Life is circular. This is not a particularly profound note, but I do seem to be reminded of it every so often. Most recently, it’s come from reviewing and editing memos produced by our team, specifically in the form of polarizing red font and strikethroughs I have a long and complicated history with.
Growing up, our one family computer sat just off the kitchen. It was a high traffic area, usually filled with the noise of siblings going back and forth between the TV and the snack cabinet. Meanwhile, I was at the desk trying to write, dealing with writer’s block and something else. Fear.
Fear of what, you may ask? Fear of my father, sitting in that same couch corner reading the newspaper, waiting for my next draft with a red pen practically begging to be uncapped. The burdensome process went as follows: I would work up enough courage to print whatever I was working on, timidly pass him the output, and he would begin his review in delight. My clean, B-level paper would be butchered; sections entirely crossed out, circles, strikethroughs, question marks all in red ink that pierced like a dagger. While he completed this work, I would nervously pace in the kitchen until being called in to review. The number of visible edits generally determined if I’d cry at this point or not. Even if tears were held back, I would fight tooth and nail against the proposed edits, which was always a failing effort. Eventually, with the guidance, I would go back to the family computer and get back to work to address the edits and concerns. This process continued from anywhere between two and five cycles and was truly the bane of my existence.
Eventually I grew up and left home for college. As much as my father wanted to continue to review and edit my work, the physical distance worked in my favor. I was free of red line edits. That was, however, until I met John Napolitano.
In my early days at US Wealth Management, I spent hours writing different financial planning memos, which were primarily professional writing styles, but done in ‘plain English’. To help me learn and develop, John would allow me to write first drafts that we would workshop together and eventually publish under his name. I quickly realized that my cubicle had become the old kitchen desk, the corner couch spot became John’s corner office and the walk of shame between the two was reborn. This was the process for years circa 2016 and still occurs today when I find that some wordsmithing is needed on a certain piece – Johnny Nap is always there with red ink edits. Like my father, John took significant time out of his day to make me better – something I will forever be grateful for.
Nowadays, the tables have seemingly turned. I am the holder of the red ink with absolute and unmitigated strikethrough power. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why my face is on the dartboard back in Braintree…
In all seriousness, it is a wonderful responsibility – one that I take very seriously and clearly have plenty of training in.
