Tom Wilkie 10/7/1954 - 06/17/09

We all look for approval from the people who are important to us. Some of us look for approval from our teachers, striving for the perfect paper to show them that we have what it takes. Some of us look for approval from our bosses, hoping to get that promotion or a raise when we show them that we so rightly deserve it. Some of us look for approval from our friends, hoping that they really do like us and want to be around us, really think we're funny or interesting or just a stable shoulder to cry on when they need it most. We all want to feel like we're worth something to someone sometimes.

Like a lot of people, I was always seeking approval from my parents. I was always doing my best to get good grades, to be polite and have good manners and make them proud of me. And I know my dad was proud of me, of all his kids. If he saw you on the street or at the bookstore, he wouldn't let you go until he told you about how much Nicole liked teaching in North Carolina; or about Matt's new job in Philly,; about how Tony just passed his nursing exam; or how Steph had just made valedictorian. But no matter how many times I'd heard it from him, there was always that lingering doubt that I wasn't doing everything I could. I never made it to first base in tee-ball. I don't think I ever scored a goal in soccer. And I would never say I throw like a girl, because that would be an insult to girls.

It was clear from a very early age that my father would not be able to retire, relax, and reap in the benefits of a son who played short-stop for his beloved Yankees. Derek Jeter I am not. And I can remember a distinct moment in my young adult life where I wondered if he was ever disappointed in me for not reaching the pinnacle of physical prowess.

It was 2007, and Christmas was quickly approaching. I was at a loss for what to get my dad that year. He'd already had enough coffee mugs to fill a cafe, and I can't even remember the last time I'd seen him drink a cup of Folger's. I tried to think of things that he would like getting, things that would put a smile on his face. And I think that's how we all do it sometimes, we think in terms of things, of material items. What my dad liked most was intangible: it was getting to spend time with the people he loved, especially his family. So I presented an idea that year instead of a "thing." I came up with a book. A book filled with blank pages. A book I called, "Things I Learned About My Dad."

The goal here was for us to fill the book together, to spend time sitting down and talking about all the things I never knew about my own father. And in doing so, I was reminded of things I always knew, I re-discovered things I'd forgotten about, and I learned things that I never would have found out unless I'd taken the time to ask him. For example, when my dad was young, his goal was to be a game show host. Not a baseball star; not Joe DiMaggio. My dad wanted to be Bob Barker. He wanted to give away cash and prizes every weekday at noon on CBS. And that was when I realized that, just like me, my dad was a giant dork. Here I was thinking that he might be ashamed that I never won MVP playing for the Cosmos, and he was still regretting the fact that he never got to say the phrase, "Help control the pet population, have your pet spayed or neutered."

But in those moments, I finally heard what he'd been saying to me all those years. We all have dreams and goals, and as long as I was doing what made me happy, and I wasn't hurting anyone else by working to achieve them, my dad was always proud of me. The doctors said that in the end, Tom Wilkie was operating with about 15% of his heart. Don't always believe doctors. Tom Wilkie never operated with less than 100% of his heart.

So, Dad ... I want you to know now that I'm proud of you. A lesser man would have given up a long time ago. And I'm gonna do my best to keep making you proud of me. I love you, Dad. Thank you.

"So this is the new year ... And I don't feel any different."

I’ve been listening to a lot of Death Cab lately, I just burned the missing albums from my collection off of my friend’s computer. The lyrical mastery has been an inspiration as I’m dealing with a strong case of writer’s block. More of an all-around creative block, I guess. I waste entire days if I’m not working. I’m constantly waiting for something. Waiting for some kind of promotion to happen at one of my jobs (Yeah, I had to take on a second job to pay the bills) so I can cut back down to one. Waiting to hear about more openings at the Peace Corps next quarter. Waiting to find someone or something that will help me fall out of love with the one woman I can’t get out of my head. Just waiting.

So what should I do? That’s rhetorical, of course. No one but me can answer that. There are steps I can take to move forward with some of the situations I’m in. I could start applying for higher-paying, career-oriented jobs. But I’d feel guilty working somewhere for a few months, getting all that training done, and then just peacing out – pun intended.

When Ampersand was completed, I got it copyrighted and then began showing it around to people, most of whom had never read a screenplay in their lives. The reaction was positive, but I have a feeling that some of that had to do with the fact that we were friends and that they had never realized how into my writing I was, so they may have not wanted to hurt my feelings. I would love to find someone completely open and honest and just a little judgmental to read it and let me know if I’ve really got what it takes. Last night, I was at a film lecture series, and one of the speakers was a screenwriter who switched to novels because it was easier to get a book optioned for a film than it was to get a script made into a movie flat-out. This was an idea that Jenna and I were kicking around when I started my presentation preparations, and I’ve recently reconsidered this stance as a pretty good idea. Maybe that’ll be a project for this year; adapting it into book form. That seems like a novel idea.

I’m looking for a tutoring position so I can apply for education positions in the Peace Corps as well as business ones when they open up. I was slightly saddened to learn that out of all the regions I can apply to, only two of them have strict language requirements and you need to have a grasp of near-fluency of the native tongue in order to be considered for placement there. One of them is Western Africa, which requires French fluency, and the other is South America, my dream placement, which asks for Spanish. I took four years of French in high school and can barely remembers how to ask the time, so me mastering Espanòl any time soon to the level of proficiency they want doesn’t seem too likely. My second choice was India, but I discovered today that it’s been inactive since 1976 as far as the Peace Corps goes, so that’s out, too. Oh well, two more places I’ll have to visit on my own before I die. Maybe if I go to China I can visit India on a weekend excursion.

As the last six months have unfolded, I’ve been living an interesting life: starting and ending new jobs; making new friends and reconnecting with old ones; falling in love and forgetting old flames. It hasn’t been the easiest road to go down, but I made it to the end of 2008, and I’m ready to start on the next trail, lovingly referred to as 2009. I got a text message at 1 a.m. on New Year’s that said “To 2009 … the year we finally get it right?” My response was simply, “Let’s hope so.”

What I Gained From Wilkes

I have no intention of this blog becoming fully about the Peace Corps. Who's to say I'll even get in and this will all work out? I've seen what it's like to keep putting all of my eggs into one basket, then later discovering the hole I neglected to notice when the egg-piling began. But I feel that this one is worth mentioning, so mention I will.

When I started telling people about my decision to apply, I had some reactions that I was expecting. My mother, for instance, was confused and against the idea. She didn't want her "little boy" to be in a strange country for two years, and suggested for the one billionth time that I move home. That way, she rationalized, I could live there for free and dedicate my time to a volunteer service in the United States, like Habitat for Humanity or Landscaping for Love (which is a fake charity consisting of me mowing my mom's lawn every week). Another reaction I expected was from my best friend, who said that expanding horizons and helping others were some of the most worthwhile things you could do for yourself and others. So I knew some people would be on-board, and others would be on the deck waving for me to get off of the boat.

But some reactions, as positive as you expect them to be, can exceed expectations. This is what happened when I visited the Wilkes University campus. I had gone to play the catch-up game with one of my favorite professors, a game that I feel as though I'm playing every day since graduation. Sitting down with Dr. B., I felt a small pang in my heart. Not necessarily one of longing, although that was a part of it. But also one of unfamiliarity. Since May, the majority of the business department has moved into a new building and, as such, now inhabit new offices. It was such a surreal feeling to be talking with a woman I had talked to many times over the years in a completely new surrounding. It felt as though everything I had done in the past four years had been boxed up and put away, and every once in a while it was brought out to be remembered, but nothing was the same. Like a bus driver who drove the same route for years, but the school district changed and he had to pick up new kids on different streets. He was taking students to the same place, but doing it in totally new ways and seeing totally different scenery along the way. I was gone, but not forgotten - people just needed a small reminder that I still existed.

I sometimes liken my life to a sitcom. During the first few seasons, the cast consisted of the family unit, with reoccurring characters like the wacky neighbors or the aunt and uncle or the old family friends that come to town stopping in from time to time. As I got older, the show's setting shifted from home to school, with the cast changing to an equal amount of friends and family. As the show entered the "College Years," where most shows flounder and eventually die, mine just started to pick up. The storylines got better. The cast comprised of more consistent characters, and people who were main characters become reduced to mere cameos. As I enter the new season, the post-college-graduate season, the vast majority of these characters never make an appearance, aside from a few reunion specials, where the same gags are done but some of the magic is lost. There is a brand-new character filling the "Best Friend" role, and the family unit is popping up in more episodes. But the most surprising episode so far this season must be the one where main character (a.k.a. me) stumbles onto his old Alma Matter and finds himself lost and confused.

But as much as the locations may have changed, the people remain the same caring, genuine souls they always were. I went from office to office that day, telling old teachers and advisers about my recent decision to dedicate myself to others. And the first words out of all of their mouths were "That's great," and "I think the Peace Corps is the right place for you." But this was always - and I mean ALWAYS - followed by "Do you need a recommendation?" That's what really got me. That these college professors, with all they had to do with their careers and hectic lives, would stop and take the time to help me out. I never asked a single one of them. They all willingly offered their services. That is why I cherish my time at Wilkes. My friend is in the nursing program at LCCC, and we have a joke that even though I went to a "real" college, she'll have a pretty-much guaranteed position when she gets her two-year degree and I had such a difficult time finding work when I graduated with a Bachelor's. But the relationships I had, and still have, with my educators is worth a million-dollar career to me. And I wouldn't give that up for anything.

Peace in the Middle-Wherever

When I started this blog, I had every intention of it turning out quite differently. You may have noticed the title is “Journalpreneur,” and if you have noticed that, you may have wondered what that means exactly. Well, the chief reason I left that infamous job I previously had was due to the intent of starting my own business in downtown Wilkes-Barre. I don’t know if anyone’s heard about this yet, though, but there may be a little bit of a financial crisis of some sort going on here in America. So, as hard as it is for a twenty-something with no collateral to get a bank loan without a recession going on, it just got that much harder. This blog was to serve the purpose of tracing the events leading up to the opening of this business. But alas, Matt Wilkie’s bad timing knows no bounds. What’s an entrepreneur to do?

Now, I’m no stranger to things not working out for me. I honestly don’t think I can remember an instance of “right place, right time” in my life. That doesn’t mean that I sit there and complain about it, though. As Bishop Allen would say, “Things are what you make of them.” So, I’m making the best of this situation and taking stock of everything I do have going for me. And, ironically enough, the lack of things going on is what’s pushing me so strongly towards the decision I’ve made. I’ve got no strings to tie me down, and Wilkes-Barre, as well as the United States at large, may be put on hold for a while. Last night … I completed my application for the Peace Corps.

For many years now, the idea of joining the Peace Corps has been in the back of my mind. After graduating in May, I’ve wondered how to make the most of my time and use my abilities to do the most good I could. Joining the work force straight out of school proved to be somewhat disheartening after realizing that all my attempts at hard work were coupled with so much trouble. Being an entrepreneurship major, I am a firm believer that good or bad, you should be held accountable for your actions, and you should get out of every experience exactly what you put into it. That being said, I give everything I do my all and never back down from a challenge when doing something I firmly believe in. When I’m working towards a goal that benefits others as well, that’s something that I can really get behind.

I know that being a member of the world means that I should subscribe to a broader “We’re all in this together” mentality. I try my best to be a good person, do good for others, and hope that others do the same for me. Lately, however, I feel as though I haven’t been doing enough good and have been searching for a way to expand my impact. I’m not at a point in my life where I’m not financially stable enough to donate money to worth-while organizations, and even if I were, that seems too impersonal. So to travel and experience as many varied cultures as I can would help me to find my place in the world and what I should be doing to help it. I want to make a difference on a global level and lend a hand as much as possible.

I want to be a part of something big, something that could be long-lasting and help so many people. I want to look back at the end of my life and feel as though I made the most of it. I want to see the world through the eyes of others, and experience the world through myself. I want to expand my own horizons while helping others in real, significant ways. And I believe I can do all this and more through the Peace Corps.

Now, some people may be wondering what crazy step I’ll take if, like a lot of things I’ve tried, this doesn’t work out for me. Or maybe nobody really cares. I don’t even know if anybody’s even gonna read this. Well, to answer that question, I’m just gonna keep on living. After all, things are what you make of them, and I’m trying to make the best of everything.

Over-Thinking a Compliment

It all began with a simple phrase, one that's probably been said to you at some point in your life. A phrase that there is almost no response to, aside from, "Thank you." A phrase that makes me stop and think like none other. And think I have been. This phrase was simply this - "I'll say a prayer for you."

I'm not a religious person by any stretch of the imagination. I believe in my own form of God, whom I refer to as "God," and I do talk to God from time to time. But not every night like some people do. And I have nothing against those who pray on a regular basis. That's their prerogative; good for them. I'm just not the church-going, all-believing, kneeling-by-my-bedside-every-evening type. I'm nice to others, hope others pay me the same respect, and that's pretty much my philosophy in life. I don't share it with others much, nor do I care much to have others share theirs with me, and go about my life as a generally "good" person, in whatever meaning I take that to be. And being nice to others affords me the pleasure of meeting people who genuinely care.

I was at work the other day, and in discussing my occupational situation with a regular customer, I told him that I was just kind-of looking for the next step I would take in my life. In response he said, "I'll say a prayer for you." Like I stated before, all I could really respond with was, "Thank you," and then continued to go about my tasks. But it got me thinking: What should it matter to me, someone who doesn't pray himself, if someone else is praying for me? Was I appreciative? Absolutely. I thought that was a very sweet thing for this elderly gentleman to say. I think he was genuine in saying it, and I have no trouble imagining him including me in his daily correspondence to his deity. But how many others does he include in his prayers? As a follow-up to that, does the number of people he asks God to remember diminish the impact or importance of any one of those people? Does he say that he'll pray for every Johnny Hard-Luck Story? As a follow-up to THAT, is his God the omnipotent type that will remember everyone he asks Him to, or would I be lost in the shuffle due to overcrowding in his prayers? And aren't there others more deserving of help from above? I mean, I've already got a job, which is more than some people can say right now.

Maybe I'm over-thinking a compliment, if that's what you choose to call it. I mean, you could also call it an affirmation of someone's own beliefs, since what you're implying when you say, "I'll say a prayer for you" is "I believe in God, and I want Him to help you, even if you don't believe in Him." But I prefer to think of it as a compliment, of an acquaintance saying, "I think enough of you to keep you on my mind in my most personal and spiritual of moments." And even if I'm not the religious type, I still find that somewhat comforting.

Genesis ...

On Wednesday, I start a new job.

Wait, no ...

On Wednesday, I re-start an old job.

Wait, what?

Let me start over ...

For two months, I went corporate. I wore the shirt and tie. I carted the big wigs around in their rental SUV's. I bent to the whims of the suits and the head honchos and was a puppet on a lonely string. I gave up my freedom and worked 65-70 hours a week and had the credit taken from me and reaped none of the rewards. I was the whore, and I took it straight up the ass. And now, I'm going back to make coffee for the denizens of lovely downtown Wilkes-Barre. Hoo-freakin'-rah.

For the respect of others who would not be able to defend themselves, I have chosen to not name the company or the people I worked for during July and August. If you know me, and you don't know to whom I'm referring, ask me and I'll fill you in. I was given a position at this company as a store manager, despite the fact that I had never done anything of that magnitude. I was looking to work my way up to this position after learning the ins and outs of the business, which was a new concept altogether. I suppose that's why so much was handled in the way it was, but still, why take it out on the 23-year-old? Easy scapegoat, I'm assuming. Baa.

I spent weeks setting up this new business, working closely with the general manager in hiring and layout and setting up accounts. It was exciting, exhilarating, like putting everything I learned at Wilkes into practice. I suppose that's what many people feel like at their first after-college job. But then the store opened. Inventory and food costs were out of control. Labor was through the roof. Scheduling was done all wrong. There was too much waste and not enough profit. And whose fault was that? Why, the manager's, of course. The guy who was told by his GM that he would get help with scheduling and ordering and how to handle food costs and labor and anything else he needed help with, since he never had a position like this before. Hold on a minute, let me just go ask the GM.

Wait, where'd he go?

I was hung out to dry. The store wasn't performing to the high standards that was expected of an established, done-well-for-years restaurant. But this was brand new. This was growing and learning. This was a baby, learning to walk - learning to crawl first. Give it time. Let it develop slowly. Don't rush it. But that's never how the big cheeses think. So the blame had to be placed somewhere. Their solution was to demote me. Me. The guy who worked his ass off; who put in more hours than anyone else; who came in hours before the opening and stayed hours after the closing; who never got the resources he was promised to do the job he was hired to do.

Bend at the waist, insert foot in rear.

Am I complaining about long hours? No. I can work until the cows come home. But only if it's for people who deserve it and appreciate it. Only if it's for an attainable goal and for the recognition I deserve. I did my job to the best of my abilities, and I got the short end of the stick.

Bitter much?

Anyway, if I'm in a situation I'm not happy about, all I can do is change what I can and get through the rest. So I left. I'll be starting again at my old job this Wednesday. And while I'm there, I'm going to get myself back on the track I saw myself on after graduation.

Hopefully.

I'll let you know how it goes ...