5

My Nephew Fattay

My mom will find the good in anyone. She has a special knack for shining her flashlight of mercy into the cavernous depths of even the most downtrodden of souls — illuminating a tiny speck of positivity hiding in the corner . With her flashlight blazing an incandescent glory, she’ll proclaim: “James has been out of jail for two straight months. Isn’t that wonderful?” or “Tommy got fired from Dairy Queen for stealing Oreo Blizzards, but immediately found another job at Safeway. He’s really doing well stocking shelves. He’s such a nice man.”

So when Mom, for years and years, would tell me that my nephew Anthony was a “genius on the computer,” I figured it was the flashlight talking. Kenny — one of my other nephews — he could run two miles in right around ten minutes. When he got bored with that, he quit the track team and picked up soccer during his senior year in high school. He made varsity, started several games, and played a key role on a team that came in second in state. Ken has about 4% body fat, dates super models, and recently graduated from the University of Washington. Mom didn’t need her flashlight to find the good in Ken. He’s literally Barbie’s companion (blonde hair and all) — just four or five inches shorter. The other day, I think I saw him on a large poster in a window at Abercrombie and Fitch.

Anthony on the other hand — his existence has not been as glorious.  He never really played any sports. His family life hasn’t always been that uplifiting, and he didn’t even bother to apply to college. I left for West Point just a few months after he was born, and I’ve probably only seen him a couple of times per year since. Once — on Christmas about five years ago — he came to our family gathering dressed entirely in green Fubu gear. I remember thinking that he looked like the Wheedle on the Needle (the over-sized mascot of the former Seattle Sonics). Anthony apparently has a talent for rapping and has released a couple of full-length records under the mic name “Fattay.”  But Grandma doesn’t take her flashlight there because of the explicit lyrics. So Mom’s reports have always been about his technical acumen. I heard it at least three times a year. “That Anthony…he’s something on the computer.”

I started to believe my Mom’s hype last summer when a web hosting firm in Houston offered Anthony a job for upwards of $40,000 per year. I figured that if the kid could bring in that kind of money just weeks out from his high school graduation, that maybe he really did possess some sort of web-based genius. Anthony flew to Houston, looked around, missed home, and got back on the plane. By mid-August, he was sitting in Yakima, Washington with no job and no prospects. Meanwhile, I was a month in to my short tour as an Operations Manager at an Amazon.com customer service center about an hour away from Yakima. Our particular location housed a large team that worked exclusively on Amazon digital products: mp3 downloads, video on demand, and the Amazon Kindle. We were bringing on a large pool of seasonal hires heading into the holiday season, and my mind connected the dots: genius nephew = potential employee.

The selfish side of me wanted to dismiss the notion. Even though he was my nephew, I didn’t know Anthony all that well. What if he came to Amazon and got in some sort of trouble? Or what if he didn’t like this job either and ditched after a few weeks? Worse than that, what if we didn’t hire him? My mom wasn’t necessarily the most objective employment reference.

But the big heart I have on my good days wouldn’t let the selfish, risk-averse me get in the way. Anthony was my sister’s son. The only brightness in his life was the glow of the flat screen in his living room. I was struggling with my own identity while working out my new role at Amazon, but maybe God had put me in this place to give Anthony a chance. I decided that I would send him an e-mail telling him about the open positions we had on the “tech team.” I reminded him that it was only seasonal work, but indicated that some temporary hires — those who performed well — would be kept on permanently.

Anthony replied and thanked me for the suggestion. But not wanting a job an hour away, he decided to pursue some other opportunities in Yakima. Part of me was relieved. I’d reached out and done my good deed — mission complete. Anthony got a bite as a security guard at a hospital, but turned the offer down when he found out he would have to just walk around the building for hours. Judgmental me told my mom that the kid should just take a job. A few weeks later, running out of options in Yakima, he wrote and asked if Amazon was still interviewing. We were, but no longer for the tech role. Anthony didn’t care. He just needed a job. I was kind of nervous; the worst-case scenarios were scampering around in my head. But I gritted my teeth and told Anthony to come interview on the following Thursday.

I have a distaste for nepotism and favoritism that comes from a youth sports experience. My dad — the most fair man to ever walk this earth — once cut my best friend from our select soccer team. That same year, I failed to make a basketball team because the coach picked every son whose dad sat on the Boys’ Club executive board. I struggled. I didn’t want to interfere with the interview process, but should I at least set Anthony up for success? In the end, I did. I talked to one of my friends and told her that he was my nephew. I suggested that if he didn’t make the cut, she shouldn’t hire him. I wasn’t asking for any favors. But I guess if I wasn’t asking for favors, I never would have told her in the first place. Truth is, my big heart got the best of me. I knew that my nephew needed this job — and not for the money.

We hired Anthony in September of last year. In October he went to work as a regular customer service associate. By November, he had earned himself a job on the digital team — the “Army of Techness.” On Christmas Day 2008, I stood in front of all of our family — in that same house where Anthony once showed up as the Wheedle — and announced that he was one of twelve employees (out of well over one hundred seasonal hires) to have earned a regular role with the company. Our family cried. Anthony beamed. Kenny hugged him. It was his moment.

By February, Anthony — whose quality and efficiency ratings made him the #1 person on the entire team several weeks running — became a permanent member of the Army of Techness, making a good salary and enjoying his work.  From October through March, he stopped by my office nearly every day. Sometimes he got in the way; I had other things to do. But I took the time to talk to him. During those six months, I got to know the nephew I had once dismissed. We talked about his family situation, and his friends, and occasionally he would complain to me about the guy who sat next to him. It was great to have him there, because every day I was reminded that my nephew was in the building. I wanted the leaders who led him — the leaders I led — to take care of him. To invest in his future. To care about his passions. To pat him on the back when he was down and praise him when his stats showed he was a rock star. I wanted that for Anthony, and I wanted that for everyone in that building.

I left Amazon on April 1st. Last week, management promoted Anthony to seasonal lead.  He’s been working there less than a year; he just turned 19 years old. He is now a leader, and I am incredibly proud of him.

Anthony, I love you. And Mom was right, you are a genius.

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