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Parks & Rec Business
| A Step Ahead Two Gorillas By Ron Ciancutti An old fable exists about two baby gorillas that rode upon their mother all day, one on the top and one on the bottom. The top one clung on for dear life and was taught that staying on was his responsibility since his mother could not reach behind her. The one clinging underneath was mostly held there and carried. During a perilous moment when the mother had to hurriedly flee, the baby used to being held was dropped, and the one used to hanging on for protection rode through the trouble without issue. Alas, the lesson teaches us to be strong, self-reliant and capable, and further demonstrates the danger of relying on others (e.g., parents) for too long. As my elder son prepares to leave for college, I can contrast his upbringing with that of some of his friends and proudly say he is well prepared for 18 years old. This preparation and readiness were a result of some of the principles from that fable’s wisdom. Surrounded by three sisters and an Italian mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, my work to make him a strong, independent guy was a substantial task. I recall the great-grandmother telling me that I could not let him compete in sports because a ball could hit him in the chest, he could lose all his air, and he could die right there. Yes, she really said that. She’d read about this happening in the paper. “Well, Gram,” I sighed, “I think we’re going to risk it anyway.” She waved at the air and shook her head, warning, “Well, it’s on your shoulders now.” The bar had been set. Walk Before You Run As he succeeded and achieved confidence in sports, I began to give him more independent assignments. By the time he was eight, I would often say something like, “Here is $5. Go to the corner store and get a gallon of milk, pick yourself out a candy bar, and bring me the change.” As his eyes widened, the questions would start. “How can I carry that on my bike?” “Will I have enough money?” “How much change should I get?” I’d sit calmly on the front steps and say, “Figure it out. Now go.” Ten minutes later I’d see his bike wobbling towards me, unevenly driven due to the gallon of milk dangling from a bag slung over one side of the handlebars, his luminous grin visible before anything else. He careened up the driveway with confidence and told me the story while handing me the bag, the change and the grin. I gave him an AAA tow service card a year ago. His car had been giving him some trouble, and he called the other day when it had stalled out. “Are you safely out of traffic?” I asked Indeed he was. “Do you have your wallet and cell phone?” He did. “Okay, call AAA with the card number, wait for the tow, and have him drop you at the mechanic’s shop.” I could hear the want in his voice for me to handle it for him, but he knows better; this was his problem, not mine. He obliged, handled the whole thing, and even got one of his friends to pick him up and bring him home after the car was taken to the shop and arrangements for repairs were completed. Later in the week when the mechanic explained what needed to be fixed, he got the estimate in writing and reviewed it with me, asking if I thought it was valid. I did and gave him half the cost of the repair (you have to reward these things), for which he was grateful. Snatch The Pebble, Grasshopper What do these exercises accomplish? Peace of mind. As he spends the next four years away at school, it is good to know that he can put together a logical train of thought and make decisions to arrive at a temporary, working or even complete solution. His growth in this area has made him a better student, friend, big brother and even employee because he is now reliable, approachable and well aware that accomplishing things requires a personal commitment. It is that sense of maturity that allows me now to call him in the middle of the day and say something like, “When you get home, please bag those clothes I left out for the Veterans Association. A man will be coming to the house for them before I get home. Introduce yourself, help him load his truck, and get a receipt.” You know what I now get from him when I throw out a request like that? “O.K.” And most assuredly when I come home, the clothes will be gone, the receipt in the middle of the table and all else taken care of. He has stopped being the kid and has started being another adult in our house, capable and willing to do his part. By giving him a sense of self, contribution and, above all, trust, his role within our home has become one of equal respect. As he continues to prove himself, there are greater rewards: extended curfews, a surprise fill-up of gas one day, a month where I pick up the cell phone bill entirely, giving him an extra $50. Little things between friends, friends you trust. Think about your staff, the interns, the newest employees. Are you giving them illustrations of your commitment to help them develop, or are you so control-oriented that you only give them the meaningless assignments, never establishing your willingness to feel they are a safe risk? Don’t think they don’t notice. They do. Build on Trust In the mid-eighties, I had a friend who totaled his father’s rare sports car. He was a fast driver and loved to open it up on curvy, challenging roads, just like his dad. He went a little wide on a turn one evening and rode the guardrail all along the right side. The car did a 180, and the other side took a turn at the rail. The car came to rest in the middle of the road and was hit broadside seconds later. Shaken up but stable, my friend was taken by ambulance to the local hospital, where doctors decided to keep him for observation. It took his head a day or two to get right. His sorrow over wrecking his dad’s car and his embarrassment over being unable to handle a driving challenge put him in a mild state of depression. I went to visit him in the hospital and asked the doctors if I could take him out of the hospital to lunch. They thought that would be a good idea. I signed a short release form and we left. As we walked through the parking lot and approached my car, he looked a bit relieved to be away from that place, so, on impulse, I threw him the keys. “You drive,” I said flatly and got in the passenger side. A full minute passed before he got in. I sat there indifferently. Finally, the door opened, and he fell into the seat behind the wheel and sat motionless. “You sure about this?” he asked. “Sure about what? You always drive,” I responded. He started the car and inched out of the parking lot. A mile up the street he turned onto the highway and opened my car up to a comfortable 70 mph. I looked over to him as he eased back in the seat and hung his arm out the window. “Where to?” he asked. “I think we’re already there,” I smiled. Ron Ciancutti is the Purchasing Manager for Cleveland Metroparks. He can be reached via e-mail at rdc@clevelandmetroparks.com. |
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