Adoption Series: Everything changed
The demon inside awakens.
I’m curled in a ball.
I should be running for the hills.
Judy’s wildly waving a meat cleaver.
It’s beyond madness. Both of us crazy. Her with the cleaver me with denial.
Insanity embraced the event, the event that changed everything.
***
I’m thirty years old. Judy and I have been married eight years. I knew she’d be angry, but not like this.
She’d been screaming at me since I told her. With a lull –– must have been around ten in the evening –– I announced I was going to bed and did, thinking thank God Eric spent the night with friends. Eric was only seven at the time.
I hoped she was too exhausted from her three-hour rant to continue as I pull the covers over my head. Then I jerk alert with the slam of a kitchen drawer and Judy pounding down the hall to our bedroom, where she screams again, this time with the cleaver in hand.
I want to pull a pillow over my head and stay curled in a ball. Instead, I peek out from under the covers to see Judy swinging a meat cleaver wildly over her head.
It was then that I realized that the diet pills, essentially speed, were making her crazy.
“Are you having sex with her?” She screamed.
“How could you do this to me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me he fired you?
“Where have you been going all week?
“What about me?
“I do everything for you.”
She stops. Silence fills the room.
I breathe.
I need to be very, very careful. Say nothing. Wait. Don’t move.
Judy is red-faced and exhausted. Tears now. The cleaver is at her side.
I get slowly out of bed. Breathe. Pull on my robe and hug her with, “Let’s talk some more now.”
***
A week earlier.
It’s Monday and I know something is really wrong as I dress for work and the tensions of the past few weeks come flooding back. On Friday, as I was leaving the office, Carm, our office manager, told me I had to talk to Kern. And she meant really talk. “Things,” she said, “are just too weird. You gotta straighten things out with Kern.”
I didn’t ask what things. I knew. Carm Varley and I both worked for Kern Devin along with Kathy Spangler and Kathy Eithner.
Here I am on Monday morning, having spent the weekend trying not to think about it, getting ready to face this thing.
My ankles are itching as I jump in the car to head for the boat, knowing itchy ankles are a sure sign of distress.
Once aboard the ferry, I grab a coffee and search for a place to sit with friends, thinking a chat will clear my mind of what I’m about to face.
The morning is cold, breezy, and sunny as we disembark. Typical Seattle November day.
The low sun leaves frost in the deep blue shadows on the pedestrian bridge that connects the ferry dock and First Avenue. I wish I’d worn gloves.
Walking alone amidst the crowd of fellow ferry commuters, my thoughts return to the office and what’s ahead.
It’s been just over a month since Kern, our owner and boss, returned from his sabbatical year in Europe. While he was gone, I managed the business as well as designing and managing projects. Staff was small –– there were only five of us, but after the initial panic and scramble to make payroll, we’d actually grown the business.
Standing in the Colman building lobby awaiting the lift, nothing feels right. Looking down at the marble floor, I find myself trying to find sense in the patterns in the floor, knowing none of what I’m facing makes sense.
I’m scared. Scared to face Kern and scared to explain to Judy what’s going on.
I miss several chances to board a lift. Which is completely out of character with my usual Monday eager beaver attitude. Fellow office workers –– strangers all –– stream around me, packing themselves into the elevator cars.
The strangeness of the last few weeks consumes me. I find myself suddenly caring about what I feel and how I feel about it.
The little team and I did really well over the last year. We paid our salaries. We paid Kern’s salary –– he did no work and generated no revenue. We attracted new clients, and we retained the existing clients. When Kern left, he emptied the company checking account. We had to scramble to collect enough to cover our looming payday. And we did it.
Midway through, we had so much work we had to add an additional employee.
Over the full year, we’d managed to squirrel away forty thousand into the company savings account. That was cash only Kern had access to. Plus, the checking account had enough money to cover salaries and current operating expenses. The little business was in far better shape when he returned than when he left.
All these words filling my head, the words together and the meaning and the context are simple, so simple and basic, so basic and true, and that is all that matters to me –– the truth of what I’ve accomplished. What I and our little team had accomplished filled me with pride. Somehow, since his return over the last weeks, I’ve gone from feeling pride, success, and accomplishment to doubt. Doubt and fear. Curling into that little ball of shame that is always there to haunt me. Once again, I’m the perfect victim for a bully.
I’m right back to ‘little Teddy, about to enter the principal’s office or face Dad over some infraction. Standing there staring at the lobby floor, I know I’m in freeze and surrender mode.
I look up. The lobby mostly empty now. Realizing the eight o’clock rush was over, I boarded the lift and pushed six, and it rose. I look at my reflection in the marbled glass panels of the elevator. I look tired.
Kern seemed happy to see us his first day back in September. Although, he was unhappy that we’d arranged a welcome home party with clients and friends. Most of our clients had RSVPed. So, he really couldn’t cancel.
We’d arranged the party partly because we knew he wasn’t all that happy with us despite our success –– thinking we could control the story while we were still in charge. I wanted Kern to see the recognition and appreciation we got from the clients.
I’m finding I care about what I feel and what it means as I face this demon inside. My fear demon.
On the surface, what scared me about Kern’s return was simple. I’d given raises to everyone in the office a couple of months after he left. Monthly reports were required, and I’d dutifully told him about the raises in my report. But I hadn’t asked permission.
Judy was proud of me for getting the manager job but was angry that I had not been given a raise for the new responsibility. And she’d been even more furious with me for not asking, accusing me of being a coward.
I didn’t ask for a good reason –– sure he’d say no –– sure I wasn’t worth it.
The party was a hit. We held it in the fashionable Brasserie Pittsbourg’s beautiful stone-lined basement room under the Pioneer building. People from all our top clients came. The nibbles were delightful, and the wine was wonderful –– all carefully selected. For me, it was visible proof that we had done a great job during his absence.
After the party, as the weeks passed, Kern was distant, often closing the door to his office. When I asked him to lunch, he went but didn’t want to talk about the office or, what we needed to do to increase business or what my role was with his return.
Now, here I was, crammed into the back of the elevator car on the way up to the sixth floor on the first Monday in November, six weeks after his return, with the strangeness of our interactions filling my head.
Exiting the elevator, down the hall and up the stairs to our little penthouse atop the Colman building, I’m filled with dread. As I hung up my overcoat, Kern stuck his head into my office and said, with a smile, “Ted, would you join me in my office.”
Relief and dread swept over me. I slowly took off my suit jacket, hung it on the back of my chair, and rolled up my sleeves.
Something is going to happen. I think it might not be good as I walk down the hall to his office. But I’ll know where I stand. And I remembered he’d been in many meetings outside the office over the last few weeks. A couple of the clients I was closest to had reported visits from Kern. Maybe he had a new assignment for me. Uplifted for a moment but still with doubts, I passed our receptionist Carm, glanced into Kathy’s office, and noted that both looked like they were trying to look busy. Clearly, both were very attuned to what was happening.
Sticking my head into the lion’s den, I asked, “Is now a good time?” Sure that it wasn’t.
He didn’t speak and motioned me in, pointing me to a chair opposite his desk, the desk that had been mine for the past year. He hadn’t removed his suit jacket nor loosened his tie, as he usually did.
At first, he leaned back in his chair, with an exaggerated move, then shifted forward, putting his elbows on his desk, still not saying a word. He seemed extremely uncomfortable. I seated myself in the chair, thinking, I can handle this. Then he speaks…
“Ted, do you agree that I’m the sole owner of this business?”
Perhaps the absurdity of his demand gave me the strength to not wilt.
“Yes, of course you are. What’s wrong? The firm made more money than ever while you were on sabbatical.” I felt like an idiot bleating that out, but somehow stronger for it.
“…and I’m reducing your salary by 25%.”
His voice didn’t sound like him. It was higher in tone, almost as if his throat was restricted. I knew it was nerves.
“Kern, what’s wrong? What’s going on? This isn’t like you.”
He repeats the “acknowledge that I am the sole manager and owner
” bit.
I look first at him, then at the floor, feeling my discomfort, knowing this isn’t going well and not knowing how to wiggle out of this utterly uncomfortable spot. Then it hit me. With the salary reduction, I couldn’t pay my mortgage. I had to turn this around or quit.
Then, he followed up with, “The firm can no longer afford you,” and I knew there was no wiggling out.
What’s going on here? I felt shame. Shame that somehow, I hadn’t measured up, but knowing I’d done a hell of a job keeping his business alive and thriving.
I knew it was lame the minute I said “this is one of those times when I have to take my cookies and go home.”
As I stood, Kern said, “If you leave, you’re fired.”
Out the door. Past Carm. Past Kathy. Down the hall, rolling down and buttoning my sleeves as I walk. Reaching my office, I grab and open my portfolio case, quickly checking my work over the last year. Yep, all there. Putting on my suit coat, feeling the action. Feeling momentum, I throw my overcoat over my arm and head down the stairs with my portfolio.
Some remnant of a warning from Mom flashed through me, “There are some mistakes you can only make once.” I hoped it was his mistake, not mine.
I now know that when we’re demoted, dismissed, fired, or otherwise hit with a similar blow, it unearths our deepest fears. With me, the scars from past emotional impacts feed my present shame, and all my carefully constructed defenses fall away.
Stopping by the bank on the corner, I buy a roll of quarters, then head for a public phone booth inside the Exchange building across the street, where it’s warm and somewhat private, and begin making appointments. I need a job. And I knew I couldn’t tell Judy until I had one.
The rest of the week, I went to the city every morning as if nothing had happened. But spend the days on the phone and in interviews. By Friday morning, I knew I was getting nowhere with my desperate calls and interviews. And it hit me. I was kicking myself for not thinking of the obvious solution before. I Called Mike Dederer at Jay Rockey. He’d been our biggest client over the year. He came to our party, and I’d overheard him telling Kern how wonderful we were. Better yet, he had plenty of work that needed my skills.
Mike graciously made time for me that Friday morning.
My pitch to Mike was simple and direct. Hire me, and I’ll set up and manage an in-house design team. With my help, Jay Rockey would have a whole new line of business and a source of profit.
It seemed like a natural.
Mike listened patiently to my telling of what happened with Kern and my pitch for an in-house role. As I explained my idea, he seemed to know what had happened or anticipated it. It feels like he’s all in as he nods and seemingly agrees. I feel like I’m going to get this gig.
And then Mike says, “I’m sorry, Ted, for various reasons, we can’t do that.”
I’m stunned.
Mike stands, indicating that it’s time to go. I rise. Pick up my portfolio. Stunned.
Together, we exit his office.
As we walk towards the exit through the large open atrium space, with its small forest of two-story Ficus trees, Mike, who towers over me, puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “Ted, if you start your own business, we would give you all the work you need to get going.”
Stunned, not knowing what to say, I do manage to say, “thank you.”
I walk slowly down Fifth Avenue, stopping at the first phone booth, and called my former office, hoping Carm would answer.
She did, “Kern’s not here, what’s going on?” And, “wait a minute I’ll get Kathy.”
With both of them on the line, I tell them about Mike’s promise of work, and we agree to meet the next day, Saturday, for breakfast.
With that, our design business was a go. We decided that Kathy Spangler would be my partner and Carm Varley and our other designer, Kathy Eithner, would be employees.
That night, I told Judy. And the cleaver drama unfolded.
The following Monday, Spangler Leonhardt was open for business.
***
The year that I spent maintaining and building Kern Devin’s design business gave me what I needed to start my own business. It also helped me get past my passive behavior, at least in the business side of my life.
I was adopted. My place with the Leonhardt’s was conditional. I was parked with strangers off and on for years. I developed passive behavior as way to survive. I hid my rebellious nature. I became passive to avoid being bullied by Dad.
Kern Devin challenged me by reducing my salary. But he did it at the very moment I had the connections, confidence and skills to step out of denial and into action. I suppose he thought I would simply roll over accepting his demands, as I probably would have a year earlier. But with the experience he made possible, I was a different person.
Kern Devin could not have given me a more perfect launch event.
