Ordinary Man

The recent passing of Peter Jennings brought back, for me, the memory of the time I met him.

I’ve been out of the broadcast news business for over ten years now. During the course of my eleven year career in that business I worked for three different television stations. All three were ABC affiliates. So for my entire career, Peter Jennings was the face, the voice, the de facto leader for the network news our broadcasts would follow. His was the standard we aimed for.

Early in my career, when I was young and gung-ho, I taped the music sounder that lead into the ABC network evening news and used that as the background music for the outgoing message on my telephone answering machine.

It was during the launch of the space shuttle Discovery that I met Peter Jennings. You may recall the explosion of the space shuttle Challenger on January 26, 1986 which killed, among six other astronauts, Christa McAuliffe, a Concord, New Hampshire high school social studies teacher. On September 28, 1988, Discovery was the first shuttle launched after the Challenger explosion. You can imagine the press coverage that launch attracted. Until Challenger exploded, shuttle launches had become almost routine, drawing little more than the normal NASA beat reporters. But the Discovery launch drew news coverage from around the world, including the top people from ABC, CBS, NBC, as well as many local stations, including mine.

I was selected by my station to cover the event, along with a reporter. During one of our forays to the ABC News editing facility we happened to literally bump into Peter Jennings as we walked in the door. He was every bit the dashing, charismatic person you might expect. He was also very gracious, taking the time to shake hands, exchange pleasantries, and wish us good luck with our broadcast before moving on his way. We were suitably impressed, and very inspired during the time we covered that story.

Peter Jennings was an extraordinary man.

I, on the other hand, am an ordinary man.

I lead an ordinary, unremarkable life. I’m a man of average height and weight, average looks. These days, I work in a cubicle. I drive a white vehicle. I live in a suburb an ordinary city, surrounded by hundreds of tract homes just like mine. I follow the same, basic routine virtually every working day, and follow a slightly different, yet predictable, routine on the weekends.

Unlike some people who lead exciting, dramatic lives in big, exciting cities, surrounded by other similar of similar stature, I am one of the faceless masses in ‘flyover country.’ Working at my little job, raising my family, living out my entirely unremarkable life.

And now, sharing it with you here in the blogosphere, where I am one of hundreds of thousands of people sharing, in my case, unremarkable stories, no doubt forgotten the moment they are read by 10 or 12 people.

It all means very little to anyone.

Anyone, that is, except for three very remarkable and important people.

There is dignity, relevance, and yes, even importance in the role I play in the lives of Chris and Tommy. In my very unremarkableness, my pedestrian ordinariness, I am in fact remarkable to them. By virtue of doing the same, dull, predictable things every day, I am giving them exactly what they need to have their own opportunity to become remarkable, extraordinary people themselves. By going to work, building a career (no matter how dull, boring and ordinary it is), providing food, shelter, healthcare and education, I’m giving them the foundation, the stability they need to grow up into secure, successful young men.

As far as MBW is concerned, I am important for the role I play as described above. In her case, she probably settled for the ordinary when, in fact, she no doubt had many opportunities for something far above ordinary. But now, having made her choice, for better or worse she seems to have grown used to this life. If she feels somehow shortchanged by the decision she has made, she’s gracious enough not to discuss it with her friends when I’m within earshot.

Even so, she will grudgingly tell you that within my narrow, ordinary existence I bring something more to the table when it comes to our boys. I recognize who and what I am, the role I have to play, and take pleasure and pride in the responsibility and job I have to do. I’m a good dad. Involved, engaged, committed. I will never be the most exciting dad when it comes to career day at school. I’ll never pull up to the soccer game in the flashiest car, have the funniest stories to tell, or be able to give my kids the coolest, most expensive graduation gifts.

But I will be there. And I’ll bring everything I have. If I’ve done my job right, that will be enough.

And if it isn’t, it won’t be for lack of effort. When it comes to being ordinary, I’m not mailing it in. I will be the best ordinary I can be.

In deciding to begin a blog I considered many different themes and names. In the end, I decided to go with what I knew I could write about. I don’t have a job that lends itself to great stories, slices of life that can captivate thousands of readers. I don’t have the sense of humor that will produce daily hysterically funny entries that will get passed all over the internet. I don’t wade into the gladitorial mosh pit on weekends and describe it for everyone. I don't write well enough to enthrall anyone with my prosaic prose.

There’s a reason I call myself The Family Man. I’m a man. I have a family. And that’s what I write about. An ordinary man writing about ordinary things. Could there be anything less, well, ordinary?

But I believe there is something to be said for doing all of the ordinary things. Doing them well. Bringing passion and commitment to the everyday, regular tasks. Staying the course. Being the rock, the plain, ordinary rock, that anchors those things that are most important.

It takes a whole bunch of ordinary for something to be recognized as extraordinary. If you are one of those extraordinary people, then you have me to thank for making you so, if only by comparison.

You’re welcome.

But I’ll take what I have, thank you. My little life, pedestrian as it is, suits me just fine. There are those moments, and I’ve shared a few in this blog, when the very ordinariness of my family life is extraordinary to an exponential degree. A hug from Chris. A giggle from Tommy. A knowing glance from my wife.

Each one, exceptionally ordinary.

Each one, exceptionally extraordinary. And absolutely priceless.

It is extraordinary to be The Family Man.