Fatherly opportunities

A few ‘exactly right’ moments from a parent’s life

As Father’s Day nears, I fondly recall poignant, teachable moments shared with my kids over the years. When my youngest daughter was 4 years old, she was the teacher and I the student. We lived in Houston and I was flying so frequently that upgrades to first class were common. When little Kathryn accompanied me on a simple errand to Tulsa, she was the cutest sight with patent leather Mary Janes dangling from her wide, genuine leather first-class seat. Backing from the jetway I realized we were seated directly above the nose gear. Fearing she’d be startled by the heavy thump of “wheels up” as we became airborne, I prepared to explain complicated aeronautics and fuel efficiency in pre-kindergarten terms. I asked her why the gear should be tucked up inside the plane. She paused from sipping her Shirley Temple, cocked her head and answered in deadpan: “So the wheels won’t blow off.”

She had distilled aerodynamics to its precise essence.

All Dad said was, “Yes, that’s exactly right.” Years later we moved to the Ozarks. For a time we lived in Joplin where eldest son Theo began elementary school. He had a particularly meaningful fifth-grade experience with his first male teacher and all sorts of activities in and out of the classroom. He took up the cello, which would become his adult career. The highlight of fifth-grade graduation was he and his buddies on stage singing Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA.”

As a move to Bentonville approached, Theo resisted leaving his niche in the Four States capital. I had to sell Bentonville’s larger world. We visited the Northwest Arkansas Regional Airport at Highfill where I schooled him on the modern airport’s myriad destinations compared to Joplin’s old, one-carrier terminal. We strolled around the University of Arkansas, a major land grant university compared to Joplin’s smaller college. I made scant headway.

In final, loving desperation, I took him to the 2002 Wal-Mart Shareholders meeting in Bud Walton Arena. Spokes-model Cindy Crawford gushed from behind her Foster Grants. TV twins Mary-Kate and Ashley touted their new apparel line. Theo remained unimpressed. But when Lee Greenwood stepped onstage offering his signature song, my son’s eyes became as huge as Wal-Mart smiley faces. He leaned to me, excitedly whispering, “So this is the man who sang the original version?” In spite of my efforts, it took a Wal-Mart guest celebrity to close the deal. All Dad said was “Yes, that’s exactly right.” Fifteen years later, the most recent Wal-Mart shareholders meeting offered a different opportunity. My youngest, Tim, will soon complete a degree at that Fayetteville business school named for a certain famous retailer, so I insisted we attend. Of all my children, I thought, he should see a corporate annual meeting process, even one as atypical as Wal-Mart’s Mardi Gras in June.

I thought we had arrived at Bud Walton Arena early enough. However, we were diverted to a secondary location at the nearby indoor tennis center. Fayetteville’s fire marshal declared the arena maxed out with some 14,000 souls inside. These Wal-Mart meetings share roots extending four decades back when Sam and Helen Walton hosted analysts and shareholders outdoors while paddling a canoe. Clearly now the company needs a bigger boat. Outdoors again? In Razorback Stadium?

Barred from admittance, I feared Tim would bail in disappointment. Yet he was game. Compared to the raucousness across the street, the subdued atmosphere among the draped tennis courts was a church service. About 200 congregants sat seminar-style facing the pulpit: two wide-screen monitors. The benefit was that Tim could view the proceedings in the sports arena but also feel a vibe more typically corporate. Without distractions, we clearly read the metrics presented by Chief Financial Officer Brett Biggs and clearly heard the speakers with alternative shareholder proposals. The voting process was more tactile in the small venue. I slotted my form into a ballot box circulated by ushers. Thus, the church service ended with an offertory.

We left after voting and discussed pros and cons of working for a multi-national corporation. Tim had questions about the special proposals. I explained that with any public company the avenue for such is a regulatory requirement, but proposals are typically voted down as recommended by the board. With that description of big business seeming to ignore plaintive cries in the process, I expected negative blow-back from my idealistic, Bernie Sanders-backing millennial.

Instead he was hopefully pragmatic: “But it wasn’t a waste. They spoke up in Bud Walton jammed full of people.”

All Dad said was “Yes, that’s exactly right.”