Robert Blodgett is a consultant and expert on work-life conflict and is the author of “Family First: Tales of a Working Father.” He can be contacted at robert@workingfather.com.
Do you remember the family vacations you took when you were a kid? I do. I remember bouncing in the backseat holding on to a chunk of my sister Stacy’s hair while mom was hanging over the front seat trying to separate the two of us before any real harm was done. My dad was calmly trying to ignore everyone as the motor home sped down the highway. Maybe your dad was like my friend’s dad—the one who would screech to a halt, get out of the car to smoke a cigarette and not come back until everyone inside the vehicle agreed to remain silent for the duration of the trip.
Whatever your memories, during the journey and even when you finally reached your destination, your dad probably spent a little more time with you than usual. You felt excitement at having him around all day long, and, somehow, it seemed as if things were just a little more relaxed between your parents.
Thinking about those great family vacations, I recently decided to spend some time with my family. We weren’t going anywhere, I just wanted to get away from work so I could relax and enjoy life with my wife and sons. Work had been pretty intense lately, but things were calming down. I made arrangements to ensure everything was taken care of and everyone knew who my fill in was while I was gone. Yes, my boss was very supportive, at least, I thought. “That sounds great, Robert! I’m sure you’ll have a good time.” She said. “We’ll just page you if we need you.”
“Excuse me? Page me? Um, I’m going on vacation,” I thought to myself. I wanted to escape the electronic leash. I wanted to spend quality time with my family. That’s simply not possible knowing at a moments notice work problems could come screaming back at the whining tune of my pager. I gulped, racked my brain to see how I could have been so unclear about the vacation days I was taking and tried again. “Well, you see,” I said, “I know I’ll be in town but I really need this time with my kids to be uninterrupted.” Apparently, I grew horns on each side of my head. My boss’ eyes squinted to mere slits, and I could swear I saw little smoke puffs come out her nostrils. This couldn’t be good.
“I understand that, Robert. We’ll just page you if we need you.”
In the recesses of my mind, I was trying to decide what my father would have done. But it was useless. Life was different then. He didn’t have to contend with pagers and voicemail—that was a product of my generation. We were so used to being technologically tuned in that I suddenly realized my boss was viewing things from a completely different perspective. She must think I wanted to stay in touch with the office while I was out. Yeah, that was it.
What was I going to tell my kids? Was I supposed to tell them that even though daddy wasn’t at work he still had to wear the pager because you just don’t know when daddy might need to do some work again? This vacation was not going to be the stress-reducer I imagined it would be. And Celeste. Oh boy, was she going to be mad. I’d been so wigged out at work that she’d been the one to suggest I take some time off and get away. We’d both been hoping the week would help us re-connect with one another.
So what did I do? I stood my ground. I wasn’t sure exactly what would happen, but I knew I couldn’t spend the week worrying about that pager going off.
“It’s just that the pager won’t be on, Louise,” I explained. “I promised my family this week was just for them.”
As silence enveloped the room, I mentally began rewriting my resume. The Sunday paper would have some jobs. And if not, I could always find a job at McDonald’s if necessary. Louise finally spoke. Her words hung like icicles, and her voice was very low. “I see.”
That was it. No, “Of course, Robert—how silly of me!” Or even, “Fine, then, you’re fired!” Nothing. I didn’t push it. I backpedaled out of the room and headed straight for my office.
As I put on my coat and searched for my car keys, my fingers found my pager still attached to my belt. Thank God my Father never had a pager. And you can bet my kids will never take second fiddle to a stupid, little Motorola bell. I slowly pulled the pager off my belt and carefully placed it on top of my desk. As I turned it off, I felt a wave of relief rush over me. Kids, here I come.
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