I’ve wished a lot of worthy men Happy Father’s Day today.
I did so with sincerity for their valued contribution to someone’s life in their world whether they are actual biological dads, or married, or straight or not.
Men who care, share life lessons, mentor, nurture, guide, love and serve as role models, just like any woman on Mother’s Day who does the same, should be acknowledged and wished well.
On this day, I’m also a bit sad. My own father passed so long ago that statistically it’s now two generations. And, the father of my own children, not one to mark occasions anyway, has blocked any appreciation of his role as father by his children’s mother which in anyone’s book is Bermuda Triangle level bizarre.
Happily, my brother, my nephews, my own son who is now a dad and the many great friends and more distant family members I know, set some very hopeful examples on this day and every other of the year.
The “fete’ing” of Father was not to be missed anywhere this week. Flyers, emails and signage all called out to remember Dad.
Windows of street side cafes in my area all swung open on this sunny day to reveal ‘dad’ in all his golf shirt and city shorts splendor. Some smiling over reading glasses while consulting on menus. Others pushing prams designed for the hypermobile new parent.
Sunshine and happiness abounded. It was nice to see and hear and walk through.
My personal joys included suggesting some good blog and outreach marketing to my bench mate at a coffee emporium. He had 50,000 hours of hands-on expertise in risk management for outdoor events. I promise I didn’t launch in boisterously on the topic until AFTER I asked if he actually WANTED to market himself.
He left with a bit to think about. He left me with much to understand about my own situation of readiness for the next big adventure in selling myself as well.
Next was Shoppers Drug Mart’s postal service counter. I had bubble mailers to match with books on EMDR from the client’s perspective by Tal Croitoru I had written about in previous posts on MilSuccessNet. They were going to colleagues who are both men AND therapists.
Desperate screams were ahead of me as I ambled past the stacks of snacks and shelves of potions. A mom was filling out a customs form at the little wooden topped island counter. Unbidden, but successful in my attempt, I pushed a little Ethiopian or maybe Sri Lankan 2-month-old in her carriage. Back and forth. Her mom, surprised and also relieved at my offer, and I look nothing alike if photographed, but to baby the resemblance was good enough.
Babies of this age really only see the dark eyes and dark hair framing a face. We both shared that. So, with the hypnotic facial features, some properly pitched cooing and persistent rolling of her carriage, princess petite calmed right down.
Hard pressed to say which one of the moms, the new or the experienced, enjoyed more that moment of sweet silence achieved.
Still, something in the day gnawed at me.
- Some good reading with green tea done is a publicly private space. Check.
- Professionally satisfying conversation with a handsome, social man and new things learned. Check.
- Three feel good deeds in one postal shop stop. Check.
- Trail down the crunchy snack aisle at Whole Foods, imminent.
Inexorably driven. Why? As Geraldine, legendary comic Flip Wilson’s character would say: The devil made me do it.
That dickens of a devil drove me to drown out the icky bits of the day with Hardbite, farmer grown, farmer owned, kettle cooked potato chips.
It says that right on the package.
Actually, it says a lot of things. I read them all and compared the least objectionable flavour combo (to me) with other chip brands using the useful white space of the Nutrition Facts.
I chose this one, the Rock Salt and Vinegar flavour, despite it having between 2 and 4 times more sodium, because it had less of these elements: calories, carbohydrates, and saturated fats. It also has less protein but more potassium.
It’s still junk food. The texture implied in the name lured me to use it as the antidote to suppress whatever it was I was needing to stuff down.
The name implies texture and the desired crunch. It lured me to buy it as my antidote to suppress whatever it was I was needing to stuff down. I’m not a recreational drug user or a drinker. Of the vices, I’m an eater.
Marketing, that old delicious devil drove me to an epicurean evil.
I chose this product over others, and the voice in my head that said, “Put the package down and step away now.” Here’s why:
Adventurous identity: Photo of surfer mid-action at sunset on the famous waves of Tofino, British Columbia where thrill seeking storm chaser types also go.
Health trend ingredients: GF gluten free, no MSG, no cholesterol, no artificial colouring and with photos of the real people, their fields and baskets of fresh potato varieties.
Local pride: Canadian made, there’s a flag on the package! Family story on half of the back panel. The white panel on black packaging carries an expiry date and notice of “Made by Christina” in addition to white lettering with hand signature verifying origins, names, natural ingredients and the promise, again, of hand-made quality.
It also has 4 ways to connect including social media accounts.
Would I buy them again? I don’t think so. I really wanted a hard bite crunch chased with a flavour bite of salt and vinegar. What I got was a bit bland, a bit less fresh and crackly than I had hoped for. It only reinforced the slightly stale state I was in.
Marketing is best when it sells its message and induces repeat business with promises delivered. It gets us emotionally. Sometimes it’s when we are riding high on emotion and sometimes it’s when we are ebbing.
Since it is my nature and training to read menus and packaging before choosing to spend money and calories, I can only say that my fall today was because, the diet devil made me do it.
Hope you enjoyed this delicious trip into classic comedy.
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