Hey, it’s Devon writing the holiday card this year. Ironic, because I conserve words like Téa Sloane hoards nickels. I see the world clearly, and it just doesn’t take many words to say what I mean. I recently learned that the average woman speaks 3 times as many words per day as the average man. Not a surprise. What did surprise me was that the average man is that chatty. The AT&T bill shows that Dad talks one-third as much as mom, but 12 times as much as me. Cooper talks two and a half times as much as me. Necessary? Clearly if there’s a pilot in this family, it’s me.[1]
A year ago we wrapped 4 months of Big City Life in NY. We grew used to:
- Getting up early, jamming to 63rd & Lex (avoiding toppling / squashing Park Av old lady/micro-dog combos)
- Catching the 8:05 F-train, doors closing (door-nipped backpacks = cred)
- Playing pick-up basketball in The Cage at Washington Square Park
- The Halal Guys and wondering what voodoo they put in chicken over rice.
Returning to Lafayette, we built new routines:
- Finding fashion true north. Téa Sloane learned hats and scarfs work even outside City Limits, and that both compliment Iviva yoga apparel – which should be worn 24-7. Cooper upped his A game, and has been seen repeatedly in team-insignia-free clothing. Weekly, we go to “cotillion” – a Cold War remnant where we dress like waiters and hold hands with girls for an hour while listening to an instructor repeat “1-2-3, 1-2-3.” Sweaty palms, stepping on other people’s feet. It’s full of all that good stuff you remember. For me, formal wear begins at jeans, and shirts are entirely optional. I find that going shirtless is an effective power move (surprise = dominance), and valuable for expectation management (you can only improve in others’ minds after they meet you half-naked).
- Building stuff. TSloane and Dad took a long hard look out the window and together decided the dirt could be doing more for us. They reanimated our backyard hill as giant strawberry patch. Aided by water and sun, the property acquired an entirely new, earthy aroma (manure). To avoid the stench, Dad and I moved indoors to build a nixie tube clock (last seen on an Apollo mission), and modify a drone with a claw to pick up stuff. (Because why would you want to reach down, when a drone could do it for you?) Inspired by American Ninja Warrior, we also constructed a climbing pegboard. Not Mike Brady’s 1970’s garage pegboard. I’m talking a 4×6 foot upper-body workout device combining all the ease of one-armed pull-ups with all the frustration of furniture assembly. We drilled, beveled, leveled and bolted the lumber leviathan onto to the fence. The extreme height, weight and inadvisability of the operation hit its peak when Dad, both feet covering the ladder’s warning label saying: DANGER: DO NOT STEP HERE, YOU WILL FALL AND DIE put a tiny bit of weight on our not-yet-rock-solid pegboard. What followed was an iPhone 6-worthy slow-mo domino effect of pegboard detaching from fence, pegboard knocking dad off ladder, dad hitting ground upside down, followed by ladder and pegboard landing on Dad. I find a lesson, if not necessarily the moral to this story is this: When building a device to increase upper body strength and inspire your kids to exercise, wouldn’t it be ironic if through illiteracy/haste you damaged yourself enough to merit an x-ray and immobilize your arm for weeks?
- Mining TV for life lessons.
Shark Tank: Never do a royalty deal. Don’t arrive broke. Don’t count on the ladies to save you. QVC requires killer gross margins. Clothes matter.
Modern Family: With a thick Colombian accent, you can get away with saying anything. Also hot blondes settle for geeks every time.
American Ninja Warrior: If you can make it up and around the pegboard without ending up in the water, endorsement money’s on the way, baby!
Family Updates: Téa “I Don’t Like Downtime” Sloane Smith has never seen a parade she not at the head of. Though currently phoneless, she’s is extremely chatty. Her AT&T bill will beat my mom’s. She likes everyone. She includes them in her prayers: “God bless everyone…except robbers.” On Post-Its, she writes “Téa is awesome” and inspirational notes like “Good job!” and “Have a fun day!” leaving them in unexpected places (inside the fridge, on your steering wheel). She believes in what MC Hammer calls “momentum marketing.” When people meet her, they inevitably describe her as “awesome.” Cartwheeling across any level surface, she manages to works flips and back-bend demos into not-otherwise gymnastic conversation. Coop, not one to be outdone by her, the cast of Cirque de Soleil or Stephen Curry, busts into side-by-side bridge and wheel sessions with Téa Sloane – showing off both his Plasticman flexibility and his general unwillingness to be bested in an attention-getting activity. Cooper has never seen a competition that he wasn’t winning. Together, they are fierce. I sit back and watch it go down.
Cooper’s design efforts are diverse enough to require 4 Instagram accounts to distinctly position his 4 creative products. He is committed to making a positive impact, and has scheduled that to commence immediately after he becomes famous (better leverage). Luckily he has a good work ethic. Visiting Dad’s office at Founder’s Den, Cooper warmed up to “work” rapidly in the presence of the coffee/hot chocolate-robot and chairs that spin around. Declaring, “I want an office”, Coop sought useful things to start his own. Pens. He stole a lot of pens. Like Téa Sloane at 3, Cooper exudes a vibe when you are both near him and also near something he might want (cookies, pens): 1. If I want it, it’s mine; 2. If it’s near me, it’s mine; 3. If it looks like it’s yours, it’s definitely mine.
Mom equivalent is: 1. If I can see it, it’s messy; 2. If it’s messy, it must be put away; 3. If I put it away somewhere that makes more sense to me than you – isn’t it really your fault anyway? Recently, when “cooking” (arranging candles on a table), mom set her hair on fire. After a while, she noticed and put herself out (it wasn’t her first time on fire). Cooper, troubled by the awkwardness of her newfound asymmetry, offered a trim. She accepted. This happened in the space of 3 minutes. My mom’s a lot of fun.
Dad continues his undeclared war against simplicity by embodying the bleeding edge techie (Siri has a few step-sisters at our house). The purchases are ostensibly necessary to inform investment decisions for the Internet of Things VC fund he and Jay (his venture partner / geek soulmate) launched this summer. Dad made a list of what 15 years of marriage taught him about my mom as a quick reference. For example, for Christmas gifts, give her things: 1. identical to something she already has; 2. unique and badass (badass makes up for a lot), and 3. of little material value because, whatever it is, she’s going to lose or destroy it immediately.
We are thankful for our loving extended family, our amazing au pair, Clara, who gives us gum and laughs with (at) us incessantly, and good friends, who although they wear shirts, they don’t mince words. And I like that.
Bye, Devon.
P.S. I can’t believe I wrote this much.
[1] Consider how to apply my philosophy in your own life:
- Transitions = pointless. You said what you wanted to say. You’re done. Next!
- Questions beget answers, and answers are supposed to be answers – not flowery, indulgent ramblings that invite yet more questions.
- Code words. When pilots communicate with the ground, a reply is frequently a single word: Roger (stands for message Received), Wilco stands for Will Comply. (Look at me ramble. Sorry.)
- The few things you do say: repeat them. Studies show that we need 3 repetitions to recall a message (shockingly inefficient, but factually true). This is why Téa needs me to tell her: “You’re tiny” several times daily. It comforts her.
