She chose medicine as her profession and became a pediatrician. While in medical school, she called me one night.

K: I have a big paper due tomorrow.

Me: I know whenever I said those words, it meant that I hadn’t started yet.

K: I work best under pressure.

Me: Is that what you plan to tell patients’ parents when their children aren’t quite sick enough yet for you to treat them?

Another time she was telling me about an ER experience. I was in awe.

Me: That’s incredible. Your job lets you save lives.

K: You make toilet paper, and I’ve been in a bathroom with no toilet paper. You save lives too.

Kathleen has a calm way about her. Her style is matter-of-fact but with compassion. She and her husband have raised 4 great, respectful boys – young men now – and together they have welcomed our mother to live with them. A great example for their children.

And her sense of humor is awesome. She can sneak a brilliant comment into any conversation, and you may not realize it right away – but when it hits you, you will smile.

Happy Birthday little sister. Thanks for saving lives.

The point is that 10,000 hours of hard work can lead to success. You don’t get good at something, you don’t become masterful, without dedicating yourself in some way. Not everything takes 10,000 hours of course, but that much dedicated study, practice, and development would set you apart.

In a few months, I will reach one-half million hours of life. Five hundred thousand hours. I’ve probably spent about one hundred and fifty thousand of those hours sleeping, so I’ve gotten pretty good at that part. And I think I know a thing or two about eating.

From a professional career standpoint, I estimate that I have put in about seventy-five thousand hours. There are two, maybe three things that I would consider myself a relative expert in based on how I spent those hours, but masterful? Maybe not. There were disciplines that I spent time in, like engineering, that I did well with, but couldn’t envision as a life-long career.

Aubie, on a lazy Sunday

Although I’ve spent more than one hundred fifty thousand waking hours as a husband, I’m still working at that. Feedback tells me that I have some room to improve in this area. But only a little.

As far as parenting goes, I have less to practice on these days, but I am pleased to see the results of that work taking hold in the worlds of my children.

Still in progress: Becoming a better writer and a better photographer.

Have you put in the time?

Bob and Linda stop to see us in Atlanta during their Four Corners Tour.

Bob is the oldest of my siblings. And eight and half years older than I am. He had a birthday last week, which I remembered this morning.

Bob left for college when I was 10, but I don’t remember much about him growing up. After college he stayed in Michigan and eventually moved to Traverse City, which was not that close to Cleveland to allow many visits. He moved closer to the family as I was finishing college, and I guess you could say we hit it off. We ended up working for the same company for much of my career, and we were able to work together on projects for about 10 years total.

This is not the history of Bob and I, but here are things about him that have shaped me.

• He likes to try new things. He came into my office once saying “I always wanted to go backpacking”. Two months later we were on an 80 mile trek in the Smoky Mountains. Another time he said “Have you ever thought about parachuting?” In a few weeks’ time, there we were, jumping out of a perfectly good airplane.
• He loves his family. I had children much later in life than he and Linda did, but watching them parent taught me a lot and prepared me. My parents taught us well, too, in that regard. You just pay more attention to it when you will be the parent!
• He takes life as it comes. A freak accident when he was in college left him without routine use of his right arm and hand. If you didn’t know that about him, it might take you a while to even realize there is something different about that. And he has had a couple of bouts with cancer. Two different kinds. And he continues to thrive.
• He is low key. He gets excited about stuff, but only stuff that matters.

He retired a few years ago, and when I encounter people we both worked with, the first thing out of their mouth is usually “How’s your brother?”

He’s awesome, thanks for asking. And always has been. Happy Birthday Bob, here’s to many more.

One of the things I have come to realize is that college prepared me to start work, but I had no idea what could happen later. I developed a good understanding of the fundamentals of mechanical engineering, how mechanical components are designed together into sophisticated machinery, how heat transfers, how electricity flows, and how time studies of work are managed. I know. Exciting stuff, right?

Then I did those things, or things like them, for a couple of years. I learned to understand failure modes and became a problem solver. I learned how to design around failure, and to design things to prevent failure. And I began to realize how much I didn’t know, and that I was surrounded with people who knew more and were willing to share.

In one assignment, I was fortunate to be added to a team of people with the unique task f starting up a new facility and doing so in a completely different work environment. And doing completely different work. I loved it. Everyone I worked with was smart, giving, and willing to learn more. We grew together and created something we were very proud of. What I began to learn is that I was really good at something other than what I went to college for, and that there was a demand for those skills in lots of places.

Which was a good thing, because while I loved my work and the people I worked with, I was in a part of the country that was too far from family and after three years still felt foreign to me. So it was time to move on.

What made it hard is that I was leaving behind the very people who helped me develop the skills that allowed me to leave. Who would I learn from? Who would challenge me the way they did? And can I really make it in a field without the formal degree that usually went with this work?

I went through about 2-3 days of discussion, people asking me to stay and reconsider. But the truth is that I had made the decision when I started looking, and I reminded them that they had valued me for my decisions, so please respect this one.

I moved on to a great opportunity, in another new area of the country, one where I knew I would fit in and find things I could enjoy doing. Two years later, my former company contacted me and invited me to come back to work, in a similar role in one of their facilities that was 7 miles from where I lived. I went back and continued to build on the skills I left them with.

Each day is a new one. Each decision opens new possibilities. I learned in this instance that when life is out of balance, no one is going to fix it for you. You decide and move on.

We met in 1986, performing across from each other in a community theatre production of “Anything Goes”. Corny, right? The romantic leads become attracted to one another and romance blossoms. I wasn’t looking for it, wasn’t expecting it. Community theatre was a way to pass the time that appealed to my creative side. It’s where I learned a lot about collaboration and teamwork. People come together for three months with nothing but a script and a director and produce an evening of entertainment that the local community can enjoy.  Sometimes they form close bonds in preparing the show. Sometimes, people fall in love.

In Lake George, 1998

And so it was for us. With her two children, I was suddenly a parent, and had a new life to learn about. Reading stories before bed. Bath rituals. Eating leftover french fries from the happy meals (I think I gained ten pounds that first year). At work, I had never understood the mother-in-law jokes. And after being married to Barbara, I still didn’t. Her mother was one of the most important people in our lives throughout her remaining life. When she passed in 2005, it was tough for all of us.

Rule number one with Barbara was pretty straightforward: Love me, love my kids. That’s all. If you’re not ready for this, leave me alone and let’s both move on. So I sold the five speed performance car and bought a station wagon, and when child number three arrived, the mini-van.

I was fortunate in so many ways. First and foremost in meeting Barbara. But secondly with her willingness to consider moving over time – with trying different places to live and explore. Moving away from family with the assurance that we would find ways to stay connected. Our older kids never lost connection with their father, and as adults still respect him as much as ever. We worked hard before even our first move to make the transition for them as easy as possible. I know it was hard, but they learned, as so many of their generation have, to make it work.

At Disney World, 2001

When I look back today, I think about the traditional wedding vows: In good times and bad. In sickness and in health. That pretty much covers it. We’ve had all those and one thing has been constant – Barbara’s dedication to family. To her children and to me.

It won’t be too much longer before I will have spent half my life with this amazing woman.

To celebrate this year, we went to Las Vegas, primarily to see Celine Dion perform. Every song felt like it was about us. Whether it was “Because You Loved Me”, “Overjoyed” with Stevie Wonder, or “My Heart Will Go On”, we were mesmerized and living in the same feelings we had in 1986. It was a memorable week, and a great anniversary.

At a family wedding, 2011

So here’s is to my loving, selfless, wife. My better half, in every sense of the word. Barbara, you have brought out the best in me. You are the woman behind the man, the force that brings the family together, the joy in every day, and reason I look forward to each tomorrow.

I love you, always.

Earlier this week, she celebrated her 89th birthday. That’s over 32,500 days of making a difference. She made a difference to us, of course. She made a difference to her two husbands, both of whom she helped through the final days of their lives. She worked tirelessly as a volunteer at a local hospital, and in helping seniors with all the confusion of Medicare and social service issues. She makes a difference still to her friends and family.

She’s seen a lot, of course, as you would expect someone of her life experience. And she brought a lot to each member of the family.

At my daughter's wedding, August 2003

Of all the things I could remember, I think one of the most important is this. As we were growing into adulthood, each in our own way, she and dad gave us the freedom to do it in our own unique ways. There were no two consistent paths, there were six unique journeys. And we each got the love and support we needed with little or no judgement. When one of her friends asked her how she could let us take jobs in other cities, or travel away from Cleveland, she simply responded “How could I not?”. She raised us to be capable, respectful, independent people. And she succeeded.

When my father made the decision to stop drinking, there were many people who assured him that he had no problem and that he didn’t need to follow that path. But he did, and I was at home the day after he entered the hospital. I helped mom prepare the house for his eventual return. I called my siblings to let them know what was going on. Just like me, they were a little surprised and confused, as not a one of us considered that he needed to do this. But what I learned about my mother in that weekend – I learned that when you love someone, when you commit to them, you give them yourself at all costs. She handled it. She dealt with it. She helped the bridge club and the poker club understand that he didn’t want people to treat him differently or change their habits. She was amazing. Strength. Love. Perseverance. Family.

Happy Mother’s Day Mom. Thank you for the countless lessons, and the continuous examples of love and strength shown through the years. I know I speak for all of us when I say thank you for giving us our chance. For guiding us along the way. For knowing when to let go, and for caring each and every day.

I went to the school my brothers went to, a college prep school on the west side of Cleveland. Graduating class size was near 300. By the time I started college, I realized that the cost of my college education was going to be less than the cost of my High School education. But in truth, it was worth it (well, I guess my parents thought so anyway). Those years, the ones that are painful for so many, were painful for me. But they were growthful as well.

I had friends in elementary school, but I learned about community in high school. I learned about being me, and that being me isn’t an accidental finding, it is the result of a series of decisions, mistakes, and accomplishments. I learned that principles matter, that sports can be a great community builder, and that even those that we think have it all have some of the secrets, regrets, and insecurities that normal people have.

I learned the difference between advice and guidance, and that the latter isn’t always provided by someone who has your best interests in mind, because they can’t really know what that is.

And I learned that chariot race re-enactments could be fun. And apparently still are.

My work sometimes requires me to travel, and today I find myself celebrating my fifty-fifth birthday in a place I would never have expected – Buenos Aires, Argentina.

While my work brought me here, it was my most special friend, my wife, who made it into a birthday celebration. Upon learning of the conference, she immediately got her passport and we planned a pre-conference visit, which has been incredible!

Today we went to the cemetery in the Recoleta district. In this case, the cemetery is just a part of the venue, here there was an incredible craft show that happens every weekend. Leathers, jewelry, wool, pottery, and all sorts of creative treasures were everywhere. So much that we could not see it all in the few hours we roamed.

Behind all the vendor stalls is the actual cemetery, resting place of thousands, including the most famous of Argentine notaries, Eva Duarte de Peron.

Dead is dead. All the memorials, the crypts, the mausoleums were built in some sort of remembrance of those gone by. Today, I saw cats roaming the rows of memorials, people looking for names they knew, and an unmistakable quiet once I passed through the gates into the actual cemetery. As in New Orleans, these above-ground resting places just bring the realization of death a little more visible. It’s not terrible, its not the worst thing that will ever happen, it is just the last thing in our connection to those who are living. Inevitable.

Having said that, I also feel like there is so much more to do, more to accomplish than in the thousands of days gone past thus far.

Your time is there for you every day.

Take care of the kids, but more importantly, take care of yourself.

A life’s worth of learning keeps going until the life is gone. So many can benefit from what you learn, from what you see.

It’s probably a good thing to have lived such a life that people remember you in death, that they choose to remember you from time to time. But I think I would rather help others today, not in spirit, but in reality.

Do you give back? Don’t wait until the end to be remembered, do something memorable each day. It doesn’t have to be huge or world-changing, it just has to be something about you.

But there was a time when that same system represented something I didn’t like. That time was when the roads were being built, and it seemed that the best path for I-90 in northern Ohio went through our neighborhood, and specifically through our home.

This just didn’t make sense, to a fourteen-year-old anyway. We walked to school, we walked to Winterhurst, when it was an outdoor rink. We walked to the dime store and the Dairy Queen. We had great games of wiffleball in the street or in the vacant lot next to the Corey’s house. If you were looking for someone to play with, there were neighborhood kids of all ages. The Francos, the Weys, the Smiths, the Kocabs and the Motsingers. I had my paper route, which I think I inherited from one of my brothers. Rocky Colavito even lived down the street.

But progress is progress, and the houses were bought up, salvage material was taken, and then they were torn down and the road was built. On the plus side, we got to move to a new home that we were involved with different aspects of building. We ran wires for an intercom system, we dug ditches for drainage in the basement (OK, maybe that wasn’t such a plus), we got to pick colors and carpets for our rooms. And that same year I started high school, so there as going to be change anyway.

As many times as we made trips from the old house to the new house in the last six months, I still remember the last trip the most. I remember loading up the Country Squire one more time, I remember that Tommy and Mike Franco were standing there on the curb, and I remember the tears in my eyes as we drove away.

What I learned there I use nearly every day in my work. Change can be hard, and you need to give people time to say goodbye to the old, to participate meaningfully in building the new, and encourage exploration of what is now possible.

What’s the earliest significant change you can recall?

Then, I asked my parents if they would mind if I bought a piano and put it in the living room. So I went piano shopping, knowing very little. The salesman explained pianos to me in terms related to General Motors – there was the Cadillac, the Buick, and the Chevy.  The Story & Clark console piano that I ended up with was considered to be a Buick.

Though I never took lessons, I spent many hours at the keyboard, trying to teach myself to translate the notes on the page to perfect tones from the instrument. Somewhere in that first summer, I realized that I could learn chords on the piano the same way I did on the guitar. I learned different positions for each chord, and learned to play them as individual notes with one hand while I played the full chord with another. In short, I learned to fake it.

But I was making music. And music became my friend for life. I still strum a guitar from time to time, and although the piano was donated to a school a few years ago, one of my sons did have the opportunity to learn to play it, and has moved on to much more interesting electronic keyboards. But one thing I learned – for me, music is essential in my life. I need to listen to it, I need to relax with it, and from time to time I need to make a little music.

Has music been important to you?