bryan suddith dot com

Lately I have been doing some soul searching. Leaving one job for the next opportunity, then finding that opportunity not as fulfilling/lucrative/sustaining as I had hoped has me digging deep to find what I am looking for professionally. During this time I have also been digging deep and looking inside and examining myself. I am normally not this introspective and have found it difficult to wrestle through.

Hold that thought. I’ll be back to this a bit later in this post.

I find Facebook to be a fascinating place. On occasions I think I should have been a sociologist. A persons status, a series of status updates, and their entire Facebook persona can be very telling. Next time you are perusing the Facebook notice who talks about family, who talks about possessions, who talks about others, who ignores the serious and only makes humor, then ponder this thought:

What are they telling me?

What are they hiding?

Is “xyz” their main focus each day?

What makes this person kick?

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My friend Jon Cowell, he makes stickers, and I had a conversation a few years ago. He suggested that guys rank, or categorize friends with a numeric value. A Likert scale sorta thing…1 – 10. The purpose isn’t to suggest a higher value or numerate length of friendship, but to put the friendship into perspective.

For instance. A “9″ in my world is a guy I’d trust with my wife and kids. A guy I’d loan my car to without thinking, he has the security code to my garage, knows the good and bad. A “9″ would bail you outta jail without question.

On the inverse a friend ranked as a “3″ or below is almost a cordial acquaintance. You sit near one another at church, or Rotary. You’ve met his wife, know he has kids, but can’t remember their names. A “3″ or “4″ gets invited to a big card game, but probably doesn’t get invited over for beers and Monday Night Football.

Most of my friends are a 6 or 7. I have a good group of 8′s and 9′s though. Friends move in the scale on occasion too. People move and change stations in life. I have a friend, he’s a 4. I miss our days when he was an 8. 8′s and 9′s take maintenance. You have to call, plan, drop in, send a note, give a Facebook shout on occasion. 8′s and 9′s are rare.

I have also found my 8′s and 9′s share a common set of core beliefs, theology, politics, they are like me. Some are more successful in career and business than me or one another, some have bigger houses, some smaller, but at the core we know one another, trust one another and can depend on one another if the time arose.

5s, 6s and 7s are folks you enjoy being around. They get invited over to the backyard cook outs, camping trips, and are always good for a late night movie with the guys. These guys are fun, but they don’t know when I am struggling financially, or relationally, or when I have had a tough week. You don’t unload on an upper middle friend.

Here is the key to the system. In a perfect world my friends would know exactly where they stand. That way a friend who is a 3 or 4 would never ask me to do something that is really meant for an 8 or 9. This happened once. It was embarrassing to know that the friend thought more of me than I of him. Had he known my value for his friendship was a 3, he would have never considered making the request he did.

There are exceptions for this system I have outlined. First exception, family. My brother is probably only a 5-6 on the scale, I have a half dozen friends who know me and my life better. But when he calls. I answer. He’s my kid brother. Church also produces the second category of exceptions. There are times when church calls on a group of people to assist someone or a family. House needs work, something needs purchased or an item needs repaired or replaced. When that happens all rules are off. You jump in an treat your neighbor like a 9. End of story.

This post should not be construed that I keep a list of my friends with their corresponding number. I use an Excel spreadsheet. Not really. What I am trying to say, wouldn’t friendships be easier if we all knew one another’s number and kept our needs, desires, requests, within the appropriate ranges?

Comment below, gimme a story where a 3 asked for far more than his rank allowed.

Here are my picks for challenged Republican Races on the March 6th Primary Ballot.

Print page three and take it with you!

Bryan’s march madness picks

If you are a Democrat clicking over to look around. My choice for Congress is David Esrati. Think how fun that would be for a minute!

If I could turn back time? If? I can’t. On occasion during a long drive, or extended moments of quiet I think back to life changing decisions I have made. Usually I play those decisions back like an old “choose your own adventure” book.

I remember the day I chose my college. I was on the campus of Murray State during a drive by tour during spring break of my senior year of high school. I fell in love with that place the day. My mind wonders to plan A of my college plans. I was supposed to attend Miami University, study business, live close to home. What would have happened then? Would I be rich? Who would my friends be? Would I still have married my wife?

During college I made a ton of mistakes. Girls. Drinking. Studying. Survived it all intact. But what if? What if I hadn’t taken that job, that internship, pledged that Fraternity? Would my life now be more rich, had I done something a bit different.

After college I was dating my girlfriend, now my wife, she lived in Baton Rouge, I lived in Ohio. I was invited to backpack around Great Britain for a few months. I declined the offer, went on the road with a truck driver and moved to Baton Rouge 3 months later. What if? What was waiting in England for me?

Dwelling on the “what ifs” and constantly seeking a second chance will kill people. I know folks who dare say that they have no regrets. I don’t buy that at all. We all have regrets. It’s the minute possibility that by taking the road not chosen our life would be better now somehow.

If I could turn back time, I would take advantage of the opportunities I had and passed on. Like telling my dad I loved him, needed him and encouraged him to better his health. Losing him changed my life. Changed my personality. Changed everything.

If I could turn back time, I would have gone to Britain. Soaked up the culture and secured those friendships.

If I could turn back time, I would have insisted that my 1st Grade teacher allow me a bathroom break, thus avoiding an accident at age 6 that haunts me til today.

If I could turn back time, I would have studied harder, allow my academic grades to better represent my knowledge on a subject matter.

If I could turn back time, I would have been a better big brother, less competing and more mentoring.

If I could turn back time, I would have spent more time on the mountain watching the sunset and less time worrying about the hike back down the trail.

If I could turn back time, I would have asked more questions of my grandparents. We are losing too much knowledge and history as we lose more and more of that generation every day.

What would you do if you could turn back time?

This morning I was thinking about my dad.  I do that often, but since it is father’s day, I thought I would share a story.

A few months ago, Pete Miller and I, were sharing trucking stories, and I shared this one with him.

When I was 11 or 12, my brother and I, raced BMX bikes. My dad was hauling freight for Kendrick’s and was usually home on the weekends that year. My dad learned about a state qualifying race up near Akron somewhere and had suggested we make the trip north to race.  It’s a 4 hour drive and working out the logistics was taking some work.

The weekend was approaching and dad wasn’t sure he we get free to take us up there. Friday night arrived and like clock work his truck drove past our house, honked his horn, and 20 minutes later he was parked in front of our house.  Coming in the door, my mom greeted him with a hug and kiss, he then announced, get packed, we’re racing in Akron tomorrow.

After his shower and a quick dinner, tall glass of whole milk and two cheese sandwhiches, he told us the plan. We would take his truck up that night. He had a load to drop in Lodi Ohio and would pick up an empty trailer there. We would get to the track early Saturday morning.

Tool box, bike, cooler, sleeping bags, lawn chairs and a duffel bag with clothes and race gear fit behind the load in the trailer. He drove a small conventional Mac Bulldog and there was no sleeper berth. My brother and I would split time riding shotgun and on a box between the two seats.   Friday night we arrived on the truck yard in Lodi and we were able to swap our loaded trailer for an empty one. Moving our gear between the too we made our way to a truck stop. Spending the night in the trailer was no big deal. Plenty of room and worked well with sleeping bags. We had camped in much worse.

Saturday morning we made our way to the track. Imagine the look on these 100′s of BMX’ers when we rolled into the bike park with a semi and trailer. Kids followed us thinking we had the trophies. Then we told them we didn’t have trophies. When we got parked out of the way, my brother and I jumped out to open the back of the truck. Keith and I were the two coolest racers! We had an entire truck and trailer to carry our bike and gear!  The kids were both impressed and a little let down to know we didn’t have trophies and were not a big sponsored race team.

The point was this. Most dad’s would have come home and planted themselves on the couch. My dad came home, made a quick turnaound and made it work so we could race. He did this over and over, whether it was scouts, vacation, camping or racing bicycles. I am sure my mom had a lot to do with his success and spur of the moment planning.

My dad did what he knew how to do to support a family. He knew how to drive a truck.  Sometimes things work out pretty well when you just work with what you got. My dad did. Not being a 9-5′er he still managed to go to Summer Camp with us, make it to ball games, drive us to BMX games and a million other things that made having a truck driving dad not so bad.
Happy Father’s day.