tomorrow. Besides, they’re busy having fun with friends also enamored with hopping around on lily pads and chatting with the turtles. In the meantime, they prefer making their own mistakes, thank you.

I, on the other hand, allow myself little luxury time for missteps. In short, I want to maximize my time by minimizing my mistakes. So, I find myself seeking out people who move to the front so I can play “Follow the Leader.”

Young adults fall somewhere in the middle. One of my favorite moments is when my children call home after their first few weeks of college life. They see our home through new eyes. Can I believe how much food costs? they wonder. Did I know that some people don’t even know how to do dishes or clean a toilet? Interestingly, though, these same now-enlightened grown teenagers who begin asking for advice still might choose to ignore my counsel. Yes, they’re more open to guidance but are still highly driven to learn from their own experience.

Once, one of our children asked my husband, “Dad, did you make the same mistakes I’m making?” I don’t even know how the conversation continued, but I’ve often thought since then what an advantage I have as a parent. I can share all my hard-earned wisdom as if I’ve always owned it, known it. Rarely do I expose my stupidity and youthful blunders. Maybe if I did, my children would seek me out more often to play leapfrog.

A customized democracy

Families once huddled around their radios listening to the nightly news

When I was 15 years old living in Cody, Wyoming, I distinctly remember my sister turning off the vacuum at 10:00 p.m. She wanted to hear the final radio broadcast of the day. If she missed those moments, she would have no other way to recover the news of the day until the morning newspaper arrived. Today, such limited access to information would be unthinkable...and inconceivable.

Gone are the days of families crowding around their radios waiting for a national broadcast. Gone are the days of Americans flocking to movie theaters for entertainment as well as for newsreels. Today information is offered up 24/7/365 from a plethora of sources: talk shows, RSS feeds, podcasts, emails, blogs, discussion forums, chat rooms, YouTube videos, Facebook conversations, text messages, and so on. 

In fact, these days technology is so “smart” we don’t even have to go after news and opinions. Instead, they come to us, customized to suit our individual preferences. In many ways, the Internet has been the great leveler, the fundamental equalizer. It may well be the quintessential symbol of democracy, offering the ultimate freedom of choice. I, alone, will choose what to hear, think, say, and believe. This relatively new phenomenon of equal, free, and easy access to information gives us the choice to listen or not to listen, to share or not to share.

From the dawn of time, people have feared new technologies. The automobile, for example, though now ubiquitous, was once maligned by staunch horse-and-buggy fans. More recently, pagers and cell phones created great consternation, especially among parents of teenage children. Without exception, every technology is met with at least some degree of skepticism if not by an all-out opposition. Such concern is usually rooted in fear of change, but—like it or not—change is inevitable.

Therefore, it does no good to simply damn technology by issuing a shrill, Luddite warning. Instead, we should consciously consider what changes are effected by new technologies. In his book, The Wal-Mart Effect, Charles Fishman suggests that, rather than trying to stop the proliferation of Wal-Mart stores, we as citizens be acutely aware of the consequences of rapid growth and make informed decisions accordingly. Similarly, complaining will not stop the development and adoption of new technologies; however, it is wise to ponder and mark how technology is reshaping our family behavior patterns, communities, and national conscience.

Let’s go back to the nightly newscast in Cody, Wyoming. Because my sister tuned in, so did I. Naturally, a conversation between us ensued. Did we agree or disagree with the newscaster? Were we shocked, amazed, or disgruntled by the politicians’ decisions? And so forth. The object of our conversation was not to necessarily agree with each other, but hearing the broadcast was a shared experience, and we processed the information together--a cause and effect.

Contrast that experience with my own family’s technology patterns more than 30 years later. On a typical evening, we are most often found using technology discretely: one watches TV while another is plugged into her iPod; one does Google searches on the computer while someone else sends text messages on his smartphone. Engaged? Very. But not necessarily engaged with each other. By having full access to so much technology and information, families tend to gather less often to discuss and process. Consequently, they risk becoming silos of information and opinions without having a sense of common principles and ideals.

This microcosm is reflected in the larger society, too. Online communities, for example, are growing exponentially; we now have more ways to connect to more dialogue in wider circles, so we are not limited to the opinions of those in our local coffee shops, town halls, and neighborhoods. Ironically, though, because the Internet gives us instant access to so many people and so much information, we rarely experience as groups a common transfer of information. In other words, while it is becoming easier to participate in conversations, perhaps it is becoming more difficult to identify what the national conversation truly is.

Lately, I’ve been reading about Winston Churchill, the great orator and gutsy British statesman whose messages were heard by not one but many nations living in danger, distress, and fear during World War II. Churchill’s messages had the power to inspire, lift, and electrify. His words galvanized ordinary citizens to contribute to the daunting task of bringing down the Axis powers. Imagine being huddled around the family radio and hearing some of the following words crackling through the speaker:

• “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”
• “Never give in, never give in, never; never; never; never - in nothing, great or small, large or petty - never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense.”
• “We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.”
• “Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory, however long and hard the road may be; for without victory there is no survival.”

What would it have been like to hear and process these powerful messages as a family, as a neighborhood, and, ultimately, as a nation? Would you have sat a little taller, tried a little harder, and felt a little braver after hearing "The Lion roar”?

Perhaps only in times of war, crisis, or campaigns will we return to simultaneous, real-time messaging moments. However, for the sake of our families, communities, and country, it might be well for us to occasionally gather around our proverbial radios in order to listen to issues and discuss them together.

You can't take it with you

Relationships matter above all else

A few days ago I went jogging and stopped in front of my parents’ former home in Holladay, Utah. This was their residence long after I left home for college, so I have relatively few memories attached to that place compared to those I have of Tanner Manor, my childhood home in Southern California. My children, however, remember it as their grandparents’ home. It’s the last place we saw my father alive. So, I stopped in front of the house for a brief moment to feel a little sad about good times never to be recaptured.

The power of art

The famous Winged Victory of Samothrace stands tall and proud in the Llouvre

The first time I saw her, she took my breath away. The second time, she made me cry.

The first time, I was only 22 years old and visiting Paris, France. I had never been surrounded by so much art--really fantastic art! How could I possibly take it all in? My sister, an art collector and history buff, tried as best she could to prepare me and her seven children for our first trip to the Louvre. Highlighting several famous pieces such as the Mona Lisa, she gave us all something specific to look for, but nothing she said prepared me for the moment I turned the corner and looked down the long, marble arcade to see Winged Victory of Samothrace. 

Perched high on a mass of stone, she was stunningly strong, remarkably powerful, and utterly undaunted. Instantly, without warning, something about the statue resonated in me. Whom did this statue represent? Where did it come from? And the most pressing question of all: Why had I never even seen a photo of her before? 

I was breathless, speechless.

What keeps me young

BYU campus at night

A month ago, my middle child graduated from high school, and four days later he started college. He joined his two older siblings at the same university. His departure marked the official day my nest tipped, leaving it now more empty than full. I'm not sure how it happened. I'm not sure when it happened. Just a moment or two ago, I was in my son's place--even at the same university--taking mind-expanding classes, washing dishes in the dorm cafeteria, having late-night conversations with roommates, spending long yet fascinating hours head-down in the library, walking home barefoot on intoxicating summer evenings, dancing in the street...all the while trying to figure out my future. Those were pivotal years marked by many seminal moments of learning and making key choices. 

And just like that, three of my children have taken my place. 

A change is as good as a rest

Ice cream, the dessert of choice

My grandmother, who was notorious for her hard-work ethic, used to say, “A change is as good as a rest.” Change is in the air…literally.

Some like it hot

A view of Mission Peak from Lake Elizabeth

Growing up in Southern California, I don't remember owning a coat. In the winter, I was not alone when I wore shorts to school. Except for smog alerts, I was blissfully unaware of the weather for almost two decades. Then, for a brief college stint, I lived in Utah. That's where I learned to wear boots and curse the winter snow. It’s also where I wondered how people kept on living normal lives in the stifling summer heat.