Listen to Your Dad

So, if you’ve read any of my stuff in the past, you might already know writing has been a valuable therapeutic replacement for the counseling I’ve desperately needed, but never had.

And today was much like every day since March 12, the last day we provided dental care…only, I thought it was worse.

This morning I woke up with the usual fears. There was the seasonal spring madness over yet another birthday coming around the corner in a few weeks and the now phantom concern over the schedule, my team, our patients, the labs, and the bills.

But since mid-March, the fear factor has literally gone viral. When can we resume providing care; what will it look like? Has the Pandemic peaked in LA? Are there new symptoms? I just sneezed; why?

For me, the overriding pandemic concern goes to not being in control. And being quarantined has generated an overdue time out and space for reflection. But people who were fine a week or two ago, died yesterday.

This is my third attempt at writing about yesterday. And maybe writing really is the chicken soup for my dental soul. The first attempt was a drive-by focused on yesterday’s failings of the SBA, an amateur federal government, and banks that seem to over-promise and under-deliver. But the complaining was less than instant gratification and a judgment call away from a whine.

Attempt #2 was a slight deviation from #1, just a different target. When the leaders we count on lack the focus and energy to listen, plan, and prepare, they deserve to be called out; and there’s someone for whom I didn’t vote who I’d set adrift on an Arctic ice slab without thinking twice. Gratification #2 lasted 5-minutes.

But then a voice of reason intervened with a question. “What would your dad do?” I knew the answer. I have sticky notes strategically posted at home and in the office just in case I forget. Then I heard, “What will you do?”

Dad would be powerful; he’d make sure we all knew one way or the other, we’d be fine. I was in college before I ever knew we once lived week to week on Dad’s salary when I was a little kid. And I won the lottery with my childhood. We’ll figure it out, be relentless, and use our 200-hours of annual training.

Dad would be positive; he always looked and listened for things positive and humorous; he always empathized with the other side. Dad’s empathy made him a great negotiator and a beloved coach and teacher. If the Cuomo brothers can find humor and understanding, so will we.

In my eyes, Dad was always fearless. Whatever the challenge or threat, Dad could handle it-no problem. I’ve never felt safer than when I was with my dad. And honestly, my team and I are great at helping patients feel safe on “Hello.” And being fearless is my greatest challenge. The voice of reason coached, “Be your word.”

When you’re being powerful, positive, and fearless; there’s no space for directing blame or playing the victim. You just do what you know you need to do, when you know you need to do it, every time, no debate.

It’s not easy being like my dad. But 44-years after the worst March 6 ever, he’s still my mentor.