reflections.

After Robert Scoble’s mother passed away last month, he took some time off and received a piece of advice that has been rattling around in my head all night:

After Robert’s mother died, he asked for advice on perspective. I sent him my [sic] advice, which is really rather simple. Fifty years from now, no one will care whether or not I made great software. Quite a few people will, however, care very much about how well I’ve raised my children.

This comes on the heels of an odd day; 20 seconds after I met someone, she remarked that I didn’t look like the sort of person who does what I do. (She used fewer words, and professions changed to protect the guilty, but you get the idea.) She was one of the few people in the world who would actually know, too.

Hours later, I still don’t know how to take that compliment. It was a compliment, but it was also … food for thought.

I’ve been watching my son a lot lately. A few weeks ago he started jutting out his chin when he was concentrating on something. Last week he furrowed his eyes at Merrystar — at first, only at her, but now he does it to me, too.

Don’t get me wrong. These are cute mannerisms in a 13-month old. But when I realized he’s mimicking the way I clench my jaw and jut out my chin when I’m upset but determined not to show it, I broke down. I’m almost certain that the eye-furrow is him copying the way I glare at Merrystar in that instant when she’s irritated me and I haven’t got my temper under control —

These are not the things I want my son to learn from me.