Our friend Heidi was a high-level environmental policy adviser to a progressive governor out West. Well-educated, well-informed, committed and successful, Heidi has an impressive resume, and is a formidable strategist and policy pro. She’s run a congressional campaign, staffed a think tank, and held down several other notable paid and unpaid political organizing positions over the years. Exquisitely articulate, yet fast on her feet, Heidi is a natural for a press op.
Just after fellow office staffers pushed Heidi in front of the cameras on short notice, they voiced amazed satisfaction at her quick, poised, successful performance. Yet whom did Heidi credit? Her training? No. Her experience? No. Her savvy? No. Nope, nope, nope. Her first credit was to–shades of the Oscars — her upbringing!!!! Heidi’s retort: “I grew up in a family of journalists and lawyers. Every night at the dinner table was like a press op!”
Now, Heidi left home at the age of 17. She has not warmed a regular seat at her mother’s table in more than three decades. Yet in Heidi’s telling, those early years were so influential and so formative that she continues to chalk up her TV smarts to the grilling from dad and three older brothers oh-those-many-years ago. On the up side, this is a marvelous testament to the importance of the dinnertime tutorial more common in the bygone era of the evening family meal. On the down side, Heidi seemed too quick to minimize the role of her subsequent excellent education, experience, and training, and thus discredit her own hard-won political and public speaking skills. I’m all for the warm embrace of childhood, especially the parts that build character. We all tag declarations with the qualifier that “I grew up ” . . ., e.g., eating white bread, walking to school, singing hymns, camping out, what have you. But let’s also hear it for the wit and wisdom we accumulate once we’ve left the nest.
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