Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Confidence, Culture, Dad, Daddyhood, Education, England, Family, Happiness, Innocence, Insight, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, Otis, Parents, Relevance, Resonance, Standards, Unexpected Relevance
As I’ve written before, I didn’t go to University. I knew pretty early on that I didn’t want to continue my formal education.
That doesn’t mean I didn’t/don’t like to learn, it just means I find it far more powerful when it’s not in an academic environment.
I still remember telling my parents my decision and being slightly scared.
They desperately wanted me to go so I was worried they would see this as a slight on them – which is absolutely not what it was meant to be.
They asked for my reasons and when I told them, they said that they would support my decision as long as I applied in case I changed my mind.
So I did.
And I got accepted.
But I was still sure not going was the right thing for me, so my parents – while obviously disappointed – supported my decision and never brought it up again.
Looking back now, I feel that must have been very hard for them.
At that point, going to university was the fast track to a career and yet – as another act of their love and confidence in me – they pushed me to follow the things that genuinely interested and excited me and hoped it would all work out.
I’d say it did.
But now I’m a dad and while Otis is only 3, the thought of education looms large.
Would I do the same thing as him?
Of course I want to help equip my son in the best way possible for the life he wants to lead and one of those ways is to provide him with a good education. But the fact is I’m vehemently opposed to private education and while general access schools can be very good, the reality is private tends to offer better opportunities simply because of the funding and the facilities … which leads to an interesting conflict.
What’s best for my son versus what’s true to me?
Given Otis is so young right now, the decision will ultimately be mine and his Mum’s, but once he’s older, what do I do if he chooses a path I feel is not in his best interests.
Sure, it worked out for me, but the World was different back then and then I saw the ‘god’ instagram above – a sentiment that was absolutely reinforced by our recent America In The Raw research – and realised that by the time he has to make some choices, he will be far more aware of what he needs to do to increase his odds of success than his Mum or me.
But then I realised something else …
It’s not just about acknowledging their view of their World will be better than yours, it’s also backing your parenting.
When my Mum and Dad supported my decision, they were ultimately supporting how they raised me.
They believed the values and smarts they’d instilled in me were the right ones to enable me to make the right choices … and while I know they would have been there if it all fell down, that sense of confidence and belief probably enabled me to go to places I might otherwise not have done. Places I might not otherwise have felt I deserved to be.
And that’s why backing your team is everything.
Of course you have to instill values and standards into them, but once that’s done, you have to back them including what they think is right – even if you don’t – because if that doesn’t happen, you’re literally stopping their potential rather than liberating it.
Thank you Mum and Dad. Again.
Filed under: Dad, Daddyhood, Family, Fatherhood, Jill, Mum, Mum & Dad, Otis, Parents
Today would have been my Mum’s 85th birthday.
Eighty Five.
I would have flown in to see her. Probably, surprise her.
I did that a couple of times.
Once when I was living in Australia and once when I was in Singapore.
And on both occasions – when she went outside supposedly to help my best friend Paul bring something into her house, and when I hid behind a huge bouquet of birthday flowers – the surprise on her face was utterly adorable.
And because of those occasions, I know what would have happened if I surprised her today.
First she would have stopped dead in her tracks … trying to work out how I was in front of her when she thought I was on the other side of the planet.
Then she would have had a huge smile on her face as she walked towards me to give me a huge hug and a big kiss on the cheeks.
Finally she would tell me how happy and surprised she was, before saying she had to go and make up my bed immediately.
And even though it would be her special day, she would want the focus to be on me and we would have a little back-and-forth as I would insist I was there to celebrate her, not the other way round.
And I would win – not because she liked having a fuss being made of her, in fact she hated it – but because she knew I was happy when she let me make a fuss over her and me being happy made her happy too.
Just to be clear, her version of what ‘a fuss’ was, wasn’t a fuss at all.
I’m talking about having dinner together and talking and just enjoying each others company.
And while Mum would love it, I know she’d be thinking she was taking me away from other things I could be doing so I’d have to remind her I was there for her and we would laugh and hold hands and say how lovely it was to be together.
I would give anything to have that happen today.
Especially as this time, I would have Jill and Otis with me.
And that would make her think it was her best birthday ever.
Because she would get to watch Otis run and laugh around her little garden.
And get to hold his little hand while she went around telling him what all the flowers were.
And get to hear him say “thank you” after he’d wolfed down the pasta she would have lovingly made for him.
And while this all happened, I’d see her radiate with energy and love.
Filled with a spirit that only meeting your grandson for the first time can give.
And while she would desperately try to stop herself kissing Otis’ cheeks over and over again for fear of making him uncomfortable, every interaction would provide her with a joy she would not have felt for a very long time.
I wish this was how today played out.
I wish this was not just happening in my mind.
But it is and while I’d prefer the real thing, I am happy I can picture this in such detail.
It makes me still feel close to my beloved Mum.
The kindest, most generous and considerate person I’ve ever met.
And while I know she can not read this, a little part of me wishes she could.
Because I want her to know the love I have for her is as strong as it ever was.
And this is a small way of showing her that.
As will be the little thing I’ll be doing at work today in her honour.
Happy birthday my dearest Mum.
I miss you, love you and hope Dad is giving you an extra hug today.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, America, Attitude & Aptitude, Babies, Birkenstocks, Childhood, Comment, Culture, Dad, Daddyhood, Empathy, Equality, Experience, Family, Innocence, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Parents
So for the past 2 days I’ve been writing a lot about equality.
It’s a subject very close to my heart.
To be honest, it always has been but being a Father has raised it’s importance.
In some ways, having Otis grow up in China made things easier as it meant he was exposed to different cultures from day 1 but I didn’t want to take that for granted, so when we knew we were going to move to the US, I spoke to a friend of mine – a Brit, who is black and lives in the US – about the [thankfully small] issues his kids faced being in the US and what he thought parents should teach their kids to stop that happening.
His response was phenomenal.
In essence there were 2 parts.
The first was the obvious one – treat every person from every culture the same way – with respect, appreciation and consideration.
So far so good … but it was the next bit that really made an impact.
Don’t tell Otis different cultures are all the same.
Don’t ‘whitewash’ our differences, acknowledge them … enrich Otis with understanding about different cultures history, struggles and values.
Or said another way … celebrate the differences but treat everyone the same.
Brilliant.
Absolutely brilliant.
In a World where so much hate is built simply on ‘being different’, helping break down those walls through knowledge and understanding is even more powerful than just saying ‘don’t see the colour, see the person’.
Of course it’s vital to treat people the same, but understanding the background isn’t just a mark of respect – it’s a way to celebrate strengths and understand behaviours that you may otherwise judge for no other reason than your own in-built prejudices.
So among Otis’ books on animals and dinosaurs and Peppa fucking Pig, he has books that explore the cultures associated with Africa [‘Africa Is Not A Country’ & ‘Sundiata’], Mexico [‘Tequila Worm’] and the Middle East [‘My Fathers Shop’].
Now I appreciate some people may think we are going a bit over-the-top with this.
After all, Otis is only 2 and a half.
But, as I have written before, I’ve learnt not to care what others think.
I’ve learnt people often mistake being a parent with being an ‘expert’ on kids.
I’ve also learnt kids develop so many of their behaviours by being masters of mimicking how their parents behave.
[Jill hopes she can stop him fall victim to ironic t-shirts and Birkenstocks]
At the end of the day, we believe we have a responsibility to him – and society as a whole – to encourage the values and beliefs that can enable him to be a good human being … someone who doesn’t just contribute to society in terms of what he achieves, but in terms of what he helps others achieve.
Of course we know he will face challenges.
Peer pressure. Unexpected circumstances. The allure of mischief.
And while we can’t dictate how he handles those things, we hope we can prepare him to deal with them in a way where he can hold his head high … which is why on top of being loving, supporting parents, we will buy him books on understanding different cultures, give him dolls to play with and encourage him to play with his beloved pink kitchen.
Being a Father is one of the most amazing things that has happened in my life.
I feel embarrassed to admit I had no idea how good it would be … and while being a good parent is basically a matter of trying things with good intent, I want to say a big thank you to Karrelle Dixon … because he may not realise it, but he made a big difference to how my little boy will grow up. Not in terms of respect, but in terms of understanding … and when you think about it, that’s one of the most wonderful gifts you can give anyone.
I hope my parents would think we’re doing good with their grandson.
I think they would.
Filed under: Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Family, Jill, Mum, Mum & Dad, Otis, Parents
Oh Mum.
How I miss you.
I am in a better place than I was this time last year, but you are always in my thoughts.
I continually tell Jill how much I would have loved you to meet Otis.
He’s such a lovely little boy.
Cheeky but oh-so-sweet.
He can throw a temper tantrum in 0.3 milliseconds, but will always say “thank you” [in a weird Americanesque accent] the moment you do anything for him … from giving him a drink to opening the front door.
I think about what you’d say if you saw him.
How you’d look.
And I know the pride and joy on your face would be both for how wonderful your grandson is and how well you think I – your son – am doing with him.
Of course we both would know so much of it is down to Jill, but if I’m doing anything right [and if you read tomorrow’s post, you’ll realise that is questionable] it is down to the love and support I felt from you and Dad throughout my childhood.
The love and support I still feel, despite you both being gone.
And that’s why I’m wishing you a happy birthday … not just because I love you and I miss you, but because your presence is still with me and always will be, which is probably the best testimony I can give to you as a person and as a parent.
I am honoured that I was able to call you my Mum.
You were an amazing lady and a fabulous Mum in every possible way … even if you never thought you were and would be telling me to stop with all the compliments.
So Happy birthday Mum, tell Dad to give you an extra kiss from me. Love you. Rx
Filed under: Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Charinee, Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Empathy, Experience, Family, Fatherhood, Health, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad
So this is the last post of this year.
Yes, I know it’s only the 11th December, but frankly, I can’t wait to see the back of 2015 and I need to spend a few weeks letting out all the angst of the past 12 months so I can start 2016 as I mean to go on.
It’s no exaggeration to say this has been one of the worst years of my life.
Of course, the main reason for that is my wonderful mum passed away.
Having a parent die is always going to be tough … but when that parent is so full of life and – after her operation – expected to blossom, it makes it especially hard.
Alas, things didn’t work out the way they were supposed to and the events of that day on March 9th, still haunt me.
The high hopes.
The precious time together.
The slow, almost torturous, delay in being told any news.
The creeping fear of what may be happening.
The battle between hope and devastation.
The realisation of tragedy.
The hell of loss.
That 5 weeks in England seems like another time. Involving other people.
Recently, I was sent a new credit card from my bank in Australia.
When I opened the envelope, there were 2 cards.
One with my name on it. One with my Mum’s.
I’d forgotten I had given her a supplementary card. Not that she ever used it – getting her to take anything from me was always a struggle – but there it was, with her name embossed on the front.
It affected me deeply.
It was something precious and sad all at the same time.
Despite having organised so many things following her death … things that honoured her legacy, respected her beliefs and gave me a sense of peace for the future … I still feel I haven’t truly grieved.
I need to. I want to. But I’m also scared to.
It took me 10 years to come to terms with my Dad’s loss.
He – nor my Mum – would not want me to experience that duration of pain again, but I feel haunted by her loss … reinforced by the numerous beautiful things my son does that I wish she could see, experience and share. But the fact is she died this year and it casts a dark shadow on how I will look at 2015 for the rest of my life.
But there is a but.
Despite living each day carrying a burden of loss and sadness, there have been moments of sunshine pushing through the clouds.
I find it amazing how the human spirit can still move forwards when you feel everything around you is collapsing.
At first, I almost felt guilty when there were things that I found filled me with joy – as if I was dishonouring my Mum – but I knew in my heart of hearts, it would be something she would want for me.
Despite the utter tragic reasons for it, one of the things I treasure from this year is that I got to spend 5 uninterrupted weeks with my wife and son and my best friend and his wife.
To have that period of time to spend with the most important people in your life is always a gift … to have it at your greatest time of need is almost divine intervention.
To be together – just hanging out – sharing, talking and being an active part of each others lives was something I will always treasure.
By having it … by feeling connected to it … it highlighted how much I miss that interaction. Don’t get me wrong, I utterly love my life and the fact I have lived around the World … but being able to just drive over to my best friends house with my family and just hang was something I feel I’ve not had for 20 years. I felt I belonged. That I was home. That I had come full circle.
And maybe that is why another of my favourite things from 2015 is when Shelly, Paul’s utterly awesome wife – and Otis’ “oddmother” [because we are not religious] – came to visit us in Shanghai.
She was only with us for 2 days, but being together reinforced how much I love her and Paul being close.
It’s brought up a lot of questions for me, things I don’t have the answers to yet … but I feel so lucky that they are in my life.
Talking of ‘in my life’ … another thing my Mum’s passing did was reconnect me to her family.
We were always a relatively ‘independent group’ … my Mum, Dad and me.
That doesn’t mean we had issues with the broader family, just we loved our independence.
But Mum’s passing brought them all into my life again, especially her Italian family … and reconnecting created a connection we have all embraced and nurtured and it feels good.
I cannot tell you how happy I am that Mum’s beloved sister, Silvana, got to hold Otis.
If my Mum tragically didn’t get to do it, I’m so, so glad her sister did.
And then there’s the other stuff that made sure there was a silver lining in a dark year …
Seeing members of my team reach new stages in their life and career … getting one of my colleagues to have a perm … somehow being recognised for being OK at what I do [not to mention, what I don’t do] … finally passing my teacher exams AFTER FIVE BLOODY YEARS … being given a level of support and compassion that reminded me just how special Wieden truly is … meeting old friends, travelling, laughing, feeling loved and cared for by people that stretched much further than I knew or deserved.
And that includes everyone of you who reads or even insults me on this blog.
But there’s 3 people that made sure this year had moments of happiness in them that transcend everyone and everything else.
Without taking anything away from all the people who helped ensure this year was not be as black as it could – or should – have been, those 3 protected, loved and cared for me during every bump in the road.
The big ones and the small.
From the worst moments of my Mum passing … to the hell of the legalities that death forces you to deal with … to the sadness of other situations occurring involving people I care about.
OK, so Rosie did it by being annoying.
Regardless how down I was feeling or sorry for myself, she would miaow as if she was the only one having a hard time.
And while I would never want to tell her this, her selfishness was kind-of lovely. It forced me out of my darkness to sort her out. It gave my brain an excuse to focus on something else.
The other person is my wonderful wife, Jill.
I have no idea – no idea at all – what I have done to deserve her, but I am so glad I managed to convince her I was worth having.
Her compassion, care and love got me through moments where I wonder how I’d cope without her. That may sound dramatic, but it’s true.
She makes me a better person. She makes the darkest days brighter and I can never thank her enough or show my love to her enough for what she means to me.
Thanks Jilly, you’re perfect.
And the last person is of course Otis.
12 months ago today, this little bundle of perfect came into the World.
Yes, my son is a year old.
Today.
A year old. Today.
That is bloody amazing.
[When you’re older Otis, click here for a birthday message]
A year ago, I literally had no idea what to expect … I was a mixture of nerves, fears and anticipation.
Nothing – absolutely nothing – could have prepared me [or should I say, would make me believe] for the joy this little boy has brought into my life.
Watching him grow has been one of the most beautiful and wonderful things I have ever experienced.
He has done far more for me than I have done for him.
He has made me feel a sense of pride and happiness I didn’t know existed.
Literally didn’t know.
He has shown me that the wonderful woman I married, is even more wonderful than I imagined.
He has made Rosie – that selfish, self-centred, pampered moggy – start to be a little bit gracious.
Sure, it’s only to him, but that’s a start.
He gave my Mum an energy and happiness that literally radiated out from her.
She sadly may never have got to meet him in the flesh, but he ensured the last 3 months of her life were filled with joy and pride.
For that alone, I can never thank him enough, but he did even more than that.
At my greatest time of need, he ensured I didn’t fall.
From giving me the most infectious smiles imaginable to the most delightfully inappropriate behaviour at the most inappropriately appropriate times … he made sure I always had hope and love to cling on to.
He has been a revelation.
I am so proud and honoured to be his Dad and I hope I can repay him for everything he has done for me in his first 12 months of life.
[Let’s face it, I probably can and will … especially if he starts developing the same tech tendencies as his old man]
OK … that has been a super long post.
Few – if any – will have probably read all of it, but this was done more for me than any of you, so I don’t care.
All that leaves me to do is say this.
To my beloved son, Otis … happy, happy birthday.
You are perfect in every single way.
Literally, every single way.
I am a better man for having you in my life.
Thank you my darling son, I love you so, so much.
To everyone else … every single one of you who was gracious and kind enough to care and be part of my year this year … I wish you a Happy, Happy Christmas.
Whether you gave me hugs, laughter or just a well-timed message, your actions meant more to me than you could ever imagine and I wish I could see you all in person so I could return the gesture.
I’m so grateful for all you did for me and I wish each and every one of you, nothing but happiness and the hope that 2016 is a stellar year in your life.
We all deserve it and I need it.
Have fun and make sure you tell everyone who needs to know, that you love them.
See you January.
