Thanksgivings: The CFO

Oh, Allen.

I’m sitting here in my cozy little farmhouse, in a southwestern-facing cove at 2900 feet, working on budget reports for the senior management team, having just finished my homework for the next week. I won’t be in my private office complete with mini-fridge and bow-front desk for another two weeks, because when I’m done with jury duty, I’m spending a week in the corporate office to meet with the corporate controller and his senior accountants.

When you found me, I was running a switchboard and surfing the internet. That was only seven years ago. Those two vapid executive assistants were crimping my style. I had no education, nothing but administrative experience, and my future was a dim shadow. You saw something in me, despite the fact that I bratted out on you whenever the opportunity presented itself.

I know that I’ve created and earned my success. I understand that I was the one who did the work. That doesn’t change the fact that you were the first person to see my potential, to see beyond my smartass mouth and youthful exuberance and find the talent and drive that brought me to this place. You’re not the only person to have helped me become what I am, but you were absolutely the first.

The opportunity you fought so hard to give me- and I know what you must have gone through- the patience you showed me, and the interest you took in my education and career- there are times I weep with gratitude when I really stop to think about it.

You’ve always been an incredible friend; a shoulder to cry on, a great source of trusted advice, someone who cared enough to raise my ire if I really needed to hear an unpleasant truth. You are everything a mentor could ever be, and what makes it too precious for words is this simple: all you ever wanted in return was my respect and affection. You have both in spades, sir.

Your sage words of advice; about dying inside, about the work being the bottom line, about dealing with idiots and assholes- I hear these phrases as I am resisting the urge to throw my office phone through the wall. You prepared me for corporate life in a very real and important way. I’m so very proud to tell you that when it comes to office politics, I am now 100% dead inside. It’s a strange and wonderful empty feeling- to know what to say and do to circumnavigate people and problems without really caring much about any of it. I’ve never done heroin, but perhaps this compares.  I throw the elephant as a parlor trick now, and you laid the foundation for it.

We’ve kept in touch, and that means the world to me. I miss working with you still, after all these years.

I take great comfort in knowing that you’ve found a wonderful woman to share your life with, and that you’ve brought an incredible child into the world. For a human being to miss out on the chance to have you as a father would be a bigger tragedy than I could swallow. You’ve been a father figure to me, and I’m a much better person for your interest in my mind, my heart, and even and especially, my soul.