Cindy

Droog

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January 22, 2009

He’s a Visual Sort of Chief Executive Toddler

If my son wants to become a corporate executive, he is surely doomed. It’s the way people describe these top-of-the-ladder dwellers that makes me think he doesn’t have a chance.

First, there's this issue of the way they look at the world.

I’m sure you’ve heard this one before presenting to a vice president: “Angela is very visual. If you put enough pictures and charts in your PowerPoint, you’ll be aces.”

Really?

Because all of this time, I’ve been teaching my son to listen. To look people – not projection screens – in the eyes when they are talking to them. To assess what’s being presented to him, whether it’s a new food, a potential new friend or a new board game, with all of his senses.

There’s also the fact that I’ve been focused more on words than numbers.

This runs completely contrary to one of my personal favorite sayings about execs: “He’s a numbers guy. Everything you want to do has to be backed by the ROI figures.”

I blew it again.

I so wanted my son to be able to communicate that I taught him the alphabet. Read him those goofy baby books with one picture per page, so he could focus. Shoes. Apple. Dog.

Nowhere in those books do I remember seeing a toddler version of a profit and loss statement. I realize my mistake now, and I’ll have to start today by explaining that for each Oreo in the box that is eaten, something must be gained in excess in order to prove positive return.

Good thing we’re using Oreos. At least his teeth will be in the black.

Throughout my career, I’ve also heard a lot about stubbornness.

“John wants it, and John always gets what he wants.”

Interesting.

Not true for my son. If that were the case for him, our entire family room would be one giant train, the same size the one Santa’s elves ride on at the mall. He’d never have to go to bed, eat green beans, or come out of the bathtub.

He’d be a walking raisin. But at least he’d be walking to the corner office.

And then there’s the classic, “He’s a chain of command kind of guy.”

I’m lucky that, right now, my son is too.

But if I were a “chain of command” girl growing up, I never would have skipped school one day and figured out that learning and being challenged was more fun than As The World Turns. I never would have snuck behind the garage with my cousin and found out that smoking kind of felt disgusting. And I certainly never would have driven before I had my license and taken down the fence around the high school tennis courts. Oh wait. Bad example.

There’s also the fact that many execs elicit very strong sentiment. A friend of mine claims to have a “visual allergy” to her boss, and gets sick when she simply walks in the room. Well, my son is – of course – way too cute to elicit that kind of response.

He may never be a big shot in a big office tower. I’m already over it. And it only took slightly longer than it did for me to get over ROI (or as one former boss of mine called it, ROI cubed), pie charts and poor listeners.

© 2009 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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