Category — Steve Jobs

Last night after Steve Jobs announced his retirement, I found myself in the rocking chair at 10:30 pm holding a sobbing boy.  The Wolvog cried when I told him the news earlier in the evening, but he had bounced back nicely as small children often do since they have minds like squirrels and was soon distracted by the next metaphorical acorn.  But after a bath and tuck-in, his twin sister informed us that her brother was making it very difficult to sleep because he was keeping her awake, worried about something.

I asked him what was wrong and he first gave me this long story about an invention that went wrong at his fictional computer company (many children have imaginary friends; my child not only has an imaginary friend, but he has an imaginary company, imaginary planet divided into imaginary countries, and two imaginary baseball teams — a minor and major league alternative).  He cried hard over the imaginary botched invention and wasn’t placated when I offered to raise some imaginary capital so his imaginary employees could work on the imaginary invention again.

Finally, I asked him if this was about something else; a stand-in issue holding the spot of something truly upsetting him, and the tears started choking all the oxygen out of his throat and he sobbed until he couldn’t breathe over the idea that Steve Jobs would no longer be the CEO.  I think it was partly about Steve himself — a fear of how Apple will change — and it was partly about the Wolvog as the CEO of an imaginary company.

The Wolvog was standing right at the mental edge, thinking about himself one day leaving his post as CEO of the imaginary company and it was terrifying to think of himself floating jobless without his company to anchor him.  The Wolvog couldn’t imagine himself without his imaginary company, and he transferred that to Steve leaving his real company.  I think most of us both covet and fear retirement simultaneously.  We want to think that we are vital, that the world will stop spinning without us.  But I think even the Wolvog sensed in that moment that he could stop thinking about his imaginary company, let it float into the ether like an unmoored balloon until it was no longer visible, and the world would still continue.  And that is a terrifying thought: that the world can give or take on your creation; on your position.  It makes one feel wholly insignificant; a hard thought to swallow.

I took him into the rocking chair and explained how boards worked, and how Steve Jobs would still be involved with the board.  We talked about reasons why people would want to retire and how a company is more than just one person.  That Apple would still continue and if he feared that, I would happily take him to the store tomorrow where employees will inform him that they will still eagerly take our money for years to come.  I will still go forward with the plan to upgrade my iPod and pass along my old one to him.

The reality is that Steve Jobs is his idol.  The email he sent him earlier this year means the world to him, and it is currently being framed to go in his new room this week (along with a letter he received from his other idol, President Obama.  Seriously, the kid is in first grade and he has had more cool things happen to him than I have at 37).

Steve Jobs is a magician to the Wolvog; he’s his Albus Dumbledore.  And just as Hogwarts students couldn’t imagine the world without Dumbledore, the Wolvog is incapable of imagining Apple without Steve.

And yet, as adults, we know that while the world was different, magic still continued after Dumbledore.  Dumbledore’s parting didn’t suck all the magic out of the world.  Magic will still continue after Harry Potter too.   It will exist after JK Rowling stops writing about Harry Potter.  Those people are just the receptacles of something amazing.  But that wonder still exists even without a receptacle to make it feel tangible.

Retirements are bittersweet and change is always difficult.  I am sure Steve Jobs feels similarly — that mixture of fear and sadness that is coursing through the Wolvog’s body at this moment.  But Steve is also privy to a whole host of other emotions: perhaps relief, excitement, peace, frustration, anger.  I can’t imagine what it would be like to build something that touches so many people and then come to the point where you need to step away from it.  I don’t know how you ever say goodbye.

And, of course, he won’t truly say goodbye.  He will remain chairman of the board.  The seeds of ideas he planted in the company will continue to grow.  His mere presence on earth will continue to inspire a little boy in Maryland to grow up and make his imaginary company a reality.

And in the meantime, will I please just update my iPod already so he can have my old one?

I finally told the Wolvog that he had to go to sleep after a long cuddle in the rocking chair, and I walked him back to bed.  I can’t really explain how his tiny face looked against his sleeping bag (we still haven’t gotten his new bed).  I hope I get to think about that expression on his face twenty years from now as I sit and listen to him hold a press conference about his own computer company.  I will still be thanking Steve Jobs when that happens.  Because without dreamers like him today, there would be no inspiration for the dreamers of tomorrow.

We had one of those life-changing moments a few weeks ago, and I’m really at a loss as to how to write about it.  Because when I try to put it into words, it sounds… well… fairly small to be life-changing.  At first, I was going to give up trying to write about it because it didn’t feel like it was my story to tell.  But I’m also quite emotional about it.  So, there you go.  I’m back for a final try.  Forgive this post if it’s a bit sloppy and all-over-the-place.

By which I mean that you may want to stop reading if you’re not in a good place right now.  Children are mentioned below.  Specifically the Wolvog.

The Wolvog is… let’s just say, a challenge sometimes in a traditional classroom setting.  Like most boys, he isn’t fantastic at sitting on the carpet quietly during circle time.  He also has a lot of “good ideas” such as reprogramming the classroom computers and has a tantrum when he doesn’t get things right on the first try and pokes the child next to him a dozen times just.to.see.what.happens.

In other words, it’s not really a shock to me as a former teacher that he might be a challenging student.*

But he is also sweet beyond words and creative to boot.  And he’s tenacious and curious.  All good things that I hope balance out the times that he sobs because he didn’t get a turn to answer a question.

I hope.

A few weeks ago, his teacher — who generally responds with a good-natured sigh when she calls me over to speak about a behavioural incident — and I were chatting at school. (This woman was so made to be a kindergarten teacher.  I’ve been in the classroom on numerous occasions when a kid will ask a bizarre question and she doesn’t even blink.  She just smiles at the child and says, “that is so interesting.  You should ask your parents tonight because I’d love to hear their answer!”)

She jokingly asked if it would be appropriate to ask the Wolvog for help with figuring out her new cell phone, and I told her it was fine — I’ve had him teach me how to use things on plenty of occasions.  We talked about the Wolvog’s penchant for all things electronic, the way he navigates the computer world.

And she told me that she has never had a student with the Wolvog’s computer skills.  I know all parents think their children are brilliant — and they most likely are — but it is quite another thing for an outsider, a teacher, let’s say, to confirm what you’ve suspected all along.  Your children are extraordinary.

She had a connection via a friend to the Wolvog’s computer idol and she asked it would be meaningful to the Wolvog to receive an email from his idol.  I responded that it would most likely blow his little kindergarten mind because he has watched him countless times on YouTube to give speeches or do press for a new product release.  So she set it up and a few days later, an email arrived in my inbox from the man.

I went downstairs and asked the Wolvog whom he’d most like to speak to via email and he brightly said, “President Obama!  Could you have him email me?”

I told him that I’d get on that, but for him to think about someone who truly embodies his interests.  I mean, President Obama is well and good (apologies, Mr. President, but we are talking about a kindergartener whose interests range from cars to computers; not the economy or military families), but wasn’t there someone else that he’d love to hear from?

The Wolvog thought for a moment and said, “well, I’d love to hear from St.eve Job.s.”**

I flipped around the blackberry and he squinted at the screen, and then his eyes got huge and he screamed, “how did you do that?”

I explained what his teacher had done, and he sat down to read his email.  Then he said, “it makes sense.  We’re both CEOs of computer companies.”

You see, the Wolvog has an imaginary computer company which rolls out new electronic products (and they’ve branched out recently into vehicles and bicycles comprised entirely out of light) on a fairly regular basis.  He runs his company with utmost seriousness, selling computers to all of his imaginary friends (with a fine business model — for people who can’t afford a computer he has a volunteer-to-own program).  So it made perfect sense to him that the CEO of a real computer company would want to chat with the kindergarten-aged CEO of an imaginary computer company.

I tried to explain to the Wolvog that this was quite special.  That his idol was a busy man.  That existing computer companies as opposed to imaginary ones take a lot of work to run.  And that he must need to shuffle through thousands of emails a day.  Therefore, taking the time to send one to a little boy was something that deserved a special thank you.

The Wolvog wrote him back the most chit-chatty email about his love of the iP.ad and I added a thank you below it.  I don’t think the Wolvog truly gets that other kids aren’t receiving emails like this, but I’m holding onto it for the future.  I hope having your idol tell you to keep dreaming is enough of a motivation whenever he gets discouraged by life.  I have premonitions of a day when he’ll feel beaten down and doubt himself, and I’ll pull it out again and say, “see, a bunch of adults all believed in you if you don’t have the energy at the moment to believe in yourself.”

His teacher asked the Wolvog to talk about the email with the class, and news spread through our tiny town.  People have been coming up to him to talk to him about it since and it’s interesting.  He’s the same boy that he was before this email was sent, but receiving it seems to have marked him.  He went from being the quirky kid with the imaginary computer company to being this tiny genius who dreamed up an imaginary computer company until he could make it real.  Everyone is exactly the same to him, but I’m also suddenly getting told several times a day, “I can’t wait to see what the Wolvog is doing when he’s in his twenties.”

Me too.

But here’s the thing — unless I botch up this mother-child relationship completely, I will get to have a front row seat to all of the ChickieNob and Wolvog’s accomplishments.  And that is somewhat mind-blowing.  That I got to be there from the very beginning, believing in him.  And very few people will be able to say that.  I count myself as so lucky to be in the ChickieNob and Wolvog’s lives.

It’s such a small thing.  An email.  Something we write daily without thinking anything of it.  And yet, it was life-changing for two reasons.  (1) It was the first time someone outside of our family looked at the Wolvog and saw his incredible potential… and celebrated it.  I mean, he is the pet of the employees at the local Ap.ple store, and plenty of people have remarked that he’s smart.  But this teacher is the first outsider who looked at him and said, “you know what, this kid had the potential to do something cool in life and I want to nurture that any way that I can.”

And (2) It is always an amazing experience to get to communicate with your idol.  I am well aware that his idol is just a regular man — a person just like you and me — but he has accomplished what the Wolvog hopes to one day accomplish.  And it can change your life — give you the necessary energy — to keep marching to the beat of your own drummer.

My mother always told me that I heard my figurative drummer so much louder than other people heard their drummers, but that I should march to that beat instead of ignoring it.  I hope that I always convey the same idea to the twins since they also seem to be people who hear their drummer much louder than the other kids around them.  And that can be hard.  But it can bring such huge rewards later in life.

And I’m just grateful that there are other adults out there that exist who want to celebrate the twins’ drum beats and encourage them along their respectively chosen paths.

If you could receive an email from anyone in the world, receive correspondence encouraging you to not give up on your dream, who would you want to receive an email from?

* Dear Wolvog of the future — I read this to you and you said I could post it.

** I placed the dots in there because I didn’t really want this Googlable, and I’d appreciate it that if you use the name in the comment, that you also add dots in.