Yesterday, Wednesday, I was honored to participate in a day-long conference, sponsored by Rockhurst University Continuing Education Center. It was called Because You Believed In Me-Essential Skills and Timeless Principles. I didn't know it until yesterday, but January is National Mentoring Month and this program featured great keynote speakers and breakout sessions intended to help foster healthy, productive mentoring relationships. Now, I did know that January is National Oatmeal Month. Every January, for years, I've honored oatmeal by dressing up like the guy on the Quaker Oats box and running from house to house in our neighborhood, leaving bowls of hot oat meal, ringing the door bell and running away. It is not easy to carry so many steaming bowls and then race across the lawn while wearing a velvet suit, ruffled shirt and white wig. For one thing, that big hat always comes flying off my head. Anyway, there was no conference in town about oatmeal, at least not that I was aware of, so I attended the one on mentoring.

According to the dictionary, a mentor is a wise and trusted counselor and teacher. Clearly, I am not in any position to be a mentor. After the conference, I approached many co-workers and family members to offer my mentoring services. I was rebuffed and I didn't even know I'd been buffed in the first place. I found that approaching total strangers and saying "Hello, my name is Joel and I'd like to mentor you," was not the way to go. Basically, I have a better chance of being a Mentos than a mentor. I'd prove that, too, if I could figure out a way to squeeze into a soda bottle and be hurled into the air.

As for the other side of the equation, I've never been a mentee, either. Once, when visiting Moonshine Beach in Branson, I was mistaken for a manatee. That's about as close as I've come. Yesterday, one of the great speakers at the conference, mentioned how his mentor had taken such a deep interest in him, that the mentor asked to meet the protege's parents, "To see where you come from." I've had many employers, through the years, ask to meet my parents. Mostly to discuss various damages and where the money for repair and lawsuits would be coming from. In the broadcast world, I had a guy in Madison named Dan Smith who was a PM Magazine host and producer. For awhile, I thought he'd be my mentor but Dan had a big bushy mustache and I am facial hair challenged so I missed my chance for guidance by a whisker. It's not that I haven't tried to cultivate a mentoring situation. For example, I occasionally observe how Kris Ketz or Jim Flink, great broadcast journalists, dress, relate and do what they do. But, I'm getting too old to lug that ladder from house to house anymore, so I think I'll have to forget about that method of finding a role model.

My wife does not consider herself my mentor. More like my keeper. The kids teach me a lot but as soon as they catch me going through their rooms when they're at school, I suspect they'll be changing the locks on their doors. That kind of leaves the dog to be my mentor. He's a good guy. Patient. Gentle. Spends his time eating and sleeping. You know, I think this might be the perfect fit. I just have to remember to walk around the couch three times before I lie down or is that lay down? Well, the dog doesn't seem to know or care, either. Finally, a mentor I can really admire.