Life, School, and the Need to Be Seen

Some of you know this story, but I've never written it down before.

It is a story in three parts. It's about me, my son, his school, and a restaurant. It's also a story about being seen and what happens when you are not.

So let's start with the end of the story.

Part III

Yesterday, I walked into a restaurant with my 3-year old granddaughter, who calls me “Dadpa”, placing me somewhere between her father and officially being old.

Suddenly, she sees her dad coming out of the kitchen in his chef's overalls and runs into his arms. She asks if he is coming home and is disappointed to hear that there's still work to be done.

In that moment, seeing them together, I'm so incredibly proud of the man and the father my son has become. He is truly exceptional.

Part I

A decade ago, it was a different story. The first time I got a call, it was my daughter who had to tell me that he was in an ambulance heading to the hospital after an “incident”. Sadly, that wasn't the only time and I spent years leaving my phone on at night, just in case.

As a father I blamed myself, of course. I could have been there more, made better choices, made him feel more seen. And I accept my share of responsibility.

But he and I have talked about his experience of school over the years and now perhaps just have more questions than answers:

Why didn't anyone recognise his gift for cooking?

Why did we all just assume that going to university was the right thing to do?

Who was there to teach him and his colleagues about the dangers of getting into debt?

Why didn't the system make him feel seen or like he belonged?

It's not the fault of any teacher or even the school. They were good people doing good work. But the experience let him along a long and difficult path.

Part II

A couple of years ago, I was in New York for work and we had the good fortune to have dinner at Eleven Madison Park, once named the best restaurant in the world and made famous by Will Guidara for his commitment to Unreasonable Hospitality. 

[The book is worth reading as a strategy playbook for anyone wanting to build extraordinary moments in time with intentionality. But, this is a personal story, so let's go back to that weekend in Manhattan.]

Excited to experience the restaurant firsthand, I wrote an email in advance to confirm the time that we would arrive. I also said that my son was a chef in a fine dining restaurant, that cooking had helped him find his path, and that he likes to collect business cards from different restaurants and that I always try to bring one back to him after my travels.

The meal was fabulous, as we expected it would be. A multi-course celebration of the radish. Who knew that it could be chopped and cooked in so many ways?

And then, when the meal was done, we were invited to go back-stage into the kitchen. An already wonderful evening was now in the realm of magic.

And that's when she said it.

“We are so happy that you are here tonight. But there is one person who isn't here, who should be here. Your son [they mentioned his name].

And so we've prepared some gifts for him, including his business card.”

She handed over the card that was not only signed by Chef Daniel Humm himself, but framed.

It was an impossibly beautiful moment. Naturally, I burst into tears.

My son, who once I thought I'd lost, was being talked about by the number one restaurant in the world.

He was seen. 

Moral of the story

The truth is, there isn't any particular moral to this story. 

It's just that some experiences take a long time to understand, to process, to write.

Sometimes they are personal.

And we all just want to be seen.

[Note: This story is published with the permission of my son.]

Photo by Nur Athirah Hamzah on Unsplash.