Chapter 29 A Mission Greater Than Our Own Dreams
Marco and I rarely spoke only about turnover. We talked about what technology could mean for architects, retailers, and ordinary families. Sometimes we called that our mission: to build something greater than our own dreams. Those words could sound lofty, but at our table they were very practical. A program had to save someone time. An image had to help a customer choose. A connection had to bring people closer to a solution.
In that respect, we were very much alike. We both saw possibilities quickly and sometimes trusted the good intentions of others for too long. I brought experience; Marco brought the speed of a new generation. He dared to look further ahead than I did, while I more often asked who would pay for the project and who would truly keep their word. Our discussions could be heated, but they rarely left distance between us. We did not want to defeat each other. We wanted to defeat the problem.
When people speak about entrepreneurs today, they often see only the result. They see a company that grows. Or a company that eventually disappears. But between those two extremes lies a long road. A road of hope. Doubt. Sleepless nights. And above all… people who, day after day, try to make possible what others consider impossible. Marco was one of those people. He was not someone who lost courage at the first obstacle. Quite the opposite. It was precisely when others began to doubt that he often worked even harder. He was usually one of the first to arrive. And one of the last to leave. He always looked further ahead. Sometimes I asked him, “Marco… when was the last time you truly rested?” He would smile and reply, “Later, Dad.” That one word said everything. Later. Later, we would have time. Later, we would travel. Later, we would enjoy everything we had built together.
Later, we would slow down a little. Later… What a deceptive word. It sounds like a promise. But life taught me that later can never be taken for granted. And yet Marco continued to dream. He sketched new concepts. Developed new ideas. Spoke with potential partners. He searched for solutions where others saw only problems. That was what I admired so much in him. Sometimes I watched him in silence as he sat before his computer. He could immerse himself completely in what he was creating. As though time around him had ceased to exist. His coffee grew cold. The hours passed. But Marco continued searching until he understood how to improve things. When I watched him work that way, I felt not only like his father. I also felt like his colleague. His most candid sounding board. And his greatest supporter. Those memories are invaluable to me.
Marco with his first wife Tina, the mother of their daughters Chiara and Laura.
Not because everything went well during those years. It did not. But because I saw my son become a man of extraordinary vision and determination. Of course, we did not always agree. That is normal between two generations. Experience had made me more cautious. Marco looked above all at the possibilities that still lay before us. When I preferred to sleep on an important decision for another night, he often already had the next step in mind. Sometimes we debated passionately. But we never tried to prevail over one another. Together, we tried to find the best path. He respected my experience. I admired his vision. And we almost always found our way back to each other. That mutual respect was the strongest foundation of our collaboration. Many people considered Marco an especially talented entrepreneur. And he was. But he possessed another quality that perhaps touched me even more deeply.
His loyalty. He felt responsible for the people around him. When one of our colleagues had a problem, he did not remain indifferent. He kept thinking about it. When a project was in danger of becoming stuck, he did not first look for someone to blame. He looked for a solution. He had not learned that from a book. It was simply part of the man he was. He had a big heart. Perhaps, at times, even a heart that wanted to carry too much. People who empathize deeply with others easily forget their own limits. They often place themselves last. It is a beautiful quality. But it can also make someone vulnerable. I sometimes wonder how many worries Marco kept to himself. How many nights he lay awake without anyone knowing. How many times he smiled while silently wondering how he could hold everything together. I will never receive a complete answer to those questions. Nor do I want to pretend that I knew everything happening within him. No father knows every hidden sorrow of his child.