Today was my last official day on a job I’ve held for seven years. It’s bittersweet, but then leaving any job where you give your all has the taste of vinegar and honey with a host of memories thrown in for leavening. This one was no different, but maybe it was. My boss was my son.
Over the years, one issue kept cropping up. It was whether an employee or his Mom worked for the company. I lobbied for the former, since I consciously did not wear my Mom-hat to the job. That meant I never consciously pulled familial rank, never said he should listen to me on the basis of personal relationship, never made a decision based on his being my son. It meant I bit back tears from time to time, since I’d worked in the business world longer and could see the outcome of some of the decisions he and his partner made.
I don’t think he saw it that way. Maybe one’s Mom is too great a force, especially because you’ve had a special relationship through the years. Maybe one’s Mom shouldn’t be that organized and detail oriented. Maybe the fact that one’s Mom believes in collaborative management when the prevailing style of the organization is different was too frustrating for both parties. That said, I still had a wonderful time managing the finance department for those seven years.
Has my job impacted our family relationship? I hesitate to put it in writing, but – yes! – I believe it has. Our conversations have been reduced to talking about business, to being guarded with each other with what’s really going on, to mentally picking on each other’s foibles instead of appreciating each other strengths.
Perhaps now things can change. Perhaps if Mom is no longer a presence in the company, she and her son can work on their personal relationship. If not, there are no regrets.
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