Traversing the Social Graph

Perhaps the greatest asset that web developers and business execs have in place is the ability to Traverse the Social Graph.

Traversing the social graph can be defined thus:
- A trust relationship exists between one person and their close sphere of relationships
- A 2nd level of relationship is inherited, because of that first level of trust
- A 3rd level can be inferred from the 2nd.

Therefore, in classic social graph definition, one can "traverse" the graph for good (and for ill!).

Businesses can also do this, however all businesses should be aware that the right-brained savviness of the modern internet user can smell a "corporate push" when it shows up. The value proposition must be respected, maintained, and secured.

Execs, developers, and decision makers - grab your CMO, your CTO, and get them talking about how to leverage the social graph - especially traversing the interesting and innovative bridges that are being formed every minute of every day.

RSA Animate - Drive: The surprising truth about what motivates us

This is a phenomenal video. Absolutely loved the content and the delivery.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u6XAPnuFjJc

The Social Media Revolution 2 (Refresh)

Tremendous video to be used in the debate of the power of Social Media. Keep it in your back pocket.

The Power of "Time Shifted Events"

At Ignition Garage (www.ignitiongarage.com) we have the pleasure of working on new ideas every day. Some of them are incubated in our minds and some of them come from our clients, that we get the honor of helping to bring to the light of day (and market).

Time Shifted Events are a powerful model for the future. In the era of shrinking budgets across every spectrum of life (personal and work), there is the need to harness the increase of information ingestion while tailoring to the need of real-time connection for a fraction of what it takes to pull all the participants into one place, at one time. Enter the concept of time shifting events.

What fundamentally we are doing is calling out the content, be it real-time presentations, secondary announcements, or human-augmented media shouts and enabling audiences to participate with the subject matter experts (SMEs), ideally the author of the aforementioned content. The landscape of the marketplace has tectonically moved - where the business models that worked before are in tremendous jeopardy and industries are fighting for survival (publishing, music, network broadcast). The evolution of these industries is fast moving and there will be deaths along with new births (with new models) that create and convey the same or greater value, at a blistering pace.

Time shifted events respects the human in this blitz of value transfer. It will be to everyone's benefit that the SMEs are there, approachable, and interacting with them - even if the information is not presented for the first time. Indeed, it is a powerful augmenter to something as tried and true as a book - when the author is able to interact across mediums (print, web, media, slide show, story) again, again, and again. It is not about the teller of the story, it is about the hearer.

Ironically enough, while this is happening at lightening speed in social media, it is putting the content creators in a pickle. How do they promote themselves and keep up with the expectations of realtime communication? How many times can an author respond with direct messages (DMs) or replies (@replies) in Twitter, in a 1 to 1000 manner? When the content creator quickly gets to the chaos threshold, they will grab for anything to keep up the appearance and regain some sanity - which often results in outsourcing their authenticity. When the fans get word of this, beware the backlash. The expectations have created levers of power that are enormous billy clubs, wielded by potential mobs.

Time shifting events can act as the emotional shock absorber for the potential billy-club masses. The artist must manage their time, voice, and interaction with their adoring fans. They can do this by being live, while "on" camera, even if they are in their jammies via broadband web communication. It is still authentic, personal, and terribly satisfying.

The era of the enormous, mega-event for product promotion is over. The caveats to this are the avenues of successful entertainment (hearken to U2's 360 tour for financial numbers to prove this assertion). However, for an original content creator to build the audience that they need - time shifting their events can be one of the best tools in their promotional toolkit. And one day, they will be able to create their own spaceship and cart it around to venues around the world. Heck, maybe they will fly theirs.

Africa 2010 - Heathrow - The Journey Home

March 1, 2010

The mission trip was successful, and seeds were planted (physical and spiritual). We have done our roles, and the Lord shall do His. We had a side mission trip to Uganda, met several influential people, and were able to deliver the teaching on Stewardship to two distinct groups. The nation is one that is still recovering from its past and struggling to find its future. There is an abundance of natural resources but it appears that the nation is still experiencing tensions from within and without.

So now, en route to home. Miss it terribly and ready to transition to normal life again. The Lord has blessed our company and it is calling me to dive back into it with full energy. Significant events are opening up on the Mission Igniter side of the company - unanticipated and unmerited opportunity, quite a blessing. Mike has done a phenomenal job keeping the balls rolling forward and supporting us from the home base.

Kenya, may you prosper and grow in your strength and knowledge of the Lord. You are in my heart. Brett, out.

Africa 2010 - Never, ever drive in Africa at night

February 11th, 2010

Leaving from Siaya, we tarried far too long. We had a long drive ahead of us, probably 2 hours. The thing about Kenyan roads is that potholes can be the size of small cows, trucks win because they have mass, don’t care, and are driving to some obscure deadline (ironically), and there are no lines in the middle or the side of the road. Compounding that terror, pedestrians, goats, cattle, human-driven carts, donkey-driven carts, motorcycles, bicycles, and any contraption in between ALL SHARE THE ROAD. This happens day and night. And at night, since there are no streetlights, and the African people have an automatic night-time camouflage, the drive is utterly terrifying.

It was obvious that we were getting into hairy situations when the sun was setting and we were only halfway to home. We bobbed, we weaved, we slammed on the brakes numerous times, we jockeyed, we prayed and eventually we made it home. When we saw the shore of Lake Victoria after the last rise, we broke into song- Malcom and me perhaps moreso than Rose and Paul, for whom this kind of driving is normal. Egad.

Africa 2010 - See-Eye-Ah

February 11th, 2010

One of the bishops, George Barrack, gave us a key to Siaya to remember the region – See Eye Ah. This is a fertile place, an hour outside of Kisumu, where Paul grew up. When we arrived to a tiny, clean, steel-roofed church, the children began by singing to us in Swahili. We were treated with honor and it was obvious that we were the first white people that some of the children had ever seen.

Malcolm preached a 2 hour lesson, about Stewardship and Sacrifice. He felt moved, prior to speaking, to ask for the blessing of one of the obvious elders in the village. He was shakey from old age, but had a steely gaze and a warmth about him. Malcolm knelt before this man who laid hands on Malcolm’s head and prayed for him in Swahili. After a short, powerful benediction, Malcolm got up and hugged him and the man hugged him back – as brothers in Christ, from 2 sides of the world. Paul was sitting in the corner just smiling. He exclaimed “that’s my father!”. We all were astonished and deeply thankful, and truly had no idea that this man Malcolm felt led to ask, was related at all. The Lord was marvelous and lifted up during that teaching.
After the teaching, we were invited up to the village to a feast. It was authentic Kenyan meal, fried liver, maize, rice, cabbage, soups, and rolled flat bread. It was delicious and we were treated like kings. There was also enough food for 20 people. So when we were finished, some of the men of the village came and took the food to the other houses. I later learned that when Africans have visitors, they show them incredible hospitality and have a saying “When the visitors come, the whole village eats”. Perhaps that is why we had so much food put before us.
We left the village, after a happy send off, including my showing the kids how to juggle their “soccer ball”. The ball was built of dozens of grocery bags bundled up and kept together with rubber bands. They thought it was a hoot that this Mizungu (Swahili for “white dude”) was pretty good at soccer. Every time I muffed and kicked the ball away, some beautiful kid would scamper off and pick it up and throw it back to me. What a treat.

Our next stop was to Paul’s mother’s home, only a mile away from the church. She was sick and her feet were causing her much pain. Paul said it was arthritis. We arrived at a clearing and walked about a hundred yards along a hillside trail. We came upon mud and wattle homes, with thatched roofs. In one of the older ones, a sweet woman was sitting in the dark. No electricity, no plumbing, only a single room with a bed stacked in the corner. Her face was lined with worry and wrinkles from a hard life. She was authentically African. I shall never forget her face. Malcolm and I prayed over her and asked the Lord to reach down and heal her body. We chatted with her for a while, all the while worry lines crossing her brow and her mouth. We eventually left to head back to Kisumu.

Prologue: The Lord did not heal Paul’s mother. Indeed, the answer was different than anyone was expecting. This precious woman died two days later. It was a hard hitting fact for both of us that life is so indeed out of our control to manipulate, stretch, or breathe into. I actually snuck two pictures of Paul’s mother and one picture of her feet beside Paul’s. I don’t know exactly why I did this. I didn’t want to intrude on the sacred moment of prayer with my camera, but I felt that it was important. Those 2 pictures were the last pictures ever taken of this woman, who is now pain-free in the arms of Jesus. Of that, I am sure.

Africa 2010 - Kisumu

February 10, 2010

We flew out on the third day to the working town of Kisumu, on the shores of Lake Victoria (interesting factoid – Lake Victoria is huge, 2nd largest freshwater lake in the world). After the typical small hop jet flight, we landed at a tiny little airport where our bags were taken out and carted to the chainlink fence we were standing by. The waiting area was a covered concrete porch structure. Bishop Paul, a dear friend to Malcolm, and soon to be mine as well, met us with his lovely wife Rose. They picked us up and took us to our hotel, Kiboko Bay (famous for its hippos – Kiboko in Swahili means “hippo”). It was a lovely stay and every day we were refreshed by the water off of Lake Victoria and the fantastic staff.

Bishop Paul oversees several churches and in the morning, he took us to his primary church near his house, in the slums of Kisumu (the Lelonga district), to the “Revival of Salvation Ministries” church. It is a fair sized building, with dirt floors, corrugated steel roof and walls. It seats about 100 or so Kenyan souls with a concrete pad for a stage. The first thing I felt was that these are my Kenyan brothers and sisters – and the Lord loves his church. It was to be my amazing experience that these desperately poor people (majority living below the poverty line of $2 US per day) were wealthy in spirit and grace. We were received with honor and dignity and treated like family. Several times, there was worship, in an authentic Kenyan/Swahili style that was rhythmic, chanting, and utterly praising of the Living God. I was so deeply moved to be in among them, bald head, pasty white kid from the Pacific Northwest, Washington. As I was to learn along this trip, perhaps the greatest natural resource that Kenya has is an indomitable devoted Christian Spirit. It is palpable, transformational, and life-giving.

We taught about Stewardship in Kisumu for 3 days, the first session being for 40+ pastors, who came in specially to hear what we had to say. These are men and women who are actively laying down their lives for their little, or big, flocks. It was an honor to be among them. The next two days we were in the church speaking to both the church folks plus pastors who came in from all around the Kisumu area (and were staying with people from the church). It was incredibly hot inside the steel-roofed church, I had to keep a fan on my laptop and the projector. But the electricity kept up, the preaching kept on, and we drank lots of water.
The main lesson for our African brothers and sisters about Stewardship is Faith, Sacrifice, Success. Many travelling preachers and westerners will come in and try to impress them, or admonish them, then leave. Our mission and calling was to teach that which the Lord had asked us to preach- that their relationship to the Lord, with regard to business, is personal, intentional, and sacrificial. And in fact, that the way out of poverty is not to allow themselves to get into the ever-widening trap of donations by outsiders, but rather by sacrificing of their own resources into their common good (local business, local church, local shared efforts) and to listen to His leading. We were there to help convey some of the very basics of business, but more than anything to encourage their spirits in the resources and value around them, that can be leveraged to feed their own families and communities. This is not something that has never been preached and Malcolm did a great job engaging the communities in the message. Indeed, the reception by the pastors, business people, and congregations was touching.

Lord – allow this seed to grow, that your people might increase in health, in spirit, in prosperity in learning to shrewdly apply your resources so that they might not only simply live, but might transform their very identities. From identities of poverty, to identities of God-Directed Stewards applying existing resources and energy to the benefit of your church and communities.

Africa 2010 - Nairobi – A Bustling, Wandering, Busy Place

February 9th, 2010

In our 2 days of rest, we were ridiculously busy. Most of it was filled with preparing the message and the support material . Malcolm and I were sprawled out in Utugi’s living room, with the portable printer humming and the projector shining onto dark brick and mortar walls. (little powerpoint trick learned here – turning the background to black and text to white makes any rough surface usable). Through a process of Malcolm standing up, walking, and talking, he was able to get the ideas out in a relatively cogent form so that I could capture them with notes, get clarification, and begin to process them into something that could be communicated (ala slide deck).

We wandered into the Vanguard offices both days and took care of some business in town, in Nairobi. Faith was our guide as we walked out of the compound to the first bus stop. We hoped onto a Motato (people mover bus) and wandered into town.

Earlier that morning, I had a fairly funny BGO (blinding glimpse of the obvious). To cover my bald head, I brought a few hats. My favorite is a white jogging hat – lets the heat from my head out, while strolling in fashion (and it’s bendy). That morning I thought to myself, “I wonder if I should wear this, or if it would make me stand out because I would most likely be the only guy wearing a white hat”. The irony is that we were the only white guys on the bus, and maybe .05% of Nairobi was Caucasian. My BGO? “It’s not the hat”.
We meandered, wandered, strolled, and flowed with the bustling people. Nairobi is a busy city. It doesn’t have the urgency or chaos of New York or London, but rather reminds me of people wandering and occasionally stopping every once in a while. There were desperately poor people selling charcoal lumps on the side of the roads. There were government workers burning trash piles (no barrels, just piles) beside the bus stops. There are MPesa signs everywhere (a fairly novel technique where Kenyans send and store monetary value on their phones). And there were the normal routines of business – storefronts, malls, office buildings, schools, ministries, etc.

We also saw significant darkness and oppression. In particular there was one building I found disturbing in the middle of town – it was enormous and ominous. Turns out it was a seat of power for another religion. Members of that same religion were almost glaring at us as we walked the streets of Nairobi. My spiritual radar was on high alert and pinging often.

At the same time, there were obvious and significant signs or grace and redemption – including Faith’s school building where (for a normal office building, with the school administration offices on the 5th floor), the stairwells had planters with encouraging scriptures on it, as we wound counter clockwise up the flights. This was a public building – no ACLU to enforce religious sanitization, or removal of anything of faith where a human eyeball might experience it. This is Kenya – a place where Jesus is spoken of as Messiah and Redeemer. Indeed, as we were to find out – the people of Kenya have a faith that is perhaps their most valuable country resource, greater than their gold, their wilderness, or their fertile land.

Africa 2010 - Bumpy Terror and Beef

February 8th, 2010

Our first two days had a singular purpose – rest and restore from the jetlag. We got off the plane and Utugi’s daughter Faith met us. All of our luggage arrived in good shape and we got through customs and baggage claim in short order. At first, I felt that the place was hot – but it was only the stuffiness of the terminal. Once we got outside, it was a balmy Seattle summertime evening –very comfortable for us. Faith drove us onto the highways where I began to feel “wow, I am certainly in a different land”. The highways, at night, are a bit unnerving. There are no lines on the road, and the cars and trucks stay to the left (ala English highways), but weave in and out of the gaps and make their own lanes. We eventually slowed to an inexplicable stopping point – no signs, no turn off, just a break in the concrete - at 60 mph.

We drove down a RIDICULOUSLY bumpy rode, which seemed about 10 miles (it’s actually maybe 2) crawling through ruts, bumps, ravines, chasms, lakes, gulfs, quarries to finally arrive at Utugi’s house. I learned later that they travel this multiple times a day. Brett, welcome to Africa my friend; Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.

The house is a lovely, well built house in a decent section of Nairobi. The family was waiting up for us to arrive so that we could have dinner together. We were a bit shot, but they welcomed us warmly with the cheerful cheek to cheek Kenyan greeting (which I have grown to love). We had a traditional Kenyan dinner of beef, beans, and cabbage. Then off to bed it was for us, complete with my first experience in a standard mosquito net bedroom. Ahhh, sleep at last…

Africa 2010 - Oh Yeah - The Superbowl

February 7th, 2010

And where in the heck are we going to watch the Saints vs the Colts in Nairobi, Kenya? Will the lions and zebras share the telly with us? It looks like we simply are two Yanks destined to go without this year. Not to mention that our internal clocks are busted, or smooshed, or something. With a flight halfway around the world LITERALLY, a body has to figure out some method to make sense of it all. If I start to see flying nerf balls and purple kangaroos named Cracker, I will know that it is time to sleep.

Africa 2010 - Across the Wasteland

February 7th, 2010

We have been in the plane for 4 hours now, from London to Nairobi. It is comfortable, lots of legroom, good food with the classic British Airways tending to details. A half-full cup of cranberry juice sits by my side as I type. Through a speckled window over my shoulder, I have been snapping photos of the journey south. My first glimpse of something other than clouds showed the French Alps, rising to and through the low, spotty cloud cover. I quickly grabbed my point and shoot and snapped a record. The in flight trip map showed Marseille and Montpellier. After a bit over the water, I saw land to the left, curling South. It was Cagliari and Carbonara, in the Mediterranean Sea. Then another look showed the African coast. We were in Africa! We flew almost directly over Tunis and Tripoli, then curled Southeast into the desert. The landscape continued to get dryer and brown. We flew through and above a hazy sand storm, definitely not clouds or mists – it was too fine and that light tan color of the desert. Another look later showed that we had entered the Saharan desert. Sand dunes, snaking North to South created valleys and swirling refuges, but the look and feel was incredibly foreign and inhospitable. It truly appears as if no life could even be sustained in the wastelands of the desert below. About this time we have dropped South of Cairo and the tombs of ancient Egyptian pharaohs. It is an ancient and barren land. There is not a green, blue, or white thing in site – it is sea upon sea of sand. And I fly at 37,000 feet in a hollow metal people-mover, sipping my cranberry juice. In Libya 37,000 feet below me are the people of the desert travelling to the only water for a hundred miles.

I have an enormous sense of awe right now, in the complexity and vastness of it all. How many caravans have traversed that wasteland? Does anyone on this hollow metal tube give much thought to the scraping survival down there? Is unchecked power of enslavement checked with righteous application of grace, dignity, and capable love?

Africa 2010 - Matrix Moments at Heathrow

February 7th, 2010

There is certainly desires in my heart for this trip. I discern that there is a period of me simply releasing a vice-like grip on my future – especially with regard to driving our business. There is almost nothing I can do to add to this equation from Africa – Ignition Garage has been kept in competent hands with Mike and is indeed experiencing a level of growth that we both believe would not have happened had either of us not answered this call. Mike is acting as our mission control – in the sending, organization, and coordination of efforts stateside. Kathy has also in all matters practical. We go with a full compliment of coverage into a known and unknown land.
Malcolm and I walked through several terminals at Heathrow this morning (at a ridiculously early hour, 4 am I think), experiencing multiple Matrix-ey moments. We expected the trainkeeper to hop out of a train at any time, as we walked down deserted concrete tubes. It was a surreal experience. However in our walking and talking, we covered much ground. We do tend to go to the deeper places when given time, context, and free reign. Much of the conversation is “Why are we here?” “Why are YOU here?” “What is the LORD doing in this?”. They are thoughts worthy of the time we spend on them.

A few takeaways from that walk:

Why are YOU here? (Brett)
The Lord has called and I am in the answer. He is unveiling the ultimate why in His time.

However, a few answers are:

To cover Malcolm’s back during, before, and after the teaching. The Lord had shared this with me even prior to a discussion a month ago when we got together to discuss the trip. The important message here is that no man can do this alone, and if the prayerful listening is going to be done well, it will require Malcolm to know that his 6 is covered. We have experienced several instances already of interference – the spiritual kind where the radar is pinging and we are stopped in our tracks.

A calling to a new level of Leadership. The Lord is unfolding what this is as I walk. Here, in this place, there is ought else that I can choose save an intentional surrender to His directing. My best efforts in teaching spiritual & business teachings to beautiful people of Kenya are misguided at best. I am a man with skills and relationships that has value to transfer, but it must be in a proper placement, where I understand the right relationship in the veil between Heaven and Earth. This point is for me, though, is to understand more directly His voice and His intentions for me, my family, my business and the vision I might so carefully craft. He must be Lord of All, or He is Lord of nothing. Leading with authority is the easy part – leading when the vision communiqué has been received, and no sooner, is the harder.

To receive a proper understanding of Stewardship. A significant part of this trip is about the Biblical teaching of stewardship, where the power of the application of gifts and resources, transforms nations. The common (and wrong) rules dictate that Power Rules and Poverty is Forever and that To Receive it to Consume. Each of these is not of God, nor is it effective in transformation. The Lord is calling us to dwell in the uncomfortable causality of the world’s rules, to understand the enslavement it creates, and how to teach and own the laws of God that frees the shackles of men.

To find Joy. I prayed to the Lord that He would lead me to a place of peace, rest, and joy in my spirit again. I had become aware a few months ago that since October of 2008, I have held onto a desperate and clinched hand. I have walked with this clenching unknowingly, but my body and spirit has paid the inevitable toll. The New Testament advises us to “Be anxious about nothing, but in all things, by prayer and petition, present your requests to God”. And “This is why I tell you: do not be worried about the food and drink you need in order to stay alive, or about clothes for your body. After all, isn't life worth more than food? And isn't the body worth more than clothes? Look at the birds: they do not plant seeds, gather a harvest and put it in barns; yet your Father in heaven takes care of them! Aren't you worth much more than birds?”

Linna and the family are my amazing joy while this Husband/Dad/CEO works it all out. And I battle (like I am sure most husband/dads/workers) the balance where I need to keep the priority reserve energy bank high - that I don't spend all of my energy or devotion prior to getting home. Linna certainly is my recharger. And playing with my kids - ah, that feeds my spirit. Being away from them in this is like a fast from something amazing, I don't like it much, but the Father who ultimately has our destiny in His hands is able to use it in transformational ways.

Music: Sara Tevales (Portuguese). Sang me across the Sahara and into the Southern Hemisphere for the first time in my life.

Africa 2010 - Kayra Sillo

February 7th, 2010

Kayra Sillo is an achingly beautiful song from an album by the Kenyan Boys Choir that I am listening to while on the plane from London. I don’t know what the singers are saying, nor do I know even what they look like. The tune speaks to me nevertheless. The harmonies are controlled, weaving, and poignant. I have been blessed by this album as we travel to Kenya – to a people I have never met on a continent I have never seen.

After a brief lookup, I learned what I was blessed by: Kayra Sillo means "Way of Peace". After a tumultuous and difficult few years, a way of peace would be more than welcome. My suspicion is that this way of peace will not be through the absence of conflict, but probably through the presence of Spirit brought on by the Living God.

Africa 2010 - A Shining and Beautiful Thing

February 6th, 2010

“The heart has its reasons, but reason knows nothing of the heart.” B. Pascal

Almost everything in my life pales in comparison to the depth of love, devotion, and soul bond that I have with my bride, Linna. As we parted for this trip, each of our hearts ached to point of breaking. If it were not because the Lord asked me to go, I would not have considered the length of time away from my dearest one. It was an ache beyond description and while we both knew that a simple span of days was before now and my return, it did not diminish the pain of goodbye. But we also knew that the Lord was up to something; the Lion was afoot and He was working something mysterious and beautiful.

The word, Beautiful, is one that begins to scratch the surface of what defines our marriage. This incomparable woman that has graced my side for almost fifteen years has captivated me mind, soul, and spirit. Her depth of love and devotion to Jesus is inspiring beyond words. She submits, she roars, she trembles, she laughs, she chases, she finds – my life would be a wandering dispatch without her.
Lord, thank you for loving Linna so greatly then and now. Take care of my baby, she was yours far before she was ever mine. And I never, ever want to take your place. But rather Lord, from that first bread and cup we took together with you, watch over and keep her joyful, confident, and strong while I am away. She is no better hands. No better hands exist.

Africa 2010 - The Sendoff

(The Africa 2010 series is about my mission trip to Kenya for 3+ weeks. They are captured on a laptop, then uploaded when internet access is available. And by Internet access, in Africa it is the kind of "access" that Benjamin Franklin had to electricity...)

February 5th, 2010

We gathered at the Mead home for a time of prayer and anointing. Mike led the group in a great prayer and commissioned us off. We also had a time beforehand of sharing about the trip, discussion about the mission, our roles and the beautiful people we will be spending time with. Lots of laughter, a few tears, and a sense of sendoff. Africa, here we come.

Father's Day 2009 - Mike Eddy Remembered

The warning lights on the cockpit blared DANGER, alarms going off like sirens. The pilot jinked left, right, left again. The missile accelerated, tracking to the A6’s powerful twin engines. He looked over his left shoulder, saw the plume of smoke to the deadly rocket tip, threatening to blow him out of the sky. He dropped more chaff, rolled right. The missile at almost the last second, took the bait and plowed into the chaff, detonating into a fireball. The jet roared away, back to the safety of the lonely carrier in the South China Sea.

I gulped. “Dad, was it really like that?”
With a gleam in his eye, he said “No. It was worse. We dodged 12 SAMs one day.” And I noticed that he had the Naval Aviator’s gleam in his eyes – that warrior glint that told me in no uncertain terms, that if he was called again, 40 years later, he would go.

It was one of those rare moments in my life when I got to feel, to taste, to smell the palpable danger of those years that Dad flew A6 Intruders in Vietnam. The movie, “Flight of the Intruder” was Hollywood’s adaptation of the book by the same name. The author, Stephen Coonts was a fellow pilot in one of Dad’s squadrons in Vietnam. While the movie went far beyond being historically accurate, it gave me a powerful glimpse of the life that my Dad, Mike Eddy, lived during my earliest years of life. Those early days in the Vietnam conflict were a cauldron that formed a generation of men. Their dreams informed ours. Their fears and passions impacted the world we grew up in. They had families and hopes for their kids, the same as the generation before. But in those days, normal really wasn’t.

It took me years to realize that I was not a normal kid with a normal upbringing. I grew up around war machines – the streaking the sky kind that roared a throaty roar and make an American boy’s blood boil with pride. My neighborhood was always close to Navy jets, aircraft carriers, stuffy command buildings, and men who had a glint in their eyes. I moved every 2 to 4 years and had friends who had lived in the same house for their whole lives. I visited the flight surgeon on the carrier on the weekend – because it was faster than going to the hospital. I got shooed off of the airstrip when the command jets were taking off. It has taken me years to try to break down my Dad, something that every son probably does. It is perhaps, a lifelong effort. It is perhaps, my need to complete the jigsaw puzzle called Dad, to make all the pieces fit.

Mike Eddy was a man who had a ferocious patriotism that was balanced with free thought, love of the natural world, and a natural disposition to lead men. Since his death last year, I have often reminisced that there was only one thing that dad loved more than flying, and that was Mom. There’s was a tender love that was a true partnership in a world poignantly marked by the Naval Academy, the war in Vietnam, a long military career, and frequent moves around the nation following wherever the Navy took them. Though I may reflect that Dad’s path through life may look linear, I am struck by how very non-linear it actually was. Since my Dad’s death in October of 2008, with kids of my own now growing up without their Grampie, I find myself reflecting about how much I really need to know the man. I need to fit more puzzle pieces together. I need to even find more pieces.

Every father has precious moments that are burned into their memory banks. For some, it is the very moment of the miracle where the son or daughter joins the world in the birthing chamber and snuggles deeply against Mama’s breast. For others it is the first time their kid laughs the deep belly laugh that tells the world Dad is the most important person alive. For Mike Eddy, my dad, perhaps it was receiving family letters and pictures while in Vietnam, while being buried in a sweltering aircraft carrier. He kept all of the pictures in a small, brown photo album, reviewing them when he felt lonely. Perhaps he wanted a touchstone of his own, anchoring him to the family back home. I think the old and new memories tied him to us and us to him.

I remember a time swimming in our pool in Florida where I swear Dad was the strongest man in the world. I used to love being on his back under the water, clinging to his neck. He would look back and impishly say “hold your breath”. I only had moments to comply before he dipped, coiled his legs then shoved off a million miles per hour under water. I positively knew that we would burst through the concrete. Instead, we floated like sleek seals and he brought his head up just in time to tap the other side. The motion was so fluid, that I was amazed he was as comfortable in the water as he was in the air, inside the graceful jets streaking across the sunset sky. Did he remember those days in the pool as much as me? Perhaps he did. Perhaps they were little nuggets of good times, stored away.

Mementos are quirky things. Some nik-naks we pick up and they have meaning in the moment. Others, become touchstones that remind us of an important place that we cement into our memories. For me, for my Dad, my touchstones are his medals. I often used to paw through that mysterious drawer in his bureau that held the exotic chunks of bronze, silver, and gold. Their meanings escaped me as a child. They no longer do as a man. The medal that holds the most meaning to me is the Distinguished Flying Cross, a medal given to the best of the best pilots in war time, for those who demonstrate “heroism or extraordinary achievement while participating in an aerial flight” during operations. The gravity of what this medal means, now that Dad is gone, is enough to lodge deep in my heart, enough to pursue the valor, the heroism it portends. This was given to my very father, the man who poured out his heart to Mom, my brother and me. What were the lessons he learned along the pathways of life that he never got to share? I certainly could have been a better listener. What dreams did he dream for me that I now have to color in, since only the linework of the picture is visible, if at all? I could have asked. Can I become the man that makes Dad proud? A man worthy of a medal? It is a weighty thought; one that I am sure that he thought about while pondering his own family legacy.

Dad’s dad, Frank Merrill Eddy, was also a Naval Academy grad (WWII diesel subs). And if that weren’t enough pressure, Mom’s Dad, Ed Dankworth, was another Naval Academy grad (WWII & Korea fighter pilot). Did Dad desire for Scott, my brother, and me to attend the Naval Academy and become warriors like the men before us? Sure he did. But before that, he desired us to be true to ourselves and be men of character, integrity, and passion. He allowed us to choose our path and supported us both when we chose a university path and not a military one. I will forever be grateful that Dad believed in Me, not in where I should go, not in what I should do. Dad believed in me. Dad believed in Scott and Dad believed in me. That's a pretty amazing thing for a kid to grow up with.

So this Father’s day, I remember him. I remember how Dad trumped my brother and me, in an email brag session about who had the best office. Scott sent an email with a picture of his office, on the water in Pensacola, sun setting on the horizon, bay bridge in the distance. I sent an email with the picture of my office, the waters of Liberty Bay sparkling in the foreground, the majestic Olympic Mountains in the back. Dad’s trump card and touché was a simple email, with a simple picture of him in a cockpit and 2 words - “My office”. Though we were 3000 miles away, I am sure that Scott and I had the same silly grin that said “Dad – you win”.

The last words Dad shared with me were “I will see you in our heaven”. I cannot think of that sweet last Sunday afternoon without weeping. Dad was all skin and bones, in pain but relaxing at home on his bed. My 4 year old son, Caedon, Dad’s youngest grandson, scampered across his lap to be with him that day. Dad reached out his hand and held Caedon’s. Caedon, held his hand back. For Caedon, Grampie was just moving a little slower. For me, I knew it was close to Dad’s last day.

Dad and I shared some great moments that afternoon. I prayed with him. I prayed over him. I prayed to our Father to heal him. And I prayed to my Abba Father to hold my Dad in his arms. I shared with Dad how proud his grandkids are of their Grampie. I shared with Dad that his name, our name, is carried on by Scott, me, and his precious and precocious grandkids. With the humor of a warrior, he said to me “I hope that doesn’t hurt.”

No Dad; carrying your name doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt at all.

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(For those Navy brothers and friends of Dad's who get a chance to read this, my apologies for any inaccuracies! I would love to hear from you; hear stories, receive pictures, or help me to fill in all of the gaps that I have this burden to fill. Be happy to buy dark, chewy beers, scotch, margueritas, whatever and talk about dodging SAMs and doing all of those things Navy pilots don't do because it is against the rules. Email me if you get a chance, love to hear from you.

Here's another of my favorite pics of Dad's in an A4- anybody know who took the pic? Love to hear that story...

Another point of clarity - the pics of the cute kid are actually Scott, I raided Mom's photo albums to get them the right pics for this post. He's not so cute anymore :-), but he is doing well down in Pensacola FL as a successful engineer and member of the community. As a side note, he is a far better fisherman than Dad ever was, btw. Scott actually catches fish. But that is another story for another day.)

A Delightful Resource - Free Audiobooks

I stumbled upon this resource today. In my quest for interesting content delivered to, played on, and optimized for the iPhone, I consulted my favorite oracle - Google. Via said oracle, I found openculture.com. There are many links to differing libraries that can download iTunes files directly, and can also deliver up .mp3s to be heard on computers and non-Apple devices. While I am still truly delighted by the iPhone, particularly the power of this "small screen" computer and its power to modify the way we (and software) interact, I acknowledge that there are many, many devices out there. If you are interested in audio books for the road, or for background brain-food, check them out.

So take a look at the eBooks and other resources on Open Culture. My applauds to the folks contributing to it.

iPhone App Creation - Plus Mashup Land

I'm working on a small skunkworks project that brings in elements of iPhone app development, Mashups from social networks, Google's OpenSocial API, and interesting black box calcs. Interesting challenges flow the gamut, from UX interaction architecture diagrams, to database schema work, to API access code, to output targetting (taking the user where they desire to ultimately go) - all while trying to maintain and respect the minimalist approach of Web 2.0 development. Fun, challenging, but quite rewarding thus far.

It finally got a name - Generation F

For quite some time, I have been thinking about the societal change that is rolling upon the first world with dramatic and awesome power. The change is primarily technological in nature (though not because I often see much of the world through that lens). It is however how technology, and adaptions to relationships, are modifying/morphing/expanding due to the reach and persistent communication that technology has enabled. This change is evidenced through one entity - if a generation could be called an entity.

The name of what I am speaking was recently coined "Generation F". This is the generation that has grown up with technology and connectedness as a fundamental element (like H, Hydrogen or more pointedly, like a molecule O2 - Oxygen). This connectedness that is a basic and "always-on" part of life is profoundly shaping the expectations, aspirations, and leadership potential of this new generation. Jim Collins wrote about this in the April issue of Inc Magazine, where he sees a profound talent and optimism in the incoming generation - who tragically ironically are the inheritors of bad policy, crushing domestic debt, and environmental burdens greater than any of us can imagine.

I for one am applauding and cheering for Generation F. Let your light shine guys: change the world creatively, passionately, deeply, and help to transform the darkness and disease that threatens us all into light-giving life that serves mankind.

From a business context, Gary Hamel has a great write up that describes the difference in expectations and attitudes that we business leaders must be aware of - the rolling wave is here, whether we choose to see it or not. http://blogs.wsj.com/management/2009/03/24/the-facebook-generation-vs-the-fortune-500/