My Gut Punch Moment: My Daughter Reveals Me a Liar

It was a Sunday morning in the Paparelli household. I saw my daughter Julia behaving in a way I didn’t like and told her as much. She turned, looked me right in the eye, and with all the firmness a ten-year-old could muster, said, “You don’t have the right to tell me what to do. You don’t care about me, mom, and Lisa. You will leave on Monday, and we won’t see you again until Friday night.”

It was a gut punch.

When she said this to me, I was stunned. She spoke the truth. I was living a lie. I was the dad who told my girls how much I loved them and that I was always there for them. But I was a visitor who she believed didn’t care about her, her sister, or her mother. I was saying one thing and doing another. This little girl showed great courage and wisdom. She was watching my feet and not my mouth. And she called me on it.

One of my values is family. I love my wife and children. If you and I had met then, I would have had no trouble convincing you this was true. But if you’d analyzed where I spent my time and how I behaved, you might have thought, “He’s living a lie. He values success and money.”

After my daughter accused me of this, her voice kept playing in my head. There was no denying the truth. I couldn’t rationalize it away. I had to address this conflict. I had to align my walk and my talk. But how? I still wanted a robust career with position, prestige, money, and perks. But I also wanted to be a devoted husband and father.

I had to make a choice.

My family was more important than my career. Now what?

Admitting this caused me to become unhappy with my career. I had finally gotten where I wanted to be. I was in rarified air. I was the president of the US operations of a public company. I had high income and long-term incentives. I traveled first-class with generous entertainment perks. And I had a boss who believed in me.

But I was also exhausted. I was on the road week in and week out. I would leave on Monday and visit two to three cities a week. I would fly into a city in the evening. The next day was scheduled for a business review and customer meetings. Drinks with the leadership team or a dinner followed these meetings. Then I was off to the next city. In addition, once a month, I would spend a week in London presenting and connecting with the execs and board of directors.

It was a punishing schedule.

It was driven by prioritizing my value of career over family. I all but parked my family, and we were suffering for it. I justified it by telling Kathy and the kids, “You know I am doing all this for you.” I showed them this was true by buying things for them. Thus, in my mind, giving them a better life. And this better life came to them because of the fruits of my labor.

“Yeah, right. Another lie.” I thought to myself after my daughter dressed me down.

I went from doing my work enthusiastically to doing it dutifully. The sparkle in my eye and the excitement for my career left me. My boss started to notice.

In 1991, a recession hit, and the executive team decided to show shareholders we were all in this together. They cut executive pay across the board by ten percent. In a breakfast conversation with my boss, I told him I was not on board with this board decision. My boss saw right through my objection. He knew me well enough. My reaction to the pay cut was not about the money.

“If you don’t like working here, you should leave.”

He called me on it. As I said earlier, he noticed. We liked and respected each other. We had a close enough relationship that I believed he cared about me. And this offer to leave was good for the company, but it was also good for me.

I walked out the door of the hotel into the sunshine of springtime. I was free from my career. I was free to focus on family. I had a second chance to get my values aligned. Then I thought, “How will I support my family?”

Recognizing the conflict in my values was my first step to aligning my walk and talk. Taking action would start my new stage of life. I thank my former boss for calling me on this conflict and forcing me to take action. With his one simple statement, “If you don’t like working here, you should leave,” he forced me to decide—career or family?

I had to answer.

I chose family. This decision launched me into the start of my next stage of life at thirty-nine years old. And it all worked out well. But that’s another story.