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The Family Picnic
Hey hey, Marie here. I want to say the book is writing itself, but no. I am still writing a bunch. Here’s a recent excerpt from a chapter I am working on. This one is centered on what’s missing in the modern workplace. I hope you enjoy the read and very much look forward to your feedback as I continue this book creation journey. – Marie
Before I had any opinions about work and life and the liminal space in between, I watched my parents work. I watched them do work.
One of the fondest memories I have of my Dad is of him coming to my fourth grade classes to explain the basics of computing. Was it career day? No. Just my Dad volunteering to teach young people about stuff he was passionate about. I was mortified. He brought all kinds of flip charts and was using the board, and he was such a big nerd about it all. And then Mrs. Plantillas had me actually come to the front of the room to help him with all of it. What could be worse than helping someone help you learn what it is to love the way you contribute to the world?
My Dad loved working in tech. He was in love with math and science and the way they spoke a language that allowed people to uncover who they are and what they are capable of. He is a spiritual being, my Dad. Always has been. I appreciate that even more now that he has died.
Sometime in the 80s, maybe the early 90s, I don’t know when, there was a company picnic. My parents moved their young family from Queens, New York to San Jose, California because my Dad got an offer he couldn’t refuse from Amdahl; a tech giant that has long since ceased to exist.
They paid the relocation allowance, my parents bought the house that would become my childhood home, and we settled into a new place that my Dad helped to become Silicon Valley.
And sometime in those next 5 years, there was a family picnic. I remember several years of family picnics actually though only one has clear images in my mind and stories that I can shape into words.
It was always in a big park. And there was music and long picnic tables. And soooo many kids. It was like everyone worked because of family, and the picnic was so you could show off the real pride and joy of your life. Work was a means to an end. The real thing was about spending time together.
There were games like the 3 legged race, and burgers and dogs were aplenty. I don’t know what I did to deserve it. I couldn’t have won one of the games. Maybe it was a raffle for the kids? Whatever the occasion, it was at the Amdahl family picnic in 199?? that I distinctly remember the first time I really won anything.
My name was announced, and they called me up and presented me with a trophy in the shape of a much coveted (at the time) stuffed dog. It was a long brown dog with a rectangular face, and a big bulbous flat side, encased in a cardboard box, where you could see how soft he was, but you couldn’t hug him. Not yet. He was fresh out of a Toys R Us bag, and I was overcome.
This was a Pound Puppy. A toy I didn’t even know I wanted til they gave him to me. I unboxed him of course. And my parents beamed. “What are you gonna name him?” my father asked me.
And I looked down at my new friend, and noticed the red heart embroidered on his backside, and said, “Love”.
Companies used to embrace that. Groups of humans from different places and different perspectives used to get together in a park and award each others’ kids, and play games together. And no one was concerned about whether it counted as PTO or not. It used to be lovely, fun, playful . . . I wonder what happened to make them forget.