The Fire Hydrant In Front Of My House

Standing next to that fire hydrant at 5:00 pm every Friday probably wasn't the smartest thing to do. Especially since I was 8 years old, and fire hydrants are generally installed pretty darn close to the street. But I did it anyway. Why? Let me explain.

My dad, Jerry Libava, travelled a lot in the late 1960's and 1970's. It was part of his job as territory manager for 14 states.

That meant he was out of town from Tuesday-Friday. And he wasn't only in one state during the week. He was in two or more, depending on what was put on his plate by upper management.

He worked for iconic companies like Revlon Loreal, Lanc?me, and Charles Of The Ritz. His impressive resume included his involvement in the launch of a highly-controversial women's fragrance. Pretty cool stuff. But not as cool as the stuff he did in the early 60's.

Travelling Was Hard For My Dad

Taking 5-6 flights a week, or more, was common for my dad. And even though airplane travel was more tolerable back then, it was still tough. Just think how tired you feel after taking a couple of flights to your vacation destination.

So what does this have to do with the fire hydrant, Joel?

You'll see.

That Fire Hydrant

Friday's were so exciting for me. That's because it meant that my dad was on his way home from being out of town for work! But I couldn't wait for him inside. That was way too boring.

"Mom, I'm going outside to wait for dad!"

"Okay, Joel. Be careful."

So every Friday, at around 5:00 pm, I would walk...no, run down our driveway to park my little self next to the fire hydrant in front of our house.

I'd lean on it and/or sit next to it. And sometimes I'd grab the little thingy on top and spin around it.

But the real reason I hung by the fire hydrant was for maximum visibility.

Simply stated, all I needed to do was look to the right, and I'd be able to see to the end of our street. But since it was a long street, I couldn't tell what kind of car was heading my way until a certain point. It was fun to guess though.

One car after another came down our street.

"Here he is!"

Nope.

"This car has to be his!"

Again, no.

A lull. Then...

"This is his car. I just know it!"

Not this time. Hoping didn't always work.

Until 5 minutes became 15 minutes and 20 cars that weren't my dad's.

The good news is that eventually his car did come down our street.

Dad's Home!

I'd run from the fire hydrant to the driveway to the driver-side door. I was so excited to see him.

He'd open the door and I'd hug him. Hard. All the while telling him how much I missed him.

Then he'd pop the trunk, grab his luggage, and let me carry his briefcase into the house. It so great to see him. To smell him.

He'd give my mom a hug, and then go to his room and unpack. Of course I followed him. I couldn't wait to tell him all about my week.

I'd tell him about my bicycling escapades, get him up to date on the insects I caught to study (I was am amateur entomologist). He was interested. But not all the way.

He Was So Tired

My father worked his ass off.

He was blessed with high-energy, incredible enthusiasm, and top-shelf sales ability. He was always on the go. Sitting still was not in his DNA.

But like all humans, he'd eventually run out of juice (usually after a heavy week of travel).

But I had so much to tell him! So many ideas on what we could do together that weekend. I'd go on and on and on

Until he lost his patience and general crabbiness set in.

Not because he wasn't interested in hearing his little boy's adventures and plans. Not at all.

He was just so damn tired.

Mom:

"Joel, you're father is tired."

"Okay....okay!"

But it wasn't.

And it happened every week. The same thing.

I'd stand by the fire hydrant waiting to see his car.

When he pulled in the driveway, I'd excitedly run to greet him, hug him, and carry his briefcase in.

I'd tell him about my week. I'd ask him if we could go fishing or to the car wash. Or if I could run around with him on Saturday and help him do errands.

"We'll see Joel."

Then

"Not now, Joel."

And things usually went downhill from there.

Not in an abusive way.

But in the eyes of an 8 year old little boy, a sad, disappointing way.

We Talked About It

Years later, I shared my feelings about those years with him.

He apologized. He felt so bad. I forgave him. It was easy to do.

I didn't know it then, but his crankiness had nothing to do with me. He was just tired. All that travel. 4-5 days a week. Year after year.

And when he died, we were both at peace with it. With everything. He made his amends and I made mine.

And to those who knew my dad, I'm sure you'd agree that he was a good man.

Ethical to his core.

And a lot of fun to be around.

My Thoughts For You

Let me leave you with this.

If your job requires a lot of travel, and/or a lot of hours, and you have little ones at home, remember that the stuff you do when you get home matters.

When your children enthusiastically greet you, hug them a little longer.

When they want to tell you about their week, listen intently.

I know you're tired.

They don't.

P.S. If you feel that time is running away from you, and you're sick and tired of not seeing your kids as much as you want to, and if you can think long-term...owning a franchise business may be able to help you get some of your time back.

With that in mind, if you'd like to discuss how owning a business can give you more control of your life, I'm here.