What's Left Behind

Oct. 27, 2008
Dateline: Modesto, California

This particular day was even sadder than the funeral. My sister had passed away from lung cancer at age 51. In addition to her cigarette addiction, she had always been a vivacious rabble-rouser, and certainly one to flaunt tradition. The funeral service looked like something out of Woodstock – except the air smelled more like Ben Gay than big bong. After her ashes were scattered into the San Francisco Bay , I spent a couple days with my brother-in-law remembering the good times. As I was getting ready to leave, he offered me an opportunity to look through a cardboard box of family items my sister had left in the garage.

As I pawed through the quirky items she had collected from our childhood home in the Midwest after my mother died, I came across a 1920's-era woodworking level encased in beautiful, polished wood. This tool was obviously a classic as nearly all modern levels have the bubble tubes encased in cold, aluminum frames. I tried to imagine why she had chosen that item from my father's collection of old craftsman tools. My father had been a woodworking hobbyist who had the abilities to shame a master cabinetmaker.

As I turned the relic over in my hands, I knew instinctively why my father preferred this old-world implement to the modern versions. It had a brass bezel to hold in the glass vial containing the dyed liquid. The polished wood appeared to be ebony, and was worn smooth from decades of careful alignment by a workman's hands. It was as much a work of art as the many tables, lamps and chairs built by my father.

The artifact also caused me to carefully consider what legacy we leave behind after our funeral is over and life resumes for those we loved. I remember how my father lovingly cared for his woodworking tools, and found it a bit ironic to locate one in the bottom of a battered cardboard box in my sister's garage. Obviously, she had similar memories from her childhood, and wanted a special memento of our father as a keepsake. My father would have continued to use this old tool, and would have never considered hiding it away.

What we both obviously recall is seeing him focused intently on a furniture repair for a neighbor on his capacious work bench, or hunched over the lathe in the garage with wood chips littering the cement floor. He was a patient and hardworking man who never had much in the way of financial rewards. Dad would have understood the level as a memory and maybe even as his legacy.

Once our children began to leave home, my wife and I had a similar concern. We wanted to ensure we left a sound legacy for our children. While discussing an upcoming Christmas season, my wife asked our children what gifts they were wishing for. As the floodgates of expectation opened, my wife then held up her hand and asked a follow-on question. “What did your parents get you for Christmas last year?” They both stood there looking surprised, and you could see them thinking feverishly to try to recall last year's bounty. They were stumped. It was that eye-opening discussion that led my wife and me to spend several days contemplating more appropriate ways to celebrate the holiday while helping build the one key legacy we leave behind for our children – their memories.

As Christmas approached the next year, we explained that we would have the family gift exchange quite early. We set up the tree six weeks before Christmas, and invited the girls for the big event. The girls looked around at the tree and were visibly disappointed to see no gaudily-wrapped presents. We sat there a few moments allowing them to take in the abject absence of the normal avalanche of ribbons, packages, boxes and bags. Then we pointed toward two envelopes on the tree – one labeled for each. They smiled, and then eagerly tore them open.

Inside each envelope was a ticket for them and a significant other to join us at a resort in Mexico over their Christmas vacation. They were undoubtedly quite surprised, and immediately raced away to make calls to ensure they would be available. We left the Saturday before Christmas.

Our trip to Mexico was a dramatic departure from the traditional Christmas scenes in New England where our children were mostly raised. There we had the large family gatherings, traditional sweets and caroling. There was almost always snow.

In Mexico , Santa Claus made his annual appearance on the beach astride a beautiful white horse, accompanied by an “elf” riding a donkey. The image reminded me more of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza than Saint Nicholas and an aide. One had to feel sorry for Santa, as his customary red suit and beard had to feel really sticky in the balmy 85 degrees with a cloudless sky.

Aside from Christmas Day worship services with the locals, we spent a week at the resort enjoying a variety of very un-Christmas-like activities. We went sliding along cables on a jungle canopy tour and rode horses on the beach. We went whale watching and scuba diving. The seafood was fresh off the boat, and the other local culinary treats were amazing. As we left, we were all exhausted and slept on the flight back home.

I noticed absolutely no one even enquired about presents, nor seemed worried about the lack of a decorated tree at home. We arrived back with some great pictures and video of our canopy tour. We made sure everyone on the trip got copies.

To this day, my wife and I have no problem getting the correct answer when we ask, what did you get for a present last year? In fact, last time we asked, it evolved into a lively two-hour conversation recounting the many humorous and memorable moments of that warm, sunny week in a new place. I guess we finally succeeded in creating a memory of Christmas that is more than a quickly-forgotten personal electronic device.

As a security expert, it may be a good time to consider your professional legacy. In a world where rapidly changing threats and an exponentially growing list of potential vulnerabilities is just part of the daily grind, what are people going to remember about your efforts? What do you want them to recall about your security expertise?

The organizations, assets and people we strive to protect are undoubtedly very important to us personally and professionally. Why would we do this mostly-thankless job if we didn't care deeply for the resources we are charged to shield from harm? The answer lies deeper than a specific project, agency or traumatic event.

As it is with my father's memory, I don't recall the things he used as much as the way he used them. I remember how he cherished his tools and how his craftsmanship was imparted into everything that he touched as I see them around my home today. In the same way, you'll be remembered for what you leave behind – specifically, the way you performed your job.

The way you perform your security duties is wrapped around your professionalism and, specifically, the processes you put in place for those who will come after you. The next generation will face an entirely new palette of threats and nearly limitless new vulnerabilities. Safeguards and countermeasures we cannot yet imagine will be developed and marketed to this new generation. They won't be able to simply plug in the same solutions we are all working hard to deploy today. However, they will look to us for guidance.

The best legacy we can leave them will be a sound security management process to carefully measure and then manage the many risks they will face. This process must be fact-based and free from fear mongering and hyperbole. We need to ensure they have the basic tools to assess, manage, deploy and monitor the safeguards they will need in the future. What is your legacy?