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On Saturday evening Sprite and I attended my son Craig’s fiftieth birthday party.  My father, a robust 103 years old, joined us. I was reminded of my Dad’s own fiftieth birthday party. It was a surprise (which he hated).

I also remembered Craig’s birthday when he was thirty-five, and the poem I wrote at the time.

The Professor and I visit in his home.  We share memories,
coffee, the dreams we dream.  I buy and sell real estate in California.
He researches and teaches at Duke University in North Carolina.

I lean forward to pay attention to what he has to say.
He asks me, “Are you happy?  Do you have regrets?”
At lunch we explore tenure, morality, the Internet;
we talk of women, money, solitude, love, and women.

It’s his birthday.  I buy pizza.  We watch football on TV.
His alma mater upsets mine.  He laughs as loud
as I did last year.  Always attentive, he assures me,
“I’m more like you than you know.”

The next morning we wake at eight,
shower, he drives me to the airport.
We hug each other at the gate.
“Bye, Craig.  Thanks,” I say.
He says, “Bye.  I love you, Dad.”

It’s easy to forget that every day is a celebration.  No birthday, anniversary, or other peg is needed, on which to hang a treasured memory.

Each new day is warmed by a golden, gift-wrapped sun.

Each morning and afternoon we open the day’s hours, to embrace gifts both familiar and unexpected.

Each evening our celebration is completed by an orange ribbon of sunset.

Happy birthday, everyone.  Kindred spirits all, today is a day to celebrate.

I love you.

Alan

Good relationships are precious beyond the scent of night blooming jasmine, and unless you pay close attention, they are as equally fleeting.  Everyone benefits from forming, maintaining, and deepening those precious relationships that are worth sustaining for a lifetime. That takes training and practice and often the help of outside advice.

Carole, a colleague, taught me an invaluable lesson this morning when she came into my office.

“Alan, I have a problem.”

“Okay.  Have a seat.  What is it?”

“My old boss was always saying nice things to me, like “Good work,” or “I value your contribution to the office.”  That felt good and I was encouraged.  I went out of my way to help everyone, which is something I like to do anyway.

“Sounds good.  I work for appreciation myself, probably more than anything else.”

“Well, Alan, my new boss is more demanding, and that’s fine, but in three months she has never given me a single word of encouragement or appreciation, though she has shared many words of criticism.  That’s why I’m circulating my resume.”

Carole’s statement hit home with me for several reasons.

First, I was reminded of a line from a popular song, “you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone,” because I know that this is something I am guilty of. While I respond positively to words of appreciation from others, I often fail to express my own appreciation back. I sometimes forget that everyone likes to be appreciated and yet this is an idea that we must take seriously. Or, as the song goes, you might find out too late that you should have appreciated someone more.

Second, in the words of my friend Lou, a rare bookseller, “Once I make the sale I stop talking.” We’ve all had an argument with a spouse or friend, and when they responded positively, (maybe even went so far as to agree to change their behavior), we still pushed our victory over the cliff with one final: “and while we’re at it, there’s another thing I want you to change.”

Third, sometimes we don’t take turns as we should.  I have a rule for myself that if a friend, colleague, or spouse tells me they are unhappy with me in some way then – today it is their turn.  They can criticize me for as long as they like. They can talk about my shortcomings, and ask me to change. My turn to tell them that they are even worse than I am, or to exchange my promise to change for their promise to do something for me, will come tomorrow. By analogy – if I am standing in a line and you have asked to cut in front, it is not my turn to cut in front of you a few minutes later. I have to do it another day.

If you want to win the reward of a long and fulfilling relationship, whether in the work place, at school, or in your marriage, then you have to encourage the other as much as you can, and allow your colleague, friend, or spouse to win their share of disputes.  I aim to have them win sixty percent or more.

And when victory is yours – either because they have agreed with you and have promised to change, or because you agreed with them and have promised to change or have apologized – then for the sake of your future together, just STOP.  Say “Thank you.  I appreciate that you were candid with me,” or “I appreciate you bringing this to my attention.”

For the sake of the future of your great relationship, stop when you are ahead, and suppress any impulse to “pile on.” Don’t snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.

Alan

I love theater.  I may have said that before in my blog, but love is worth repeating.

I’ve seen plays in London, Edinburgh, Prague, and throughout the United States. I’ve been to many plays on Broadway, including one in which Lyndon Johnson, then vice president of the United States, was in the audience.

Ever since I was a teen, I’ve probably seen on average one play a week, though I must admit, getting out of the house for an 8:00 pm curtain, and returning near 11:00 pm, has become more difficult over the years.

Three decades ago my father introduced me to a repertory group, Noise Within, now located in Pasadena. They present five or six plays each year, and every year we purchase season tickets.

Last night we attended “The Madwoman of Chaillot,” by Jean Giraudoux. Though it was written in 1943, this is a play that resonates today.

I found both the writing and, especially, the production suburb.  Toward the end, of the play I decided I would stand at the curtain call, both as a sign of my enthusiasm and to show my appreciation and respect to the actors.

A month ago, at another play, I had also wanted to stand in appreciation of the performance. But that evening as I surveyed the house during the curtain call, I noticed everyone else remained seated.  Clearly others did not share my opinion of the play, and because I was hesitant to stand alone, I remained in my seat.

Last night I decided I would stand no matter what.  Then I remembered the conversation I’d overheard during intermission. The woman next to me was complaining because “the play was hard to follow.”  I thought, once again, that I might be the only member of the audience to stand.  That scared me, so I changed my mind.  You could say that I chickened out.

Upon further reflection, I decided I would stand regardless.  Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!  But still I wondered, when the time came, would I really have the courage to stand alone?  Maybe I should wait, and look around first. I didn’t want to be out of step or look foolish.

“Come on,” I told myself.  “You really should stand.”

“I will,” I answered.  Then, in a soft inner voice I added, “Probably.”

The Madwoman has a line toward the end of the play in which she urges a young couple to kiss.  “After all,” she says, “you’ve known each other for three hours.  And if you let the wedge of the moment come between you it will then become a minute, then an hour, a day, a month, thirty years.  And I can tell you that I would be a different woman today if the man I loved had the courage to kiss me thirty years ago.”

At the final curtain I decided that I would definitely stand, no matter what, and when the lights came up, I did.  I didn’t look around, I didn’t want to know if the woman next to me, or anyone else in our party, was going to join me.  I stood for myself.

I was about to say, “Fortunately, many in the audience stood up after I did.”  I’d prefer to leave out the word “Fortunately,” because that implies that if I had stood alone I would have done something stupid, something wrong, something unsupported. But to only stand when others are standing would mean I was living a life for others rather than for myself. So from now on, I will be the first man standing, and if necessary, I will stand alone.

Back home I read the Los Angeles Times review.  Their critic also called this play performance “superb.”

I’m reluctant to admit that I am relieved.

Alan