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#after i drew this i had a dream that my insurance company sent me a Letter In The Mail telling me that
optogeneticist-nsfw · 10 months
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so......... this post............................
thank you @thrumbo for coloring the lineart <3
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the-magnus-backlogs · 3 years
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Statement of Suzanna Harkness regarding a manuscript she reviewed for publishing.
Statement taken direct from subject, 27th December 1993.
You wind up stumbling down a lot of weird rabbit holes when you work for a small press long enough. Niche genres you’d really rather remain oblivious to, arts majors trying to break the mould by submitting something they swear up and down you’ll have ‘never seen before’. Never mind if it’s actually legible, but that’s…that’s another matter, I guess. I’m not here to talk about the subpar sci-fi erotica or whatever, I’m here because I found something weird.
I’d like to say right off the bat that I’ve got a strong stomach. Wouldn’t have lasted this long in the company if I didn’t. We only publish a couple hundred books a year, but we take in all sorts around here. Sometimes it feels like our only real submission requirements are ‘unmarketable to the general public’, and it seems like anybody with a half-baked idea is willing to try their luck at tossing their unedited manuscript into the ring.
That’s where I come in. Wading through the mountains of unusable garbage, hunting for hidden gems. I’ve even found a couple, but mostly it’s just about finding something readable. Or something we can pass off as being readable for those rare readers capable of ‘comprehending the author’s artistic vision’. Yeah, the marketing team winds up throwing phrases like that around a lot.
Maybe I’m being unfair. I was a lot more patient about that sort of thing when I started. So preoccupied with not coming across as judgemental, but I’ve worked in publishing over ten years now.
It used to be more common for us to get manuscripts sent in through the post, back then. Nowadays it’s pretty much all done online. A couple we get from literary agents, but most are just emailed in by aspiring writers who stumbled across our site, usually after receiving their rejection letters from the two dozen publishing houses that show up above us on pretty much any search engine.
Every once in a blue moon, though, a manilla envelope will find its way onto my desk. Some bright spark who thinks they’re above using a laptop decides to send their manuscript in the old fashioned way. Sometimes it’s just a precaution in case we somehow miss the half dozen emails they’ve already sent out to every listed staff member on the site. Hell, sometimes it’s written by typewriter.
You know typewriters require special paper to print? Special ink, too. They probably spend more writing the damn thing than they’ll ever see in royalties, but to each their own, I guess. I even got one handwritten, once. The idiot sent a follow-up a month later anxiously asking if he could have it back if we weren’t going to consider it because it was his only copy. Can you imagine? Mailing off the only copy of your handwritten manuscript to some backroom small press without any insurance.
By comparison, this manuscript was relatively normal. It had been typed, I think. The paper was…I guess it was sort of crumpled, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. The postal service isn’t always the most careful about this sort of thing, and it wasn’t really packaged properly. Just shoved loose in a box and shipped out.
It was pre-bound. Just a bundle of papers held together with a few strands of red string. A little unusual, but not exactly throwing up any red flags. Even when I started reading it, I didn’t know. How the hell could I have?
It was good, though. Maybe that should have been my first clue. The prose dragged on a bit, but hey. There are plenty of successful writers out there who probably could have benefited from a harsher editor. They made up for it, in my opinion. Even just skimming those first few pages, I was hooked. Didn’t even really realise it when I was due my lunch break. I was so focused on that damn book.
The visuals were the thing. Plenty of writers can pour out half decent prose, but something about this writer…they had a way of making it feel real, you know? All the little touches, the scenes they crafted from the ground up. It felt…it felt like I couldn’t stop reading. Even if I’d wanted to, and trust me, back then I didn’t.
I didn’t leave my office that day. Barely noticed it when the phone rang, ignored all my emails. I really, really thought we’d accidentally stumbled on a gold mind. Not just a passable debut novel, but an honest to god genuine talent.
The funny thing is, I can’t even really remember what it was that drew me in. Couldn’t tell you what genre it fell under. The plot itself was practically non-existent. A girl who dreamed of being a dancer and crept out of her house to practice under the moonlight in a clearing in the forest behind her house.
Then, one blissful night, illuminated by the full moon, the forest provided her with a partner. The partner.
Nothing too out there, right? Your basic fantasy-romance type stuff. Pretty tame compared to a lot of what we publish, but I was enthralled from the first description of their first dance. Barefoot and so light on her feet her toes barely skimmed the dew-slick grass. They loved each other, and in that moment, I think I understood that. Really knew what it was to love someone so much you’d offer them your still beating heart if it would mean holding onto them for just a second longer.
Except it wasn’t love. Not really. It was an obsession.
I couldn’t stop devouring page after page as their budding romance grew and spiralled, twisting into something unrecognisable. Those whispered words of I can’t live without you became their mantra as they clung to one another so tightly they left bruises on one another’s skin. Soft kisses turned sharp as they came to understand what it was to need to consume and be consumed. They needed one another in a way neither could truly provide. Not really.
In their despair, they begged the forest to offer them a solution, and it gave them one. A way to lie in the sweet summer meadow forever, and in their glee they didn’t think to ask what it would cost.
Not until they began to rot, anyway.
My memories around here get a little hazy, or maybe the words were just less clear. The writing seemed…hurried towards the end, but the couple didn’t seem to mind much when the insects began to burrow through their skin and make their homes inside. They had so much love to give, literally brimming with it. As sickening as it was, it sounded almost…fond. Like the writer truly wanted to give them the happy ending they deserved, but somehow couldn’t think of anything more befitting than allowing their decaying corpses to be infested with creepy crawlies.
It was sick. The concept was sick. Everything about it was sick, but even now I can’t truly convey how vividly they described it. The picture they painted was so clear. Even the affection the insects lavished upon them as they crawled and burrowed through their decaying flesh. It was…God, it used to make me sick just thinking about it, you know that?
Because it wasn’t enough that I had to read it. That I physically couldn’t tear my eyes away. I had to see it. The idea of it…It got its hooks in deep.
By the time I got to the end, I was at a loss for what to do with the manuscript. On the one hand it was probably one of the best written pieces we’d ever received, and there are plenty of twisted readers out there looking for something to churn their stomach.
Somehow it didn’t feel right to publish it, though. I’ve read body horror before, but this…It wasn’t right. I couldn’t…I couldn’t just inflict that on people. How do you make someone understand, truly understand, when they’re signing up to read something that won’t ever let them go? How do you make them understand that the words they’re paying you to read will imprint themselves against the backs of their eyelids? That they’ll grow and spread and fester.
I dream about that dancer in the moonlit meadow. The descriptions of her actual appearance were relatively scarce, but I can still see her face when I close my eyes. I see her intertwined with her dance partner, caked in a mossy fungus that failed to disguise the living hive crawling beneath their skin. I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins, anymore. Not even sure if I could tell them apart looking at them, what with their withered skin being so covered in filth and grime.
That damned book made it sound like something beautiful, but their beauty decayed with their childish notions of romance. They chose to become hollow husks of themselves to make room for the love they could no longer contain, but that’s…that’s not love. It can’t be…right?
So why can’t I stop thinking about the way their fingers intertwined before rigor mortis set in and cemented their bond forever?
I can’t concentrate on anything else anymore. At first it was just a niggling seed of doubt at the back of my mind, but it’s grown so much since then. That image burrowed so deep inside my mind turned its hungry mouth towards the parts of me which were most vulnerable, eating and eating and eating and eating until I could think of nothing else.
I don’t know why I never thought to burn it. Maybe I was worried it would make it worse. Maybe it felt too much like sacrilege. I never read it again after that first time, though I considered it often. It sat on my desk while my other assignments lay scattered around it, disregarded without a second thought. After all, there was no room left in my mind for anything else anymore. Every other passage I tried to read just seemed so…dry. So false. I used to get so invested in the lives of paper people, but now I know what true love is, how could the half-baked notions of romance ever compare?  I tried at first, but by the end I just…stared at it. Waiting.
Maybe if I’d tried to destroy it…Too late now, I suppose. I never let it see the printing presses, but I did let it go in the end. Some old man came in asking for it specifically. Something about it being a collectable.
I don’t know how an unpublished manuscript could be considered a collector’s item, and frankly I didn’t ask. I’m not sure if I even really cared about what he’d do with it by that point. Did it bother me that I might be condemning him to share my fate? It doesn’t now, I know that much.
It’s…I was hoping this might help me clear things up, but I just couldn’t see any of it straight. I can’t see anything, anymore. Not really. It may have started in my dreams, but once I let her in…They’re everywhere, now. I saw him in the faces of my colleagues before the press finally let me go… I don’t remember how long ago now. I think the power company cut the power at some point. It doesn’t matter now.
The funny thing is, I really thought they cared about me. They did, at first. I think. It all sort of blurs together, but I remember how they used to talk about me when they thought I couldn’t hear. The nervous looks they’d send me when I zoned out at my desks. Then they staged their first intervention, and I saw it. I saw her. It was the man I saw painted across the features of everyone I knew, in the arches of eyebrows and slants of cheekbones, but it was her I saw reflected in their eyes.
It was her I saw in the mirror, before they ran out of space inside my skull, and the maggots took my eyes…or maybe I imagined that part too.
I’m pretty sure it’s too late for me now, but when I heard about you guys I figured it was worth a shot. I’m full of it. Whatever that feverish contagion that claimed the couple was. That sickly, rotting thing they mistook for love. I can feel it now. I can understand it now and it’s so much. Already I’m on the brink of bursting with it, I think.
I just can’t wait to share.
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jccham · 3 years
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❝  my  friend’s  cousin’s  best  friend  used  to  work  as  one  of  his  maids  and  she  said  that  his  step-mom  used  to  pay  him  to  keep  her  affair  with  his  uncle  a  secret  ❞  JORDAN  CHAMBERS  ,  who  resembles  KEITH  POWERS  and  is  the  PRESIDENT  of  BETA  TAU  RHO  ,  is  TWENTY-TWO  years  old  and  responds  to  HE  /  HIM  .  𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥  𝘣𝘺  𝘫𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘦  ;  𝘴𝘩𝘦  /  𝘩𝘦𝘳  .
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what  up,  i’m  julie,  hailing  from  the  gmt-5  tz  &  i’ve  been  out  all  day  ,  so  i’ve  been  unfortunately  been  a  little  late  to  the  party  buuuut  i  am  here  now  &  i  am  so  excited  to  share  jordan  with  you  all  !  
BASICS  :   full  name  —  jordan  dominic  chambers  .  preferred  —  jordan  .  nickname  —  jd  .  titles  —  captain  and  power  forward  of  the  mens’  kingshill  basketball  team  &&  .  president  of  beta  tau  rho  .  dob  —  august  first  nineteen  ninety  eight  .  astrological  sign  —  leo  .  hometown  —  new  york  city  ,  new  york  .  current  residence  —  kingshill  ,  new  york  .   MAIN  BACKGROUND  :
the  nineties’  basketball  scene  was  dominated  by  the  six  time  nba  champion  chicago  bulls  and  one  of  the  greatest  men  to  ever  play  the  game,  jay  chambers,  led  the  charge.  jordan’s  father  couldn’t  go  anywhere  in  the  country  without  being  flocked  by  fans,  in  awe  of  the  six  nine  legend  in  the  making  .
unfortunately,  this  came  to  a  halting  stop  when  jay  suffered  a  career  ending  neck  injury  that  would  forever  change  his  life  .  coupled  with  an  unwanted  pregnancy  with  darling  socialite  carolina  blair  ,  within  a  year  ,  jay  went  from  basketball  hotshot  to  stiff  businessman  and  father  .  a  shotgun  wedding  meant  financial  stability  in  working  with  the  blairs’  insurance  company,  which  jay  needed  with  no  job  and  years  of  wasting  millions  on  partying  and  luxuries  with  an  expiry  date  .
neither  parent  really  wanted  jordan  and  it  showed  through  the  revolving  cycle  of  nannies  filling  their  roles  .  even  with  hours  on  hand  to  think  about  it  ,  jordan  would  not  be  able  to  share  one  heartfelt  anecdote  from  his  childhood  involving  either  of  them  .
new  york  city  will  always  be  jordan’s  home  ,  his  birth  place  ,  even  through  his  years  of  european  boarding  schools  and  californian  summer  camps  .
basketball  came  naturally  to  jordan  (  no  surprise  )  and  it  was  one  summer  after  returning  from  boarding  school  ,  where  he  had  learned  the  sport  ,  when  he  learned  who  his  father  was  .  he’d  been  bothering  his  father  all  day  to  come  out  of  his  office  to  show  off  his  new  skills  ,  when  he’d  been  barked  at  for  picking  up  a  basketball  at  all  .  
at  first  ,  the  last  thing  jordan  wanted  was  to  upset  anybody  ,  so  he  stayed  away  from  the  sport  at  first  .  however  ,  as  the  years  went  on  ,  his  resentment  towards  his  parents  and  especially  his  father  grew  ,  and  so  ,  continued  playing  basketball  out  of  spite  .  he  was  damn  good  at  it  .
his  mother  paid  for  his  basketball  camps  and  programs  ,  since  she  was  always  so  willing  to  throw  money  at  jordan  to  make  him  go  away  .  he  will  claim  to  this  day  that  he  found  himself  through  the  sport  ,  as  it  taught  him  the  abundant  rewards  of  diligence  and  how  to  be  a  leader.  basketball  made  a  man  out  of  him  ,  something  his  family  never  did  .  
she  left  jordan’s  father  when  he  was  fourteen  and  that  point  ,  he  didn’t  have  any  shits  left  to  give  .  they  barely  had  a  relationship  ,  which  was  honestly  better  than  the  hostility  that  jordan’s  father  showed  him  ,  but  it  wasn’t  enough  for  any  tears  to  be  shed  when  she  declared  she  didn’t  want  custody  .  meanwhile  ,  his  father  accumulated  enough  status  and  wealth  to  branch  off  from  his  ex  wife’s  company  and  form  his  own  .
this  meant  nothing  to  jordan  ,  though  ,  because  as  long  as  he  kept  getting  his  allowance  and  freedom  ,  there  wasn’t  a  change  to  begin  with  .  he  was  used  to  getting  paid  by  his  parents  for  the  little  things  ,  like  a  new  car  when  he  didn’t  bother  his  mother  for  an  entire  month  or  when  his  father  sent  him  on  a  “vacation”  to  the  maldives  with  his  friends  for  christmas  break  .  even  his  new  step  mom  gifted  him  exclusive  sneakers  when  he  put  in  a  good  word  for  her  to  some  tabloid  that  followed  jay  chambers’  new  marriage  .  however  ,  he  drew  the  line  when  his  parents  asked  him  to  attend  kingshill  .  
jordan  dreamed  of  making  it  as  a  professional  basketball  player  .  not  only  that  ,  but  he  was  en  route  to  it  ,  having  scouts  watch  him  since  the  beginning  of  high  school  .  he’d  played  at  the  national  level  and  won  gold  on  endless  occasions  ,  in  addition  to  mvp  trophies  and  other  accolades.  by  senior  year  ,  all  of  the  top  d1  schools  and  agents  came  knocking  on  his  door  .  
despite  his  parents’  divorce  ,  their  two  companies  continued  to  work  closely  together  and  saw  jordan  as  their  sole  heir  .  therefore  ,  they  needed  him  to  be  groomed  by  the  best  school  that  money  could  offer  and  they  saw  kingshill  as  the  perfect  and  only  match  .  
everyone  wonders  why  jordan  has  turned  his  back  on  the  draft  for  three  years  running  .  he  clearly  loves  the  game  of  basketball  and  is  one  of  the  most  hard  working  people  you’d  ever  meet  ,  a  born  star  on  the  court  .  instead  ,  he’s  a  senior  in  his  business  administration  major  and  despite  the  charming  smile  and  affinity  for  partying  ,  is  miserable  .
jordan  chambers  is  a  little  more  than  intimidating  ,  due  to  his  naturally  abrasive  attitude  ,  his  six  seven  stature  and  rumours  that  have  floated  around  his  name  since  freshman  year.  after  all  ,  it’s  safe  to  say  that  he’s  gone  a  little  bit  more  than  wild  since  first  stepping  foot  onto  campus  .  whether  it’s  lashing  out  at  his  parents  or  his  own  development  of  a  coping  mechanism  ,  beta  tau  rho’s  incredible  partying  legacy  has  lived  on  because  of  jordan  .  work  hard  ,  play  hard  ,  and  you’ve  officially  become  a  beta  tau  rho  brother.
PERSONALITY  :  
all  in  all  ,  jordan  is  a  little  bit  too  much  .  his  ego  is  a  little  too  big  ,  cares  more  than  he  should  ,  his  bad  habits  are  a  little  too  intense  ,  and  he  works  harder  than  anyone  else  .  
as  mentioned  before  ,  he  tends  to  be  intimidating  upon  first  impression  and  usually  rubs  people  the  wrong  way  .  he’s  learned  to  become  stoic  and  cold  over  the  years  when  dealing  with  other  people  of  the  same  wealth  ,  afraid  to  be  used  or  manipulated  by  showing  anything  that  could  be  used  against  him  .  
while  jordan  is  a  man  of  few  words,  he  is  quippy  and  sharp  when  he  does  speak  .  his  charm  is  subtle  and  dry  ,  a  blink-and-you’ll-miss  that  part  of  him  type  thing  .  
unsurprisingly  ,  jordan  keeps  a  small  circle  .  he  loves  beta  tau  rho  because  they  all  understand  the  value  of  hard  work  and  constantly  improving  yourself  ,  which  is  why  he  genuinely  cares  deeply  for  his  fraternity  brothers  and  would  probably  do  anything  for  them  ,  even  if  he  doesn’t  seem  like  the  type  .  he  will  always  help  his  friends  ,  no  questions  asked  ,  and  would  do  anything  in  his  power  to  do  so  .  since  he  has  been  mostly  independent  for  as  long  as  he  can  remember  ,  jordan  cherishes  moments  when  he  can  spend  time  with  people  that  he  cares  about  .
though  not  particularly  passionate  about  school  ,  jordan  is  ambitious  .  he  strives  for  greatness  in  everything  he  does  ,  no  matter  how  small  .  he  will  stop  at  nothing  to  achieve  his  goals  ,  sometimes  even  unknowingly  jeopardizing  his  relationships  in  the  process.  
obviously  ,  he  loves  partying  .  jordan  always  cared  about  his  body  and  health  because  of  basketball  ,  but  since  coming  to  kingshill  and  having  his  vision  of  making  it  in  the  nba  tarnished  ,  he’s  loosened  his  old  ‘  no  binge  drinking  ,  no  drugs  rule  ’  up  a  bit  .  he  may  or  may  not  blackout  every  weekend  .  he  may  or  may  not  smoke  a  little  too  much  weed  .  some  things  simply  cannot  be  helped  . 
WANTED  CONNECTIONS  :
i  have  this  page  up  ,  but  i'm  always  down  to  brainstorm  !  especially  since  my  wc  page  is  hella  under  construction  whoops  but  yes  throw  your  ideas  at  me  omg  like  this  post  and  i'll  come  to  u!  
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digitalmark18-blog · 6 years
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CEO Tim Chen founded NerdWallet with $800 after being laid off in the 2008 financial crisis — now it's worth $500 million
New Post has been published on https://britishdigitalmarketingnews.com/ceo-tim-chen-founded-nerdwallet-with-800-after-being-laid-off-in-the-2008-financial-crisis-now-its-worth-500-million/
CEO Tim Chen founded NerdWallet with $800 after being laid off in the 2008 financial crisis — now it's worth $500 million
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Today, Tim Chen is CEO and co-founder of personal finance website NerdWallet, which sees 10 million monthly visitors and is valued at more than $500 million.
But in 2008, Chen found himself unemployed, much like so many others during the financial crisis that marks its 10-year anniversary this month.
After spending four years working at hedge funds like Perry Capital and JAT Capital Management, he found out “basically on Christmas Day,” that he was being laid off, Chen tells CNBC Make It.
“It was super devastating, because I’d just been very achievement-oriented my whole life and I was very concerned with external status and all that stuff,” says Chen, who graduated from Stanford.
But now, a decade later, Chen sees it much differently:. It turned him into a successful entrepreneur.
“I always dreamed of doing something entrepreneurial. I just never felt like I had the permission to,” he says.
Stumbling onto an idea
Chen, 36, says he got the idea for NerdWallet “sitting around twiddling my thumbs,” while out of work.
He had received an email from his sister, who was living in Australia, with a question about finding a credit card with lower foreign transaction fees.
“My first inclination was, ‘Let me Google that for you and I’ll get back to you in three minutes,’ Chen says. “And, I was shocked I couldn’t find anything on Google that wasn’t basically marketing [or] promotional material.”
Chen says he drew on his own finance experience and still it took him, a professional, a week of extensive research to compile what several major banks and credit card companies had to offer. He sent his sister an Excel spreadsheet breaking down her options.
Soon, that spreadsheet was being forwarded around widely outside of his own group of family and friends.
It made Chen realize there was “real shopability problem in financial services,” where consumers often had to sift through banks’ dense materials for information. Without a professional financial advisor, it’s hard to compare products. Meanwhile, “Your checking account provider might give you a mortgage, a credit card, an auto loan, eventually insurance or wealth management services, and they’ll make something like $50,000 off of you over the course of your life,” Chen says.
“That’s how the whole system works.”
Chen wanted to offer more transparency with online financial services advice. So working out of his Manhattan apartment, he used $800 of his own money to cover start-up costs like web hosting and domain fees and software and started NerdWallet.
The plan was to provide pros and cons of various financial services and to answer questions, provide advice and aid people making financial decisions via articles written by professional personal finance journalists.
Nine months after launching the site, however, Chen was forced to move into his girlfriend’s apartment to save money — he made only about $75 in the site’s first year while often working 16- to 20-hour days.
“I was eating Subway everyday… It was like anything you could do to save money,” Chen says.
In NerdWallet’s second year, the company made only “something like $60,000 in revenue,” Chen says. He was unsure if he should continue with the venture or try to find a job with another hedge fund.
Chen tells CNBC Make It that he is “so grateful” for the timing of the economic recession, because the lack of amazing opportunities at Wall Street firms gave him more reason to stick it out with NerdWallet.
“It still seemed like lunacy to go and do this startup thing relative to doing the sure thing, but it was showing just enough early traction that I was thinking ‘this thing could work,'” he remembers.
Finding success
Work it did. Soon, NerdWallet, finally started taking off, with visitor numbers and revenue tripling from month-to-month at one point in mid-2010. Finally Chen stopped thinking about going back to Wall Street.
In 2015, NerdWallet raised roughly $105 million in funding. But the company’s path has not always been steady. Last year, NerdWallet was forced to lay of dozens of people (about 11 percent of its workforce) after missing profit goals. In an email to staff last fall, Chen (no stranger to layoffs himself) called the staff cuts “extremely painful,” but he also made clear his optimism for the company’s future.
“I’m confident we’re making the right investments as we enter 2018,” Chen told his employees, pointing specifically to an increased focus on the company’s mobile app and online memberships that help users find their credit scores as well as set and track various financial goals.
Much of the company’s revenue comes from financial services companies that pay NerdWallet when its readers sign up for a credit card or similar product after clicking through the NerdWallet site. This is a fairly common practice among financial advice websites like Credit Karma and Bankrate.
Meanwhile, NerdWallet tries to be transparent about receiving money from some of the financial companies the site writes about. A disclosure on the site notes that those relationships “may influence which products we review and write about (and where those products appear on the site), but it in no way affects our recommendations or advice.”
It’s a business model that NerdWallet is also putting to use through a new voice-activated feature on Amazon’s Alexa that allows users to get voice-activated advice on how to find the best credit card.
Still, NerdWallet is “obsessively consumer focused,” according to Chen. The company does “really expensive user-testing” in order to determine what types of financial advice different readers are seeking and how to best answer their questions, Chen says: “We always focused on hiring the best journalists and investing the most [in] creating content that people would feel complete and end their search on.”
Chen tells CNBC Make It that, as NerdWallet has grown, he’s had a lot of humbling experiences, and the ability to learn from failure has “absolutely” been essential to his company’s success. It’s also kept him focused.
“When I started NerdWallet, I was a lot less mission-oriented and a lot more concerned about building a successful company,” Chen told LifeHacker. Now, it’s about offering readers the type of advice they weren’t getting elsewhere online.
Says Chen: “If we focus on doing what’s right, maybe we can build a relationship with a person so they come back, time and time again.”
This is an updated version of a previously published story .
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Source: https://www.cnbc.com/2018/09/14/tim-chen-founded-nerdwallet-after-being-fired-in-the-financial-crisis.html
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baxterholmes · 7 years
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Round-up of fine sentences from This Land:
Josh thought Pastor Bob wanted to say he was sorry for what had happened. He also thought Pastor Bob was taking him to lunch. But it soon became clear that Josh was paying his own way, and Pastor Bob was not there to apologize. Josh ordered a glass of water and watched Pastor Bob eat.
“He quoted scriptures about how I was sinning against God for coming against his church, his ministry,” Josh remembers. But Josh came prepared with scripture passages of his own, about the responsibility of a shepherd to protect his flock. The message fell on deaf ears. Josh drank his water. Pastor Bob ate a big meal and ordered dessert.
-Grace in Broken Arrow by Kiera Feldman
Oral doubled down: If Richard left, he’d walk away with him—arm in arm with his anointed son. Oral called on the faculty to forgive Richard, to take a “fresh start.” He was 89-years-old at this point. His hearing was going, and he needed a walker. But ever the benevolent dictator, Oral demanded obedience. He asked everyone who agreed with him to stand—an old power play from his repertoire. One professor stood and bravely ventured, “I don’t know what you mean by ‘fresh start.’ I can forgive Richard. But I am not going to allow him to come back as president.”
One by one, Oral started grilling the few professors who remained seated. Suddenly, he stopped.
“No, I shouldn’t do this. I’m sorry,” he said, dropping his head in his big, wrinkled hands.
-This is my beloved son by Kiera Feldman
The memory of the Silkwood incident lurks far in the background of life in Crescent–for the most part people don’t particularly care to talk about it, and, polite that Crescent locals are, when they do, most don’t have much to say. Still, the story remains unsettled. When Bradley Manning was growing up it was 20 years less settled.
-Private Manning and the Making of WikiLeaks by Denver Nicks
Jack Taylor does not appear to concern himself with people’s accusations he is a hatchet man for publisher Edward Gaylord. He plods along in his juggernaut fashion, putting in 17-hour workdays, sometimes five, six, seven days a week. He is a sedulous researcher, scouring public records for hours on end, compiling minutiae, interviewing sources (always anonymous and “well-informed”), spending great spans of time at the Xerox machine on the fourth floor of the Oklahoma Publishing Company. Hardly is he a flashy interloper. He is not apt in imitation of Carl Bernstein, to brazen his way into a taxicab, pounce on a public official’s lap, and nonchalantly request an interview. Dramatics like that befit neither his nature nor his bulk.
Taylor, however, is a tenacious journalist, magnificently disciplined and somewhat of a fanatic organizationalist. He diagrams and charts every connection involved in a story, whether it be people or corporate entities. He clips articles from national and local newspapers on the discriminating premise that one day the information might be of some use. He also writes memos of Faulknerian length and files them away in his private office, the sole office at OPUBCO reserved for a single reporter. Jack Wimer, formerly investigative reporter at the Tulsa Tribune and one who cooperated with Taylor on several stories, recalls how “he once wrote a 30-page, single-space, typed memo to himself on a story that he never wrote.” He also once drew up a list of every Freedom of Information Act request that he had ever made, to which governmental agency, how many were approved, how many were denied, how many were denied in part, and what section of the law was cited for denial. These kind of pedantic efforts leave the impression that he is attempting to document, for posterity’s sake, his own endeavors in addition to merely substantiating the stories. Though his meticulousness certainly pays off, the surplus of wasted effort must be enormous.
-Stalking the Smoking Gun by David Fritze
Between statehood and 1923, Oklahoma was America’s largest oil-producing state, and even after it lost its perch to California and later Texas, Oklahoma still managed to increase its share of American output until 1929, when Oklahoma accounted for 750,000 barrels of oil a day and 35 percent of all the oil produced in the United States. Wells in Oklahoma City spat oil ferociously, so high that one out-of-control gusher—the Indian Territory Illuminating Oil Co.’s Mary Sudik No. 1, aka the “Wild Mary Sudik”—managed to sprinkle droplets on students in Norman, 11 miles away. Cushing alone produced 17 percent of American oil in 1919 and 3 percent of the world’s output between 1912 and 1919. And all of this time there was plenty of appetite for new oil. The world’s economy and its demand for petroleum and its distillates were increasing, and oil prices were holding steady for the most part, making Oklahoma’s goliath output enormously profitable. Scores of millionaires were created. The Osage Nation managed to hold onto their mineral rights during the allotment phase. They charged oil companies a flat 10 percent royalty fee and paid each tribe member annual distributions equivalent to more than a million dollars today, which attracted scalawags and con men from all over the country eager to marry an Osage heir, which kicked off a string of killings that would come to be known as the Osage Reign of Terror. Meanwhile, the high wages paid by the oil industry led hundreds of thousands of former sharecroppers to descend on cities like Tulsa and Oklahoma City and the tiny boomtowns that would pop up whenever a new field was found. Oil money created architectural blooms and secondary and tertiary industries: engineering, manufacturing, insurance. There were counter- flows of capital and labor. Universities and colleges sprouted, which in turn revealed new methods of refining petroleum and natural gas. This stoked the economy even more.
-Petro State by James McGirk
A soft-spoken woman from Oklahoma City first saw the pattern. Terri Turner is a Supervisory Intelligence Analyst with the Oklahoma Bureau of Investigation. In September of 2003, a homicide case landed on her desk: a body found along I-40. Turner immediately put out a teletype seeking other female bodies found, like hers, nude, near interstates, and with signs of having been bound. Within 72 hours, two responses came back from Arkansas and Mississippi. At that point, Turner knew she might be looking at linked crimes. She had her communications specialists monitor the teletypes for further cases. In seven months, they had seven homicides. She calls them “my seven girls.”
-Drive-By Truckers by Ginger Strand
With Operation Midnight Ride behind them, Walker and Hargis turned their aspirations to the national political races, making it clear that their choice for president was the libertarian senator Barry Goldwater. In August of 1963, Martin Luther King, Jr. delivered his momentous “I Have a Dream” speech in Washington, D.C.; its hopeful message of peace and unity was in direct opposition to Walker and Hargis’ aggressive calls for civil uprising. Two months later, in October of 1963, Walker attended a conference in Dallas in which he once again bashed President Kennedy and his policies. He was probably unaware that Lee Harvey Oswald was in the audience listening.
-The Strange Love of Dr. Billy James Hargis by Lee Roy Chapman
Contrary to the widespread misconception that it is a late twentieth-century invention, developed as a humane alternative to the medieval barbarisms of the electric chair and the noose, lethal injection hails from older and more ghastly origins. During WWII, Nazi Germany carried out its euthanasia program, granting “mercy deaths” to Jews and Gypsies, the disabled and the mentally ill. In the early stages of the Action T4 program,2 the Nazi regime used an injection of lethal drugs to kill infants and children suffering from physical handicaps and mental impairments. Eventually this method of execution was deemed too slow and expensive, as Hitler would turn to the hyper-efficient gas chambers in his quest for Aryan purity. The experimentation with lethal injection was for the most part lost to history, ceding both spotlight and stigma to the notoriously prolific gas chambers. That is until a few Oklahomans, keen on cutting the costs of Old Sparky and modernizing state-sanctioned executions, resurrected it nearly 40 years later.
-Tinkering with the Machinery of Death by Mike Mariani
One of the detectives just pulled me aside and said he found a syringe in your pocket. I can see Taco, by the way, outside, and he’s still walking around the front yard, mumbling to himself.
He’ll be the next one to die; you know that, don’t you?
Until then, that little fuck, that little shit, gets to go home; he gets to see tomorrow and lie to his parents about needing money for something other than drugs and alcohol; he gets to parlay his grief over you into sympathy and, who knows, maybe more drugs and a blow job from some skanky little whore on meth who will feel bad for him because you died.
The cop who found the syringe told me when he went to ask Taco what happened to you, Taco kept repeating, “I don’t know, I don’t know. He was my best friend.”
-Letter to My Son The Weekend He Died by Barry Friedman
The woman stood with the couple’s one-year-old daughter a safe distance across the sage. Tucs told the man to start wetting down the walls of his home using a 12-volt pump drawing water from a cistern. He sent a bystander down the road to help the fire trucks find their way over the unmarked road to the scene. Then he and another bystander began shoveling dirt in front of the path of the stream of vegetable oil, which shot orange flames three feet high as it crept along the earth. As Tucs shoveled load after load in front of the stream, the fire in the shed grew, and the interior of an old sedan parked nearby caught fire. Tucs’ berm slowed the oil from reaching the home, but the dirt saturated and set alight, and more oil escaped through the flames and poured downhill. He started another berm and the same thing happened. The shed streamed fire. Tucs’ bunker gear lacked suspenders, so he kept hauling his pants up as he worked. As fire trucks arrived from area departments and set up on scene, Tucs heard a rupture and a rush of air, and looked up to see three 40-foot tornadoes of fire whirling above the shed into the sky.
-Firefight Along the Prairie by Michael Canyon Meyer
He stood naked by the roadside with a blanket draped around his hips, feebly reaching out for the glimmering cars as they passed in the morning light. He was almost too hideous to look at: Purple and black tracks streaked across his frail limbs, and his hollow eyes peered out from a pale, gray head shaved bald, eyebrows and all. Brandon Andres Green was not from hell, not exactly. He was from Broken Arrow, Oklahoma.
Over the course of the past six days, Green had been tied up in a Tulsa hotel room, where his mind was loaded with powerful psychoactives and his body ravaged. He was then driven 500 miles south and abandoned in a Texas field at night. Green had crawled through the darkness, the occasional moan of a distant car his only guide. Every few feet, he collapsed from exhaustion. By morning, he reached the road. He grasped at fistfuls of air, hoping that someone might notice him.
-Subterranean Psychonaut by Michael Mason, Chris Sandel and Lee Roy Chapman
Lacking the political power he once held through both the Democratic Party and his Klan affiliations, diminished in his fortune, and aggrieved by his son’s death, Brady began to fall apart. Tulsans reported seeing him dining at his hotel alone, staring into space and leaving his meals untouched. Gone was the steeley-eyed entrepreneur. A portrait published in the Tulsa Daily World around this time shows an aged Brady looking weary and morose.
In the early morning hours of August 29, 1925, Brady walked into his kitchen and sat down at the breakfast table. He propped a pillow in the nook of one arm, and rested his head upon it. With his right arm, he took a .44 caliber pistol, pointed it at his temple, and pulled the trigger. [28] Brady, who worked to divide Tulsa along racial lines, died a victim of his own curse.
-The Nightmare of Dreamland by Lee Roy Chapman
Birdwell’s life reads like a John Wayne script. A story in The Daily Oklahoman on October 17, 1931, details an account of Birdwell kidnapping a deputy sheriff in Earlsboro and detaining him so that Birdwell could go to a funeral home to view his father, who had recently died. If Birdwell had attended his father’s funeral, he would have been arrested for robbing banks in Earlsboro, Maud, Mill Creek, and Roff, Oklahoma. After Birdwell saw his father’s body, he returned the deputy sheriff’s gun on the outskirts of town, and rode into the sunset with Pretty Boy Floyd.
But Birdwell and Floyd’s days were numbered. Their names and faces were routinely in the papers, and the FBI was just waiting for one of them to make a mistake. Boley was Birdwell’s biggest mistake.
“Pretty Boy told the gang, ‘Go anywhere else, but do not rob Boley. The people there need their money and they do not have much of it in the bank,’ ” said Henrietta Hicks, Boley municipal judge and unofficial historian. “They just would not listen. You know how Napoleon met his Waterloo? Well, George Birdwell met his Boley-loo.”
-Bandit in Boley by Jamie Birdwell-Branson
Bad men are drawn to the City of God. The Southern Poverty Law Center calls it the meeting ground for America’s most sinister extremists. Many Oklahomans regard it as the most dangerous and mysterious place in the state.
For 30-plus years, a small, isolated community in Northeastern Oklahoma has been the subject of endless scrutiny. Law enforcement agencies and conspiracy theorists insist that Elohim City is a breeding ground for neo-Nazis and anti-government militias hell-bent on overthrowing the “Zionist Occupied Government” (ZOG) of the United States. The most damning accusation suggests Elohim City played a central role in the planning and execution of the Oklahoma City bombing.
-Who’s Afriad of Elohim City? by Lee Roy Chapman and Joshua Kline
At the hospital the day Abby was born, a nurse handed me a booklet about being the parent of a dead child. What’s the cost of a funeral for a newborn? Can you take a tax deduction? What should you name a dead child? Is it OK to build the coffin yourself? The booklet plainly answered such questions. It was my introduction to a realm of knowledge I had never known existed.
The answers run like this:
You can build the coffin if you want. It might make you feel better.
Name the child what you meant to name him. Don’t save the name for someone else.
You can claim the baby as a dependent on your taxes if he drew a breath.
-A Stiller Ground by Gordon Grice
The historian Frederick Jackson Turner draws the line of frontier encroachment at the hands of industrial expanse at 1890. He delivered his theory in an 1893 address to the American Historical Association of Chicago titled “The Significance of the Frontier in American History,” now known as the “Turner Thesis.” A year later, at the age of 17, Fraser molded his first End of the Trail. He wrote that it came from an idea that had been haunting him since childhood: “Often hunters, wintering with the Indians, stopped over to visit my grandfather on their way south and in that way I heard many stories about the Indians. On one occasion a fine fuzzy bearded old hunter remarked with some bitterness in his voice, ‘The Injuns will be driven into the Pacific Ocean.’”
-The Indian of their Dreams by Mark Brown
Netarsha slapped her hand on the window behind her.
“I said, ‘NOOOOOOO!’ Bust out laughing. I knew. I knew. I sat up. I didn’t know what to do. I kind of balled up, on my bed, in the corner… and my doorbell rang.”
It was the police, come to tell her.
-We Extend Our Condolences by Brian Ted Jones
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topicprinter · 4 years
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Hey - Pat from StarterStory.com here with another interview.Today's interview is with Hagan Walker (u/haganwalker) of Glo®, a brand that makes liquid activated productsSome stats:Product: liquid activated productsRevenue/mo: $104,166Started: March 2015Location: Starkville, MississippiFounders: 2Employees: 5Hello! Who are you and what business did you start?Hey, y’all! I’m Hagan Walker - one of the co-founders of Glo! We make liquid-activated products under two different brands - Glo Cubes, which are light up drink cubes - and Glo Pals, light-up sensory toys for children. Both incorporate the same patented liquid activation circuitry.Basically, you drop one of our products in liquid and it uses ions in the liquid to bridge an electrical circuit, causing the cube to light up. Not only is the circuit patented, but we also have a unique design that isn’t triggered by residual fluid or ice. This means Glo Cubes work very well in a restaurant setting. When someone finishes a drink, the light goes out, indicating to the server that a refill is needed. The same idea translates to the Glo Pals. These bath toys only work in liquid - just draw a bath and drop them in. They automatically light up, and when you drain the tub, they turn off on their own - no buttons or switches to forget about!It’s a strange combination (internally, we joke about kids and cocktails - ha!), but I’ll get into how that all came about in just a bit. We’re a bit quirky and, in this fast-paced world of e-commerce and dropshipping, we’ve found a small niche where we design, prototype, and package every single product from our headquarters in Starkville, Mississippi. This year, we’ll sell over 3 million of our products to customers in 37 countries.Hold on to your seats. I believe telling a story should be real - it should include the highs and lows, tell you about how the path isn’t always straightforward, and detail how some things work out for a reason, so let’s start from the beginning.What's your backstory and how did you come up with the idea?The story of Glo starts in 2015 - my senior year of college. I wasn’t the best student or the brightest, but I found my niche and studied electrical engineering. I thought I had it all figured out - I had some great internships lined up and were the first student from the state of Mississippi to intern at Tesla in Palo Alto, California. My passion was automotive engineering and we had a great program here at Mississippi State University, called EcoCAR, that gave me some excellent hands-on engineering experience. The goal was to make it to Tesla, get offered a job, and take off to California.That didn’t happen.I was offered a position at Tesla as a body controls engineer, working on the falcon wing doors for Model X, but fate had different plans. I turned that position down to return to Mississippi and take a chance with something a bit different - making light-up drink cubes. You see, right before I left for my summer internship at Tesla, a friend of mine asked for my help with a classroom project. Kaylie Mitchell was studying graphic design and her professor tasked her with coming up with a conceptual company and product that naturally drew one’s eye to the product. Kaylie thought, if a drink lit up, people would inherently look at it. She wanted to go above and beyond on this assignment and reached out to me to create a prototype for her class assignment.We decided it had to be liquid-activated for ease of use and sanitary reasons. The first prototype was made out of a toothbrush travel case with some electronic components encased in hot glue to make it waterproof. It certainly wasn’t pretty, but it worked, and her professor was impressed with the initiative. She encouraged Kaylie and me to present the idea for this conceptual company and the product to the Mississippi State Center for Entrepreneurship and Outreach’s (CEO) annual competition. We decided to give it a try - there was nothing to lose. Neither of us had a background in business, but we practiced, rehearsed, made new prototypes, and finally presented.We won first place - $15,000 and free participation in a summer incubator program.While I was off at Tesla that summer, Kaylie spent the summer helping to further refine what the hell we were doing. I would task friends that I met during my internship into helping design CAD models, and we used a bit of the money from the competition to buy a 3D printer. We shipped it to California and it was in the closet of the room that I was renting. I’d work at Tesla during the day, and then my friend, Nick Beyrer, and I would print 3D prototypes at night. I’d ship those back to Kaylie for the weekly design reviews that she had to participate in, and that’s how our first 124 prototypes were developed.imageThe 3D printer in our first “office” - a walk-in closetAt the end of summer, Tesla asked if I was interested in staying on. At this point, Kaylie and I thought we had a good chance of finding an angel investor. I packed up and headed back to Mississippi to finish my final semester and make a final decision on my post-graduation life. We found an investor, and I decided to stay in Mississippi - trading my automotive engineering dreams to instead created liquid-activated, light up drink cubes.Take us through the process of designing, prototyping, and manufacturing your first product.I graduated in December 2015 and started as employee number 1 at Glo in January 2016. Our bank account had $30,000 in it from our previous winnings and our first investor. We thought we were set. I found a manufacturer in China and sent over the CAD files. We spent about $10,000 on tooling and various startup costs and received our first shipment a few weeks later. They were awful. My background has nothing to do with CAD - I had no idea what I was doing - and ** I realized I had just blown $10,000 - just like that**. Luckily, I found some help through a mutual friend, David Francis, who fixed our files for manufacturing. We dropped another $10,000 and gave it a second go.This shipment was much better, but that $30,000 had dwindled to just $10,000 because of my mistakes. I was living off of a $17,000 yearly salary and things weren’t looking great. We still had to pay for patents, website costs, shipping software, office space, etc. I pleaded with an attorney to write our patent application for $500. We negotiated with a landlord for deferred rent. We “stole” the internet from the neighbors next door. I found a label printer for $25 from eBay. We had no idea how to mass-produce items, so our first packs of Glo Cubes were heat-sealed - by hand - in the office, with a paper label stapled to the top. We made it work - but we knew we had to start selling to stay afloat.Describe the process of launching the business.We found a cocktail maniac, the Tipsy Bartender, on YouTube and reached out. He loved the Glo Cubes and asked us to send some. A few weeks later, the Aurora Borealis video came out. It got about 7 million views in the first week and we quickly found ourselves in a manufacturing and logistical nightmare. For about two days, we averaged an order of Glo Cubes every two minutes.Kaylie and I stayed at the office until 2:00 am every day that week hand packaging Glo Cubes and we brought in several friends to help us catch up with orders.imageUs hand-packaging Glo Cubes to fulfill initial orders (Left to right: Hagan, Hagan’s sister Caroline (seated), Anna Barker, Kaylie Mitchell, Parker Stewart)We had a taste of what could be - and it was exhilarating, but we had to figure out how to make it last. After the initial excitement of the video wore down, so did sales. We had to figure out how to actually sell our items - which I was awful at. Picking up the phone and getting repeatedly turned down over a product that I created was like someone punching me in the gut, over and over again. However, this eventually paid off - we found a tea bar (of all things) that agreed to a $40,000 recurring order and kept us afloat for a while. This wasn’t our only order, but it was the biggest at the time. We hustled for the next year, working to capture and retain customers, creating actual packaging, hiring our first intern, Shelby Baldwin, and finding out what we needed to do next. We were hitting our stride and ended 2016 in the black. Not by much - but not bad after just a year of sales.In early 2017, Kaylie made a decision to depart the company. We had different views on company direction, but she also had an excellent opportunity to get her Master’s degree from the University of Arkansas, completely paid for. For a few months, things were looking bleak. It was just Shelby and me working day-to-day to find the next key account (by the way, Kaylie and I are still good friends and talk regularly).Thankfully, we were able to find a rockstar. I can’t speak enough about the Mississippi State CEO. Every time it seemed like all was going to fall apart, the CEO’s Directors Eric Hill and Jeffrey Rupp were there to motivate, to encourage, and to help bring the pieces back together. They introduced me to Anna Barker - an international business major - who had an ambitious idea of her own, which landed her with a stellar job offer from insurance conglomerate AIG. I was somehow able to convince Anna to stay in Mississippi and join in as my partner, and her accepting likely saved the company - and that’s how I now have a co-founder and also a partner.We brainstormed about new avenues, pursuing new sales leads, next steps, and everything in between. About that time, we also received an email from a parent. She had gotten our Glo Cubes from a restaurant in California and realized they were liquid-activated. She took them home and threw them into the bathtub. It was the first time her son, who is autistic, took a bath in weeks without crying, and it got us thinking - what if we targeted our products towards an entirely different market?That’s exactly what we did. Anna led efforts on the Glo Pals, creating the whole brand and little characters with their own personalities. We used our same liquid-activation technology, and pad printed each character’s face on our light-up cubes to create these products for a new market. Since the only difference between the Glo Cubes and Glo Pals is a pad print, the costs for creating this new product were super low. We were also extremely lucky to obtain the domain as well as @glopals for all of our social media handles.In late 2017, Anna and I went through our first funding round and secured $125,000 for growth. We were hitting our stride again and had money to take the next step. We hired our first full-time employee, Hanna Bridge, as our sales director and as sales picked up, we moved from our 700 square foot office into an incredible 3,500 square foot office in 2018.The Glo Pals also launched in 2018 and blew us away. In the first half of 2018, we picked up 400 retailers across the USA and Canada. By the end of 2018, we had picked up 600 more. Our small team of 3 full-time employees and 5 part-timers were working overtime to keep up, and things got so busy during Christmas that we had friends and family sitting on the floor packaging boxes because we were out of space.imageJanuary 2018 - Hanna, Anna, and I cut the ribbon at the new Glo offices, surrounded by friends, family, and community members.Since launch, what has worked to attract and retain customers?So now, there’s two brands - Glo Cubes and Glo Pals - and each has to be marketed completely differently. Let’s start with Glo Cubes:We look for key accounts. The Glo Cube model is based on volume. We attend trade shows and try to find restaurants, bars, and other entertainment venues that can buy in bulk. This helps our margins significantly because we can also sell in bulk without having to use retail packaging. These places tend to place a carton behind the bar and the bartenders do the job of adding them to drinks.We set up recurring sales. We’ll give discounts of 10 to 20% off of our wholesale pricing if they’ll sign a recurring contract. For most, this means receiving between 5,000 to 50,000 cubes monthly. By doing it this way, it makes it much easier for us to forecast sales and also helps provide a consistent revenue stream.We continuously brainstorm. It’s important to keep innovating. We patented the light-up bath bomb concept and then partnered with Da Bomb Bath Fizzers. They put our Glo Cubes inside their Glow Bomb and Disco Bomb. When you drop these bath bombs in water, they fizz, as all bath bombs do, but as soon as water enters the liquid activation chamber of the Glo Cube, the bath bomb lights up - and so does your tub. It’s a fun product that is a win-win for both companies. You can find the Glow and Disco Bombs at Target and Ulta.For Glo Pals:We appeal much more to the end customer. We focus heavily on the environmentally-conscious trendy mom, with children between ages 3-6 years old. We do this through more traditional avenues, like Facebook Ads and through collaborations with other notable and trusted brands, like Kaplan Early Learning Company.We are real. A strategic move by Anna and our Creative Director, Brittney Dowell, is to be completely transparent. We work very hard to engage with customers on Facebook and Instagram, we strive to have amazing customer service, and we show what’s happening behind the scenes - including showing how the Glo Pals are packaged, our office dogs, Brittney’s daughter Ida, and more. We don’t ever hide or delete comments, and we tackle issues head-on. So much of social media is a perception, and we want everyone to know that the products you see are designed right here in the USA to be both fun and safe by the team you see behind the scenes - not an illusion.We utilize rep groups. We’re still a small team, so it’s impossible to do everything in-house. We’re very selective, but we have a number of rep groups that help us pick up new stores throughout the USA and Canada. For their efforts, they get between 10%-15% of the sale as commission. This allows us to focus on core areas, such as customer service, quality, safety, and logistics while letting customers engage with sales reps that they already know and trust.How are you doing today and what does the future look like?Things are going well! We just hired an office manager and are releasing new products for the Glo Pals in about a week - stay tuned! We have been profitable since 2016, and have tripled revenue every year since then. Our average gross margin across both brands is 62%, including wholesale customers.I do believe ads are important, as long as you’re seeing the return that you want. For example, during the Christmas season 2018, we were spending $800 a day on ads. This seems crazy to me, but we set up rules on Facebook that as long as our cost per purchase was below $4.00 (a pack of four cubes is only $10.00), to increase spending by 2x daily. The ad spends after Thanksgiving started at $25, then went to $50, then $100 and so on. From November 15th to December 21st, we brought in $50,000 in sales with an average order volume of $19.75 and a gross margin of 79.6% (our gross margins are much better selling direct to consumers, of course).Since this time, we’ve seen a much less effective return on ads - our products have lots of seasonality - so we’ve cut down on spend significantly. We might spend $50/week on ads right now just to keep our Facebook pixel happy. We’ll pick things back up during the new product launch and as Christmas gets a bit closer.Earlier this year, we also picked up Cracker Barrel and Nordstrom as Glo Pals retailers and are working on several more key retailer partnerships for 2020. However, we’ve also spent a considerable amount of time this year working on the new Glo Pals product - it’s been a very close repeat of my first experience trying to get the Glo Cubes manufactured. The product is more complex, further complicating the manufacturing process - and it’s a good reminder of the things we take for granted every day. No one thinks about material thickness of the plastic on your phone case or how many iterations of that plastic cups were made before mass production started. Even the simplest of items probably took months of iterations before the design moved forward.Through starting the business, have you learned anything particularly helpful or advantageous?Yes! I’ve learned so much - and I continue to learn every day. I’ve always told myself the day that I’m no longer learning something new is the day that it’ll be time for me to find something else to do. That hasn’t happened yet, and I don’t expect it anytime soon.Starting a business can really test you as a person. You carry the stress with you - you’ll likely age a bit faster than your friends. I also worry about what’s next, and now that we have 15 people on the payroll, you also realize that those people are depending on you and your guidance for a paycheck. That can be compounded more when you know some of your employees have families, young children, and issues of their own.On the other hand, I’ve learned a lot about people. I’ve learned what to look for in new hires, how to find people that truly care about their jobs and are always willing to go above and beyond to move the needle forward (hint, it’s not always a good resume). I’ve learned a bit about compassion, and I’ve learned to be more appreciative. I’ve learned the value of a good partner - a true business partner is not someone who will always agree with you. Anna and I might disagree daily, but it forces us both to approach ideas from a different view, and typically, it allows us to land on the best decision, which is incredibly important.I also have this strong belief that we’re all put on earth to help one another. You can’t ever think of yourself as too good to help someone in need or too big to roll up your sleeves and get dirty. Even if your company or products don’t inherently help someone, you can take just a bit of your earnings and give back to a local charity, school, or community. It doesn’t matter how, as long as you’re doing good.What platform/tools do you use for your business?Yep, we’re the quirky group that doesn’t use Shopify. It doesn’t make sense to my engineer-y brain. I hate Shopify’s liquid language. So, for now, we’re sticking with Squarespace (which also has some work to do for more advanced users, but it’s the easiest platform for our whole team to use). We also have guest contributors write blog posts for us from time to time and it’s so easy to give permissions for temporary users in Squarespace. I also love their new integration with Zapier, and am a huge fan of ShipStation. For example, if a customer needs a replacement, they can just fill out a Squarespace form. This, in conjunction with Zapier, pushes a replacement request into ShipStation and automatically creates a shipping label for our fulfillment team.I mentioned ShipStation earlier and our team LOVES ShipStation. We’ve also been very happy with Finale Inventory once we outgrew the built-in inventory features of ShipStation. We also use QuickBooks, as it makes it easy to do online invoicing and is essentially the standard in small business accounting.We are an open book company and use Geckoboard to show company stats in real-time to a display in the company kitchen. It shows weekly sales for each rep, our overall company goal, aged accounts receivables, production stats, and more.We also use Pipedrive as our CRM and couldn’t make it without Zoho Desk for customer support management. We also use Zoho Mail - it’s dirt cheap and is packed with features.What have been the most influential books, podcasts, or other resources?I’m a big fan of the Great Game of Business by Jack Stack and Traction by Gino Wickman. These two books both emphasize the importance of making sure your team is on the same page and both provide helpful tools to get to that point. I also believe that running an open company is important.Every single one of our employees knows our revenue goal and each knows how their job affects that number. Those ideas came from the books I mentioned above.Advice for other entrepreneurs who want to get started or are just starting out?You have to have a drive. I believe starting a business is one of the single hardest things that one can do. We also use this term often - you have to be teachable. If you’re unteachable, you likely won’t make it very far. What I mean by that is that you have to not only listen but be comfortable with adapting. There are people out there that are much more talented than you or I, and if you get a chance to hear their views on your product or company idea, take them, think about them, and seriously consider what they have to say.I also think it’s extremely important to have a partner, or at a minimum, a sounding board. There have been several occasions that without Anna’s perspective, my decision would have been the wrong one. Having a partner or co-founder (or both, in my case) also helps you to share the load and each of you can use your respective talents for overall success. Whereas I’m extremely analytical and focus more on operations and items behind the scenes, Anna focuses heavily on the front-scene items - like marketing, public relations, and design. I believe it’s extremely important to recognize your weaknesses and find someone that can help fill those gaps.Lastly, you need to enjoy what you do, and how you do it. For us, it’s having dogs at the office, a laid back atmosphere, company happy hours, and celebrating the wins - no matter how big or small. You may do things differently, but be sure to enjoy it.Are you looking to hire for certain positions right now?We’re always looking for talent in a number of areas. We’re in a unique position to create positions as we grow, so if this story inspired you and you have a talent that you think would benefit our team, please do reach out!Where can we go to learn more?I’m extremely grateful to be able to share our company’s story with you, and to whoever of you made it to the end of this article, thanks for your time, and best of luck to each of you and your future endeavors!Glo Pals:InstagramFacebookglopals.comGlo Cubes:InstagramFacebookglocubes.comMe:EmailIf you have any questions or comments, drop a comment below!Liked this text interview? Check out the full interview with photos, tools, books, and other data.For more interviews, check out r/starter_story - I post new stories there daily.Interested in sharing your own story? Send me a PM
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Tip cheap car insurance in ny with dui
Tip cheap car insurance in ny with dui
Tip cheap car insurance in ny with dui
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Tip cheap car insurance in ny with dui
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Car Insurance. 50/50?
"Car Insurance. 50/50?
I was in a minor car accident like a month ago. and they've finally almost resolved the claim. It's probably going to be 50/50, now how will that work out in terms of money?? As in, I had an estimate of the cost it would have took to fix my damage, am I gonna get half of that?
BEST ANSWER:  Try this site where you can compare quotes: : http://freeautoinsurance.xyz/index.html?src=tumblr 
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I turned 17 last month and I have started my driving lessons. I am looking to buy a car, paying monthly over a 48 month-ish period. I want a car that's around 2500, but as expected, I can't seem to find a reasonable insurance quote anywhere. Just wondering whether anyone's had any joy? Both my parents (who would be on the insurance) haven't got any claims etc, I live in a registered D area according to the insurance area bands, I can keep my mileage below 3000 and keep my car on my driveway. Just wondering whether people gone with NFU, and basically good companies who could do a reasonable quote.""
How much is my insurance going to go up?
I messed up, and rear ended a car. The cop said that while it was my fault, and I admitted that, it's largely because of the crazy intersection. Anyways, my car doesn't have a scratch but the other car's bumper completely fell off (It was a cheap car, so I'd estimate the damages at about $500 at the MOST. If that effects anything). No one was hurt either. I'm insured by AAA, but I'm a 17 year old so I know it looks bad. I've never gotten in an accident before, and I've been driving for almost two years. How much can I expect it to go up? ANY general idea would be nice. Thanks!""
Can Anyone please tell me where to get cheap car insurance for my 17 year old son who has just passed his test
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Can I drive my car without insurance ?
Okay, so I've had my Chevy taho 1 year, i just canceled my insurance cause I'm about to sell it I'm living in California moving to Colorado so I'm gonna sell my car...I know in cali Seller must smog the car a 2nd time, but am i taking a risk driving it to go get it smoged? also.... i have not driven it cause I planned on selling it so it's also not renewed.... and to make matters worse I lost my tile, positive honest answers please =(""
What is some good cheap car insurance for young adults between the ages of 18-24?
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16 year old male car insurance?
Im going to be 16 soon, and my uncle said that I could use his 1968 Corvette. However, I found out about the insurance. My friend said it would be several thousand dollars a month, and I don't believe him. So, what would be the cost of my car insurance(an estimate)? Thank you for your time!""
What is an affordable insurance for my child?
Im looking for an affordable insurance company for my daughter that has decent copays and covers dental, eye, meds etc. Ive been looking online but cant seem to find what im looking for. If anyone has any experience or suggestions your help is appreciated. Thank you!""
Will his insurance go up Texas?
Ok so my friend just got a ticket. It was his fault he took a free right and a cop was taking his green left and my friend cut him off nasty. The cop ended up giving him a ticket. It said failure to stop at a red light but our question is...will his insurance go up, because he is worried...thanks!""
Does anybody know a affordable health insurance in los angeles? needed to see a physician.?
Does anybody know a affordable health insurance in los angeles? needed to see a physician.?
Can car insurance limit your driving distance by gade?
My father wouldn't let me road trip to another state because my car insurance would only let me drive from here to school. Can car insurance limit the places you drive?
Insurance for 2 cars with 2 different companys?
I have got a citroen xsara. which has got an insurance with Express till 17/02. I am now buying a mazda 3 which am planning to have it insured today itself with Halifax. Is this legal?
What's the cheapest car insurance for a young driver?
I know this is a common question but what is the cheapest car insuance for a you driver I'm only 20
Must I have car insurance?
I'm thinking about buying a car but cannot afford the insurance. Can I have a car with no insurance? I live in Amherst Massachusetts and not really familiar with the rules over here. Thanks a lot for any respond.
I was just wondering if anyone knows how much your car insurance goes up if you have been into an accident?
I was just wondering if anyone knows how much your car insurance goes up if you have been into an accident?
Insurance for 16 year old boy?
My son is look at an 2002 honda civic. what is the average insurance cost for his age and this car? please help.
I need help trying to get the cheapest car insurance.?
Im 18 years old i past my driving test in September but can afford insurance, the lowest quote ive been given is 3000 pounds which is outrageous. Is there any way i could find cheap insurance and what would be the car to help too !!! :) Thanks !!!""
Health insurance overlap! Two health insurance companies - is this ok?
Is it legal to have medical insurance with two separate health insurance companies during the transition between the two? And if one denies a claim, can you still file with the other?""
How much is an occasional drivers insurance in ontario?
I am 16 i have a g2 i drive and 2003 dodge caravan sxt its my dads how much would it cost to list me as an occasional driver with TD insurance
Only Teens please :) How much do you pay for auto insurance?
Teen payments 19 years old preference
How much would the insurance be on a 1969 Camaro Z28 or a 1969 Dodge Charger?
I'm looking at buying a 1969 Camaro Z28 or a 1969 Dodge Charger. Would there be a difference in the insurance? I'm 17 but by the time I find my car I'll probably be around 18 or even 19 considering that the car may need some work. I live in Ontario and I want full coverage.
Car Insurance. 50/50?
I was in a minor car accident like a month ago. and they've finally almost resolved the claim. It's probably going to be 50/50, now how will that work out in terms of money?? As in, I had an estimate of the cost it would have took to fix my damage, am I gonna get half of that?
How much will I pay for car insurance? Estimate.?
I am looking to buy a car this Spring (new, from a dealership). When I do, I will be 24, female, and have had my license for just under a year. Since I passed my road test, I have not been driving or on any insurance at all. I will be the main driver on this vehicle, though there might be a secondary driver. I will probably by a small car, like a Yaris, or a Hyundai Elentra. Something cheap, good on gas, safe, and not fast or sporty. It will be automatic. I am a university graduate (not sure if that matters but I heard it does). I will live in a town with about 100,000 people. About how much am I looking at car insurance/month? I have tried the online sites but find them confusing. Some people tell me $100, but the online estimates can be $300-400.""
What is the approximate cost of minimum coverage auto insurance in Ohio if you are young and drive a small car?
I know this depends on a lot of factors, but from the information given, just GUESS. How much? How much for someone that is about 22 years old, been driving since 17, never had an accident, never gotten a ticket.""
Car Insurance in CA - Question?
If my dad added me onto his insurance policy (Farmers) on one of our family cars, am I allowed to drive the other car as well? I believe that both cars are under the same policy, since the insurance company asked my mom which car she was driving when she was making a claim. Would I be allowed to drive both cars?""
Car insurance help!!!?
Hi me and my boyfriend are both new drivers. We bought a car together a few months ago a renault clio. We insured the car as me as the main driver. Fully comp. Our insurance costs 1885 annual. We have now decided to get another car... another Renault clio exactly the same. Are we insured to drive the second car? Do we have to add it on? Get another policy? Can we cancel? So confused please help xx
On average how much more would the cost be for insurance for a house with a pool?
We are thinking about buying a home in So Cal that is a 4 +2 house on a 10,000 sq ft lot. The house has a pool though, and our concern would be what the cost of insurance would be. The pool is deep, and there is no diving board, and at the present time there is no fence. What do you all think? We have small children, so once we purchase the home, we will put a fence up, but we're just trying to guesstimate at this point. If anyone has any thoughts, by all means share them! I really appreciate any direction I can get with this. *I would rather not call 50 Insurance agencies to get quotes and have someone selling something I don't need yet!* Thanks a bunch.""
Why can't responsible working people get low-cost health insurance?
Here's my big fault: I have no fatherless children, in fact, I have no children. Yet I have to hear a girl that I work with (who makes more than I do) talk about how she has state health insurance (I believe Medicaid) at an extremely low cost, since she made the decision to have a child with a man that she knew was a criminal, and is now serving time in prison. (And oh yeah, I drive an 11-year-old car, she just recently got a new one. But I know, that's easy when you get a free ride for the necessities.) So, why can't there be affordable health insurance for everyone, even if you did not choose to pump out a child (or children) you knew you could not afford to take care of?""
Auto Insurance Rates...Own Vs. Lease?
I'd like to know if there is a HUGE difference in monthly auto insurance rates if you Lease a car instead of buying one? Things to consider for my scenario: 1) I'm a 23 yr old male, so my rates are still higher until I turn 25 2) Will have to have full coverage considering I won't own the vehicle in either scenario (I'd have to finance if I bought). Any info would be greatly appreciated!""
Can I get a car without insurance if I am 16?
So my mom has statefarm but refuses to pay for my insurance if I get a car, I'm 16 and in Colorado, do I need insurance to get a car. This guy across thr street is selling a really cool car cheap and I want to get, would I need insyrance to buy a car and drive it, or cam I get it and avoid accidents.""
Motorcycle insurance in ontario?
How much would Motorcycle insurance be for 16 year old male liveing in Ontario? I was thinking of getting an older ninja between the years of 1987 - 96. Just wondering how much it would be around . I tried an insurance quote online, but it didnt really turn out right. Thanks""
Does anyone know what the average insurance rates are for OTR owner operators?
Just a rough estimate....I'm doing some research.
What is the cost of general liability insurance for a small business?
My history class is doing a business plan project, and I'm wondering what the cost of liability insurance for a softball training center would be?""
How can i make my car insurance quote cheaper?
When i get quotes online they are really expensive, what could i change to make it cheaper?""
Life insurance policy on live in boyfriend?
my boyfriend and i have lived together for 7 years and have a daughter together. he is alot older and if something happens i get scared of what would happen to me and the kids. ive already talked to him and he agrees that i should get a life insurance policy on him. just in case. is this possible? and can u reccomend anywhere i could get one? thanx
Purchasing health insurance?
I need to purchase health insurance. I should have purchased it a while ago because now I really need to use it. Will I be able to use it for a preexisting condition (fracture)? Any advice on a plan to purchase?
Affordable health coverage? Is there such a thing?
Single, living in NYC and I'n looking for a health insurance plan that has a good pharmacutical co-pay and doctor coverage. Can some of you let me know what plan you are on that is somewhat affordable? Thanks!""
Auto Body shop quote and Insurance quote?
My insurance adjuster came out and cut me a check for 1,200. The check issued is a fair price.The shop i trust gave me a quote of 1,300 which means I will only have to pay 100 out of pocket. My deductible is 500. Do i still have to pay 500 even though the check will cover most of the expenses?""
How can i get cheap car insurance?
is there anyway i could reduce my insurance costs
How much does an accidet impact your car insurance?
If you had a slight bump with another car down a one track country lane. And you both claimed on insurance and the damage was about 200. When you next go and insure yourself how much more would it be approx. If you were 18
Does anyone use or heard of Response.com for auto insurance?
Response.com seems to have the least expensive insurance rates at plans that are what I currently have. Going with them would save a lot of money but I've never heard of them personally.
Cheap car insurance companies?
What car insurance companies are cheap... and do they have a web site/phone number so I can get a quote
Does anyone know approximately how much sr22 bond insurance costs for a dui offense?
Does anyone know approximately how much sr22 bond insurance costs for a dui offense?
Cheap car insurance...?
If you buy a shitty car for like $500, can you get insurance that only covers the other person in a crash and not you?? I know they used to have this?""
Car insurance quotes?
I have just spent an endless amount of time on various car insurance sites, which start of with reasonable quotes then you add the bits and pieces on and you end up with ridiculous final costs. I am not insuring a 0-60 in 5 seconds type car but a small 1.4 Honda I am fully aware that any car can cause damage,my wife drives the car,has had no claims or convictions. I have a larger car and the insurance is 50 cheaper than all quotes received so far,which includes breakdown recovery,protected no claims and legal cover. anyone with car insurance advice would be appreciated, these car insurance sites are a pain""
How much will the insurance company offer for my car?
a couple questions and description..... my car was involved in an accident and deemed a total loss. I was curious on how much the insurance company may offer? the accident was not my fault. i would like to buy it back though and fix it. how much do they usually offer a totaled car back for? its a 1994 honda accord lx with 128500 on her. shes in good condition with a small 1/4 size spot of rust on the left rear fender. everything else is in working condition. its a dark blue/green color. A/C, cruise, good tires, new cd player/ am/ fm, new speakers, new timing belt, distributor and ignition switch. it has a 2.2 4cylinder, automatic. any help is appreciated. interior is very clean, and paint was good condition. thank you!""
Sprint insurance question.?
Can you only start insurance on your phone when you get it, or can you put insurance on it whenever you want? My phone is acting up and i've been on the contract for a few months now. Can I put insurance on the phone and then have the phone replaced with a new one?""
Car Insurance. 50/50?
I was in a minor car accident like a month ago. and they've finally almost resolved the claim. It's probably going to be 50/50, now how will that work out in terms of money?? As in, I had an estimate of the cost it would have took to fix my damage, am I gonna get half of that?
https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/monthly-auto-insurance-quotes-luis-brooks/"
0 notes
repwinpril9y0a1 · 7 years
Text
My Dad’s Chair
My parents bought this chair and a matching couch not long after they were married in 1951. This was my dad’s chair. If you were sitting in it when he walked into the room he gave you the friendly thumb twist, which simply meant: get up.
When dad retired to his chair, that was his time. It was his time to read the newspaper, to watch a ballgame or a movie, or to take a nap. Whether or not the world and his responsibilities were on his mind, it was his place to unwind and just exist.
I remember the sound of his laughter, when he sat in his chair watching Johnny Carson. Each night before going to sleep I kissed my parents goodnight — dad sitting in his chair, mom in hers. I can still see the smile on dad’s face when, surround by his family, he sat in his chair, looking over his legacy. Dad always seemed at peace when he sat in his chair.
After my parents passed, I inherited my dad’s chair, and I sit in it often. I think about my daily challenges. I worry about my next job and where it will come from. I think about mortality: high blood pressure runs in my family. Has my cholesterol increased since my last blood work? I think about myself as a person. Will I be a good enough husband for Liz?
Then I stop, and I wonder what my dad’s thoughts were when he was my age, sitting in this chair, the father of ten, with another one on the way soon (me).
My dad was the first-born child, and the only son, of Italian immigrant parents. He grew up during the depression, when “times were really tough.” He often joked about how things were when he was a kid growing up on Beardsley Street, where crumbs were never left on the dinner plate.
He started working young, selling groceries off the back of a huckster truck. Dad picked up the accordion at a young age and he made a nice living performing and teaching music lessons.
My parents met on January 28, 1951. Dad’s band was performing at The Carovillese Club in Akron, Ohio. He saw my mom on the dance floor and immediately put down his accordion, told the sax player to “take it”, and asked my mom to dance. Two weeks later they were engaged; four months later they were married.
Dad landed a job at DuPont and spent nearly forty years with the company. In that time, he never missed a day of work. I’m not exaggerating: he never missed a day. He knew he was fortunate to have a job, and he worked hard. Dad enjoyed the company of his co-workers, and his boss appreciated him. They played cards at lunch, held company picnics, and when he retired, he was sent off with a hard-earned and well-deserved pension.
Dad was funny, had a sharp wit, and was quick with a smile. One morning, when I was in high school, I got up early to catch a ride with him. It was a cold morning and as we were walking to the car a squirrel came right up to my feet. I said, “Look dad, this squirrel must like me!” He responded without missing a beat: “Yeah, he thinks you’re nuts!��
Pops was Al Gore before Al Gore existed. We had to bring our paper lunch bags home from school to reuse the next day. If you left a room, you turned off the light, because Dad “didn’t work for the electric company.” If your shower ran longer than a few minutes, it was, “what are you washing in there, a battleship?”
Growing up, I had more than I needed. I never wondered whether or not there would be food on the table, a roof over my head, or love and attention from my family. Back then I didn’t recognize or understand that this wasn’t how everyone grew up. I had no idea what a budget was, or what dad meant when he said “money doesn’t grow on trees.” I thought you wrote a check and walked out with the goods.
When I was in middle school, Air Jordan’s were introduced, and being a huge Michael Jordan fan, I relentlessly bugged my parents to buy me a pair. I had the youthful mindset that these shoes would improve my vertical leap and my jump shot, whereas my dad saw that they were three times the price of the knockoff brand at Payless Shoes, which is the pair I got.
My dad was in the stands for my first game of the season. I can’t imagine what he was thinking as I was sliding across the floor, unable to stop, like someone had secretly sprayed grease on the bottom of my shoes. I remember hearing the father of another kid on the team laughing at me; I can still see his face. I don’t know if my dad heard him or not, but we went to the shoe store after the game and he bought me a pair of Jordans.
I wonder what my dad was thinking, or how he felt. I didn’t understood how hard he worked and the sacrifices he made so I could have, among other things, a pair of overpriced shoes that I didn’t really need. I think about how often he had to accept me and my childish ways, even when he had his own time-tested values that he adhered to in order to provide for a family of eleven.
Dad retired in 1990, after working nearly all of his life. Now he could wake up without an alarm; he could enjoy his morning coffee on the porch, and he could spend time and travel with his wife. While dad wasn’t the type to sit idle, he had earned his retirement and it fit him well.
In 1993, my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. The doctor told him to get his affairs in order. My sister Rose was at the appointment and she politely let the doctor know what he could do with that opinion.
At the time, Rose was working at a medical malpractice firm and she was in regular contact with the head of oncology at Akron General Medical Center. She explained dad’s diagnosis to him and he felt he could help. Dad was put on a trial procedure to shrink the tumor, receiving a massive combination of both chemotherapy and radiation at the same time. Dad was larger than life with endless energy, and now he was hooked up to machines and fed through a tube in his nose.
I watched the treatment pummel and transform him into someone I barely recognized. I was 20 years old at the time and didn’t understand how this was happening to my dad. I was too immature to process my emotions in a constructive way, so instead, I acted out. I kept a distance between the two of us. My dad’s sole purpose was to survive and I did my best to cause him stress.
My mom spent nearly all of her time at the hospital, coming home from time to time for a short break before heading back to be with dad. Dad’s mom and sisters, his children (minus me), and his faith kept him going. Thankfully, the treatment worked. Dad worked hard his entire life. He raised his family and went to church every Sunday, and even more important than that, he lived his religion. Then he retired and was diagnosed with lung cancer and given a 5% survival rate.
It didn’t seem fair, and I was too young to understand what was happening, that sometimes this was how life worked and that nothing is guaranteed.
I decided that the future was too much of a gamble for me, so my money was all for the moment. If this could happen to someone like my dad, then I’d be damned if I would save all my money for retirement only to get lung cancer a few years later. I left home and moved to Nashville. I was young and naive and I thought I knew everything.
Like many others my age, I didn’t understand my parents, and I had no idea how to respect them as human beings. I remember thinking that my parents were simple; that they didn’t understand all the dreams I had and the big world I was going to explore. I rarely called home and I didn’t have any clue how my actions affected my parents. I was on a mission to find my calling, and it was somewhere else.
Since then, many moves and many lessons later, I’ve realized how much I didn’t know and how much there is to learn, about myself, about others, and about life. I’ve realized that my parents were more than just my mom and dad. They were their own people, a man and a woman who fell in love and built a life together. They had experiences and hopes, a life, and dreams.
As an adult, I often apologized to my parents for all the trouble and heartache I caused them. Their response was always the same: “we never doubted your love.”
A few months before he passed, I asked my dad how he managed to provide for eleven kids and his wife. How did he even budget? I have two cats and there are days when I feel like that’s too much responsibility. His answer wasn’t a surprise: dad wasn’t the kind of person who drew attention to his deeds. “Well Ange, those were different times. Things cost less,” he told me. I thought for a minute, and he had a point.
The Internet, cell phones, and a computer for each kid wasn’t on his mind, but, he still had the awesome responsibility of bringing home enough money to feed us and keep a roof over our heads. I wish I could tell him now that I get it, that money and possessions aren’t what’s important, and that being the best person I can be, working hard and helping others, being my own man — that is what’s important. I wish, more than anything else, that I could thank him again.
As I grow older I recognize more of my dad in myself. I know now that he wasn’t simple at all, and that he found his peace. I see the values in him in the people I surround myself with. Everyone in these photographs has made some kind of impact on my life, whether it’s their love, their belief in me, or the way they live their lives; and each photograph has been accompanied by conversation and visiting.
The more photographs I made, the less I wanted to just send a text or post to social media. I wanted to see the people I love. I wanted to hear their voices. I wanted to keep my parents legacy alive by sharing the values they instilled in me.
I hope to be a parent one day; I wonder what kind of dad I’ll be? Will I be patient and understanding? Will I lead by example like my dad did? Will I love my child no matter what he or she does? Not long before my dad died he told me how proud he was that in his life he provided for his family, and that if he passed before Mom that she would always be taken care of by his insurance and his pension.
So much of where my life is today stems from the sacrifices my parents made, and their ability to get up every day and do what they had to do, with such pride, resilience, and dedication. Sitting in his chair now, I find inspiration in the very thing I once ran from.
This chair has been witness to my mom, 11 children, 17 grandchildren, 5 great-grandchildren, spouses, and nearly 63 years of marriage. This chair has watched children grow up to have their own families; it has seen both love and loss. No doubt my dad sat in this chair and watched The Beatles on Ed Sullivan; Walter Cronkite broadcasting Kennedy’s death; The Vietnam War; the falling of The Berlin Wall. This chair brought in a new millennium.
This chair bid farewell to my parents and was passed on to a new generation, to birth new memories.
About the author: Angelo Merendino is a photographer based in New York. You can follow him on Twitter here. The project “The Battle We Didn’t Choose” can be found in its entirety here.
from DIYS http://ift.tt/2ohTrJp
0 notes
exfrenchdorsl4p0a1 · 7 years
Text
My Dad’s Chair
My parents bought this chair and a matching couch not long after they were married in 1951. This was my dad’s chair. If you were sitting in it when he walked into the room he gave you the friendly thumb twist, which simply meant: get up.
When dad retired to his chair, that was his time. It was his time to read the newspaper, to watch a ballgame or a movie, or to take a nap. Whether or not the world and his responsibilities were on his mind, it was his place to unwind and just exist.
I remember the sound of his laughter, when he sat in his chair watching Johnny Carson. Each night before going to sleep I kissed my parents goodnight — dad sitting in his chair, mom in hers. I can still see the smile on dad’s face when, surround by his family, he sat in his chair, looking over his legacy. Dad always seemed at peace when he sat in his chair.
After my parents passed, I inherited my dad’s chair, and I sit in it often. I think about my daily challenges. I worry about my next job and where it will come from. I think about mortality: high blood pressure runs in my family. Has my cholesterol increased since my last blood work? I think about myself as a person. Will I be a good enough husband for Liz?
Then I stop, and I wonder what my dad’s thoughts were when he was my age, sitting in this chair, the father of ten, with another one on the way soon (me).
My dad was the first-born child, and the only son, of Italian immigrant parents. He grew up during the depression, when “times were really tough.” He often joked about how things were when he was a kid growing up on Beardsley Street, where crumbs were never left on the dinner plate.
He started working young, selling groceries off the back of a huckster truck. Dad picked up the accordion at a young age and he made a nice living performing and teaching music lessons.
My parents met on January 28, 1951. Dad’s band was performing at The Carovillese Club in Akron, Ohio. He saw my mom on the dance floor and immediately put down his accordion, told the sax player to “take it”, and asked my mom to dance. Two weeks later they were engaged; four months later they were married.
Dad landed a job at DuPont and spent nearly forty years with the company. In that time, he never missed a day of work. I’m not exaggerating: he never missed a day. He knew he was fortunate to have a job, and he worked hard. Dad enjoyed the company of his co-workers, and his boss appreciated him. They played cards at lunch, held company picnics, and when he retired, he was sent off with a hard-earned and well-deserved pension.
Dad was funny, had a sharp wit, and was quick with a smile. One morning, when I was in high school, I got up early to catch a ride with him. It was a cold morning and as we were walking to the car a squirrel came right up to my feet. I said, “Look dad, this squirrel must like me!” He responded without missing a beat: “Yeah, he thinks you’re nuts!”
Pops was Al Gore before Al Gore existed. We had to bring our paper lunch bags home from school to reuse the next day. If you left a room, you turned off the light, because Dad “didn’t work for the electric company.” If your shower ran longer than a few minutes, it was, “what are you washing in there, a battleship?”
Growing up, I had more than I needed. I never wondered whether or not there would be food on the table, a roof over my head, or love and attention from my family. Back then I didn’t recognize or understand that this wasn’t how everyone grew up. I had no idea what a budget was, or what dad meant when he said “money doesn’t grow on trees.” I thought you wrote a check and walked out with the goods.
When I was in middle school, Air Jordan’s were introduced, and being a huge Michael Jordan fan, I relentlessly bugged my parents to buy me a pair. I had the youthful mindset that these shoes would improve my vertical leap and my jump shot, whereas my dad saw that they were three times the price of the knockoff brand at Payless Shoes, which is the pair I got.
My dad was in the stands for my first game of the season. I can’t imagine what he was thinking as I was sliding across the floor, unable to stop, like someone had secretly sprayed grease on the bottom of my shoes. I remember hearing the father of another kid on the team laughing at me; I can still see his face. I don’t know if my dad heard him or not, but we went to the shoe store after the game and he bought me a pair of Jordans.
I wonder what my dad was thinking, or how he felt. I didn’t understood how hard he worked and the sacrifices he made so I could have, among other things, a pair of overpriced shoes that I didn’t really need. I think about how often he had to accept me and my childish ways, even when he had his own time-tested values that he adhered to in order to provide for a family of eleven.
Dad retired in 1990, after working nearly all of his life. Now he could wake up without an alarm; he could enjoy his morning coffee on the porch, and he could spend time and travel with his wife. While dad wasn’t the type to sit idle, he had earned his retirement and it fit him well.
In 1993, my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. The doctor told him to get his affairs in order. My sister Rose was at the appointment and she politely let the doctor know what he could do with that opinion.
At the time, Rose was working at a medical malpractice firm and she was in regular contact with the head of oncology at Akron General Medical Center. She explained dad’s diagnosis to him and he felt he could help. Dad was put on a trial procedure to shrink the tumor, receiving a massive combination of both chemotherapy and radiation at the same time. Dad was larger than life with endless energy, and now he was hooked up to machines and fed through a tube in his nose.
I watched the treatment pummel and transform him into someone I barely recognized. I was 20 years old at the time and didn’t understand how this was happening to my dad. I was too immature to process my emotions in a constructive way, so instead, I acted out. I kept a distance between the two of us. My dad’s sole purpose was to survive and I did my best to cause him stress.
My mom spent nearly all of her time at the hospital, coming home from time to time for a short break before heading back to be with dad. Dad’s mom and sisters, his children (minus me), and his faith kept him going. Thankfully, the treatment worked. Dad worked hard his entire life. He raised his family and went to church every Sunday, and even more important than that, he lived his religion. Then he retired and was diagnosed with lung cancer and given a 5% survival rate.
It didn’t seem fair, and I was too young to understand what was happening, that sometimes this was how life worked and that nothing is guaranteed.
I decided that the future was too much of a gamble for me, so my money was all for the moment. If this could happen to someone like my dad, then I’d be damned if I would save all my money for retirement only to get lung cancer a few years later. I left home and moved to Nashville. I was young and naive and I thought I knew everything.
Like many others my age, I didn’t understand my parents, and I had no idea how to respect them as human beings. I remember thinking that my parents were simple; that they didn’t understand all the dreams I had and the big world I was going to explore. I rarely called home and I didn’t have any clue how my actions affected my parents. I was on a mission to find my calling, and it was somewhere else.
Since then, many moves and many lessons later, I’ve realized how much I didn’t know and how much there is to learn, about myself, about others, and about life. I’ve realized that my parents were more than just my mom and dad. They were their own people, a man and a woman who fell in love and built a life together. They had experiences and hopes, a life, and dreams.
As an adult, I often apologized to my parents for all the trouble and heartache I caused them. Their response was always the same: “we never doubted your love.”
A few months before he passed, I asked my dad how he managed to provide for eleven kids and his wife. How did he even budget? I have two cats and there are days when I feel like that’s too much responsibility. His answer wasn’t a surprise: dad wasn’t the kind of person who drew attention to his deeds. “Well Ange, those were different times. Things cost less,” he told me. I thought for a minute, and he had a point.
The Internet, cell phones, and a computer for each kid wasn’t on his mind, but, he still had the awesome responsibility of bringing home enough money to feed us and keep a roof over our heads. I wish I could tell him now that I get it, that money and possessions aren’t what’s important, and that being the best person I can be, working hard and helping others, being my own man — that is what’s important. I wish, more than anything else, that I could thank him again.
As I grow older I recognize more of my dad in myself. I know now that he wasn’t simple at all, and that he found his peace. I see the values in him in the people I surround myself with. Everyone in these photographs has made some kind of impact on my life, whether it’s their love, their belief in me, or the way they live their lives; and each photograph has been accompanied by conversation and visiting.
The more photographs I made, the less I wanted to just send a text or post to social media. I wanted to see the people I love. I wanted to hear their voices. I wanted to keep my parents legacy alive by sharing the values they instilled in me.
I hope to be a parent one day; I wonder what kind of dad I’ll be? Will I be patient and understanding? Will I lead by example like my dad did? Will I love my child no matter what he or she does? Not long before my dad died he told me how proud he was that in his life he provided for his family, and that if he passed before Mom that she would always be taken care of by his insurance and his pension.
So much of where my life is today stems from the sacrifices my parents made, and their ability to get up every day and do what they had to do, with such pride, resilience, and dedication. Sitting in his chair now, I find inspiration in the very thing I once ran from.
This chair has been witness to my mom, 11 children, 17 grandchildren, 5 great-grandchildren, spouses, and nearly 63 years of marriage. This chair has watched children grow up to have their own families; it has seen both love and loss. No doubt my dad sat in this chair and watched The Beatles on Ed Sullivan; Walter Cronkite broadcasting Kennedy’s death; The Vietnam War; the falling of The Berlin Wall. This chair brought in a new millennium.
This chair bid farewell to my parents and was passed on to a new generation, to birth new memories.
About the author: Angelo Merendino is a photographer based in New York. You can follow him on Twitter here. The project “The Battle We Didn’t Choose” can be found in its entirety here.
from DIYS http://ift.tt/2ohTrJp
0 notes
rtawngs20815 · 7 years
Text
My Dad’s Chair
My parents bought this chair and a matching couch not long after they were married in 1951. This was my dad’s chair. If you were sitting in it when he walked into the room he gave you the friendly thumb twist, which simply meant: get up.
When dad retired to his chair, that was his time. It was his time to read the newspaper, to watch a ballgame or a movie, or to take a nap. Whether or not the world and his responsibilities were on his mind, it was his place to unwind and just exist.
I remember the sound of his laughter, when he sat in his chair watching Johnny Carson. Each night before going to sleep I kissed my parents goodnight — dad sitting in his chair, mom in hers. I can still see the smile on dad’s face when, surround by his family, he sat in his chair, looking over his legacy. Dad always seemed at peace when he sat in his chair.
After my parents passed, I inherited my dad’s chair, and I sit in it often. I think about my daily challenges. I worry about my next job and where it will come from. I think about mortality: high blood pressure runs in my family. Has my cholesterol increased since my last blood work? I think about myself as a person. Will I be a good enough husband for Liz?
Then I stop, and I wonder what my dad’s thoughts were when he was my age, sitting in this chair, the father of ten, with another one on the way soon (me).
My dad was the first-born child, and the only son, of Italian immigrant parents. He grew up during the depression, when “times were really tough.” He often joked about how things were when he was a kid growing up on Beardsley Street, where crumbs were never left on the dinner plate.
He started working young, selling groceries off the back of a huckster truck. Dad picked up the accordion at a young age and he made a nice living performing and teaching music lessons.
My parents met on January 28, 1951. Dad’s band was performing at The Carovillese Club in Akron, Ohio. He saw my mom on the dance floor and immediately put down his accordion, told the sax player to “take it”, and asked my mom to dance. Two weeks later they were engaged; four months later they were married.
Dad landed a job at DuPont and spent nearly forty years with the company. In that time, he never missed a day of work. I’m not exaggerating: he never missed a day. He knew he was fortunate to have a job, and he worked hard. Dad enjoyed the company of his co-workers, and his boss appreciated him. They played cards at lunch, held company picnics, and when he retired, he was sent off with a hard-earned and well-deserved pension.
Dad was funny, had a sharp wit, and was quick with a smile. One morning, when I was in high school, I got up early to catch a ride with him. It was a cold morning and as we were walking to the car a squirrel came right up to my feet. I said, “Look dad, this squirrel must like me!” He responded without missing a beat: “Yeah, he thinks you’re nuts!”
Pops was Al Gore before Al Gore existed. We had to bring our paper lunch bags home from school to reuse the next day. If you left a room, you turned off the light, because Dad “didn’t work for the electric company.” If your shower ran longer than a few minutes, it was, “what are you washing in there, a battleship?”
Growing up, I had more than I needed. I never wondered whether or not there would be food on the table, a roof over my head, or love and attention from my family. Back then I didn’t recognize or understand that this wasn’t how everyone grew up. I had no idea what a budget was, or what dad meant when he said “money doesn’t grow on trees.” I thought you wrote a check and walked out with the goods.
When I was in middle school, Air Jordan’s were introduced, and being a huge Michael Jordan fan, I relentlessly bugged my parents to buy me a pair. I had the youthful mindset that these shoes would improve my vertical leap and my jump shot, whereas my dad saw that they were three times the price of the knockoff brand at Payless Shoes, which is the pair I got.
My dad was in the stands for my first game of the season. I can’t imagine what he was thinking as I was sliding across the floor, unable to stop, like someone had secretly sprayed grease on the bottom of my shoes. I remember hearing the father of another kid on the team laughing at me; I can still see his face. I don’t know if my dad heard him or not, but we went to the shoe store after the game and he bought me a pair of Jordans.
I wonder what my dad was thinking, or how he felt. I didn’t understood how hard he worked and the sacrifices he made so I could have, among other things, a pair of overpriced shoes that I didn’t really need. I think about how often he had to accept me and my childish ways, even when he had his own time-tested values that he adhered to in order to provide for a family of eleven.
Dad retired in 1990, after working nearly all of his life. Now he could wake up without an alarm; he could enjoy his morning coffee on the porch, and he could spend time and travel with his wife. While dad wasn’t the type to sit idle, he had earned his retirement and it fit him well.
In 1993, my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. The doctor told him to get his affairs in order. My sister Rose was at the appointment and she politely let the doctor know what he could do with that opinion.
At the time, Rose was working at a medical malpractice firm and she was in regular contact with the head of oncology at Akron General Medical Center. She explained dad’s diagnosis to him and he felt he could help. Dad was put on a trial procedure to shrink the tumor, receiving a massive combination of both chemotherapy and radiation at the same time. Dad was larger than life with endless energy, and now he was hooked up to machines and fed through a tube in his nose.
I watched the treatment pummel and transform him into someone I barely recognized. I was 20 years old at the time and didn’t understand how this was happening to my dad. I was too immature to process my emotions in a constructive way, so instead, I acted out. I kept a distance between the two of us. My dad’s sole purpose was to survive and I did my best to cause him stress.
My mom spent nearly all of her time at the hospital, coming home from time to time for a short break before heading back to be with dad. Dad’s mom and sisters, his children (minus me), and his faith kept him going. Thankfully, the treatment worked. Dad worked hard his entire life. He raised his family and went to church every Sunday, and even more important than that, he lived his religion. Then he retired and was diagnosed with lung cancer and given a 5% survival rate.
It didn’t seem fair, and I was too young to understand what was happening, that sometimes this was how life worked and that nothing is guaranteed.
I decided that the future was too much of a gamble for me, so my money was all for the moment. If this could happen to someone like my dad, then I’d be damned if I would save all my money for retirement only to get lung cancer a few years later. I left home and moved to Nashville. I was young and naive and I thought I knew everything.
Like many others my age, I didn’t understand my parents, and I had no idea how to respect them as human beings. I remember thinking that my parents were simple; that they didn’t understand all the dreams I had and the big world I was going to explore. I rarely called home and I didn’t have any clue how my actions affected my parents. I was on a mission to find my calling, and it was somewhere else.
Since then, many moves and many lessons later, I’ve realized how much I didn’t know and how much there is to learn, about myself, about others, and about life. I’ve realized that my parents were more than just my mom and dad. They were their own people, a man and a woman who fell in love and built a life together. They had experiences and hopes, a life, and dreams.
As an adult, I often apologized to my parents for all the trouble and heartache I caused them. Their response was always the same: “we never doubted your love.”
A few months before he passed, I asked my dad how he managed to provide for eleven kids and his wife. How did he even budget? I have two cats and there are days when I feel like that’s too much responsibility. His answer wasn’t a surprise: dad wasn’t the kind of person who drew attention to his deeds. “Well Ange, those were different times. Things cost less,” he told me. I thought for a minute, and he had a point.
The Internet, cell phones, and a computer for each kid wasn’t on his mind, but, he still had the awesome responsibility of bringing home enough money to feed us and keep a roof over our heads. I wish I could tell him now that I get it, that money and possessions aren’t what’s important, and that being the best person I can be, working hard and helping others, being my own man — that is what’s important. I wish, more than anything else, that I could thank him again.
As I grow older I recognize more of my dad in myself. I know now that he wasn’t simple at all, and that he found his peace. I see the values in him in the people I surround myself with. Everyone in these photographs has made some kind of impact on my life, whether it’s their love, their belief in me, or the way they live their lives; and each photograph has been accompanied by conversation and visiting.
The more photographs I made, the less I wanted to just send a text or post to social media. I wanted to see the people I love. I wanted to hear their voices. I wanted to keep my parents legacy alive by sharing the values they instilled in me.
I hope to be a parent one day; I wonder what kind of dad I’ll be? Will I be patient and understanding? Will I lead by example like my dad did? Will I love my child no matter what he or she does? Not long before my dad died he told me how proud he was that in his life he provided for his family, and that if he passed before Mom that she would always be taken care of by his insurance and his pension.
So much of where my life is today stems from the sacrifices my parents made, and their ability to get up every day and do what they had to do, with such pride, resilience, and dedication. Sitting in his chair now, I find inspiration in the very thing I once ran from.
This chair has been witness to my mom, 11 children, 17 grandchildren, 5 great-grandchildren, spouses, and nearly 63 years of marriage. This chair has watched children grow up to have their own families; it has seen both love and loss. No doubt my dad sat in this chair and watched The Beatles on Ed Sullivan; Walter Cronkite broadcasting Kennedy’s death; The Vietnam War; the falling of The Berlin Wall. This chair brought in a new millennium.
This chair bid farewell to my parents and was passed on to a new generation, to birth new memories.
About the author: Angelo Merendino is a photographer based in New York. You can follow him on Twitter here. The project “The Battle We Didn’t Choose” can be found in its entirety here.
from DIYS http://ift.tt/2ohTrJp
0 notes
grgedoors02142 · 7 years
Text
My Dad’s Chair
My parents bought this chair and a matching couch not long after they were married in 1951. This was my dad’s chair. If you were sitting in it when he walked into the room he gave you the friendly thumb twist, which simply meant: get up.
When dad retired to his chair, that was his time. It was his time to read the newspaper, to watch a ballgame or a movie, or to take a nap. Whether or not the world and his responsibilities were on his mind, it was his place to unwind and just exist.
I remember the sound of his laughter, when he sat in his chair watching Johnny Carson. Each night before going to sleep I kissed my parents goodnight — dad sitting in his chair, mom in hers. I can still see the smile on dad’s face when, surround by his family, he sat in his chair, looking over his legacy. Dad always seemed at peace when he sat in his chair.
After my parents passed, I inherited my dad’s chair, and I sit in it often. I think about my daily challenges. I worry about my next job and where it will come from. I think about mortality: high blood pressure runs in my family. Has my cholesterol increased since my last blood work? I think about myself as a person. Will I be a good enough husband for Liz?
Then I stop, and I wonder what my dad’s thoughts were when he was my age, sitting in this chair, the father of ten, with another one on the way soon (me).
My dad was the first-born child, and the only son, of Italian immigrant parents. He grew up during the depression, when “times were really tough.” He often joked about how things were when he was a kid growing up on Beardsley Street, where crumbs were never left on the dinner plate.
He started working young, selling groceries off the back of a huckster truck. Dad picked up the accordion at a young age and he made a nice living performing and teaching music lessons.
My parents met on January 28, 1951. Dad’s band was performing at The Carovillese Club in Akron, Ohio. He saw my mom on the dance floor and immediately put down his accordion, told the sax player to “take it”, and asked my mom to dance. Two weeks later they were engaged; four months later they were married.
Dad landed a job at DuPont and spent nearly forty years with the company. In that time, he never missed a day of work. I’m not exaggerating: he never missed a day. He knew he was fortunate to have a job, and he worked hard. Dad enjoyed the company of his co-workers, and his boss appreciated him. They played cards at lunch, held company picnics, and when he retired, he was sent off with a hard-earned and well-deserved pension.
Dad was funny, had a sharp wit, and was quick with a smile. One morning, when I was in high school, I got up early to catch a ride with him. It was a cold morning and as we were walking to the car a squirrel came right up to my feet. I said, “Look dad, this squirrel must like me!” He responded without missing a beat: “Yeah, he thinks you’re nuts!”
Pops was Al Gore before Al Gore existed. We had to bring our paper lunch bags home from school to reuse the next day. If you left a room, you turned off the light, because Dad “didn’t work for the electric company.” If your shower ran longer than a few minutes, it was, “what are you washing in there, a battleship?”
Growing up, I had more than I needed. I never wondered whether or not there would be food on the table, a roof over my head, or love and attention from my family. Back then I didn’t recognize or understand that this wasn’t how everyone grew up. I had no idea what a budget was, or what dad meant when he said “money doesn’t grow on trees.” I thought you wrote a check and walked out with the goods.
When I was in middle school, Air Jordan’s were introduced, and being a huge Michael Jordan fan, I relentlessly bugged my parents to buy me a pair. I had the youthful mindset that these shoes would improve my vertical leap and my jump shot, whereas my dad saw that they were three times the price of the knockoff brand at Payless Shoes, which is the pair I got.
My dad was in the stands for my first game of the season. I can’t imagine what he was thinking as I was sliding across the floor, unable to stop, like someone had secretly sprayed grease on the bottom of my shoes. I remember hearing the father of another kid on the team laughing at me; I can still see his face. I don’t know if my dad heard him or not, but we went to the shoe store after the game and he bought me a pair of Jordans.
I wonder what my dad was thinking, or how he felt. I didn’t understood how hard he worked and the sacrifices he made so I could have, among other things, a pair of overpriced shoes that I didn’t really need. I think about how often he had to accept me and my childish ways, even when he had his own time-tested values that he adhered to in order to provide for a family of eleven.
Dad retired in 1990, after working nearly all of his life. Now he could wake up without an alarm; he could enjoy his morning coffee on the porch, and he could spend time and travel with his wife. While dad wasn’t the type to sit idle, he had earned his retirement and it fit him well.
In 1993, my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. The doctor told him to get his affairs in order. My sister Rose was at the appointment and she politely let the doctor know what he could do with that opinion.
At the time, Rose was working at a medical malpractice firm and she was in regular contact with the head of oncology at Akron General Medical Center. She explained dad’s diagnosis to him and he felt he could help. Dad was put on a trial procedure to shrink the tumor, receiving a massive combination of both chemotherapy and radiation at the same time. Dad was larger than life with endless energy, and now he was hooked up to machines and fed through a tube in his nose.
I watched the treatment pummel and transform him into someone I barely recognized. I was 20 years old at the time and didn’t understand how this was happening to my dad. I was too immature to process my emotions in a constructive way, so instead, I acted out. I kept a distance between the two of us. My dad’s sole purpose was to survive and I did my best to cause him stress.
My mom spent nearly all of her time at the hospital, coming home from time to time for a short break before heading back to be with dad. Dad’s mom and sisters, his children (minus me), and his faith kept him going. Thankfully, the treatment worked. Dad worked hard his entire life. He raised his family and went to church every Sunday, and even more important than that, he lived his religion. Then he retired and was diagnosed with lung cancer and given a 5% survival rate.
It didn’t seem fair, and I was too young to understand what was happening, that sometimes this was how life worked and that nothing is guaranteed.
I decided that the future was too much of a gamble for me, so my money was all for the moment. If this could happen to someone like my dad, then I’d be damned if I would save all my money for retirement only to get lung cancer a few years later. I left home and moved to Nashville. I was young and naive and I thought I knew everything.
Like many others my age, I didn’t understand my parents, and I had no idea how to respect them as human beings. I remember thinking that my parents were simple; that they didn’t understand all the dreams I had and the big world I was going to explore. I rarely called home and I didn’t have any clue how my actions affected my parents. I was on a mission to find my calling, and it was somewhere else.
Since then, many moves and many lessons later, I’ve realized how much I didn’t know and how much there is to learn, about myself, about others, and about life. I’ve realized that my parents were more than just my mom and dad. They were their own people, a man and a woman who fell in love and built a life together. They had experiences and hopes, a life, and dreams.
As an adult, I often apologized to my parents for all the trouble and heartache I caused them. Their response was always the same: “we never doubted your love.”
A few months before he passed, I asked my dad how he managed to provide for eleven kids and his wife. How did he even budget? I have two cats and there are days when I feel like that’s too much responsibility. His answer wasn’t a surprise: dad wasn’t the kind of person who drew attention to his deeds. “Well Ange, those were different times. Things cost less,” he told me. I thought for a minute, and he had a point.
The Internet, cell phones, and a computer for each kid wasn’t on his mind, but, he still had the awesome responsibility of bringing home enough money to feed us and keep a roof over our heads. I wish I could tell him now that I get it, that money and possessions aren’t what’s important, and that being the best person I can be, working hard and helping others, being my own man — that is what’s important. I wish, more than anything else, that I could thank him again.
As I grow older I recognize more of my dad in myself. I know now that he wasn’t simple at all, and that he found his peace. I see the values in him in the people I surround myself with. Everyone in these photographs has made some kind of impact on my life, whether it’s their love, their belief in me, or the way they live their lives; and each photograph has been accompanied by conversation and visiting.
The more photographs I made, the less I wanted to just send a text or post to social media. I wanted to see the people I love. I wanted to hear their voices. I wanted to keep my parents legacy alive by sharing the values they instilled in me.
I hope to be a parent one day; I wonder what kind of dad I’ll be? Will I be patient and understanding? Will I lead by example like my dad did? Will I love my child no matter what he or she does? Not long before my dad died he told me how proud he was that in his life he provided for his family, and that if he passed before Mom that she would always be taken care of by his insurance and his pension.
So much of where my life is today stems from the sacrifices my parents made, and their ability to get up every day and do what they had to do, with such pride, resilience, and dedication. Sitting in his chair now, I find inspiration in the very thing I once ran from.
This chair has been witness to my mom, 11 children, 17 grandchildren, 5 great-grandchildren, spouses, and nearly 63 years of marriage. This chair has watched children grow up to have their own families; it has seen both love and loss. No doubt my dad sat in this chair and watched The Beatles on Ed Sullivan; Walter Cronkite broadcasting Kennedy’s death; The Vietnam War; the falling of The Berlin Wall. This chair brought in a new millennium.
This chair bid farewell to my parents and was passed on to a new generation, to birth new memories.
About the author: Angelo Merendino is a photographer based in New York. You can follow him on Twitter here. The project “The Battle We Didn’t Choose” can be found in its entirety here.
from DIYS http://ift.tt/2ohTrJp
0 notes
rtscrndr53704 · 7 years
Text
My Dad’s Chair
My parents bought this chair and a matching couch not long after they were married in 1951. This was my dad’s chair. If you were sitting in it when he walked into the room he gave you the friendly thumb twist, which simply meant: get up.
When dad retired to his chair, that was his time. It was his time to read the newspaper, to watch a ballgame or a movie, or to take a nap. Whether or not the world and his responsibilities were on his mind, it was his place to unwind and just exist.
I remember the sound of his laughter, when he sat in his chair watching Johnny Carson. Each night before going to sleep I kissed my parents goodnight — dad sitting in his chair, mom in hers. I can still see the smile on dad’s face when, surround by his family, he sat in his chair, looking over his legacy. Dad always seemed at peace when he sat in his chair.
After my parents passed, I inherited my dad’s chair, and I sit in it often. I think about my daily challenges. I worry about my next job and where it will come from. I think about mortality: high blood pressure runs in my family. Has my cholesterol increased since my last blood work? I think about myself as a person. Will I be a good enough husband for Liz?
Then I stop, and I wonder what my dad’s thoughts were when he was my age, sitting in this chair, the father of ten, with another one on the way soon (me).
My dad was the first-born child, and the only son, of Italian immigrant parents. He grew up during the depression, when “times were really tough.” He often joked about how things were when he was a kid growing up on Beardsley Street, where crumbs were never left on the dinner plate.
He started working young, selling groceries off the back of a huckster truck. Dad picked up the accordion at a young age and he made a nice living performing and teaching music lessons.
My parents met on January 28, 1951. Dad’s band was performing at The Carovillese Club in Akron, Ohio. He saw my mom on the dance floor and immediately put down his accordion, told the sax player to “take it”, and asked my mom to dance. Two weeks later they were engaged; four months later they were married.
Dad landed a job at DuPont and spent nearly forty years with the company. In that time, he never missed a day of work. I’m not exaggerating: he never missed a day. He knew he was fortunate to have a job, and he worked hard. Dad enjoyed the company of his co-workers, and his boss appreciated him. They played cards at lunch, held company picnics, and when he retired, he was sent off with a hard-earned and well-deserved pension.
Dad was funny, had a sharp wit, and was quick with a smile. One morning, when I was in high school, I got up early to catch a ride with him. It was a cold morning and as we were walking to the car a squirrel came right up to my feet. I said, “Look dad, this squirrel must like me!” He responded without missing a beat: “Yeah, he thinks you’re nuts!”
Pops was Al Gore before Al Gore existed. We had to bring our paper lunch bags home from school to reuse the next day. If you left a room, you turned off the light, because Dad “didn’t work for the electric company.” If your shower ran longer than a few minutes, it was, “what are you washing in there, a battleship?”
Growing up, I had more than I needed. I never wondered whether or not there would be food on the table, a roof over my head, or love and attention from my family. Back then I didn’t recognize or understand that this wasn’t how everyone grew up. I had no idea what a budget was, or what dad meant when he said “money doesn’t grow on trees.” I thought you wrote a check and walked out with the goods.
When I was in middle school, Air Jordan’s were introduced, and being a huge Michael Jordan fan, I relentlessly bugged my parents to buy me a pair. I had the youthful mindset that these shoes would improve my vertical leap and my jump shot, whereas my dad saw that they were three times the price of the knockoff brand at Payless Shoes, which is the pair I got.
My dad was in the stands for my first game of the season. I can’t imagine what he was thinking as I was sliding across the floor, unable to stop, like someone had secretly sprayed grease on the bottom of my shoes. I remember hearing the father of another kid on the team laughing at me; I can still see his face. I don’t know if my dad heard him or not, but we went to the shoe store after the game and he bought me a pair of Jordans.
I wonder what my dad was thinking, or how he felt. I didn’t understood how hard he worked and the sacrifices he made so I could have, among other things, a pair of overpriced shoes that I didn’t really need. I think about how often he had to accept me and my childish ways, even when he had his own time-tested values that he adhered to in order to provide for a family of eleven.
Dad retired in 1990, after working nearly all of his life. Now he could wake up without an alarm; he could enjoy his morning coffee on the porch, and he could spend time and travel with his wife. While dad wasn’t the type to sit idle, he had earned his retirement and it fit him well.
In 1993, my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. The doctor told him to get his affairs in order. My sister Rose was at the appointment and she politely let the doctor know what he could do with that opinion.
At the time, Rose was working at a medical malpractice firm and she was in regular contact with the head of oncology at Akron General Medical Center. She explained dad’s diagnosis to him and he felt he could help. Dad was put on a trial procedure to shrink the tumor, receiving a massive combination of both chemotherapy and radiation at the same time. Dad was larger than life with endless energy, and now he was hooked up to machines and fed through a tube in his nose.
I watched the treatment pummel and transform him into someone I barely recognized. I was 20 years old at the time and didn’t understand how this was happening to my dad. I was too immature to process my emotions in a constructive way, so instead, I acted out. I kept a distance between the two of us. My dad’s sole purpose was to survive and I did my best to cause him stress.
My mom spent nearly all of her time at the hospital, coming home from time to time for a short break before heading back to be with dad. Dad’s mom and sisters, his children (minus me), and his faith kept him going. Thankfully, the treatment worked. Dad worked hard his entire life. He raised his family and went to church every Sunday, and even more important than that, he lived his religion. Then he retired and was diagnosed with lung cancer and given a 5% survival rate.
It didn’t seem fair, and I was too young to understand what was happening, that sometimes this was how life worked and that nothing is guaranteed.
I decided that the future was too much of a gamble for me, so my money was all for the moment. If this could happen to someone like my dad, then I’d be damned if I would save all my money for retirement only to get lung cancer a few years later. I left home and moved to Nashville. I was young and naive and I thought I knew everything.
Like many others my age, I didn’t understand my parents, and I had no idea how to respect them as human beings. I remember thinking that my parents were simple; that they didn’t understand all the dreams I had and the big world I was going to explore. I rarely called home and I didn’t have any clue how my actions affected my parents. I was on a mission to find my calling, and it was somewhere else.
Since then, many moves and many lessons later, I’ve realized how much I didn’t know and how much there is to learn, about myself, about others, and about life. I’ve realized that my parents were more than just my mom and dad. They were their own people, a man and a woman who fell in love and built a life together. They had experiences and hopes, a life, and dreams.
As an adult, I often apologized to my parents for all the trouble and heartache I caused them. Their response was always the same: “we never doubted your love.”
A few months before he passed, I asked my dad how he managed to provide for eleven kids and his wife. How did he even budget? I have two cats and there are days when I feel like that’s too much responsibility. His answer wasn’t a surprise: dad wasn’t the kind of person who drew attention to his deeds. “Well Ange, those were different times. Things cost less,” he told me. I thought for a minute, and he had a point.
The Internet, cell phones, and a computer for each kid wasn’t on his mind, but, he still had the awesome responsibility of bringing home enough money to feed us and keep a roof over our heads. I wish I could tell him now that I get it, that money and possessions aren’t what’s important, and that being the best person I can be, working hard and helping others, being my own man — that is what’s important. I wish, more than anything else, that I could thank him again.
As I grow older I recognize more of my dad in myself. I know now that he wasn’t simple at all, and that he found his peace. I see the values in him in the people I surround myself with. Everyone in these photographs has made some kind of impact on my life, whether it’s their love, their belief in me, or the way they live their lives; and each photograph has been accompanied by conversation and visiting.
The more photographs I made, the less I wanted to just send a text or post to social media. I wanted to see the people I love. I wanted to hear their voices. I wanted to keep my parents legacy alive by sharing the values they instilled in me.
I hope to be a parent one day; I wonder what kind of dad I’ll be? Will I be patient and understanding? Will I lead by example like my dad did? Will I love my child no matter what he or she does? Not long before my dad died he told me how proud he was that in his life he provided for his family, and that if he passed before Mom that she would always be taken care of by his insurance and his pension.
So much of where my life is today stems from the sacrifices my parents made, and their ability to get up every day and do what they had to do, with such pride, resilience, and dedication. Sitting in his chair now, I find inspiration in the very thing I once ran from.
This chair has been witness to my mom, 11 children, 17 grandchildren, 5 great-grandchildren, spouses, and nearly 63 years of marriage. This chair has watched children grow up to have their own families; it has seen both love and loss. No doubt my dad sat in this chair and watched The Beatles on Ed Sullivan; Walter Cronkite broadcasting Kennedy’s death; The Vietnam War; the falling of The Berlin Wall. This chair brought in a new millennium.
This chair bid farewell to my parents and was passed on to a new generation, to birth new memories.
About the author: Angelo Merendino is a photographer based in New York. You can follow him on Twitter here. The project “The Battle We Didn’t Choose” can be found in its entirety here.
from DIYS http://ift.tt/2ohTrJp
0 notes
stormdoors78476 · 7 years
Text
My Dad’s Chair
My parents bought this chair and a matching couch not long after they were married in 1951. This was my dad’s chair. If you were sitting in it when he walked into the room he gave you the friendly thumb twist, which simply meant: get up.
When dad retired to his chair, that was his time. It was his time to read the newspaper, to watch a ballgame or a movie, or to take a nap. Whether or not the world and his responsibilities were on his mind, it was his place to unwind and just exist.
I remember the sound of his laughter, when he sat in his chair watching Johnny Carson. Each night before going to sleep I kissed my parents goodnight — dad sitting in his chair, mom in hers. I can still see the smile on dad’s face when, surround by his family, he sat in his chair, looking over his legacy. Dad always seemed at peace when he sat in his chair.
After my parents passed, I inherited my dad’s chair, and I sit in it often. I think about my daily challenges. I worry about my next job and where it will come from. I think about mortality: high blood pressure runs in my family. Has my cholesterol increased since my last blood work? I think about myself as a person. Will I be a good enough husband for Liz?
Then I stop, and I wonder what my dad’s thoughts were when he was my age, sitting in this chair, the father of ten, with another one on the way soon (me).
My dad was the first-born child, and the only son, of Italian immigrant parents. He grew up during the depression, when “times were really tough.” He often joked about how things were when he was a kid growing up on Beardsley Street, where crumbs were never left on the dinner plate.
He started working young, selling groceries off the back of a huckster truck. Dad picked up the accordion at a young age and he made a nice living performing and teaching music lessons.
My parents met on January 28, 1951. Dad’s band was performing at The Carovillese Club in Akron, Ohio. He saw my mom on the dance floor and immediately put down his accordion, told the sax player to “take it”, and asked my mom to dance. Two weeks later they were engaged; four months later they were married.
Dad landed a job at DuPont and spent nearly forty years with the company. In that time, he never missed a day of work. I’m not exaggerating: he never missed a day. He knew he was fortunate to have a job, and he worked hard. Dad enjoyed the company of his co-workers, and his boss appreciated him. They played cards at lunch, held company picnics, and when he retired, he was sent off with a hard-earned and well-deserved pension.
Dad was funny, had a sharp wit, and was quick with a smile. One morning, when I was in high school, I got up early to catch a ride with him. It was a cold morning and as we were walking to the car a squirrel came right up to my feet. I said, “Look dad, this squirrel must like me!” He responded without missing a beat: “Yeah, he thinks you’re nuts!”
Pops was Al Gore before Al Gore existed. We had to bring our paper lunch bags home from school to reuse the next day. If you left a room, you turned off the light, because Dad “didn’t work for the electric company.” If your shower ran longer than a few minutes, it was, “what are you washing in there, a battleship?”
Growing up, I had more than I needed. I never wondered whether or not there would be food on the table, a roof over my head, or love and attention from my family. Back then I didn’t recognize or understand that this wasn’t how everyone grew up. I had no idea what a budget was, or what dad meant when he said “money doesn’t grow on trees.” I thought you wrote a check and walked out with the goods.
When I was in middle school, Air Jordan’s were introduced, and being a huge Michael Jordan fan, I relentlessly bugged my parents to buy me a pair. I had the youthful mindset that these shoes would improve my vertical leap and my jump shot, whereas my dad saw that they were three times the price of the knockoff brand at Payless Shoes, which is the pair I got.
My dad was in the stands for my first game of the season. I can’t imagine what he was thinking as I was sliding across the floor, unable to stop, like someone had secretly sprayed grease on the bottom of my shoes. I remember hearing the father of another kid on the team laughing at me; I can still see his face. I don’t know if my dad heard him or not, but we went to the shoe store after the game and he bought me a pair of Jordans.
I wonder what my dad was thinking, or how he felt. I didn’t understood how hard he worked and the sacrifices he made so I could have, among other things, a pair of overpriced shoes that I didn’t really need. I think about how often he had to accept me and my childish ways, even when he had his own time-tested values that he adhered to in order to provide for a family of eleven.
Dad retired in 1990, after working nearly all of his life. Now he could wake up without an alarm; he could enjoy his morning coffee on the porch, and he could spend time and travel with his wife. While dad wasn’t the type to sit idle, he had earned his retirement and it fit him well.
In 1993, my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. The doctor told him to get his affairs in order. My sister Rose was at the appointment and she politely let the doctor know what he could do with that opinion.
At the time, Rose was working at a medical malpractice firm and she was in regular contact with the head of oncology at Akron General Medical Center. She explained dad’s diagnosis to him and he felt he could help. Dad was put on a trial procedure to shrink the tumor, receiving a massive combination of both chemotherapy and radiation at the same time. Dad was larger than life with endless energy, and now he was hooked up to machines and fed through a tube in his nose.
I watched the treatment pummel and transform him into someone I barely recognized. I was 20 years old at the time and didn’t understand how this was happening to my dad. I was too immature to process my emotions in a constructive way, so instead, I acted out. I kept a distance between the two of us. My dad’s sole purpose was to survive and I did my best to cause him stress.
My mom spent nearly all of her time at the hospital, coming home from time to time for a short break before heading back to be with dad. Dad’s mom and sisters, his children (minus me), and his faith kept him going. Thankfully, the treatment worked. Dad worked hard his entire life. He raised his family and went to church every Sunday, and even more important than that, he lived his religion. Then he retired and was diagnosed with lung cancer and given a 5% survival rate.
It didn’t seem fair, and I was too young to understand what was happening, that sometimes this was how life worked and that nothing is guaranteed.
I decided that the future was too much of a gamble for me, so my money was all for the moment. If this could happen to someone like my dad, then I’d be damned if I would save all my money for retirement only to get lung cancer a few years later. I left home and moved to Nashville. I was young and naive and I thought I knew everything.
Like many others my age, I didn’t understand my parents, and I had no idea how to respect them as human beings. I remember thinking that my parents were simple; that they didn’t understand all the dreams I had and the big world I was going to explore. I rarely called home and I didn’t have any clue how my actions affected my parents. I was on a mission to find my calling, and it was somewhere else.
Since then, many moves and many lessons later, I’ve realized how much I didn’t know and how much there is to learn, about myself, about others, and about life. I’ve realized that my parents were more than just my mom and dad. They were their own people, a man and a woman who fell in love and built a life together. They had experiences and hopes, a life, and dreams.
As an adult, I often apologized to my parents for all the trouble and heartache I caused them. Their response was always the same: “we never doubted your love.”
A few months before he passed, I asked my dad how he managed to provide for eleven kids and his wife. How did he even budget? I have two cats and there are days when I feel like that’s too much responsibility. His answer wasn’t a surprise: dad wasn’t the kind of person who drew attention to his deeds. “Well Ange, those were different times. Things cost less,” he told me. I thought for a minute, and he had a point.
The Internet, cell phones, and a computer for each kid wasn’t on his mind, but, he still had the awesome responsibility of bringing home enough money to feed us and keep a roof over our heads. I wish I could tell him now that I get it, that money and possessions aren’t what’s important, and that being the best person I can be, working hard and helping others, being my own man — that is what’s important. I wish, more than anything else, that I could thank him again.
As I grow older I recognize more of my dad in myself. I know now that he wasn’t simple at all, and that he found his peace. I see the values in him in the people I surround myself with. Everyone in these photographs has made some kind of impact on my life, whether it’s their love, their belief in me, or the way they live their lives; and each photograph has been accompanied by conversation and visiting.
The more photographs I made, the less I wanted to just send a text or post to social media. I wanted to see the people I love. I wanted to hear their voices. I wanted to keep my parents legacy alive by sharing the values they instilled in me.
I hope to be a parent one day; I wonder what kind of dad I’ll be? Will I be patient and understanding? Will I lead by example like my dad did? Will I love my child no matter what he or she does? Not long before my dad died he told me how proud he was that in his life he provided for his family, and that if he passed before Mom that she would always be taken care of by his insurance and his pension.
So much of where my life is today stems from the sacrifices my parents made, and their ability to get up every day and do what they had to do, with such pride, resilience, and dedication. Sitting in his chair now, I find inspiration in the very thing I once ran from.
This chair has been witness to my mom, 11 children, 17 grandchildren, 5 great-grandchildren, spouses, and nearly 63 years of marriage. This chair has watched children grow up to have their own families; it has seen both love and loss. No doubt my dad sat in this chair and watched The Beatles on Ed Sullivan; Walter Cronkite broadcasting Kennedy’s death; The Vietnam War; the falling of The Berlin Wall. This chair brought in a new millennium.
This chair bid farewell to my parents and was passed on to a new generation, to birth new memories.
About the author: Angelo Merendino is a photographer based in New York. You can follow him on Twitter here. The project “The Battle We Didn’t Choose” can be found in its entirety here.
from DIYS http://ift.tt/2ohTrJp
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