The Foul Ball Heard Around The World

Last week, all media outlets extensively depicted the infamous incident where a three year old burst into tears while attending a Texas Rangers vs. New York Yankees baseball game due to a failed attempt at catching a foul ball. A couple sitting next to the kid caught the ball, and the whole drama started. With their excitement, the couple was unaware of the crying toddler so they did not hand the ball over to the kid but rather celebrated their catch. Today, we also know that they actually have seven children, so why would they even hand the ball over as opposed to bring it home for one of their own kids. Based on some news reports, the kid parents were also fine with the couple not handing over the ball. That should had been the end of the story, but the negative reaction of the Yankees announcing team, most baseball fans in the stadium, and fans watching the game at home developed into a vicious attacked against the couple who unaware of it all, were still celebrating their catch.

The foul ball heard around the world.

As the kid cried on national television, we had to endure two sports announcers going over and over on what now has become their most unprofessional and unfounded attack against the couple. The sport announcers went in a rant of why the couple had to hand over the ball, which at times, even seemed as fueled by hate or a personal vendetta. The announcers rallied the fans, and the fans immediately took their disapproval of the couple’s action to social media and they were condemned.  As the whole drama unfolded, I wondered if this was actually people caring for the kid because he was crying or about parents that usually feel a sense of entitlement where the entire world must submit to every command their kid has.  I am going on a limb here and will candidly say that I am certain is the later. Seriously, when did the trend started where we are supposed to educate children  under the premise that if they do a little crying or whining, they will certainly get what they want and a lot more?  Worst of all, when did it became acceptable for the entire World to be submitted to a parents failed attempt in educating their kids? You might think I am rambling now, but as I write these lines, there is new movement spreading through the United States where some restaurants are getting hundreds, and sometimes thousands of requests, to ban the admission of kids. Restaurants as the famous McDain’s in Monroeville Pennsylvania have implemented a no kids under six allowed policy. You can search on the internet for hotels that do not allow kids and you will be surprised at how many hits you will get. This month Malaysia Airlines announced that they would be restricting children in their most demanding zones.  

This is not an uprising against children around the World. This is certainly an uprising against irresponsible parents. Parents who cannot teach manners to their kids but then feel that we all have to share the responsibility of their failures. We are exposed to these lousy parents every day, and I even have some emotional scars to show:  

• As the time I was at a midnight showing in a movie theater when all of a sudden, and to everyone’s surprise, a baby started crying. The mother blatantly refused to leave the theater spoiling the entire movie for all of us.
• Last week, very early in the morning, when I was on a train to Philadelphia and a kid sitting two rows away decided to watch his DVD’s without any headphones sharing with everyone his extremely loud cartoons. When another passenger gently approached the mother to ask her if she could lower the volume on the DVD player, she was verbally insulted.
• The kid who in a restaurant decided to play with his action figure by throwing it up in the air while his parents when about their business. As we all watched in expectation, the toy ended hitting a man dining on a table nearby. When the man politely asked the kid to stop throwing the toy, we were shocked with the father’s immediate burst and call to action: “Hey, don’t tell my kid what to do!”

I could go on with similar scenarios, and I am sure you could share a lot more, but if you read these situations and you could not find anything wrong with them, maybe you should ask yourself if you are part of the problem. The problem exposed with that foul ball was not a greedy couple who would not give the ball to a crying kid. The problem was not a spoiled crying kid. The real problem was the sports announcers and the fans loudly crying foul because down in their core, they might actually be Spoiled Brat Parents.

Face It: You do not hate Mondays!

For the past twelve years, I have spent the early hours of every Monday morning in an airport terminal getting on a flight, or on a train, or on a rental car as a means to get to work.  As a consultant, I need to travel to wherever my clients and my projects are located. Yes, the commute is tedious, but it has its benefits. One intangible benefit is that I have met very interesting people from a wide range of professional and cultural backgrounds. In these trips, I have had the opportunity to chat and sit next to fashion designers, chefs, lawyers, motivational speakers, CEO’s, programmers, consultants, doctors, Federal Agents, pilots, morgue make-up consultants (yes, this one takes the cake in the creepy scale)…..well, I’m sure you get the idea by now. All these professionals, with such diverse backgrounds and careers had one thing in common: They all claim to hate Mondays.

The I hate Mondays schedule.

Each of my conversations with them usually starts with by their usual; “Man, I hate Monday’s” or “Who came up with Monday’s!” or “Can’t wait for this day to be over!” or my favorite “Why don’t work weeks start on Tuesday’s!”  Those tacky lines usually continue with ten to fifteen minutes of Monday bashing before we can finally engage in a real conversation. It is during these details conversations that I have been able to get an insight at the root cause for the Monday blues. As a business consultant, I have learned a couple tricks of the trade over the years that allow me get detailed information from a simple conversation. An effective consultant needs learns how to read people not by what they tell you, but by what we can read between the lines and by the way people speak through their body language. Effective consultants learn how to read body language to identify when someone is sharing facts, assumptions, when someone feels uncomfortable, and most importantly, if they are lying. Based on all my conversations I can assure you that what each of these professionals share in common is not their hate for Mondays. In reality, they all hate their jobs, and most likely, you do too.

What “Monday Haters” really dislike is starting every week on a job they have deemed as a dead end, or having to spend their week dealing with co-workers who they cannot stand, or worst of all; doing something that they do not really enjoy. I’m certain that after reading these statements, you just had one of the following reactions:

• The Know it All:  If you immediately responded with a “Tell me something I don’t know Mr. Genius. Of course I hate my job!” you certainly belong to this group. I am not a motivational speaker or a psychologist but can you ask yourself; “How long have I known that I hate my job?” and “What have I tried to get out of my current job?”
• Realization: If you just told yourself, “This might be right. I think I do hate my job!” then, my friend you are at the doorstep of initiating a wonderful trip. The whole process of discovering what you would like to do different and where you would like to end up professionally can be a very fulfilling process. Whether you go back to school or attend a training to learn a new skill or profession, or if you just end up mailing hundreds of resumes to see what new options you might have, I can assure that the feeling of not being cornered by a job you will be satisfying.
• The Denial: If your immediate response is, “Oh you are so wrong. I just simply hate Mondays!” I just have one question for you: Can you recall how you felt about Mondays during those times when you were away from work?  For example, while you were enjoying yourself on a vacation, during a personal event, or even during a sick day.

I highly recommend that if you have strong feelings about hating Monday’s, you should consider the possibility that the feeling might be a reflection of how you really feel about your job. Your job consumes at least one third of your entire life. Since our trip through life is so short, why you would want to spend time on a job that you hate? So give Mondays a break people!

Are You On Facebook?

I arrived at the office around 8:30AM and started to get ready for a 9:00AM meeting. I was gathering my essential items for the meeting when I discovered, much to my dismay, that I had forgotten my cell phone at the hotel. “I can pick it up after the meeting. No big deal!” I told myself. However, five minutes later, I started experiencing a sense of emptiness.  The feeling got stronger as every minute passed and it felt as if I had left something much more important as my pants, my arm, my leg or even my head. I didn’t have time to go get it since the meeting was about to start, but I found myself thinking over and over again that maybe, I could run the twelve blocks to the hotel, get the phone and run the twelve blocks back in the five minutes I still had before the meeting started. "Yeah right!" Once I sat in the meeting room, I tried to console myself with the assertions that I did grew up during the eighties. No one had cell phones then; I did not even know what a cell phone was back then! Therefore, if I did not need it then, why did I need it now? I could certainly do without my phone for an hour or so.

I assumed that once the presenter started the meeting, I would forget about the phone and I could concentrate on the discussion. How wrong I was. While the presenter went from one slide to the next, my subconscious started pushing all sort of scenarios on my head: “Maybe I forgot the phone at the coffee shop. What if the housekeeping woman takes the phone? Maybe I dropped it.” By now all I could hear from the presenter was “Blah, Blah, Blah” I could not make sense of what he was saying, I was biting my nails, and I started to sweat. Now, in case you are wondering, it was not only the phone what I was missing. Unless you have been living under a rock for the past ten years I am sure you already know how Mark Zuckerberg, a Harvard dropout, created Social Media’s top jewel: Facebook. So about two weeks ago, after years of insistence from close friends, I decided to join Facebook. Since I have an android, the next step was to link my Facebook account with my phone.  During my first week on Facebook I ran into old friends I had not seen or talk to in 10, 20, and even 30 years. Childhood friends who at first I even struggled remembering where contacting me. My experience was so fulfilling during that first week that I overdid it, as I usually do. Therefore, by the following week I had decided to expand my Social Media experience by joining other services. Now, the man who would even refuse to talk about Facebook two weeks ago, has actually joined Klout, Twitter, Linkedin, Pinterest, StumbleUpon, Digg, Redditt, Flickr!, you name it!! Each of these accounts, synchronized and channeled directly to my phone for 24/7 coverage. I have become a Social Media addict.

I was relieved when the meeting ended and I was on my way to the elevators when my project partner interrupted me. “What do you want!” I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue and candidly heard how he wanted me to review another presentation. I was listening to his “Blah, Blah, Blah” while moving side by side due to my secret desperation. I think he assumed I needed to get to the bathroom, or that I might have ADD, since he let me go. Then, I just ran. I ran to the elevator, outside the building, and on my way to the hotel. The elevator ride from the hotel lobby to my room floor was the longest ever. There was a couple in the elevator that kept looking at me as if I was going mad. 

Once the elevator doors opened, I ran towards my room. It took me five desperate tries to get the door opened and once in the room, I started looking everywhere for my cell phone. I could not find it anywhere. Then, as I was about to turn the room upside down, from the corner of my eye I notice the red blinking light. The phone was right in the corner of my hotel room desk, and the blinking light signaled the battery running out or that I had received new messages. I knew better. I had charged the phone the night before so it could only mean that I had new messages. I grabbed my phone with my right hand as I slide on my knees.  Immediately I turned my screen phone on and there to my surprise I saw it: 11 Facebook messages, 29 Tweets, 13 Klouts, 2 diggs, 15 yahoo mails, 9 g-mails, 5 Stumbles, and 1 reddit. Then, as I extended my arms and looked above, I yelled at the top of my lungs and for the World to hear: “Damn you Mark Zuckerberg!”

Stressful Preparation for Easter Sunday

It all started when my wife decided to invite a friend for lunch on Easter Sunday. A close and dear friend who will be moving down to Miami at the end of the month.  Since she considered the lunch event one of the many farewell gatherings to come, she wanted everything to be perfect. Therefore, the preparations started on Saturday afternoon with a visit to the grocery store to buy all the necessary ingredients to put together the feast. As she usually does for such events, she concocted a complex menu consisting of salad, bread, stuffed pork loin, rice, and the piece de resistance: a walnut chocolate tart for dessert. She decided to bake the tart the night before since the lunch was scheduled for 1:00PM on Sunday.

The delicious crumble upside down chocolate walnut tart!

I was diligently working on my thesis when all of a sudden my wife screamed in horror: “Oh My God! What am I going to do now?” After composing myself from the scare, I made it to the kitchen and discovered the reason for her dismay. Right there, lying on top of the stove, was the tart…she had incidentally dropped it face down. She immediately asked: “Can we save it?” Immediately I spurred into action and claiming that most likely we could, I placed a spatula right under it, a plate on top of it, and with a quick turn, I turned the tart into the plate. Her eyes widened, my jaw dropped and as I look at the mess, I had just created in the plate I could only say: “Voila! Now we have a crumble upside down chocolate walnut tart.” Unfortunately, she had run out of ingredients so baking another tart was out of the question. I did console her by assuring her the tart smelled amazing and that our guest wouldn’t mind how it looked.

The next morning, Easter Sunday, my wife woke up early and decided to redeem herself by putting all her effort into the stuffed roasted pork loin. She called me around 11:30AM to look at the finished main dish and I was amazed at how appetizing it looked. As I admired the great color and the aromas emanating from it, somehow my mouth and my foot connected again (as they usually do), and from somewhere in my subconscious I asked: “How did you season it?” My wife turned, and with her eyes wide open, she smacked her forehead with her right hand and yelled: “I forgot to season it!!” After consoling it telling her it would be fine, she decided to prepare gravy for the pork loin. Now it was close to noon so she went for a quick shower while I work on the rice.

Around 12:15PM, she came back into the kitchen with a plan: “Okay, since we still have around 45 minutes, you should shower while I prepare the salad and cleanup the mess in the kitchen. I can put on my makeup later since we still have plenty of time.” I agreed and made my way up the stairs when a noise made us come to a halt: “DING, DONG!” This is not happening I told my wife, when we heard it again: “DING, DONG!” It was the doorbell, and as my wife approached the front door, we confirmed our worst fear; our guest had arrived 45 minutes earlier.

Realizing there was nothing else to do, we welcomed our guest into the mess. We continued cooking lunch  in the kitchen with our friend as we shared all the events that led up to that moment when he rang the doorbell. During lunch, we had fun retelling stories around similar chaotic experiences we all had during family dinners or events. As my wife and our friend were laughing and having a good time, I realized that as it usually happens, worrying too much about the little things made us lose track of what was important for us this Easter Sunday. This lunch wasn’t about the tart, or the pork loin…it really was about having a good time with a dear friend who very soon we will not have the pleasure to see as often as we use to. So next time you are totally stressed out, you better make sure you are not missing out on something great due to focusing on minor things. In case you are wondering, the tart really was delicious.   

Yes mam, I support Gay Adoption.

The following story is based on true events. Comments and conversations have been included to the best of my recollection. Names have been changed to protect the privacy of dear friends.

A couple days ago as I was walking down the street, a woman who seemed to be taking signatures approached me and asked: “Sir, excuse me, but what’s your take on gays being able to adopt kids from foster homes?” As the question was sinking in, and I gathered my thoughts to respond, I immediately wandered into memory lane…

It was the first day of school at the fourth grade, when I met Danny. I had been transferred to a new public school and I definitely welcomed the opportunity to meet and make new friends. Danny walked up to me and introduced himself by extending his right hand and simply stating: “Hi my name is Danny”. As we shook hands, somehow I could tell that he was different to all the other nine or ten years old in my homeroom. He was scanning the room as he introduced himself and he immediately approached another new kid in the room. As I recall it, he was working the room as a politician.  

Later that day, I had more time to interact and learn about Danny. As he eloquently explained, he lived in a government run orphanage that happened to be located very close to the school. Since the school was also run and funded by the government, the kids in the orphanage attended classes there. He had lived in the orphanage for as long as he could remember, and he had no family other than the people who ran the orphanage or the faculty at the school. He explained that kids at the orphanage and the school came and went so he had learned how not to be too emotionally attached to other kids his age.

During the course of that first week, Danny introduced me to other kids who happened to live with him at the orphanage. I specially remember James and Bobby who were attending the seventh and second grade respectively. Bobby was new to the orphanage and had been transferred from another facility that was closed down. Danny had taken upon himself to make sure that Bobby could acclimate to his new school. Everyday he would walk with him to and from school and during lunch, he would lookout after him. This was a tough school where many kids were taunted to show their courage but no one messed with those close to Danny.  Danny was not violent in any way and as far as I can recall, I never saw him or heard of him being in a fistfight. Bullies simply did not like to mess with Danny because he was friends with the entire school faculty and they though messing with him would be a problem. Then there were his scars. He had two scars in his right cheek that were a couple inches apart. The top scar extended from his ear lobe to his upper lip while the bottom one was much shorter. Those scars gave Danny a mean look if he needed to which made bullies walk away, even though he was the most gentle and harmless individual I had met. One day I asked him how he had acquire those scars to which he responded: “I don’t know how I got them. But when I entered the orphanage I already had them.” A souvenir from a previous life which Danny had no memory or recollection. 

As the school year progressed, we became friends and I learned about the routines that made Danny’s life so much different from that of any other kid I new at the time. Every weekend, the orphanage received visitors. These visitors were mostly couples who were looking to adopt and wanted to meet the kids who live in the orphanage. Every Friday, Danny would walk up to every kid at school who lived with him at the orphanage and he would remind them to be prepared for the weekend. He instructed them to make sure they had clean and ironed shirts and pants. He would recommend haircuts when he considered their hair was getting long and most importantly; “Make sure you are very clean and perfumed in case they want to talk to you”. This was his Friday ritual, and he made every effort to remind every kid these tasks every Friday. He was a coordinator planning a major event and as the day ended, you could usually see Danny and Bobby walking on their way to the orphanage with a lot of excitement about the possibilities of meeting a family that would include them as their own.

Monday’s were tough for Danny. He always seemed distant and would barely talk to anyone. After a couple months, I learned that Mondays were what Danny called: “Reality check day”. Usually if a visiting couple had been interested in adopting a child, they would have let the faculty at the center know so adoption proceedings could be initiated. Although kids were usually unaware of these proceedings, Danny was very close to the staff and he would usually receive a high-level summary of the events that took place after the visits.  If the visitors had not shown any interest in any of the kids and specially him, Danny would be depressed and it showed.  As James eventually taught me, it was better to leave Danny alone on Monday’s. He simply stated: “You will never understand what he goes through every weekend. Hopefully you never will know”.

As the school year progressed, the Christmas holydays came and went. Returning from the break found all the kids sharing stories about all the presents they had received from Santa Claus. Danny did not have such stories of his own but I do recall how he wanted to listen to everyone’s list of presents. Our toy tales extravaganza was derailed when James showed up and interrupted with news of his own: “I’m getting adopted!” A couple who had met James earlier in the fall had commenced the adoption proceedings. The adoption process had taken a shift for the best during the holydays. James was just a couple weeks away from joining a family and although we were all excited, Danny’s frustration with seeing another close friend move on was noticeable. One day during the last week of January, James visited the school with his adoptive parents. He had stopped bye to say goodbye to his teachers and friends since he would be attending a new school. Before leaving, James approached Danny and as they embraced in a hug, we all heard James utter the words: “Thank you”

Danny grew even closer to Bobby after that.  He continued his Friday routine and every Monday he would be in his depressive state. I felt that James departure had taken a toll on Danny. As the Easter break approached, Danny shared the news that apparently a couple had shown interest in adopting him. A faculty member at the orphanage had confided to him that the couple had shown interest, but that they were not too certain since they originally wanted to adopt a younger kid. After Easter, I immediately asked Danny if he had any news on his adoption. To my surprise, he recounted how the day he was going to receive a visit from his possible adoptive parents he had actually asked Bobby to wear his best clothes and to be in his best appearance. He actually brought Bobby along to the meeting, which has he, had explained to me a hundred times: “You don’t allow other kids to speak or interact with your possible adoptive parents”. I would not be able to explain to you every detail and how everything developed. Nevertheless, before the school year ended, that couple had adopted Bobby and he moved away from the orphanage and the school.

The school year reach its last week and I can recall how Danny looked as if he had aged. Something didn’t look the same. He was no longer that avid socialite who wouldn’t miss a bit to work a room. The last day of school, parents usually picked their kids early. During the last hours of the day, our homeroom teacher came up with an activity for the few remaining kids to participate. The activity consisted in all of us sitting in a circle and sharing with the group what we wanted to be when we grow up based on everything we had learned during the school year. As we went around the circle, we all mustered the usual responses: Policemen, Firemen, Doctor, and I even recanted my usual desire to become an astronaut. Eventually we got to Danny’s turn, he though for a couple seconds and responded: “I want to be a millionaire. I don’t know how, but I have to be a millionaire”. “Why do you want to be a millionaire so bad Danny?” the teacher asked. As Danny responded, I remember seeing his eyes getting glossy with tears: “I have to become a millionaire so I can buy a huge house. I want a huge house so I can adopt every kid at the orphanage so they don’t have to go through the deception of not being adopted every weekend. So they can have a place to call home and they can have everything they need”. The teacher looked at Danny for what still seems to be the longest minute in my life. She eventually approached and hugged Danny, who for the first time in the entire year I had known him, allowed a couple tears to run down his cheeks. Later that day, I said goodbye to Danny before getting on the school bus. Danny didn’t allow me to say goodbye without sharing a hug. As the bus took away, I recall seeing Danny in his usual walk towards the orphanage, alone. I also recall giving my Mom a stronger than usual hug that night when she got home from work.

I wish I had a great finish for this story but as it turns out, that was the last day I ever saw Danny. My Mom and sister transferred me to a new school the next year. Unfortunately, social media, the internet, and cell phones were non-existent at the time so I really had no way to reach out to him. When it comes to Danny’s life, he had a huge deck dealt against him but I want to believe that he found happiness, and I want to believe that he made it in life. In the meantime, I can only tell you that he left a huge impression in my life. Today, when I walk into a room I make sure that I shake everyone’s hands, but I specially look for the new faces and make sure they feel welcome. In addition, when it comes to adoption and specifically this whole debate in the media about gays being able to adopt, I immediately ask myself: What would have Danny wanted? I know that he would have wanted a family, a loving family, and I don’t think he would have cared about anything else.    

…”Excuse me, Sir?” The inquiring woman said as she brought me back from my couple seconds trip through memory lane. “What was your question?” I asked her and she immediately repeated:  “What’s your take on gays being able to adopt kids from foster homes?” With glassy eyes, I immediately responded: “Yes mam, I support Gay Adoption.” I could tell that she was shocked by my response and she tried to continue the conversation: “But sir, how can you support…” I immediately noticed that the simplicity to which I approach this topic based on my own personal experiences would conflict with whatever web of complications this woman had in her mind. Therefore, I immediately interrupted her: “My friend Danny…” To what she immediately replied: “Danny? Who’s Danny?” So I smiled while softly and politely said: “I’m sorry mam, but I don’t think you would understand” and I continued my walk down the street and back to memory lane. Remembering the last day, I saw my friend, my dear friend.