AS YOUR FATHER I am happy to report that our family had a marvelously successful first quarter this year. Earnings are up, costs are down (despite the new fuel pump on the minivan) and I as you all know by now, we've added a new member, Katherine Anne. At nine pounds two ounces she is, I believe, another example of the kind of quality work that we've come to expect from your mother — the kind that has made us stand out from other families on the block.
And yet I can't help thinking that we've still got a lot of work left to do, which is why I am circulating this memo today. We can't blame only ourselves; like families everywhere, we are facing hard times, with new technologies, leaner competition, and inflationary orthodontic costs. But when I look around the kitchen table I see inefficiencies and redundancies, out-of-control allowances — see a family run like a liberal welfare scam. We need to make some tough choices.
Let's begin with Jimmy. I've been reviewing your contribution to the family, and I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go. Your frequent late-night weekend outings have become a drain on me personally, and I think even your mother will admit that at seventeen you're not as cute as you used to be. You will all be happy to know that I am currently in negotiations with Frank Lindgren, our next-door neighbor, hoping to arrange a contractual agreement with his son, Frank Jr. With a part-time son, our food-and-milk overhead will be significantly reduced. Also, I see some potential synergy in the area of garbage take-out. (A brief personal note: Jimmy, I trust that you will let me know if I can of assistance should you seek relationships with any other families in the neighborhood. I hear the Wenglers are looking for a freelance cousin, and I'd be happy to recommend you.)
In the matter of Jennifer: I am pleased to report that I have finished reviewing the analysis of last month's phone bill, as conducted by Cane & Co., an independent consulting firm, and that I will be redesigning your position, as per the report's recommendation. So, while you will still be referred to as "daughter" at family gatherings and in all interfamily communications, your official title will be "communications specialist," effective immediately. Your aggressive use of latenight calling discounts is to be commended, Princess, and you'll be hearing from me soon regarding the acquisition of your new pager.
There are numerous additional positions within our family that might be merged or downsized with an eye to increased returns. I feel we will operate more efficiently, for instance, with an over-all grandparent and great-grandparent surplus reduction — but attrition may help us out in this area. Likewise, Uncles Fred, Derrick, Rodney, and Harry will be removed from all barbecue-invitation lists and phone logs, and I am especially happy to announce that as of midnight tonight we will permanently discontinue the position of mother-in-law. Denise will retain her post as mother while assuming all the responsibilities that, through this refocussing of the skill mix, have not been reassigned. Here I am thinking primarily of walking laccoca, our German shepherd, and the Sunday-afternoon washing of the cars, both of which were formerly Jimmy's department.
As for myself, I will be attending a family-management seminar next week in the company of Frank Lindgren and Don Wengler. The program is entitled "Officer, I've Never Seen These Children Before: How to Survive a Hostile Family Takeover with Quick and Drastic Reductions in Labor Costs." While I'm there I hope to meet with other fathers who are in the midst of downsizing. This year, the seminar's in Palm Springs, which I think will be the perfect place for us fathers to unwind with one-on-one organizational strategy sessions and a little golf. If anyone's concerned about the cost of the trip, don't worry: I've been reviewing my own performance, and I have decided to give myself a raise.
Robert Sullivan is a writer in Portland, OR. Reprinted with permission from The New Yorker, March 25, 1996. Copyright ©1996 Robert Sullivan.