All that said, I had an opportunity to escape and find myself.  I honestly don’t remember all the details around who found what and how it was decided (although I’m betting it was my Mom who did all the legwork), but I seized the opportunity to go to France for 5 weeks with a program called the Experiment in International Living.  Basically, a group of Americans would fly to Paris, travel and explore together, then head to Ornans (due East of Paris, near the Alsace-Lorraine region) where for three weeks we would each live in a home with a family, travel with the group some more, and finally return to Paris.  While I had been to camp over the prior summers, I had never traveled to Europe, nor lived that long with another family — especially in another language.  I remember some early homesickness quickly dissipating, that awkward moment when I met my “family” and they spoke French so fast it was paralyzing, and plenty of fun times.  I remember the first family dinner with my adoptive “parents”, my brother who was basically my age, and his little brother, who took joy in making fun of my French.  I remember how far my French improved, from struggling to communicate early on, to being asked in a restaurant at the end of the trip what part of France I was from.

But as the months and years passed, it became another distant memory.  Occasionally something would trigger a memory, like pictures of a location I visited, or stories about traveling.   And my brothers and parents would remark about how they saw me “changed” when I returned.  But it ended up being another memory in my book of memories.

Until the Summer of 2011.  My daughter Katelyn had finished her junior year of high school, was 17, and wanted to get away.  She hadn’t been away from home for more than a few nights, but with her passion for Spanish she wanted to try an adventure.  My wife, daughter and I researched all sorts of potential programs, and landed on one that was in its 80th year — The Experiment in International Living.  Again.  This time, she was headed to Argentina for her five weeks — traveling in Buenes Aires as a group, living with a family for 3 weeks in Sante Fe, about 100 miles Northwest of Buenes Aires, and then ending in Buenes Aires as a group again.

It was my experience all over again.  The fear building up in the days just before, the early homesickness, the combination of awkwardness and excitement and paralysis when the family came to pick her up.  Kate had a bigger family, with her sister who was about her age, but three younger siblings.  She lived in a poorer section of Sante Fe, so it was a small house in tight quarters.  EIL intentionally instructed the kids to leave their laptops and phones at home — they wanted them to experience the culture the way I did:  completely immersed, not texting madly or skyping frequently back home.  She called to say she had arrived safely, but also to warn us that she wouldn’t be calling frequently, only an occasional email from an internet cafe.  As parents, as the days went by without hearing from her, we assumed everything was ok, but I couldn’t help but wonder — was I nuts to send my daughter to another country on a program that was around when I did it?  Was it safe?  Was she ready for it?  Was that really the best program out there, or was I blinded by my experience?  Did I research it enough?

I remember picking Kate up at the airport on the day she returned and having her spew stories.  How she spent an hour every night talking to her Mom in Spanish about culture, cooking, parenting, politics, and Argentina.  How Kate had subtly wondered aloud why no one wore seat belts.  How recycling was not even considered.  In effect, she was experiencing another culture with respect and passion.  She would recount the amazing experience of going into a middle school every day to teach under-privileged children pin-hole photography, and how she saw the magic in their eyes when she worked with them.  And everything was in Spanish.

As she shared those stories, the memories of my trip came flooding back.  I started thinking about my Mom, and remembered how every morning I would be greeted with a pot of steaming coffee and steaming milk, combined into a bowl with a cube of brown sugar on the bottom to make cafe au lait.  Accompanied by a delicious croissant.  And how she was determined to cook a pizza for me, even though it didn’t really taste like pizza.  And how I got close to my brother and his friends.  I began to remember the trips to the local cafe, and the laughs we had together — even though we grew up in different countries in a different language, we were basically the same.

The more I heard Kate’s stories, the more memories returned.  But I was jealous.  Kate has Facebook.  She’s posting comments on her sister’s page, and conversing with her Mom and Dad.  She’s connected to the other kids in her group, and met two of them during her college tour visits.  They are connected and continue to share their lives, and anxiously wait for the times when they can meet in person again.

It has sparked me to uncover my family.  To find out where they are and reach out.  I’m determined to reconnect, even if I have to dust off some seriously stale French to say hello.  Will they remember me?  My 8-year old little brother isn’t little anymore — he must be in his 40s.  If I strain, I can still hear his laugh when I struggled to find the word in French.

What about the other Americans in my group?  What were their names?  What are they doing?  I wonder if they have children who went abroad with EIL as well.

But most importantly — thank you, Experiment in International Living.  You touched two generations, and despite a 33-year gap, the impact was the same.  That’s pretty impressive.  No wonder that even after 80 years, you’re  going stronger than ever.

[Below is the excerpt from the Experiment in International Living website, detailing the organization and the experiences.  Click here to find out more information about the different programs.]

EXPAND
your vision of the world.

An experiment is a venture designed to discover something new.  It’s a process that explores new ideas and considers exciting possibilities.  And this is exactly what The Experiment in International Living is all about – a journey to expand your understanding of the world and potentially change your life forever.

Since 1932 The Experiment in International Living has been giving high school students the unique opportunity to enrich themselves and the world around them by offering three-, four-, and five-week programs in 30 countries around the world.  Our programs are not trips or tours; they’re authentic journeys that allow you to experience another culture in a very powerful way and to enjoy a summer that you’ll remember for a lifetime.

As a result, I’ve always tried to set the right tone with my teams.  I remember when GM asked Kenny for an “audit” of the Executive Team at Digitas to find out what cars they drove.  Their rationale was “we pay you lots of money, and if your senior leadership isn’t driving GM vehicles, what does that say about our partnership?”  There were only a few of us who drove GM vehicles (I drove a Saab), but too many didn’t.  So we sprung into action.  When GM launched the incredibly powerful and important “Keep America Rolling” campaign after 9/11, encouraging Americans to purchase American products and keep moving forward, Digitas matched GM’s employee discount.  As the executive lead on the GM business, I recall proudly receiving the note that Digitas had the best performance of any of GM’s agencies in terms of new vehicle purchases by employees.

And so in 2008 when my old car finally was on its last legs, I needed to buy a new one.  While I knew I needed to buy a GM vehicle, the pressures mounted to the contrary from both family and friends.  Cars are an important part of my family.  I married into a “car family” — my brother-in-law is a world-class mechanic, having worked on multi-million dollar restorations of Bugattis, Porsches, and Mercedes.  He was a master mechanic for Porsche and Audi, and is truly a master of fixing anything.  We don’t buy anything mechanical without asking “Uncle Mark.”  My father-in-law used to work for a Mercedes-BMW dealership and has been an avid collector of cars over the years.  And my wife and I have owned several Audis over our 25 years of marriage, loving the combination of sleek looks, great performance, fantastic handling in snow, and durability.

But my loyalty to my client was strong, and I test drove several GM models.  I loved the new Cadillac designs, and was very familiar with the reports and studies showing vast improvement in terms of quality, value retention, and durability.  And with a neighbor owning the closest Cadillac dealership (Frost Motors in Newton), I figured it was the right thing to do.  I had never owned a new luxury car, so I was excited to receive a grand welcome in the dealership.  They took care of everything.  Picked up and dropped off the car, cleaned it inside and out every time, and even gassed it up occasionally.  It was fun to drive, and I truly liked the look of it.  While there were a few annoying features out of the gate (the seat adjuster didn’t work, the speakers were a bit fuzzy), they were minor and dwarfed by the integration of OnStar, the dealer “touch”, and the luxury fit and finish.

I remember driving it home and pulling into my neighborhood.  One of my neighbors was out in his yard, and came over asking what the car was.  I remember saying “a CTS” (why didn’t I say Cadillac?  Deep down, I guess I felt more confident with the new name, vs. the perception of Cadillacs being only for old people).  He asked “is that a Cadillac?”  When I replied that it was, he paused, and then said “huh.”  I was judged.  So I leapt into action.  I got him to sit in it.  Drive it.  Take a tour in it.  He liked it, and then added “I’d never buy one, though.”  Boy did I live GM’s challenges in the Northeast.  Go into the school parking lot and there’s a sea of Mercedes, BMW, Acura, Lexus, Toyota, Honda, and Audi.  Same at the store and the shopping mall.  Every time I stepped out of the CTS and was asked about it, I would confidently reply that it was great and they should try it.  Confidently, but always feeling like I had to defend it and rationalize the purchase.

And then the bankruptcy and government takeover occurred.  GM and the government decided to dramatically reshape the dealer landscape, and closed thousands of dealerships, including Frost Cadillac.  Here I was, a proud defender of my car, without a dealership.  I was pointed toward Norwood Cadillac, and had a bad feeling from the first visit.  I was just another customer, no acknowledgement that they were gaining a new customer, who had been displaced — just a number.  The speakers stopped working on one side, and the automatic door locks were failing.  The car went in three times, each returned “fixed”, and each time the issue would reoccur.  It was under warranty, but it cost me time and aggravation.  And each time, as I frustratingly returned the car to get serviced, the service manager seemed more intent on getting “10s” on the post-service survey than on taking care of me.  Which made me more frustrated.  After a fourth time, a long wait, an unpleasant interaction, and a battle for loaner cars, I decided to find another dealership.

I went to the R.C. Olsen Cadillac dealer in Woburn.  I spoke with the manager and shared my story.  Now, the marketer in me would be salivating:  a loyal customer, frustrated with bad customer service at a different dealership, with a car coming out of warranty.  All I had to do would be to over-deliver with a smile, upgrade my loaner cars, bend over backwards and guess what?  They’d have a new car repeat buyer.  Instead?  The car was never washed when I got it back.  Was it required?  Nope — but boy, that would have been a delight.  The problems weren’t fixed.  The lines and the wait time were even longer than in Norwood, and the service managers, while nice, clearly were not empowered.  And the gruff receptionist didn’t help.

The frustrations with the CTS continued to the point that I just stopped going to the dealership.  I didn’t have the time or the patience.  So I lived with the bad speakers and the broken panel and the temperamental door latches.  Then I left and went to a new job, my current gig.  I was technically free.  No longer did I have that mandate from a client.  I admit it, my eyes began to wander.  My friends and family, realizing my weakness, stepped in and kept showing me pictures of a BMW, Audi, Lexus, Mercedes, and Acura.  Some I dismissed because I couldn’t envision owning one.  Finally, my wife and daughter convinced me to go drive a new Audi.

Uh-oh — the dealership was clean, the smiles friendly, the sales people warm and under the age of 60.  They engaged with me, and gave as much attention to my wife and daughter.  A bottle of water, some snacks to go with the conversation.  A pressure-free offer to go for a test drive.  I did, and loved it.  But I wasn’t ready to buy.  Follow-up was subtle and appropriately spread out.  No obnoxious hard sell, but a check in.  One last battle with the CTS combined with one more “I need to defend” occurrence with a friend and I was now ready to move on.  We returned to Bernardi Audi, owned by the dealership where I bought my first car in 1984, a Honda.  Family run, nice, clean, trained, welcoming.  No pressure to buy the more expensive car; more interested in getting the right one.  Water, snacks, and smiles.  I signed on the dotted line.

When I returned to pick it up I got treated like royalty.  Walked around the showroom, introduced to the service managers and the other staff.  A patient customer service manager walked me through every part of the car — every button, every knob, every subtlety.  And then gave me the manuals to read through at my convenience.  When I discovered that a few of the tire valve covers (those black plastic covers) were missing, they rushed them to my house that day.

Now I proudly drive an Audi.  My neighbors nod and smile.  No judging.  My wife loves to drive it, and my kids approve.  Friends and co-workers compliment me on the color and say they love the design.  No stares.  No questions.  No judging.

I no longer have to defend my purchase.  Just soak in the approval of the brand and the fit for me.

As I moved to the “other” line, steaming, yet still not fully awake and processing since I hadn’t had that Starbucks coffee yet, I couldn’t help but realize how simple gestures make all the difference.  Take my last few weeks as a simple experiment, even beyond that Delta flight.

United Airlines vs. JetBlue:  Recent SF trip.  Trying to get an earlier flight on United, battling with the gate agent over change fees, extra seat fees, and upgrade potential.  Heading down the jetway, a well-intentioned “how are you?” question to the gate agent, met with a “I’m not doing well today, actually.”  My response of “oh, I’m sorry”, answered by a “whatever”.  Seriously.  I tweeted about the interaction — no response, naturally.  And then the next leg on JetBlue.  I was met by smiles and nice comments.  The same “how are you?” question was answered by “great day.  How are you?”.  I sat in my seat and tweeted “I love seeing smiles on @JetBlue”.  Within 7 minutes I received a “Well thank you.  We love seeing you fly with us.”  Wow, that was easy.  And special.  Guess who’s getting my business?

Avis vs. Hertz:  A car accident left us one car short in the family.  Given the driving needs I decided to rent a car for a week.  Hertz was a “take it or leave it” answer, not competitive price-wise, and completely unhelpful.  A very helpful Avis agent gave me a suggestion on the cheapest way to rent for a week.  And when I went to pick up the car, the agent behind the counter upgraded me to a “more fun car”, for $15.  Clearly worth it.  Clearly empowered.  Down in Atlanta I rented from Hertz, and got a 25,000 mile Toyota that pulls, with stained seats.  I didn’t have the time to switch, but guess which one left the better impression?

Panera Bread:  Lunch in Atlanta before a meeting.  Helpful person behind the counter suggested a different way to put my order together that saved money.  And why I should enroll in their loyalty program, including the how-to steps.  I grabbed a table to get some work done, and as I sat there after eating my sandwich, another employee came over and nicely asked if they could clear my plate.  Big smile, happy to help.  Completely unexpected, friendly, and left an impression.

Car Shopping for a third car:  The Kia dealership greeted my wife and daughter with smiles, and asked a few questions.  Not pushy, but helpful.  Offered up 2 options, and made them feel comfortable.  No pressure.  Got them to test drive the car, and put together a very aggressive pricing package.  No pressure, but willing to help.  They left and went to the Hyundai dealership down the road to test drive the comparable car under the sister nameplate.  Disorganized dealership, loud, noisy (under construction, but still).  The sales rep looked disheveled, and yelled across the room to his colleague.  He asked a few questions, but didn’t seem to be listening.  Came out with a dozen keys, overwhelming my wife and daughter.  They said they’d come back.  Guess where they bought the car from?

Marriott check-in last night:  A friendly face greeted me at the counter.  I handed over my credit card and ID and I got a bigger smile and a “thank you” for being one of their best customers.  She said “oh, you’re from Massachusetts.  I go to school in New Hampshire.”  I asked where and what she was doing down in Atlanta, and she explained it was her internship.  She loved her job, but with her visa running out was likely heading back to Jamaica.  I commented that it’s on my list of places to visit.  She wrote down three places I needed to see, while handing me the key, hotel info, free wi-fi info and a way to get more Marriott points.  Check-in took about five minutes.

That’s how you do it.  Not the other way.  Guess which brands from above have left favorable impressions, and which ones didn’t?