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It’s hard to imagine that a single phone call can change one’s life, but it happened to me. During 2000 and 2001, I worked for a company that frequently sent me to visit their customers in Europe and Asia. These trips frequently lasted several weeks. I had been working overseas in Europe when I got the phone call that changed my life. I was just climbing into a taxi in Paris when my mobile phone rang. It was my daughter who had just turned seven. She was eager to chat with me after my long absence. After a few sentences, she said, “Daddy, come home.” I tried to explain to her that I was in a faraway country. I told her to go to find the globe on the bookshelf, and then explained how to trace with her finger the distance between Los Angeles and Paris. She did this, and then she stated quietly and firmly, “Daddy, I want you to come home.” I chuckled and tried to explain how long the flight would be from Paris to our home. She said, “Daddy, I don’t care. Come home now.” The call continued in this vein for quite a while. Later that night, I lay awake in my hotel room, staring at the ceiling above my bed, wondering about the phone call. It suddenly occurred to me that my daughter figured out how to dial an international number in order to reach me. I realized that I had missed her first phone call, and many of her school events, and probably some delightful moments together. And in a rush, I realized that I had missed most of her sixth year by traveling overseas constantly. I made my mind up that night to change careers. I was back in Los Angeles within 24 hours. The next day, I drove to see my boss in San Diego, and I tendered my resignation to him. No job was worth missing my daughter’s childhood.
If you listen carefully to your child, you can sometimes hear a great deal more than the mere words. Sometimes you can hear a message about how you should live your life.
What an amazing story. It makes me think of experiences I've had with my twins. It's incredible what we don't see and hear, even when it's staring us right in the face, until we're ready to do so. One of my twins broke his arm playing little league a few years back. Naturally I was distraught as I rode with him to the hospital, as any parent would be seeing their child in pain. As I tried to comfort him and assure him everything would be okay, he looked at me and asked, "Mommy, can I stop playing little league now?" I responded by pointing out that he loved little league. He countered that he did not and repeated things he told me before, but I'd dismissed. This twin is my artist; my other twin is the athlete. I wish I could say it was a matter of confusing the preferences of my two identical boys, but it wasn't. I was imposing my needs for scheduling convenience and my preconceived notion of "acceptable" activities for little boys upon my sensitive, gifted son. He'd told me many times and in many ways that he didn't like baseball or soccer, but I wouldn't hear him. My son's broken arm taught me to pay closer attention to what my children have to say, even if they don't express it in words.
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