Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Comment, Family, Home, Jill, My Fatherhood, Otis
So I have to admit that I am loving being in quarantine with my family.
I appreciate a big part of that is that I’ve been impacted far less than many.
I fortunately continue to have a job and where we live has a small backyard for Otis to play in. I also know that with no elderly family members around, the worry and fears are limited to just our situation which is why, even though I would rather no one had suffered through this time, this period has been a revelation for me.
There’s many reasons for that. I am saving two and a half hours a day on commuting … so I’m get an hour a days more sleep. I get to be here and see Otis when he wakes up and goes to bed every night. And dinner time is now family dinner time … every single day.
All those things are wonderful based on the fact I just love being with my family.
We’ve never spent so much time together in our lives and I have to say, it’s great.
Yes, we would love to go out and see friends, but in terms of sacrifice, it has actually had some upside – though I would never want anyone to have had to pay the price they’ve had, to experience this.
The main reason this has been so impactful to me is that I was previously of the opinion being in the office every day was important.
Not ‘to be seen’ by management, but because as a boss … I felt it was important to spend time with your gang and be there when/if they need you. I still feel that, but now realise I can spend one day a week at home and it won’t do any damage … even more so when I assume many of the team will want to do the same.
That said, working from home has revealed some interesting situations.
As I wrote a while back, Otis’ naked bum dance to a very important member of the NIKE global management was an interesting one. While he has fortunately not done a repeat performance, he has revealed what he really thinks of me.
Just recently, this was our interaction while his Mum had popped out to buy some groceries …
As burns go, that’s pretty awesome … though as my colleagues gleefully told me when I told this story to them, “He’s not wrong”.
Assholes.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Agency Culture, Attitude & Aptitude, Audio Visual, Childhood, Content, Creative Brief, Creative Development, Creativity, Culture, Daddyhood, Design, Fatherhood, Health, Home, Imagination, Love, My Fatherhood, Otis, Peace, R/GA
When Corona happened and we were all asked to stay at home, the first thing I thought about was the impact it would have on Otis.
It was bad enough he wouldn’t be seeing his friends for god knows how long, so the last thing I wanted was for him to start thinking the outside and people in general were dangerous.
All this led to an idea about creating a storybook to help kids understand the situation … help parents talk about it in a way that wouldn’t be scary and maybe let everyone ask questions or talk about things without freaking each other out.
A small team, predominantly Ed, James, Igor, David, Dre, Becs and Anna came up with the story, the design, the visuals and the animation – while all in individual quarantine – and 10 days later, From My Window was born.
To be honest the inspiration for all this came from the way Sesame Street handled the death of Mr Hooper – one of the human lead characters.
When he died the producers didn’t know what to do.
Do they recast the role? Do they explain his departure as the character moving away? Do they say he quit or just retired?
Instead the writers and producers decided to create an episode that taught their young audience about the difficult topic of death – not just because they felt that was the best way to respect the character, but because they assumed many kids in their audience may have experienced a loss of a loved one and this could help them better understand what it means and find some inner peace.
The episode was written by the shows head writer and aired on Thanksgiving, 1983. Even now it is regarded as having set the standard for dealing with difficult topics on children’s television and remains the highest rated episode in the shows history.
You can read more about it here: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mr._Hooper
While ‘From My Window’ obviously is not Sesame Street, we hope it can help kids maintain their love for the outside and help parents deal with a situation they never could have imagined would ever happen to them.
From My Window is available for parents to read with their kids [on a smart phone or tablet] at www.frommywindow.rga.com and includes a colouring-in book. The animated version – like the one below – is also available to enjoy here.
I have to say the animated one – below – is my favourite because all the voices are from kids of parents from R/GA London.
And yes, Otis is in it … he makes his debut at the end, when he takes the story on from the beautiful rainbow … which is appropriate because he drew the one at the top of this post.
I’ve got to be honest, I love we did this. I hope in its own small way, it helps. We know it won’t change the world but it may help your kid to keep looking out the window and see wonder and excitement.
No posts till Tuesday because of the Easter holidays. Enjoy the break. Stay safe.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Brand, Business, Culture, Daddyhood, England, Family, Fatherhood, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Otis, Parents
I know it’s ridiculous to feel sad about a store closing … especially a store I hardly ever went in and when I did, it was obviously catered for women rather than men, but the news Mothercare has closed has made me sad.
I don’t know how many times I entered that store.
I definitely remember walking in the one in Victoria Centre, Nottingham, with my Mum when I was a very small kid … but I probably never entered another store until 40 odd years later when I was going to be a dad.
Ironically that was in Nottingham as well, even though we were living in Shanghai at the time.
But there’s a significant reason why this store means so much to me, because that’s where I found out I was going to be having a baby boy.
We were in the UK on holiday and my kind, wonderful wife wanted my Mum to feel part of the journey. Her idea to do that was to have a scan that would tell us the sex of the baby and have the doctor write it down, put it in an envelope and let my Mum tell us over a nice lunch.
That morning, before the scan, we were having breakfast and trying to come up with names. We were finding it much, much harder than we had anticipated and were pretty happy that if it was a girl, she was going to be named Eden, Edi for short.
Excited, we went off to a non-descript industrial park where Mothercare was. Inside the store was another company that could scan pregnant women and tell them the babies gender.
It was there my Mum saw her grandson for the first time. She was transfixed by what she saw on the screen. Not just because of who it was but because she had never seen a scan like that in her life. When she had me, it was all “find out when they come out” but here she was, sitting in a room with her son and daughter in law, watching her grandchild move around while still inside their Mum’s tum.
It was an incredibly moving moment for all of us and I will always love my wife for having that idea and always treasure that day.
And it’s for this reason I’m sorry to see Mothercare go.
I know there are a ton of reasons for its failure – but it’s also where I got to share a moment with my Mum that I’d never had before and will never have again. A moment that, were she alive, she would remember as clear as day.
A pivotal moment.
A moment where she got to witness the evolving of her family in front of her eyes.
A moment where the legacy of her and dad would forever continue.
But for me it’s something even more than all that. Because while we didn’t know it at the time, it was a moment where my Mum met Otis for the first time. The only time.
And for that, I’ll always be grateful to Mothercare and sad to see it go.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Family, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Parents
Today is the 21st anniversary of Dad dying.
That blows my mind as I remember how that day unfolded so clearly, it could have been yesterday.
The only good thing about all the years that have passed is that I can now remember the good times with him – when he was healthy – rather than just focus on the 3 years he was deeply affected by his stroke.
And because of that, I want to talk about a time I remember vividly with him.
I had done well at school and Mum and Dad said that I could have a toy for all my hard work.
I was pretty good at school but at exam time, I would freak out and basically become paralyzed with fear.
Anyway, Dad took me to Broadmarsh Centre in Nottingham.
Broadmarsh was – and still is – the inferior shopping centre in Nottingham, but it had a dedicated toyshop so off we went.
I was so excited.
I loved going on trips with Dad and to get a gift as well was mind-blowing.
I remember him telling me to look around and see if there was something I liked.
The problem was I liked EVERYTHING, but I knew we didn’t have a lot of money so I tried to choose wisely.
I remember there was a Dinky Toy, Bell Helicopter I liked.
It was orange but the cabin was blue and it looked cool.
I showed it Dad.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
I nodded in wild agreement.
“Well we can get that then …”
And just as we were about to go to the till, my eyes spotted a die-cast Rolls Royce.
This was not a Matchbox car, this was something else.
A ‘to scale’ model of a Roller with doors that opened, a boot and bonnet that opened and a steering wheel that actually turned the wheels.
It was AMAZING.
It was also expensive … I think about £5, which back in the late seventies, was a big amount.
Dad saw me playing with it and asked, “Do you like that more?”
I nodded but felt guilty as I knew it was expensive and didn’t want Dad to spend so much money on me.
I remember him looking at me with his beautiful blue eyes and warm face.
He smiled.
“Well …,” he said, “… you’re looking at me with those moo-cow eyes, and you have done so well at school that maybe we can do it just this once”.
I was flabbergasted.
I was going to get the coolest car I’d ever seen.
I remember being so happy and showing Mum when we got home.
I remember hearing Dad explain to her I’d looked at him with these big ‘moo-cow’ eyes and he couldn’t resist.
I remember how happy they were for making me so happy.
And while it would be easy for them to think getting me a new toy was the reason for my joy – and it certainly contributed to it – the reality is I was happy because my parents were always caring, loving, supporting and encouraging.
The things they sacrificed for me is unbelievable.
Of course I didn’t realize it at the time, but what they did without so I could live with is amazing.
I hope they know that I worked this out.
I hope I told them when they were around.
My childhood was a blueprint for great childhoods.
I never wanted for their love or support.
I never felt they didn’t care or weren’t engaged.
My Mum and Dad were amazing to me … as teachers, carers, providers and inspirers.
Sure we had our moments – often caused by me being a cheeky or mischievous little shit – but even then, I never doubted they cared.
Never doubted they wanted the best for me.
And while Mum and Dad would have preferred it if I’d followed a career in law or medicine or a formal music education … they believed it was more important I lived a life of fulfillment rather than contentment.
It is a lesson I hope to pass on to my son one day.
Their grandson.
Oh how I wish they could have met him.
I don’t have many regrets but that is one of them.
So what I do instead is instill their lessons and love into his life.
So that while he may never meet them, he will always feel their presence.
Dad, I miss you.
I miss you so much.
I would love to tell you and show you so many things.
To see your reaction. To hear your questions.
You may have been gone from my physical life for 21 years, but you are still so deeply entrenched in my life.
It gives me strength when I face challenges.
Support when I feel alone.
Perspective when I get consumed by small things pretending to be big.
I love you.
Give Mum a kiss from me as you hold her hand.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Birthday, Childhood, China, Comment, Confidence, Context, Culture, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Fatherhood, Football, Goodbye America, Goodbye China, Grand announcements, Health, Home, Hope, Innocence, Italy, Jill, LaLaLand, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Nottingham, Nottingham Forest, Otis, Parents, Sentimentality, Shanghai, Shelly, WeigelCampbell
So today is June 1.
In 11 days, I wave goodbye to my forties and enter a decade that seems impossible for me to fathom.
50.
FIFTY.
Seriously, how did this happen?
I still remember sitting on the hill outside Erica’s newsagent with my best mate Paul around 1978, when we worked out that in the year 2000, we would be turning 30.
But here we are, 11 days from 50.
[Though it’s 15 days for Paul, who will LOVE those 4 days where he can bang on about how he is a decade younger than me … though he will also moan that my present for him isn’t like the full page newspaper ad I got him when he was 40, but a Forest shirt signed by all the members of the 1980 European Cup team. Asshole. He knows about this present as I bought it for him years ago so I’m not ruining anything for him. But I still have a surprise for him. Oh yes.]
Turning 30 bothered me a bit.
I was totally fine with becoming 40.
But 50!
I’m both bricking it and utterly casual about it.
And while there are some practical reasons for the shitting myself part – health, work, life in general – the fact of the matter is the older I get, the better my life has become.
I totally get the privilege of that statement, I don’t take it for granted at all, but it is definitely true.
Personally, professionally, emotionally …
Sure there have been some bumps along the way – some terribly hard and emotionally destructive ones – but looking at the big picture, the reality is my life has generally been on an upward trajectory.
Now even I know that it can’t keep going like that forever … but it doesn’t mean I have to stop trying.
The fact is, the older you get, the more you discover …
From what you like, what you don’t … to what you didn’t know and what you want to know.
And what makes it even more amazing – and annoying – is that every step you take, in whatever direction, reveals a whole host of other possibilities you would like to explore and investigate.
The problem is time is now officially, not on your side … so there’s a point where you have to accept you won’t get to try, play, experiment with all you want to do, so while that might put some people off, it kind of makes me want to try and pack more in.
And I am … because on top of work, Metallica, the school with Martin, I’ve already agreed to do a couple more projects that are intriguing and – frankly – ridiculous.
But there’s another reason for this attitude and it’s because my Dad died at 60.
Death is something I’ve talked a lot about over the years – mainly due to both my parents passing away.
I’ve talked a lot about the importance of taking about it, but I must admit, I’m scared of it.
I’m in generally good health, but fifty is still 50 and my Dad still died just 10 years on from this age.
Now of course it doesn’t mean I will … and I’ve come to this completely unscientific view that I should live till I’m at least 71 because if you take away my Dad’s age of dying [60]from my Mum’s [83] … that leave 23 years. Halve that … add it to Dad’s age … and voila, I will live till at least 71.
But then that means I only have 21 years left.
TWENTY ONE.
That’s nowhere near enough.
My wonderful little boy is only 5 for fucks sake. 26 is way too young to lose your Dad … hell, that’s even younger than I was when I lost mine.
Years ago, an old boss I looked upto said that if you can’t feasibly double your age, that is when you know you are – at best – middle aged or – at worst – the last stage of your life.
Well I suppose I can still feasibly double my age – even if it’s against the average age of death for a man in the UK [79.2] – but the reality is where I’m going is shorter than where I’ve been.
But shorter doesn’t mean less interesting.
And arguably, I have more exciting things in my life now – both personally and professionally – than I have ever had.
It also helps I am insanely immature with a desire for mischief, experimentation, creativity and adventure.
And I intend to fill it up with even more.
Fortunately I get that from a number of sources.
My wife.
My son.
My job.
My other jobs.
My friends.
My mind.
A while back, Pete said something I found pretty profound.
He said the narrative of strategy tended to focus on the importance of curiosity when discovery is far more valuable for driving the standard of the work you create and the adventure you go on.
Now I’ve written a lot about how I hate when planners talk about curiosity – as if they’re the only people who have it – but I really, really like that idea of the hunger for discovery.
I absolutely have that.
I owe so much of what I have to that.
The countries I’ve lived in. The people I’ve worked with. And most importantly, the family I am fortunate to have.
So while I enter a new decade, I will continue to live like it’s the old one.
Not in terms of dressing like I’m younger than I am – mainly because I have always dressed like I live in 1986 – but with the hunger, ambition and desire I’ve always had.
I genuinely believe my best work is still ahead of me.
Truly believe that.
And the goal of this decade is to achieve some of that while discovering new things that make me believe even better work can still lie in my future.