Bob Brody

Most parents have told their children how they met their future spouses. And most say they consider it highly important to do so. But others have never shared that story. And almost none has captured the memory in writing.

That’s what we’ve learned from an informal Valentine’s Day survey of 100 parents conducted by letterstomykids.org, a blog created to inspire parents to record personal family history, in writing, for future generations.

For example, 77% of parents have told their children how they met their future spouses. And of those, 45% did it to “preserve personal family history,” while 34% did it because “the kids asked.”

Of the parents who have yet to tell their children, 66% never found the right time, 20% doubt the kids would be interested,” 7% said it was “unimportant” to reveal, and another 7% just preferred to keep the matter private.

Asked how important it is – on a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the highest – for parents to tell their children how they met, 43% gave it a 10, with only 3% ranking it less than a 5.

Here are some other key findings:

• 6% of the children who were told how their parents came together reacted with “amusement,” 32% with “appreciation,” and 13% with “indifference.”
• All of the parents who told their children did so face to face. But only 4% of those parents also wrote the story down.
• 26% of parents describe their first meeting as “love at first sight,” 7% as “doubt at first sight,” and 67% as “something in between.”

Personally, I think it’s terrific that most parents tell their kids how they met. But I also urge parents to put it down for perpetuity in writing. It’s history, after all. Only then can parents be sure that even if the story is forgotten, it will always be there, in black and white, as a reminder.

Here are the full survey results.

I still have no clue how I became just about the oldest person in our office. Somehow, I must have missed the memo that was supposed to give me the heads-up. Today got here faster than I ever might have expected, and the time warp has given me whiplash. My term for this rite of passage, this occupational hazard? “The Flip Side.”

Of course, at 55, I’m hardly “old.” But I’m older than all but maybe six of our 120 employees in the New York branch of our public-relations firm — slightly older than the few Forty-Somethings, somewhat older than the many Thirty-Somethings, and much older than our ubiquitous Twenty-Somethings. Much, much older.

It seems only yesterday I was still the new kid on the job, with no idea what I was doing and no one expecting me to know much of anything. When my colleagues gave instructions, I took plenty of notes, and nobody ever mistook me for anyone important. I worried about everything — performing up to snuff, getting chewed out by the boss, being fired — and as a result I lived in a state of low-grade paranoia.

Now, suddenly, I belong to that vaunted club known as senior management. I operate from the opposite end of the spectrum, a baby boomer plying my trade shoulder to shoulder with Generations X and Y. Now, when I share an observation, colleagues might take notes, and clients usually assume I know something. People at work are more inclined to listen to me, smile at me and laugh at my jokes; somewhere along the road I apparently became fascinating, charming, and funny. I’ve graduated to the stature of tribal elder. It’s practically an out-of-body experience.

Even so, being older than almost everyone on the premises has certain … um … imperfections. Some of my younger colleagues have higher salaries, fancier titles, and larger offices (luckily, I’m a stranger to envy), and I often report to those very folks. My age does create certain differences with my juniors, too, differences in priorities and points of reference.

For example, I now go to the dentist more frequently than I do to parties. Most of my colleagues are getting married and having babies while I’ve just had my first colonoscopy. I also find myself wondering how anyone could possibly care about Jessica Simpson when I still have a crush on Sophia Loren.

It’s also strange occasionally being called “dude.”

I perceive time differently, too. My younger colleagues typically talk much faster than I can listen and, for that matter, they often listen much faster than I can talk. Some co-workers will e-mail me a note, only to leave me a voice mail repeating the message five minutes later, and then, still suffering from the lack of a response, pop into my office moments afterward regarding the same thing. Like network television, I now evidently operate on some sort of a seven-second delay. It reminds me of the George Carlin joke about how the shortest interval of time in the known universe is that fraction of a second between a traffic light turning green and the guy behind you honking his horn.

The flip side definitely takes some getting used to. But get used to it I must, and for the most part have. I’ve realized that being an older employee has a larger meaning, an underlying purpose, and special responsibilities: to pass along lessons learned, to influence, and to inspire. And, to set an example as a case study in how to emerge from layoffs, recessions and other adversities all the stronger. Since I’ve already gone where my colleagues are still going, they can look at me and better see themselves tomorrow.

I’m also trying to “work young” — talking a little faster and listening faster too. My comfort zone, previously only four square inches, has expanded to more like six. But above all, I’ve learned to respect my juniors. Only a few years ago, I never much cottoned to getting suggestions from anyone 10 or 20 years younger, and following any orders? Forgetaboutit!

Now I recognize that my juniors here often know better than I do, and keep me on my toes. And thanks to these “kids” teaching me how, I’ve finally emerged as a real team player. I also realize that after any serious discussion, the single most empowering question you can ever ask a younger staffer is “So, what do you think?” After all, even gurus can occasionally stand some advice.

The Flip Side has turned out to be both heartening and humbling. Little did I ever suspect that being older than almost everyone else at my job would give me a second chance to accomplish something long overdue. Namely, grow up.