John!!!!!
You are a talented person!!! I wish you all the best!! You still have that great sense of humor that always made me laugh...
I hope you get that break soon.
Best regards,
Luc
Branded With the ‘Scarlet U’
From Manhattan commutes to morning school drop-off rituals: it's not easy adjusting to unemployed life.
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My days now start at 7:45 a.m. when my 8-year- old explodes into my room, yanks the beaded metal chain on my bedside lamp and yells, "Get up, Dad!" Up I get. I might shower, I might not, but I do always comb my hair and brush my teeth. Down the stairs for a quick cup of coffee, get my three daughters into the car and we're off to school for their morning drop-off ritual.
I pull up carefully in front of the local grammar school: stop No. 1. I've been doing this for several months now and I'm still not comfortable. There are no fewer than 4,000 SUVs and minivans pulling in and out from the curb, like a synchronized-swimming routine for boxy robots. Threading between them are mothers who walk their kids to school. Some are pulled by a dog. Some use the crosswalk, some don't. Rarely do I see another father. The whole scene is daunting.
There is a protocol to the chaos, but no guidebook. Am I moving too slow? Too fast? Can I pull up here? Did that woman just glare at me? How long can I idle? I find a spot and my two older daughters jump out: kiss, kiss, bye, bye. They are weighed down by backpacks the size of small bank safes, and they walk with a distinct forward lean to counterbalance the load. Have a good day. Don't pull a hamstring.
As I start to ease out my car, another one pulls alongside me. The mother behind the wheel stares at me, waiting her turn to steer in behind me. Two more mothers subtly glance my way. The self-consciousness kicks in. "Yes," I shout inside my head, "there is an unshaven dad in the car and he doesn't have a job!"
The week before Thanksgiving last year, my job at a large investment bank in New York was eliminated. My house is outside the city, in a suburban factory town where the factory is Wall Street and the business is slowly shuttering. But life does not stop. The kids still go to school.
After I drop off my third daughter, I contemplate going to the gym. I always see other men there. Are they the "voluntarily retired" who have made their money and no longer need to work? Or have they been laid off too?
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