{This poem from 2005 recounts a happier day — one I hope to live to see played out again}.

Home from a long and longish day,

I head toward Ketel One; toward sleep.

At long last, a long last turn,

My Saab into my private driveway.

Four kids, not especially cute,

But acutely aware stand in my space.

Await my decision and stare

With a grin and a grimace and glare. 

I stare at the oldest, the one;

See chagrin and smile, mixed on his face.

His eyes say: “Please, Mister, Please,

Let us keep our kickball game going.”

I ken this play is more sacred than work.

I ken this work is their sacred play.

And, when all is said and all is done,

It is all more important than my workaday work.

I smile; reverse; park farther away, 

Hoping my earthly work-gotten goods

Will be safe and if not — if morning brings 

Missing my bag and golf clubs all gone —

It is in the end, a small price to pay. 

With no play of kids, we all would be:

Huddled in caves to the very last day

Dreamless all of all that might have been.

Do you truly see and truly ken?

 

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Introduction to a Pattern Language for Teamwork Collaboration 

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