The surprise is…

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The surprise is…there is no surprise!

Ah, that one gets me every time. I remember the first time I heard it. My uncle Clarence (one of Dad’s brothers) was watching me and my brother Lucas for the afternoon, and we were out for a drive. Clarence told Lucas to behave, and if he did, there’d be a surprise for him later. Lucas was pretty well-behaved for the rest of the afternoon, as I recall, and when it came time to deliver on his promise, Clarence uttered that now-famous line. I thought it was so funny (and shocking) that it has stuck with me to this day, and I use it on my kids from time to time.

Clarence LillyClarence passed away on Sunday, and with his passing, the world got a little less funny. I hadn’t seen him for a few years, and before that, a handful of years had passed since we last spoke. And it’s not that I didn’t like him; quite the contrary, but I’ve always had trouble staying in touch with extended family, and that’s nobody’s fault but my own. Regardless of the recency of interaction, the memories I have of him from my years growing up were great. He taught me to ride a bike by taking me to the top of the hill behind my parents’ house and sending me down. I crashed head-first into a cinderblock wall. Looking back, it was pretty cool, and I survived, so no harm, no foul. He was, after all, a Lilly brother, and they were all a little crazy. That’s what I liked most about him. When my Dad was together with his brothers, it was an adventure every time. Some of my earliest memories of Clarence were of him and my Dad shooting their bows in the back yard. I remember he had a patch of ginseng on the mountain behind the house, and he’d go digging when he came to visit. And once, he sat at the table in a camper with my Dad, brother, and one of my cousins (as I recall), and too much weight on that end of the camper caused it to tip. Clarence had no idea what was going on, he just thought he was getting dizzy! Dad still laughs about that.

When my uncle Kenneth passed last December, Dad and Clarence became the only brothers left in the family, along with two sisters. Now that Clarence is gone, it’s just Dad and my two aunts. Through this, I can see my family heritage slowly slipping away, but I’m thankful for the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren who have kept it strong. We’ve spread out across the country, but we’re all still from the same mold. It’s comforting to know that there are bits of these brothers and sisters in their descendants. And as long as that continues, these families will not have lost the great bond that the Lilly siblings have enjoyed for many years – the bond of love, friendship, and family.

Rest in peace, my friend. I’m better for having known you.

On Ditching Doorbells and Second Chances

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This evening, some kids in my neighborhood pulled a ding-dong ditch. For those unacquainted with the term, it’s when you ring someone’s doorbell and run away. It’s a moderate inconvenience to stop in the middle of writing a code statement to answer the door, exacerbated by a dog who thinks it’s the end of the world each time the bells chime.

Gavin beat me to the door and said, “I guess someone did a ding-dong ditch.” Of course, that irritated me just a little. So, I opened the door to see who was outside. No one, although Stephanie said she saw a group of kids outside from the upstairs window. I decided to enjoy a few deep breaths of the rainy, cool fall air before heading back inside to resume coding my upcoming release.

From behind my car pops a kid in a hoodie. I’m pretty sure he didn’t think I was standing there. So I ask, “Is there a problem?” “No,” the kid replies dryly, but with a hint of attitude. “So why’d you ring my doorbell?” I queried further. “I didn’t,” he says, with a little more attitude. Then I asked, “Why were you hiding behind my car?” His answer: “Because other kids were doing it.”

I thought to myself, “That sounds like something Gavin would say.” And I remembered that this was a kid I was dealing with, not an adult, and obviously his “friends” had left him to the wolves, as it were. Instantly, I softened. “So you didn’t ring my doorbell?” “No,” he said. “Then I think you should be moving along and stay out of trouble.” That was the best stern adult thing I could think to say. I wasn’t mean, I didn’t raise my voice, I was just firm. It reminded me of how adults would scold me as a child. The young man walked away, looking back. I stayed on my porch until he had moved on.

Almost immediately, I wished I would have handled it differently. Here’s the thing: at 5:15 pm, it’s nearly dark in my neighborhood. And today, it’s rainy and cold. So, why was this kid running around in these conditions, ringing doorbells for entertainment? And my heart broke for that kid. He didn’t know better, and had no one to tell him. He deserves a second chance. I’m sure some would offer the argument that some kids are just troublemakers. I agree that some kids (and adults) have a greater propensity for causing mischief than others, but I don’t think it’s something that can’t be improved upon. I wish I would have instead asked him what he had planned to do for the evening or if he was locked out of his house or something – anything – to show that I cared about him. I wanted him to know that I didn’t think he was a bad kid, just a kid who made a bad decision.

So, today’s score: Life 1, Seth 0. I’ll remember next time that not everyone grows up as I did, and not everyone grows up as my children do. And if I see him around the neighborhood again, as I’m sure I will, I’ll remind him that he has the power to make better choices. Who knows? That might be the thing he needs to hear to go from ditching doorbells to being a geneticist searching for a cure for cancer.

Our words are powerful, friends. Think before you use them.

As always, thanks for reading.

Thanks, Steve.

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Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition.

Steve Jobs in his commencement address at Stanford University, June 12, 2005.

Hover over my name and click…or don’t.

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So, here’s the thing about Facebook Subscriptions and this crazy business going around with “hover over my name and click” and such. You can’t rely on your friends to do this. They won’t do it. Neither will I. Why should your friends be burdened because they can suddenly see what you’re posting? They didn’t opt in to “spy mode” on their Facebook account.

Should they have to change subscription settings for each of their friends, and in turn request that their friends do the same? Of course not. That’s ridiculous. This is a growing pain for Facebook, and they’ll get through it. It’s a necessary step as they change the way data is aggregated in the main feeds. Give it a few weeks through the launch of Timeline and let’s see where the dust settles. I suspect that they will revert to the previous level of privacy in these matters. In the meantime, don’t lose your heads over this. If you’re posting private material, perhaps Facebook isn’t the right medium anyway.

Remember: assume NOTHING you put online is private. If you’re not paying for a service, then you’re the product being sold.

Carry on, citizens. And find me on Facebook.

Because I love you…

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Today, I received a letter from my eight-year-old, Caleb.

To Dad. From Caleb.
This is a letter to you because I love you.
8/29/11

On the back, there were drawings of Power Rangers insignia. That was it. No lengthy dissertation, no elaborate declarations. The entire intent of the letter was to let me know he loves me.

As you might imagine, this changed my otherwise less-than-stellar afternoon completely. But it also made me think: how much do we do for friends, for family, simply because we love them? Probably not enough. When was the last time you called someone you love? Wrote them a letter?

I’ll stop right there. Despite my position as founder of an interactive agency and as a champion of electronic communications, I believe there is merit in more personal means of communication. I would rather have received this letter in the mail than 100 emails. At eight, he’s able to type and has sent me a few emails. Those are each precious. But there’s something about seeing handwriting, knowing that someone took the effort to press pen to paper and scribe their thoughts and feelings, that makes the finished product something far greater.

We live in an always on culture where it’s sometimes difficult to find the time for interaction, but if you can take even 15 minutes out of your day, the benefit for the person on the receiving end could be worth so much more. Will you join me in a challenge? This week, write or call someone you love. Not an email, not a text, but a genuine voice conversation or penned letter. (We won’t get into the pros and cons of Skype here.) If you join me, and if you’re so bold, post your thoughts in the comments below.

As always, thanks for reading. Carry on.