by Heather Plett | Oct 12, 2006 | Uncategorized
Yesterday I saw two little boys who will grow up without their daddy.
Yesterday I saw a little girl who searched the room for her favourite uncle, and looked at her mom with a puzzled face when she couldn’t find him.
Yesterday I hugged a man whose brother won’t come around anymore, revving his Harley and looking for fun.
Yesterday I watched a woman overcome with emotion as she stood by her son’s new grave.
Yesterday I hugged countless friends who can’t imagine a world without their friend “Bordelo”.
Yesterday I saw Marcel chuckle when someone mentioned Brad’s favourite nickname for him – “Dirt”.
Yesterday I remembered our favourite story about Brad – how he once packed his dirty dishes in a suitcase to take home to his mom and her dishwasher.
Yesterday I watched a community grieve.
Yesterday I heard stories of the imfamous trip to Grand Forks, the pet scorpion Brad was proud of, the pranks he would play on his friends, the many times he made people laugh, and the joy he found coaching his sons’ hockey teams.
Yesterday I saw how many lives Brad had touched.
Yesterday I cried.
by Heather Plett | Oct 11, 2006 | Uncategorized
You all know it as well as I do. Sometimes, parenting is a crapshoot. No – scratch that – A LOT of times parenting feels like a crapshoot. We all make about 10,000 decisions for our kids every day (Mom, can I have a piece of cake? Mom, can I watch TV? Mom, can I go play in traffic?) and approximately 99 percent of the time, we’re at least a little uncertain whether the decision we made is the right one. Sometimes, it really doesn’t matter (a piece of cake here or there isn’t going to kill them or render them useless adults some day), but then there are the bigger decisions where we agonize over whether or not we are stinting their growth, negatively impacting their emotional maturity, or just basically screwing them up real good. Will they need counselling some day if I never let them play with little Billy? Will they be fat lazy adults if I don’t sign them up for soccer and hockey and gymnastics and swimming? Will their brains turn to mush if I let them watch too much TV? Will their boredom at school turn them into trouble-makers if I don’t find a more challenging (read: expensive) private school where they are more intellectually stimulated?
One of the biggies for us is whether or not to let them drop out of some activity. We’ve faced it a couple of times already. Nikki developed a phobia at ballet lessons a few years ago and wanted to quit, but I made her suffer through until the end of the session because I didn’t want her to think she could drop out of everything that scared her. Julie, on the other hand, didn’t mind going to running club but didn’t want to run in the track meets. I let her skip them, ’cause I’m not sure competition is really necessary anyway and at least she was getting the exercise.
The latest issue I agonized over was piano lessons. Towards the end of last year, just after we’d finally gotten a real piano moved into our living room, Nikki asked if she could quit piano. When I probed for a reason, it came out that she was afraid of her piano teacher. She said that every Thursday, when she knew she had a lesson in the evening, she would worry herself sick at school all day. She practiced diligently – mostly because she lived in terror of making a mistake and having her teacher reprimand her.
So… what to do? I knew that the piano teacher wasn’t a horrible ogre and I was pretty sure Nikki was exaggerating when she said she “yelled” at her. At the same time, though, she was an older woman, with a fairly strict approach, who didn’t like it if students wasted her time with a lack of commitment. Should I force Nikki to confront her fears and stick with it? Or was it more important that she enjoy music and practice for the joy of it rather than the fear?
This time around, I think we made the right decision. We switched piano teachers. I found a new one through a friend who sends her kids there. This one is young and hip and fun and says it’s important to enjoy music. Tonight, after the lesson, Nikki told me she was glad we switched. She said she’d only thought about her lesson once today, and didn’t worry about it. We have to drive a little further, but if it means that music is a pleasure instead of a duty, then I’m willing to do it. The girls are both more musically inclined than me, but Nikki in particular has always had music running through her veins. Even now, I can hear the sounds of the music drifting from her room as she falls asleep with it on. I think she started singing even before she could talk.
Whew! Every once in awhile, in this crapshoot, we play our cards right. I only wish I were more certain more of the time. Because with this decision behind me, I know I’ll be faced with another one tomorrow that will throw me into another cycle of doubt and agonizing.
PLEASE tell me I’m not the only one who hasn’t figured out how to do this parenting thing right. Or perhaps I missed that day when they were offering the “how to be a perfect parent in ten easy steps” workshop? If you were there, can you give me your notes?
by Heather Plett | Oct 10, 2006 | Leadership, things I've learned
The cursor is hovering over the send button. I’ve re-read the e-mail about 4 times, tweaking it here and there, trying to make it sound less judgmental and more friendly. How do you write a friendly “your services are no longer needed” e-mail?
After a frustrating few months of way too many delays, lack of phone calls to warn us of delays, poor communication, etc., I find I need to end a working relationship with a graphic designer. He does good work, but unfortunately, he is completely unreliable. The straw that broke the camel’s back was a project that he promised to finish before I left for Toronto, and I never saw a thing or heard from him about why it wasn’t ready.
I hate ending relationships, even when they’re working relationships which shouldn’t really impact me personally. But sometimes it needs to be done. I’ve let this one go on for too long already. Now I just have to work up the courage to hit the send button.
As I was flying back from Toronto, after a somewhat disappointing meeting with my national staff, it occurred to me that part of my problem – part of the reason why I’m less effective as a leader than I could be – is that I lack boldness. Like the cowardly lion in the wizard of oz, I need more courage.
It’s true. I know how to ACT courageous, by jumping out of airplanes and such, but more often than not, deep down, I’m a coward at heart. I cower from confrontation, I accept mediocrity from my staff because I’m afraid to challenge them, I let little conflicts simmer beneath the surface during team meetings because I’d rather not drag them out into the open, I don’t challenge my boss even though I’m sure there are some bold moves he’s avoiding which could make this a more effective organization, I don’t produce my best work for fear that it might not be accepted, and I allow the status quo to rule me because pushing the boundaries would be too uncomfortable.
A couple of things happened last week that revealed my lack of courage. One of them was the staff meeting, where mediocrity was the rule of the day because I failed to challenge the team or force them to confront their own resentments and reluctances. Another was an opportunity I let slip by because I was afraid of the consequences of taking action. Someone I know and respect wrote an article in a journal that questioned some of the things that we do as an international development organization. I sent him a personal e-mail, supporting what he said and expressing my heart. He wrote back and suggested that I send a letter to the editor of the journal as a response from me personally and the organization I represent, suggesting that he might be at least somewhat right in his critique. I declined his suggestion, because doing so would raise the ire of not only my boss but some of our major supporters. I had good reason for not doing it, but when I searched my heart, I knew that part of my reason was fear. I didn’t want to risk losing my job and ticking off the big donors. I shrunk away like the cowardly lion.
On Friday, riding the bus home from work, I almost burst into tears when it occurred to me that perhaps I am limiting my own potential and that of my organization’s by letting fear hold me back. If I were bolder, I’d stand up for what I believe in. If I were bolder, I’d challenge mediocrity.
Somehow, I need to find the boldness in me to confront my fears and speak up when things are not right. I’m starting with small steps. The first one will be to hit the send button. (Perhaps if I were truly courageous, I’d pick up the phone instead, but I’ll let myself get away with baby steps for now.) Mediocrity is not acceptable in people who provide service to us. I will strive for excellence in the people I hire.
I’m not sure what my future steps will be, but I know that this is something I need to confront in myself. I will confront mediocrity more often when I see it among my staff. I will confront it in myself. I will even try to confront it in my boss and perhaps among our major donors. I don’t want to be the cowardly lion any more.
If I can jump out of an airplane, surely I can be bold enough to slap mediocrity in the face.
by Heather Plett | Oct 9, 2006 | Uncategorized
After wasting way too much time trying to create a new template, I finally succeeded! Yay! Using the generic ones was starting to make me twitch. It was kind of like settling for the cheap waxy chocolate when what you REALLY want is the good stuff.
It’s not perfect, but I’m not going to obsess about it any longer.
by Heather Plett | Oct 7, 2006 | Uncategorized
They called them the four horsemen. Marcel and three of his friends were inseparable as kids and teenagers. They played hockey together, rode their first motorcycles together, and when they were old enough to leave home, three of them shared a house and the fourth was a frequent visitor. I started dating Marcel around this time, the others also started longer term relationships, some moved to different cities, and as friends do, they drifted apart.
One of the four horsemen died yesterday. He crashed into a tree on his brother’s motorcycle. He leaves behind two young sons, similar in age to our children.
He was the wildest of the four horsemen – always living life close to the edge. He knew how to have fun, kept the music loud and the party hopping. He was alot of fun to be around, with his energy and zest for life. When he stood up to speak at the open mike at our wedding, half of the room groaned for fear that he would roast Marcel with wild stories that would make his new in-laws cringe. He was respectful though, despite the temptation I’m sure he fought.
Brad will be missed by those who knew him – the other three horsemen and all his other friends and family. Today Marcel’s dad, who manages the cemetery in their small town, had to meet with Brad’s parents to arrange for a burial plot. Parents shouldn’t have to bury their forty year old son.
And it gets worse. When Marcel phoned his cousin to tell him the bad news, he found out that another person he’d grown up, a neighbour and relative, was killed while crossing the street in Virginia. He was a long distance truck driver. He’d stopped his truck and was walking across the street to visit a convenience store.
Another family has to bury their son in the same small town this week. Another burial plot for Marcel’s dad to arrange for.
Two funerals in one week is too much for one small town.
