Rites of Passage -- Personal & Corporate

May 5th, 1999

Dear friend:

Something happened to me on Friday that moved me profoundly…..and helped me to understand more clearly what I do in my work.

I was leading a group of about twenty-five persons. We were doing some opening activities - actually a theater ensemble warm-up exercise that I use for team building - when I noticed that one person, a quiet but obviously competent Asian man, was unable to pick up the cues from the group. It wasn't really of much consequence, but he was sensitive enough to come to me, apologize, and ask me not to call on him today. Then he told me what was troubling him.

He had not slept last night. He and his wife had stayed awake and talked about the fact that this was the anniversary of the day when they, with just thirty minutes of warning, had taken their two children and jumped in a boat and fled their homeland-Viet Nam.

I listened. I asked if he would like to share that with the group. He said no. Then maybe. Then, moments later of his own accord, he cleared his throat and told his story.

As we listened, the man on my left slipped me a note. It said, "This was also the week when my family left our homeland - Cuba."

And that night when I told my wife about this incredible experience - and it was an unbelievably touching moment because people who work together too rarely tell the great stories of their lives - she told me that this was the day that the first refugees from Kosovo arrived on United States soil.

As I reflected on the day I came to see why my work is so very satisfying.

We are all, in some way, boat people - whether we came on the Mayflower or a slave ship or a rag ship from Eastern Europe or even something like a canoe that brought those folks we call Native Americans across the perilous waters to this land.

Somewhere in our genetic memory, all of us have stories of great and terrifying passages that brought us to this place. And as those stories continue to get lived out, we eventually find ourselves working together in offices or factories or schools. And that is where I get to meet you.

I have now come to the realization that much of my work involves leading what I call Rites of Passage for Corporate Transformation. (It used to be that I did training programs. Later I did team building workshops. Now I dare to do something far more dramatic. I use the oldest model for managing change - Rites of Passage - to bring about a more humane work environment.)

And I feel so very fortunate to be invited to do this work.

One of my friends in Mexico sent me a little story, which is entitled simply Rites of Passage. It explains some of what my work tries to accomplish.

I invite you to read it and enjoy it!

Sincerely,

Bill

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Some of the most poignant moments I spend as a veterinarian are those spent with my clients assisting the transition of my animal patients from this world to the next. When living becomes a burden, whether from pain or loss of normal functions, I can help a family by ensuring that their beloved pet has an easy passing. Making this final decision is painful, and I have often felt powerless to comfort the grieving owners.

That was before I met Shane. I had been called to examine a ten-year-old heeler named Belker who had developed a serious health problem. The dog's owners - Ron, his wife, Lisa, and their little boy, Shane - were all very attached to Belker and they were hoping for a miracle. I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer. I told the family there were no miracles left for Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home. As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be good for the four-year-old Shane to observe the procedure. They felt Shane could learn something from the experience.

The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker's family surrounded him. Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I wondered if he understood what was going on. Within a few minutes, Belker slipped peacefully away. The little boy seemed to accept Belker's transition without any difficulty or confusion. We sat together for awhile after Belker's death, wondering aloud about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than human lives.

Shane, who had been listening, piped up, "I know why." Startled, we all turned to him. What came out of his mouth next stunned me - I'd never heard a more comforting explanation. He said, "Everybody is born so that they learn how to live a good life - like loving everybody and being nice, right?" The four-year-old continued, "Well, animals already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long."

By Robin Downing, D.V.M.