jscamardella

It was fall of 2008, I had just been promoted from general manager of the theater to director of marketing for a cultural center in Staten Island. When the recession hit, the entire theater department was terminated due to budget cuts. I was one of two people who were still employed and I got promoted!

It was bitter sweet, on the one hand, I still had a job and it was doing something I very much enjoyed. With a baby on the way, steady employment was extremely important. On the other hand, there were dozens of people whom I connected with and loved that I now had to say goodbye to.

The promotion also came with a slightly bigger problem. I was now going to be reporting directly to the CEO, and let’s just say, she wasn’t the easiest person to deal with.

I had been promoted to marketing for my graphic and web design skills. I had some talent in writing, but little to no experience in writing press releases, which was going to be a big part of the job.

I arrived early that first Monday morning. My inbox had an email from our CEO. Let’s call her, Fannie Brice. Fannie wanted five different press releases regarding five different happenings at the center, so I got to work. About an hour after I submitted the press release, Fannie asks to see me in her office. She expressed her disappointment with my work by throwing the papers at me, letting them fall to the floor and calling my work “crap,” and telling me to do it over.

As dehumanizing as that scene was, I wasn’t surprised. I had worked there for a couple of years already and my previous supervisor, who had reported to her, often confided in me about the dysfunctional ways in which she managed him.

However, in all fairness, the work was crap. It was crap because I didn’t know how to write a press release and should’ve did some research before I started. I don’t know what made me think I could just dive right in and write a press release. Knowing who I was back then, it was probably arrogance.

I then picked up the strewn press release pages and headed to leave her office. Something made me take pause before opening the door. Perhaps it was the simple fact that I didn’t like being bullied. But more to the point, I didn’t want to start off our new supervisor / employer relationship on such a bad note. Plus, if I didn’t get some direction, I was going to spend the rest of the day agonizing over these and probably turning in more crap leading to my eventual demotion. I took a deep breath and turned to face her.

“Mrs. Brice,” I said, “I realize I don’t know how to write a press release. Perhaps you could spend some time explaining exactly what it is you want?”

She rose from her desk and headed toward her conference table she had in the middle of the room while huffing in a way that communicated I was bothering her. She started to explain how to formulate a press release in a very condescending way. I decided that I was simply going to listen to what she was saying and not how she was saying it. I began to ask intelligent questions to which she gave intelligent answers. Soon, she grabbed a newspaper and started showing me examples using articles.

And then something magical happened, not only was I completely clear on what a press release was, but she and I were laughing and getting along! And all after about ten minutes!

About two hours later, she was commending me on what a fine job I did correcting those press releases. Mrs. Brice turned from a person I was dreading reporting to, to someone I was able to collaborate with while maintaining mutual dignity and respect.

In retrospect, I’m so glad I didn’t give up on Fannie. Had I let her comment shut me down, I would’ve never been able to grow in my skills as a marketing director, or in my working relationship with a brilliant CEO.

My daughter Anna has always been a very good kid. Currently, she is a straight A student, involved in extra-curricular activities, namely drama and strives to be honest and forthright. As a result, she has a strong confidence about her which I really respect.

But those good qualities didn’t happen by accident. She has overcome some some difficult academic challenges.

By the third grade, her math and reading skills were lacking. In reading, she was particularly behind. Her teacher was not the sugar-coating, Mary Poppins that we’d all like our kids teachers to be. Instead she was older woman, with an old school way of doing things. Let’s call her, Mrs. Scary. 

Now Mrs. Scary had a bit of a temper, I don’t doubt that she cared about the kids, but she did yell a lot. Now some kids may need that, but my daughter Anna isn’t one of those kids. You could look at Anna in a disappointed way and she will immediately fix her behavior. Anna would come home in tears because Mrs. Scary was just too hard on her.

At first, we considered switching Anna to a different teacher, but something told me that that was a bad idea. This was the first honest test of her character and I wanted to help her have a victory, rather than remove the obstacle entirely.

That year, Anna and I spent many nights talking about how to work with Mrs. Scary. I even called Mrs. Scary once over a misunderstanding over some homework. I assured Mrs. Scary that I was going to support her in teaching Anna, but the tactics that she was using may not be necessary with Anna and asked her to try a more gentler approach. I ended the conversation by encouraging her and thanking her for her heart to teach our children.

Things with Mrs. Scary got better, but Anna was still having trouble, however she kept persevering. She would tell me her fears and anxieties and how Mrs. Scary’s words made her feel stupid, I kept reminding her who she really was: a smart, kind, honest, beautiful little girl who I love very much.

Now this is going to get very sappy, so brace yourself, but we would cuddle in bed and listen to the song, Butterfly Kisses. I’d hold her and we’d cry. I may not have any tears left in my eyes for her wedding day. (Nope. Actually I do. I’m crying as I’m writing this!) And that’s how it was her third grade year, she would come home, work really hard on homework, feel stressed, we’d talk till late and cry.

Finally, it was time for the last parent / teacher conference of the year and Mrs. Scary asked me to bring Anna to the meeting! I was worried. What is Mrs. Scary going to do now? I mentally prepared both myself and Anna. Above all, we are going to listen and consider her words constructive no matter how dysfunctional.

Within minutes of the conference, Mrs. Scary was praising Anna up and down for her hard work and perseverance. She called Anna hard-working and a model student. Anna had gone up six whole reading levels that year, (an achievement Mrs. Scary called unheard of,) and was now only one level away from where she needed to be. Mrs. Scary was confident that if Anna spent a little time over summer vacation reading grade-level books, there is no reason why she couldn’t be on level for the start of fourth grade!

Needless to say, the late night talks about Anna’s insecurities vanished overnight. Anna was filled with a new confidence and the freedom to be the person she wants to be.

It was summer 2010, a warm breeze drifted over the Nashville streets and the sky was clear and hopeful, I was in New York so I experienced none of that. Instead it was hot. The kind of hot where you don’t know whether or not to wear an undershirt. On the one hand, the undershirt will absorb all the sweat so you don’t walk around looking like a southern baptist preacher. On the other hand, the undershirt increases your internal temperature ten degrees.

I decided to wear the undershirt.

Now, our daughter Anna was already a year old. I was working for an advertising agency, and my wife for the NYC Department of Education teaching sixth grade. Therefore, our one year old daughter, Anna spent most of her time with her nanny Shawna.

As nice and fun as Shawna was, we both began to feel guilty and agreed that one of us should be home with our little girl. In a perfect world, Sarah would’ve gotten to quit her job and be the quintessential housewife, while I the man go and bring home the bacon.

There were some problems with that. Sarah had the higher salary, better medical benefits, more job security and she was vested in her pension. Plus, between our two jobs, I was more likely to be able to drum up graphic and web design freelance work from home. All we needed was to invest in a better computer and some design software and it would work! So I quit my job and used the connections I already had to obtain a more flexible freelance schedule.

So me and my undershirt went to work and I explained the plan to my then current boss. Not only did he understand, but he later hired me as a freelancer and we worked together another two years. He was very supportive and it worked out perfectly. 

There was still one problem. My pride turned out to be a little bit of an issue.

I didn’t like being a stay at home dad at first. The part where I got to see my kids all the time was great. The challenge was being at parties with other men because what’s the first thing men ask other men at a party?

“How’s work?”

A question to which, in the beginning, I was embarrassed to answer. So, it was at these parties that I learned I had more in common with the women then I did with the men! I had nothing to say about bossy supervisors or retooling infrastructure. However, I was very well-versed in the current prices of baby foods, the best sales on diapers and some really funny “poop” stories, all of which seemed inappropriate over beers and burgers or brandies and bourbons or anything that starts with the letter “b”.

I was so depressed, I’d be tempted to cry into the burp cloth resting upon my shoulder, but then I’d get ahold of myself because that’s pretty gross.

Eventually it was pointed out to me that I define myself by the job I have. But I thought, “Well yeah, doesn’t everybody?”

“No, only emotionally unhealthy people.”

In actuality, this is pretty unhealthy behavior, no matter who you are. We have to define ourselves by our actions really, not our jobs. The very essence of our character resides in our passions and what motivates us, not a title on a door or a desk.

So who was I now that all these titles were stripped away?

I was a man willing to go above and beyond forthe three of the most important people in the world: my wife, daughter and son.

I spent ten years as a freelancing father and I can honestly say, I am so grateful for ever minute of that time. I probably learned more about leading and training as a stay at home dad then I ever did or would have in the nine to five rat race.

I studied musical theater back in college. In my sophomore year, I hit a bit of a rut. I auditioned for about eleven plays in the first three semesters that year, and I only got cast in one as a member of the ensemble. There was even one director who told me that she had wanted to give me the lead in her play, but during my audition, my attitude persuaded her to think I wasn’t really interested.

I was desperate to figure this thing out. I spoke to people who I auditioned for and they had all said the same thing. They said that I was (unknowingly) emitting an air of aloofness, an apparent by-product of trying to cope with nervousness and insecurity.

The thing that really helped was seeking advice from a very wise senior theater major, (now a voice over coach). Let’s call him Steven Lowell, (cause that’s his actual name.) Steve sat me down and, having seen some of my auditions, had really helpful comments. He said my overall attitude was of arrogance and, again aloofness. “These are plays,” he said, “if you continue to show this type of attitude, for whatever reason, no one will want to play with you.” Makes sense! Steve, you’re a genius!

It was strange to me that I was giving off that type of vibe. I’m generally not an aloof person, nor do I think of myself as one. However, I have tended to be a bit of a pessimist and insecure in the past and those thoughts translated to arrogance and aloofness once they reached my face.

Steve also advised me to go back to the early acting lessons which taught us exercises on how to calm yourself down during an audition. One tip we learned in our previous year, was to take along an audition mascot. This could be a small stuffed animal or toy from your childhood you found comforting. For me that toy was a Kermit the Frog puppet. It sat on my shelf as cool memorabilia of some fun pop culture from the late seventies, little did room visitors know, Kermit had been a huge influence on my early childhood life.

I always wanted to be like Kermit in the sense that he was a passionate anchor in the midst of total creative chaos. In The Muppet Show and Sesame Street, while zany colorful characters were blowing up sets or shooting themselves out of cannons or simply having a temper tantrum, we could always rely on Kermit to ground us and tell us everything’s gonna be okay. Kermit was and is a reminder that it’s a really wonderful thing to be who you are and that a little heart can go a long way. So I brought that twenty year old puppet to my next audition as a reminder that I need to have fun and accept whatever chaos is going on around or inside me. The important thing was to simply enjoy the moment.

Well, a friend of mine noticed the frog when I reached in to my bag to get a pen. The next thing I knew I was performing Kermit for about ten to twenty of my friends while waiting for our turns to audition. Performing and laughing with my friends calmed me down immensely and allowed me to enter in a completely collaborative mindset. Not only was I able to give a great care-free, relaxing audition, I think I helped a bunch of others to do the same. I believe Kermit would be proud.

And as an added bonus, I got cast in the play and in the part that I wanted.

Thanks Steve Lowell. And thank you Kermit. I still have that puppet all these years later.

My family has owned and operated a funeral home since the late 1960’s. My brother Michael followed in those footsteps and got his license a couple of years back. My father, my uncle, my cousins, my grandfather, my great-uncles and my great grandfather are and were all funeral directors. I had decided early on that I would not be working in the family business. My perspective of the funeral business was dispassionate men in uncomfortable black suits standing in one spot for long periods of time, once those men punched out, they would grab a tax-deductible drink, complain about the government and ignore their wives and children. Now that was my perspective, how close that was to the truth was and is up for debate.

On April 8, 2020, I found out that my brother Michael and his wife got the coronavirus. Also, many staff members had contracted it and five were hospitalized and four of them passed away. The funeral home shut down completely for a couple of weeks. It was devastating on many levels. Michael and his wife turned out to be fine and soon recovered fully. But there were many employees who either worked from home or stopped coming in all together. I called my brother out of concern and asked if there was anything I could do.

“Could you come in?” He asked.

“To work? Uh, sure, when?” 

“Tomorrow? 9am?”

“Uh, sure, okay.”

And just like that, I was working at the funeral home. It took forty-five years and a pandemic for me to walk through those automatic doors wearing my uncomfortable suit ready to greet mourners asking, “How may I direct you? So sorry for your loss” However, now there was the added question of whether or not I’d contract the virus myself and perhaps die. Nevertheless, there was a feeling, a voice in my head that simply said, “You need to help your brother.”

As the pandemic died down, I was offered a permanent part time job as a receptionist and decided to accept it. The hours worked well with my the remote freelancing I was doing and the funeral home itself is a two minute walk from where I live so it all made sense. My only problem was the position title, a receptionist.

Now this is going to come off as arrogant and conceited on my part, and I’m fully aware of that. I can be a real prideful son-of-a-so-and-so, but this is part of who I am. I’m not saying it’s right, it’s not, it’s a flaw and I’m aware of it and I’m changing it. So here goes:

I felt that the title of receptionist was beneath me.

There I said it. Phew! It felt good to get that off my chest. I mean I had been a manager, a director, a designer, an editor and also a teacher. It just felt like a huge step backward and to add insult to injury, it’s a hard job and I didn’t feel particularly good at it!

There’s a recurring literary theme in cautionary tales and Judeo-Christian scripture where the older will serve the younger. You see it in the stories of Genesis and in fairy tales. It’s a useful device in illustrating the value of skills over birthright. It’s a great theme, unless you are playing the part of the older brother. Than it’s depressing because now you’re a minor character in someone else’s story. 

My brother Michael is thirteen years younger than me and he is a humble, generous, thoughtful, intelligent and skilled funeral director. He would serve me in any number of ways I have no doubt. As a funeral home receptionist, one of my tasks is to set up the conference rooms for funeral arrangements that he is making. That means making sure he has the right promotional materials, price lists, pens, notepads, adjusting temperature, turning on lights and getting him and the families water and coffee. That’s right, I fetch coffee for the kid whose diapers I used to change! 

We make plans and God laughs!

So the question is, how do I make this my story? By serving my brother the best dang cup of coffee this side of Starbucks! You want coffee? I’m the coffee master! How many cups? A hundred? Sure let’s do this! What else you need? Pens? Prayer cards? Some At-Need folders? I’m into it! Let’s roll!

Sorry, I got a little excited. You’re not supposed to yell in a funeral home.

But enthusiasm is important because I believe it breeds gratitude. Someday, I’ll be working some other job that I’m passionate about and I might be having a bad day but I’ll always be able to look back on the funeral home and think, “Well, it could be worse.”

The important thing I need to remember is that this story is not over. My time at the funeral home has been so valuable because I have learned and am still learning so much about myself. I believe God has something great planned for the next chapter and this station is simply an important preface that is preparing me for the main narrative!

Working at my family’s funeral home during COVID really opened my eyes to seeing the pain that happens in our world on a daily basis. So many people’s lives completely fell apart because of the loss of a spouse or a parent or a son or daughter. I had a front row seat to grief, misery and hopelessness from the time of a first phone call all the way to the actual funeral. When working at a funeral home, you truly see people at the worst. They are in essence buying a service they truly don’t want. As opposed to working at a department store or a restaurant or some sort of entertainment venue where customers walk in and are excited to be purchasing wares, at a funeral home, no customers are happy to be there.

One very memorable situation I remember was where we had an older woman pass and she only had one real next of kin, her son. Let’s call him Frank. When I first saw Frank, he looked like a little lost puppy. He had spent the last ten years taking care of her. They were extremely close and she had died on the week of Mother’s Day.

Now I had heard about Frank through the funeral home grapevine. He could definitely qualify as a “momma’s boy,” even comically so. But what God allowed me to see was a guy who had put his whole life on hold in order to care for another human being. I believe God blessed him all these years to really be an honest to goodness friend to his mother. They enjoyed meals and television shows, classical music and opera. And now she was gone.

Frank and his mom did have some relatives in other cities, but this was May 2020, and COVID was severely limiting travel. Frank wanted there to be a wake for some reason, but we all knew that he would be the only one attending.

Something about the idea of Frank being the only one present at his mother’s wake tore my heart in two.

Now, I didn’t know Frank. I had only heard about this particular case in passing. Something told me to ask Frank and my co-workers if it would be okay to attend the wake for its whole duration. The funeral home staff was extremely supportive of it, however I think Frank was at first wary, but regardless of any hesitance, he agreed.

I remember being tempted to worry about what my co-workers thought. I remember being tempted to worry about whether or not my desire to attend a stranger’s wake was weird. I remember wondering what Frank might think of me, whether he would think I had an angle or an agenda. Even with all those concerns, I just decided that God had put this on my heart and I would just accept people’s opinions of me and move on. 

I remember Frank’s mom lay in a beautiful casket. Little statues of Michelangelo’s Pieta graced the corners. She wore a pink evening gown and Andrea Bocelli’s Time To Say Goodbye played on the internal sound system at Frank’s request.

Frank and I sat in the front row. I kept asking him to tell me stories about his mother, which he did. The conversation flowed from what he was going to do now, to more reminiscing about his mother, to God and to Jesus and back to his future. At some point during the wake, my beautiful wife, Sarah visited and had brought chocolate chip cookies that she and our kids baked.

In the end, Frank was truly comforted and I felt great about it. I was there for another human being when they needed it the most. I just did what I would’ve wanted someone to do for me. I’d like to say I live my life always doing the things that I’d want someone to do for me, but I can’t say that I do. More often than not, I let me own insecurities or selfishness get in the way of helping someone who truly needs it. However, when I fought through some of those feelings and decided to just meet the need, it felt great! Like I was fulfilling a purpose I didn’t know I had.

I don’t think we have to move to a third world country or give all our money to a local charity to make the world better. If we can just meet the needs in front of us, the world changes for the better.

The summer of 2017 was an exciting one! It was my first acting job working for an equity theater. I was cast in a musical revue called Civil War Voices which included all the songs made popular during the Civil War. Songs like The Battle Hymn Republic, The Yellow Rose of Texas, Amazing Grace and, of course that old standard about confederate soldiers eating beans and farting around the campfire Goober Peas.

We had three weeks to put the show up. I was learning music at break neck speed. The first week I was scared. This was the real deal! It was exciting and I loved and hated it at the same time. In other shows, I’m usually a pretty quick study, in this show I was working with broadway professionals and felt I was in way over my head. Nevertheless, I was up for the challenge.

Now, I have a strong spiritual side. I believe in following Jesus and prioritizing my faith. I always try to be at church and as it says in Exodus: keep the sabbath day holy. So upon accepting the acting job, the producer and I had an understanding that I’d be off on Sunday mornings. Unfortunately, the director never knew about our arrangement.

After the first week of rehearsals, we were trucking along. I was truly blown away by the cast, not to mention our director and musical directors. I was so excited and grateful to be working with them. They were all brilliant. 

The director had decided that we should probably schedule a rehearsal for Sunday and start at 10am. After all, we only had three weeks, why not use the time? The only problem was my conviction that I needed to be at church.

Now here’s the thing: I think God is bigger than all this. If I miss church, God gets over it obviously. But I want to show him how important He is to me. I don’t want my relationship with God to be one-sided, where he is doing all the blessing and forgiving and I make no sacrifices. So I decided to approach the director and ask him to consider a later call time so I could have a clear conscience.

Well, he wasn’t happy about it. I think he even might’ve felt bullied somehow because I mentioned how the producer and I had an agreement. This was one of those moments that I really agonized over. I still wonder if I had handled that conversation in the best way because I know how angry he got initially. My goal was to be as respectful as possible. I still wonder if I really achieved that.

We ended up running Acts 1 & 2 that day and rehearsal went better then anyone had expected. At the end of the day, our director announced that Sunday’s call would be 12:30 instead of 10:00, plenty of time for me to go to church and get back in time.

Later on, I privately thanked him for changing his mind. He replied, “Well, you’re all doing the work. Great job today.”

I have to say, I respect that director a lot. Everyone had heard our conversation and everyone knew that him relenting meant that I got my way. Rather than become narcissistic, he humbled himself to help me. He made me realize the kind of leader that I want to be for those I’m leading.