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Boy, have I been getting sidetracked!
My original plan was to tell my life story. To leave behind a record for Chip. But every time I start, I roll across some switch in the track and my train of thought gets diverted. Yosemite. Menus. Screen-Free Week. And now, today, another unexpected (but wonderful) detour: the kids left me a Gratitude Box. They took a plain old shoebox, and with a few carefully trimmed sheets of construction paper, turned it into a life-affirming work of art. All around the edges, in big block letters, they wrote my favorite Meister Eckhart quote: “If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.” But they left off the last words, “it will be enough.” Instead, the words “thank you ...” end on top of the box, next to an open slot. They glued a pad of rainbow-colored Post-It notes to one side of the box, and Velcroed a 4-color ballpoint pen to the other. I found the box on top of a library book of Ansel Adams’ black and white Yosemite photographs. Scanning the book, I came across this wonderful line: “Yosemite Valley, to me, is always a sunrise, a glitter of green and golden wonder in a vast edifice of stone and space.” Opening the box, I found the kids had already added the first note: “Thanks for taking us to Yosemite.” For a minute there, I got pretty choked up. We dads can be so emotional, especially when no one is around. I spent the next hour filling the box with gratitude. All I can say is, we’re going to need a lot more Post-It notes. Comments 
Media Jean: Your dad sure likes his Gratitude Box. 
Chip: Yeah. He’s on his second block of Post-Its.
Media Jean: It’s funny how just having a box makes you want to fill it.
Chip: Maybe we should throw in a few notes.
Media Jean: Definitely. But I had something else in mind.
Chip: What?
Media Jean: Well, what if we made 20 or 30 Gratitude Boxes?
Chip: I doubt even my dad could fill that many, and he’s a gratitude guru.
Media Jean: Not for us. For the town. I was reading “The Guerrilla Art Kit” by Keri Smith. She talks about creating art and then putting it in unexpected places, you know, to surprise people.
Chip: So we scatter Gratitude Boxes all around town?
Media Jean: Exactly! We can make them different sizes, too. One of those small tissue boxes would be perfect for stores. Put it by the tip jar in the bagel shop. I bet tips go way up!
Chip: We could put one in the post office. There’s always a line of grumpy-looking people.
Media Jean: Exactly! Tie one to the chain link fence at school.
Chip: Sneak into every doctor’s office and leave one in every waiting room.
Media Jean: On the bus.
Chip: In the library.
Media Jean: The bowling alley.
Chip: We could make a waterproof one for the park.
Media Jean: And the pool!
Chip: This is a great idea!
Media Jean: Yeah. Too bad Johnny wasn’t here. He could probably figure out a way to turn all this new-agey stuff into a product.
Chip: Yeah. He’s good at that.
Media Jean: Oh, well. I guess that’s how it is with business. You got to be in the right place at the-- 
Johnny: OK, OK, I’m here already!
Media Jean: I knew it! Lured you out, lurker!
Johnny: Fine, I admit I was lurking this one time. What matters now is turning this ThankYou Box into a viral product.
Chip: It’s just a box, some decorations, Post-It notes, and a pencil.
Johnny: And Coca-Cola is just sugar and carbonated water! Have you learned nothing from your time with me?
Media Jean: More than I ever wanted to know, actually.
Johnny: Very funny. Look, the most common, everyday object properly branded becomes a must-have product. Don’t think of it as a shoebox and decorations. Think “The Guerilla Gratitude Box.”
Chip: The Guerilla Gratitude Box?
Media Jean: I hate to say it, but that has a nice ring to it.
Johnny: Just wait until the cash starts rolling in!
Chip: I don’t know. Does everything have to be turned into a product?
Johnny: Are you kidding?! Of course it does!
Chip: But this is a Gratitude Box. Maybe some things should be left on a personal level.
Johnny: Please. When you turn personal expression into a consumer product, you give everyone the opportunity to benefit.
Media Jean: You mean you give everyone the opportunity to pay.
Johnny: And what’s wrong with paying if you get something out of it?
Media Jean: I suppose that’s true. And let’s face it, everyone can use more gratitude in their lives.
Johnny: Exactly! The Guerilla Gratitude Box can help an individual appreciate his or her life, motivate a family to be thankful for each other, inspire a community to come together. “The Guerilla Gratitude Box: Because ‘Thank You’ are the most important words you’ll ever say.”
Chip: Wow. I’d buy one.
Media Jean: Me too.
Johnny: We’ll sell a million of these!
Media Jean: I have to hand it to you, Johnny. You could sell anything to anyone.
Johnny: Why, thank you, Media Jean. That’s nice of you to say. Now stop idling around and get to work on those boxes! 
Comic strip from the series "The Gratitude Journal"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 2: The Batcave of Childhood) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
I checked with Johnny’s dad and Media Jean’s parents. They’re excited and surprised that their kids want to go to Yosemite. Neither has shown much interest in camping. We’re all going to meet in a couple weeks to talk about the trip.
After my first visit to Yosemite, mom suggested we return each May. But dad wanted much more. He had only two weeks off all year, and he yearned to see all the great national parks “before I move on to that big wilderness in the sky.” "What about Sequoia and Yellowstone?" he argued. "How can we miss the Grand Canyon and the Smoky Mountains, the Rockies and the Tetons?" So the next May, when I was eight, we visited Sequoia National Park. We delved into Crystal Cave, hiked through the Giant Forest, and stood in awe before General Sherman, the largest tree in the world. It was beautiful. It was breathtaking. But it wasn’t Yosemite. After three days, dad reluctantly pointed the Ranchero west down Highway 198, took 99 north, branched off on 41 ... and in just a few hours, we were back in Yosemite Valley. Mom wrote in her journal, “There is something here that Bobby finds nowhere else. Yosemite is Pascal’s missing piece for him; Yosemite fills the God-size hole nothing else can fill. If I could, I would move our family here, just for him.” After that, we spent dad’s precious two weeks every year in Yosemite. I thought Yosemite was the one place we all loved most. But after dad passed so much sooner than any of us expected, mom shared her journal entries from that time. “He wouldn’t let me tell you,” she said. “But I thought you should know.” I was only thirteen when I read those entries, and they made me cry in a way I hadn’t cried before. I learned that each year, my dad secretly planned trips to Zion in Utah, Acadia in Maine, or his dream of dreams, Denali National Park in Alaska. And each year, thinking about his son’s mysterious connection to Yosemite, dad put his own maps and books aside and steered our family back to the one place he felt I needed to go. After he passed, I spent days in his office. I found an old gas station map with a hand-drawn checkbox by each national park he hoped to see. But only two boxes were checked: Sequoia and Yosemite. The Yosemite box had been checked so many times, the map had torn through, leaving a hole that seemed to grow bigger the longer I stared at it. My dad died without having seen Bryce or Haleakala, Mt. Rainier or Arches, Joshua Tree or Glacier, Everglades or Death Valley, or even the Badlands where T-Rexes once roamed. And he died without hearing his son say, “Thanks, dad.” Not once. Not for that. Somehow, I only thanked my mom for Yosemite. In one of those stunningly self-centered blind spots of childhood, I didn’t see what my dad had given up. I didn’t understand that he had traded away every road in America for just one. I’ve been checking national parks off his map ever since. I’m about a third of the way through. If I don’t make it, I’ll leave the map for Chip and hope he finishes the adventure for us all. Thank you, dad. Comments
Media Jean: Now I'm crying.
Chip: Me too.
Johnny: Why does your dad always tell such sad stories?
Chip: Sometimes sad stories are the happiest ones.
Media Jean: I think I'll go and say thank you to my parents right now.
Chip: What for?
Media Jean: Anything. Everything. I don't know. Just THANK YOU.
Johnny: Now that I think about it, I thank my dad all the time. But I never thank my mom. My dad and I act like we're running the world, but mom runs our world.
Media Jean: That goes double for me. For both my parents.
Chip: And it's not just our parents.
Media Jean: What do you mean?
Chip: Well, shouldn't we be thankful for our friends, too?
Media Jean: Does that mean I have to thank Johnny for being Johnny?
Johnny: You should thank me. Hanging around me is like going to business school—for free.
Chip: Media Jean, thanks for being my friend. Thanks for always being there for me. Thanks for making me laugh. Thanks for being braver than I am, for doing things I'm afraid to do, and letting me share in that. You're my best friend.
Media Jean: Wow. Thank you, Chip, for being my best friend. Thanks for helping me see the other guy's point of view, especially when I get carried away. Thanks for showing me that kindness is maybe the most important thing of all. You make the world a better place.
Chip: Johnny, thanks for always being yourself, no matter how much we tease you. Thanks for pushing us to get things done, because otherwise we might spend all our time playing. I'm glad I know someone as different as you.
Media Jean: Same, here, Johnny. Thanks for all of that.
Johnny: Oh, man. I hate this mushy stuff.
Chip: It feels great. Try it.
Johnny: I'd rather not.
Media Jean: Just think of it as practice.
Johnny: Practice?
Media Jean: Sure! When you're a CEO, you'll need to motivate the minions, right?
Johnny: That's true! Great job, I really appreciate you, we couldn't do it without you, yada yada!
Media Jean: Exactly! Why not practice on us?
Johnny: OK. Let's see. Media Jean, the way you think outside the box challenges me to think outside my boxes. Our company needs leaders with independent minds like you. I don't always agree with you, but I want you to know I respect you.
Media Jean: Thank you, Johnny.
Johnny: I'm a natural at this! Chip, you're a geek genius with a heart of gold. That's a rare combination in today's dog-eat-dog world. Thanks to your innovation, our company is more profitable than ever before. We wouldn't be where we are today if not for you.
Chip: Thanks, Johnny. That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.
Johnny: Did I seem sincere? Did you buy it?
Media Jean: Hook, line and stinker, I mean, sinker.
Johnny: This is going to be easier than I thought! And the best part is, I don't feel a thing! I can say whatever I need to say to drive the lemmings to the sea, and not feel a twang of real emotion. You can't buy this kind of experience. Thanks, guys, really!
Media Jean: Was that last part a real thanks or a CEO thanks?
Johnny: Wow, that really hurt my feelings, Media Jean. Couldn't you tell I was being sincere?
Chip: I could.
Johnny: Then you're a sucker! Ha ha! I'm the Master of Platitudes!
Media Jean: That was rude, even for you!
Johnny: You're right. Sorry. You know how I get carried away sometimes. Sorry, Chip. I really do appreciate you.
Chip: Thanks, Johnny.
Johnny: Pow! The CEO of Cliches strikes again! Ha ha! So long, suckers!
Chip: He just logged off the network.
Media Jean: I didn't want to encourage him, but Master of Platitudes was pretty good.
Chip: Ha ha! CEO of Cliches!
Media Jean: Ha ha! He got us, twice!
Chip: I guess if you're going to really be thankful for someone like Johnny, you have to have a good sense of humor.
Media Jean: You can say that again! 
Comic strip from the series "Employee Handbook"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 1: Look Out, Tomorrow, Here We Come!) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected] |
AuthorHey, I'm Bob, and I hate technology. So why am I blogging? Because I love my son. He upgraded my typewriter to wirelessly post every keystroke online. It makes him happy, so here I am. Archives
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