The Problem Solver.

Team Letter | November 4, 2024

Happy Monday Alpaca,

Today, I’ll be out of the office for the day, attending my father-in-law Marshall Borchert’s funeral. While it’s a departure from our usual team letter content, I wanted to share with you the words that my husband will share at the service.

Taylor and I wrote this essay together, and it’s something I learned a lot from simply in the writing and creation of it. It’s an essay about the roles we each choose, the roles we play in the lives of our families and friends, and the roles we pass along to our kids.

In many ways, Alpaca asks educators every day to tell us who they are, the role they’re choosing today, the way they feel and the things they need. Do they identify today as The Overachiever (“ambitious” and “mission minded” and maybe “exhausted”)? The Best Friend (“supportive” and “caring” and maybe “overwhelmed”)? Or maybe The Communicator (“in the loop” and “at the top of my game”)? Whatever role they are choosing in their school or job today, they’ve allowed us to be a part of it. That’s something pretty special.

I’m including our essay here, in hopes that you will find something in it for yourself about the roles you choose in your work and life, and the ones your family and friends might see in you.

I hope you enjoy it. and if you’re close to your parents or feel so inclined, do me a favor and call them today. It’ll be a gift to you both.

♥️,
KB

PS: They made a movie of the performance referenced here, and it’s called In and Of Itself, by Derek DelGuadio. Strongly recommend!

The Problem Solver.

A message for my dad, Marshall Borchert. By Taylor Borchert.

Several years ago, I attended an unusual magic show. In the lobby of the theater was a wall, filled with hundreds of cards. Each card held a title, like a role or an identity. And before walking into the theater, each guest was asked to choose  one from the wall. I could pick from “architect” or “brother” or “Midwesterner” or “theater nerd” or so many others. 

So many of those cards spoke to a part of who I am. But I could only pick one. 

When we walked into the theater, I gave the ticket taker the card I chose. 

In reflecting back a little bit on my dad’s life, I wondered what card he would have chosen. I think he would have picked a card that said “Problem Solver.” 

My dad’s life was one of entrepreneurship, friendship, and meaningful contribution to his community.  But my dad never proclaimed himself to be an entrepreneur, or an engineer, or a philanthropist. He just loved solving problems. 

In his work and in our community, Marshall solved some big problems that the world needed solving. And for us kids (particularly in our adolescence), he sometimes solved problems that we didn’t ask him to solve! 

When my dad was early in his career as an electrical engineer, cable television was just showing up in every family household. And when the cable was out, no one was happy. So his engineering mind fixated on solving a simple problem: why dig up a bunch of underground cable to find a break , if you could instead send a signal to measure the distance to the fault? 

He built a simple solution to solve the problem, and today it’s a critical tool in every cable repair van on the road. From that simple solution he built the company that gave each of us kids our first jobs, solved problems for millions of households, created hundreds of jobs and livelihoods, and built a business our whole family is proud of. 

Sometimes, Marshall solved problems no one else even considered a problem! When we were living in Aurora, Nebraska,  my dad discovered a VERY big problem: our family wanted to enjoy the comfort of a hot tub, BUT we also lived in Nebraska winters. No problem. My dad installed a family sized hot tub in the middle of our living room, surrounded by astroturf, from which we could enjoy the gentle relaxation of a nice soak; all while watching our favorite television programs. Problem solved.

As each of us were growing into our adult selves, my dad had a solution — for every job decision, life decision, and relationship we encountered. He did it pragmatically, asking 

“Why not just get married and start your life now?” Or 

“What have you done to earn that job?” Or 

“What's stopping you?” 

The questions weren’t always easy to hear. But I always knew: this was my dad solving problems, getting to the best right solution with the information he had. 

We relied on this problem solving to give us the extra push as we chose the jobs and identities of our own lives as adults. To believe in ourselves as the lawyer, the architect, the designer, the nurse, the entrepreneur, the wife, the husband, the parent. He always had a good and logical reason, and he always made it feel so clear. Like there was just one card on that wall we were meant to pick right this minute. And that over time, the identity we chose might just change. And that was okay, too.

Well, over time, the Problem Solver identity my dad had embodied his whole life did change. 

In his last years, it got harder for my dad to solve problems. Maybe the greatest heartbreak of the disease of dementia is that the very thing you use to solve problems, IS the problem. When you’re an engineer, you rely on your trusted tools and algorithms to solve problems. And my dad’s best equipment — his mind –  stopped functioning according to the manufacturer’s instructions. 

As we navigated illness with my dad, my sisters and I realized something special: our dad's talents as a problem solver, an engineer, an entrepreneur, an advocate, and a champion, had been passed along to us, and now it was our opportunity to solve problems the way our dad did. 

I don’t wish anyone a family member with dementia, but I do wish everyone the knowledge that your parent’s wisdom successfully made its way to their kids. 

Back at that magic show, the performer asked us all to stand up at the end. He then came around to guess the card we had each chosen and dropped off on our way in. Walking past each seat, he said a single word to each of us. If he guessed the word on our card, we sat down. Truthfully, I was fearful, wondering what he’d see, what card he believed I picked. 

When he came to me, he said “Father.” And then he put his hand on my shoulder and said “You’re a good dad.” 

My dad was many, many things. Student. Soldier. Engineer. Husband. Water skier. Hot tub installer. Critic. Music lover. Confidante. Advisor. Grandpa. Historian. Contrarian. Keeper of the stories. And a Problem solver. 

In the end, though, the role he always chose, the one he worked hard to perfect, the one he held most dear, and the one he passed down to me, was “Dad.” 

Thank you.