It was Sunday, shortly before noon, when my phone rang. I answered and heard the familiar voice of my teenage son, and after a few pleasantries, he asked, "Dad, can I come live with you?"
"Certainly," I replied. "But why do you want to?"
"If I stay here, my life will not end well for me," was his response.
As I listened to what he was experiencing, his every word ripping open a scar my heart carried from my own childhood. When no one shows up, you feel immensely unloved and uncared for. The result is a kid filled with anger, a kid constantly in trouble, drugs, and all manner of bad things. I had sacrificed so much of my life so they would never have those feelings or those experiences, and hearing his pain broke my heart.
Arrangements were made for him to come and live with me. He would be leaving where he was born, the only place he’d ever lived, his friends, and, well, virtually all he’d ever known. He was giving up everything just to feel loved.
After we got off the phone, I went and sat quietly by the pool to try and sort through the jumble of thoughts and feelings that threatened to overwhelm me. His words had exposed the wounds that had shaped and guided me as a father. I found myself agitated and angry over what he was going through. A part of what settled me was the realization that someone in their early teens could be so self-aware that they knew they needed change. I know at that age, I certainly wasn’t anywhere near that aware. And then I found gratitude for who he was, and I felt both amazed by his insight and very proud of him.
The Job:
A few years later, I began working as a VP of Product Management for a publicly traded company. The salary was $150,000, and the bonus was $50,000 - a nice income by any stretch of the imagination, especially back in 2006. Besides the nice pay, the people I worked with were nice, and I found the work interesting.
The company hadn't innovated in years. Their technology platform was outdated, and their product offering was stale. As a result, their paid subscriber rolls were dropping, and if they didn’t make some changes, they’d be underwater within two years. It wasn’t just their failure to innovate that was harming them; they were actively doing things that hurt their brand.
This was just the kind of challenge I liked.
I began by cleaning up some of their nonsense, like continuing to send emails to people who had unsubscribed (that just pisses people off). I then moved on to researching new product offerings. One idea that rose to the top was to feature recipes from celebrity cookbooks. This idea seemed to benefit everyone:
- It was a way to freshen our offering
- It would give our users more value
- It would extend our paid memberships to a premium plan
- It would give celebrities an added source of revenue from their cookbooks
- We would get some free celebrity TV coverage from their publicity tours.
- It was a win for everyone.
After further researching my idea, I pitched my plan to the executive team, and they loved it. Turns out, one of our ad agency's executives could make an introduction. Within a few weeks, we were on our way to California to meet with our first celebrity, a very famous movie star who had made a name for herself in the wellness industry.
The meeting was held outdoors by the celebrity's swimming pool and was attended by the celebrity, her spouse, and her agent, along with me, our CEO, and VP of Marketing. After the introductions were made, our CEO jumped right into the pitch.
Now, while our CEO was quite charming, he was also more prone to pushing the deal than "reading the room," so I opted to stand off to the side and watch the show. Following his pitch, the inevitable back-and-forth discussion ensued. Primarily, the conversation was between her agent and the CEO, but the celebrity did ask some important questions.
As an observer, I could easily tell the celebrity wasn’t onboard. Finally, I gestured to a lounge chair next to her and asked, "May I?" and, with the wave of her hand, I was granted permission to sit. I sat and watched the continued exchange in silence.
Once the back and forth had died down. I looked at the celebrity and asked a very simple question, "What’s your reservation?"
She seemed a bit surprised that I had picked up on her hesitancy, but seizing the opportunity, she listed all her concerns. Most were because her agent hadn’t done his homework, and those were easy to overcome. The rest of her objections were legit, but easy enough for us to address. She and I talked a bit longer, and then I asked, "If we can solve these last 3 issues, will you sign with us?" She said, "Yes! Absolutely!"
After her "Yes," things turned social, and we hung out for another hour before departing. Once inside the rental car and on our way back to our Los Angeles hotel, we animatedly discussed everything we had to do to make those last 3 issues go away. Mostly, they were easy and were things we’d have to do for any other celebrity partner. After we'd built our to-do list, everyone complimented me on how well I had navigated our meeting and how glad they were that I’d come along. While a part of me enjoyed the compliments, I just wanted to focus on the work, as that was where I derived my satisfaction.
Once back in Florida, we all began working on those 3 issues: Marketing was coordinating with the celebrity's ad agency to develop an ad campaign; Development was working on some tweaks to the paid subscription part of our signup process and adding a portal where celebrities could track subscribers to their recipes (this was the main sticking point). That week, all the employees seemed happier and more energized than I had seen them since I’d joined the company. I left work each day with a sense of satisfaction from breathing new life into a stale offering.
Within a month, we had everything done, I had a fresh set of contracts in hand, and I was on a Tuesday red-eye back across the country for a noon Wednesday meeting at the celebrity’s home. Since she had already approved the ad campaign and the PR rollout, and checked out the new signup process and celebrity portal, it was a quick meeting. I had her signature, we toasted with some champagne, and she was telling me how much she was looking forward to this new opportunity.
After our brief social time, I left for my 2.5-hour drive back to LAX and, once safely on I-10, I called in and reported the news. The executive team was ecstatic. The CEO was a little disappointed because the timing of the launch would mean we couldn’t mention the deal in our next quarterly earnings call, something he desperately needed and wanted, but not the end of the world. Overall, he was happy for the win and told me to take a few extra days in LA and "enjoy my victory." I was tempted, but being a single dad, I couldn't afford that kind of luxury, so I kept my Wednesday evening flight back home.
I was back at my desk Thursday morning and feeling ragged, but ready to work. As tired as I was, I seemed to get a lot done. By noon Friday, my exhaustion was showing, and my thoughts had turned to my girlfriend coming over that evening, the movie we would all watch, and the rugby match my son had on Saturday morning. I was looking forward to my time with them and to watching my son play rugby, but to make it through it all, I would need a nap. After checking in with the key players, I slipped out the door at 3 p.m.
On Monday morning, as I greeted the receptionist, she handed me a message; I was asked to come to the CEO’s office. I was pretty accustomed to working with him, so I didn't give it a second thought, but I sure wasn’t expecting this!
The Offer:
CEO: "I want to create a new position, an Executive VP role, someone who can handle all these celebrity deals. It would require a lot of travel between LA, New York, and Miami (Miami being an hour south). You’d be gone 2-3 weeks a month. I’m willing to raise your salary to $225,000 and your bonus to $75,000, plus you’d be authorized to travel first class on all your flights and stay at all the celebrity hotels. What do you think?"
I was floored!
And then it hit me. I would be gone all the time! As a single parent, what would I do? I needed to think about this. I asked for a few days to mull it over, and the CEO, while he didn’t understand my hesitation, agreed to let me think about it. We planned to talk again on Friday morning.
Over the next few days, I didn’t sleep well at all. I wasn't fully present at home, and I was distracted at work.
On one hand, my career would take a huge leap forward, and meeting all these celebrities would be fun AND I’d have the money to really provide for my kids and ensure they got a great start in life BUT… And it was a HUGE but…
It was what was on the other hand that was eating me alive! I wouldn’t be home. I wouldn’t be present for all those moments when a parent should show up and be supportive. I knew from my own childhood and theirs just how much a parent being present and caring mattered.
All the money in the world wouldn’t buy another "me" to work out with him every morning before school, or sit in the bleachers for his Friday night football games, or to be on the sidelines for his Saturday rugby matches, or to show up at his parent/teacher conferences. I either had to be there to do those things, or my only other choice would be to send him back to the place he’d fled from.
Friday came, and the CEO and I met in his office. I remember so clearly the excited look on his face as I sat down. I began to speak, and with each word I spoke, I could hear my son’s words, "If I stay here, my life will not end well for me," echoing in my head.
I declined the promotion. The CEO, an avid believer in the business book "Good to Great," was a BIG proponent in following the book's central tenet: It’s not just getting the right people on the bus but also getting them in the right seat on that bus. I was declining to take the seat he wanted me in.
I offered to help find someone to fill the role and said I would continue working to push the product offering forward.
The CEO was disappointed but seemed to understand.
On my arrival the following Monday morning, the receptionist again handed me a message summoning me to the CEO’s office. When I entered, I was greeted by the CEO, the CFO, and the company’s attorney. It looked serious.
The Bad Thing:
The CEO began the conversation harshly and with these words: "I have decided to terminate your 
employment. I need a team player, someone who can take the opportunities I see and capitalize on them."
Once more, I was floored. It was hard for me to wrap my head around what was happening!
After he vented a bit more, he did offer me the opportunity to accept the promotion and keep my job. Essentially, he was blackmailing me! I felt like I was dealing with Jekyll and Hyde, but his offer didn’t change my choice; I was choosing my son.
Once the meeting was over, the attorney escorted me to my office and helped me pack up my belongings. The only words spoken between us were him asking, "Is this yours?" Once our task was complete, I was escorted out of the building with a box full of my kids’ pictures in my arms.
I never told my son or any of my other kids why I was let go. At the time, my therapist and my girlfriend both told me that not telling my kids was a mistake.
This wasn’t the first time as a single dad I had faced consequences for choosing my kids over work, and I never told any of them how my choices had impacted my career. They were my choices to make, and I never wanted any of them to carry any guilt because of the choices I made for them. I believe I did what any good parent would do: I chose my son and his well-being over the job.
My son finished high school, graduated from college with no student loans, and the last I knew, had a great job. I’ve not spoken to him in years, and, quite frankly, even before we stopped speaking, we’d drifted so far apart that we’d become complete strangers. Up until our relationship had become permanently broken, his life had "ended well."
So, why write this now?
I was at my "Estranged Dad's Therapy Group," and a conversation triggered this memory, so I shared this story with the other dads. We had an active debate about whether or not I made the right decision in not telling my son or any of the other kids why I was let go. When you make a huge sacrifice for your children, one that costs you dearly, whether it be a job, a relationship, or something you dearly covet, do you tell them or do you keep quiet? More specifically, if you got fired from a job because you prioritized your child/children, would you tell them?
Among my circle of friends and confidants, opinions are pretty fixed and evenly split between the two sides: keep it to yourself or tell them. Earlier this week, I was sharing this memory with a friend/pastor, and he said, "That sounds like a lesson he could have benefited from." And, just yesterday over coffee with a cousin, I posed this very question, and his response was the same as mine: "I wouldn’t want my kid to carry the guilt. I would have made the decision because I thought it was the right one to make, quietly owned it, and kept going." Yesterday, during a phone call with a friend, she said, "You should have told him. His choices impact your life, and yours impact his, and he needed to learn that lesson."
As a parent, what would you have done?
If you were a teenager, would you have wanted to know?