Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 124

My Eagle Scout extension explained

On the heels of realizing that my mother never sent my letter offering film critique to Steven Spielberg (because how could she in 1981?) came this other realization:

My parents probably never requested my Eagle Scout extension either.

By the time I was 15 years old I had more than enough merit badges to become an Eagle Scout. All I needed to do was complete a service project, and my lifelong goal would finally become a reality. But I procrastinated, and without any parent helping or supporting me, the months wasted away until I was about six months from turning 18 and in danger of losing my chance at becoming an Eagle Scout.

So I immediately went to work. My plan was to raise enough money to plant trees in a cemetery in my town. My Boy Scout troop had planted a line of saplings two years earlier, but many had died. I planned on raising the money to purchase new saplings so that the troop could plant and replace them in the spring.

I was in the process of organizing a bottle and can collection drive – something I had done with my troop in the past – and securing donations from businesses like Almacs and Ideal Pizza in return for Boy Scout volunteer hours – when I went through a windshield in a head-on car collision and required CPR in the back of an ambulance to restore my life.

In addition to head and chest wounds, my legs required surgery, so I hobbled around in crutches for more than two months and spent the next six months recovering fully.

During the week following the accident, while I was still in the hospital, I asked my parents to apply for an extension on my Eagle project given the accident and my injuries. I thought that in addition to purchasing the saplings, I would now be able to plant them with the troop in the spring and thus complete my project before graduating from high school.

My request for an extension was denied.

I was devastated. To this day it remains one of life’s greatest regrets. The Boy Scouts in many ways saved my life as a boy. They gave me a safe place to excel. Provided me with positive male role models who I desperately needed. Fostered friendships that meant the world to me. I spent my summers at camp, learning to become independent and self sufficient. It was at camp where I first took a stage and told stories and jokes to entertain my fellow Scouts.

I learned more in Boy Scouts than anywhere else in my life, and I earned more than enough merit badges to become an Eagle Scout.

Then I car accident derailed it all.

I was angry with the Boy Scouts for years for not granting me that extension, It made no sense to me. Even so, I eventually became an assistant Scoutmaster for a local troop and served in that capacity for several years. I’m a member of my camp’s alumni association and still return every summer on alumni day.

Last year I brought my family along.

And now my son is a Cub Scout, on his way to Boy Scouts and perhaps Eagle Scout.

Despite my continued investment in Scouting, I remained angry for a long, long time about their refusal to help a wounded boy make his childhood dream come true.

Then, just recently, it occurred to me:

My parents never requested that extension.

They made no attempt to help me get into college. Never even spoke the word “college” to me. Instead, it was made clear to me that when I graduated from high school, I would be moving out.

I received pots and pans and a microwave oven for Christmas that year.

What are the chances that parents who couldn’t find the wherewithal to speak the word “college” to me or assist in my Eagle project in any way requested that extension?

My Scoutmaster, Mr. Pollock, has sadly passed away, as has my mother, so I have no way of ever knowing for sure. I don’t know if the Boy Scouts of America keeps records on these things, but even if they do, the request would’ve been made before the internet or computer databases existed in any public way. Before people were even using computers.

Those paper files are surely gone.

It doesn’t alleviate me of any of the regret that I feel. I still long to go back and somehow earn that Eagle Scout badge. It was something I dreamt about ever since I entered Cub Scouts as a little boy. It’s difficult to work so hard for so many years to come within a whisper of making a dream come true, only to have it derailed on a snowy December day in a near fatal car accident and perhaps the negligence of parents.

A couple years ago, I decided to complete my Eagle project anyway, either at the same cemetery or some other in need of trees. I hope to do so this summer.

It won’t earn me the rank of Eagle Scout, but it’ll perhaps it will  at least complete a journey I began a long time ago.

What is an author’s filmography or discography called?

If you’re a filmmaker, the list of movies that you’ve made is called your filmography.If you’re a musician, the list of albums that you’ve made is called your discography.But if you’re an author?The opinions vary.Some say it’s called a bibliography, which is a stupid choice because:A bibliography is also the part of a book – the list of books and references used in the writing of the book – and it’s more commonly known by this definition. You can’t call a collection of books by the same name that  we use to refer to parts of those books.Filmmakers make films. Musicians produce discs of music. Authors don’t write biblios. And yes, “biblio” means “relating to a book or books” but it doesn’t mean book.Others have suggested that the word “oeuvre,” which is both pretentious as hell and quite possibly the least cool word in the English language. It’s also the kind of word that makes people nervous to say because of its pronunciation.One syllable? Two syllables? And how do you pronounce that first (or only) syllable? Is that an O sound or a U sound or something in between?Oeuvre is a terrible word to say or spell or use.So as an author, what am I to call my collection of published works? My six novels and two books of nonfiction are my what?Bookography? Maybe, but it definitely doesn’t sound cool.If it were up to me, I think I’d choose pageography, which is admittedly not great because of the need for the E in the middle of the word. It looks like someone spelled paleography incorrectly.Remove the E and you have pagography, which will absolutely be mispronounced and mistaken for some other meaning.Any other suggestions?I guess this all makes a lot of sense. Filmmakers are cool. They work with the biggest stars in the world to bring their stories to life on enormous screens in theaters filled with moviegoers.Musicians are cool. They stand before thousands of screaming fans in leather and denim, strumming guitars, pounding on drums, and singing their hearts out.Authors? We sit quietly at desks and tables and write books that we almost never see anyone read. Even when our readers laugh or weep or cry out in surprise in response to our stories, we never see any of it. Our work is consumed privately, in beds and chairs, on couches and planes, and even on toilets.We’re not exactly rockstars.Still, when asked in an interview about how many books I’ve published (as I was recently), I’d like to say something better than “my collected works include six novels and two books of nonfiction.”But maybe stuffy and silly is just about right for an author.

How many dead children do we need before we finally take action?

There will come a day when enough children are murdered for our nation to finally move forward with sensible, reasonable, meaningful gun reform. There is no question of this. Murder enough little kids and legislation will eventually follow. For Australia, it was the 1996 massacre of 35 people in Tasmania. In response, the Australian government united to remove semi-automatic and pump-action shotguns and rifles from civilian possession as a key component of their many other gun reforms. In the 18 years before these reforms, there were 13 mass shootings in Australia. In the following two decades, there have been 0 mass shootings in Australia. Also, the rates of firearm deaths, firearm homicides, and firearm suicides in Australia all declined at more than twice the rate that they were already declining prior to the reforms. There is also no evidence that any other method of suicide or attempted suicide increased over that time. Australia found its tipping point. As a result, lives have been saved. For the United Kingdom, it was the 1996 killing of 16 children and a teacher in Dunblane Primary School in Scotland. The British government responded almost immediately by enacting strict gun control legislation. In the 26 years since legislation was enacted, there have been a total of 0 school shootings in the UK. The United Kingdom found its tipping point. Lives have been saved.  For New Zealand it was the 2019 massacre of 51 people in Christchurch. The New Zealand parliament quickly enacted legislation that included a ban on assault rifles, universal background checks, and a buy-back program that has removed hundreds of thousands of assault weapons and other guns from the streets.  The United States will eventually reach its tipping point, too. We will bury enough small, dead children to finally take action. It’s frankly shocking that it hasn’t happened already given we are the only nation on the planet with mass killings like the one that took place in Texas yesterday. Last week it was black shoppers in Buffalo.  Two weeks ago it was Asian Americans in a church in southern California.  Today it’s elementary school children and their teachers in Texas. The number of dead Americans continues to grow, but sadly, it’s not yet been enough. We have yet to find our magic number. Apparently we still don’t have enough dead children to warrant action.  My question is this: Will the 19 murdered children and two murdered teachers in Texas finally be enough? Will this tragedy finally be the impetus for sensible, reasonable gun reform? Or do we require a few more dead children before we take action? If so, how many? Because gun reform will eventually happen. That is a certainty. Kill enough kids and Americans will eventually demand reform. It’s only a matter of how many murdered children we will tolerate before it happens. Will 19 dead children and two dead teachers in Texas finally be enough?  My thoughts are with the children entering schools today who are shouldering the knowledge of this tragedy.  My thoughts are with the educators who enter schoolhouses today and everyday with the overwhelming responsibility to keep those children safe in light of horrific tragedies like this latest in Texas. And my thoughts are with the parents who will say goodbye to their kids at bus stops and school house doors today, praying that they will return home safely.  Today will be a hard day for many, many people in this country. As an elementary school teacher with children of my own heading off to school this morning, as well as the victim of gun violence myself, I know all too well how hard today will be. I just hope it will be hard enough for the people in power to finally take action to make our schools and our country a safer place to live and learn and love. If you haven’t seen Senator Chris Murphy’s impromptu speech on the floor of the Senate today, it’s worth watching.

How a storyteller helps a corporation

I’m often asked – yesterday, in fact – about what I do when I’m consulting with a corporation, an advertising agency, or a business owner.

More specifically, how can a storyteller like me help a Fortune 100 company?

It’s a hard question to answer because there are so many answers, and none of them are really clear. I often say that I help people tell better stories about their company, their products, their services, and their people, but that’s still hard for most people to imagine.

It’s hard for me to imagine.

It’s also kind of crazy. I tell stories about myself onstage. As a result, I now work with marketing departments, sales teams, entrepreneurs, corporate executives, and founders, helping them grow their companies. I work with hospitals and universities to help improve and expand on the services they provide.

It was never my plan and is still hard to fathom, even after doing this kind of work for years. Therefore, it’s difficult to explain.

Then I saw this chart. It’s an excellent, highly simplified, visual representation of what I do:

I find ways to tell stories about difficult-to-understand concepts, large numbers, complex processes, new ideas, never-before-seen products, unique services, innovative solutions, and groundbreaking advances in technology and medicine.

Sometimes it’s a relatable or amusing or emotionally appealing story. Sometimes it’s a clear, concise explanation. Many times it includes or is built upon similes and metaphors.

In all things, it should always be entertaining. Every time we’re speaking to a customer or client or stakeholder or investor, we should be entertaining.

As a teacher, I adhere to this same belief. Before I do anything else to plan a lesson, my first and most important question is how I am going to entertain these kids.

Entertaining doesn’t always mean funny or suspenseful or exciting. You can also be enlightening, interesting, unexpected, clarifying, eye opening, surprising, fascinating, original, authentic, vulnerable, or mind expanding. Upending a belief can be entertaining. So, too, can proving a theory. Offering a better option. Helping someone see a better future. Challenging a preconceived notion.

All of these things and more can be entertaining.

When we are entertaining, our audience is engaged with us and our message. They cannot look away. They cannot help but wonder what we will say next.

That is what I do when I am consulting with a corporation or advertising agency or business owner. I’m helping them then tell better, clearer, more engaging, more understandable, more entertaining stories.

Kind of like the work this chart is doing.

My letter to Steven Spielberg

When I was 11 or 12 years old, I saw ET the Extraterrestrial  in The Stadium in Woonsocket, RI.

Like every other human being on the planet, I loved it.

But despite my love, I also despised the scene in which Elliot releases the frogs from his science class. Unlike the rest of the film, the scene felt hokey and exaggerated and unrealistic. Too broad and detached from reality for my liking.

Way too many frogs hopping way too purposefully in one direction. Way too many kids assisting Elliot on his quest to free them. Way too coordinated of an effort. And was I really expected to believe that 10 year-old kids would be asked to kill their frogs – watch them die in a jar – and then immediately dissect them?

Even the kiss was ridiculous.

Also, and most important, I didn’t think the movie needed the scene. We already understood that Elliot and ET were connected. We didn’t need this stupidly written, poorly executed scene to make the point one more time.

When I got home, I immediately wrote all of this down in a letter to Spielberg, less coherently I’m sure, and asked my mother to mail it to him. I asked Spielberg, with great earnestness, to let me preview his movies before their release. I explained that every movie I watched seemed to have one stupid scene, one logical inconsistency, or one flaw that could easily be corrected had someone just asked me first.

I offered to do that work for him.

I wanted for weeks for Spielberg to respond. He never did. Not even a postcard from an assistant thanking me for writing. I was devastated.

Last year, I was telling that story to an audience in answer to a question about how long I have been interested in stories. I had told the story many times in the past, but as I reached the end of the story this time, I paused.

Something hit me like a bolt of lighting.

For the first time in my life, it occurred to me that my mother never sent the letter.

How could she? It was 1981. The internet didn’t exist. How could she possibly know where to mail that letter? Even today, the best I could do is send the letter to Amblin Entertainment and hope.

But back then? Without the resources that the internet provides?

She never sent the letter. As the realization struck me, I said it aloud, and the audience laughed. They had no idea that it had taken me nearly 40 years to come to that conclusion.

I’d love to know what Mom did with the letter. Did she hold onto it for years before ultimately discarding it? Did she toss it away when I wasn’t looking? Did she lose it and many other things when she suddenly lost the house in a tragedy of my ex-stepfather’s making?

Mom is gone, so I’ll never know.

But I stopped being annoyed with Spielberg. He hadn’t failed to respond to the still-accurate opinion of a middle school boy. He had never had the chance.

I like to think that had he received the letter, he would’ve reflected on my cogent argument and scintillating film analysis and agreed to screen all future films prior to their release for my approval. Maybe throw me a few bucks in the process.

Perhaps that’s wishful thinking, but when you’re imagining a future that never happened and will never happen, wishful thinking is absolutely permitted.

Even advised.

A little bit of gold

Charlie’s baseball team – and therefore Charlie – won yesterday with a game-winning walk with the bases loaded.

Final score 8-7.

Charlie walked twice, scored twice, and hit the cutoff man with a throw from the outfield.

All of this might not seem like much except that Charlie last won a baseball game in May of 2021. His spring 2021 team lost their final two games of the regular season plus their playoff game.

Then his fall 2021 baseball team lost every single game. An entire season without a win.

Despite failing to win a game, his team still made the playoffs because there were only four teams in the league. My fifth grade student, playing for the opponent, pitched a no-hitter against Charlie’s team, adding insult to injury. The only saving grace was that Charlie walked in that game and ultimately stole home for the only run in the game,

This season – spring 2022 – Charlie’s team opened the season with six consecutive losses, making Charlie 0-25 in the last 25 baseball games.

Winning yesterday was huge.

Sadly, Elysha missed this momentous occasion. She’s away this weekend at Smith College, celebrating her reunion with friends.

Her last two texts to me last night before bed were:

“Been dancing our butts off.”

“We shut down the dance floor.”

So she’s just fine.

I actually think Charlie learned a lot by losing every game last fall. Rebounding after an endless string of losses isn’t easy. Maintaining your sportsmanship in the face of overwhelming defeat is hard. Returning to the diamond again and again with a positive attitude after failing to win even a single game can be build character.  Charlie managed to master all of those things last year.

But this year? Again? Did he really need to learn those lessons a second time? After six straight losses, it was getting to be a bit much. Another winless season didn’t feel fair.

Even if his team only win one game this year, one is a hell of a lot better than none.

As the runner crossed home following the walk to secure their victory, I actually had tears in my eyes. It was just another regular season game in a seemingly endless season of regular season games, but Charlie deserved to win. The handful of kids who have also gone 0-25 alongside him also deserved to win.

They did it by the skin of their teeth, with a walk-off win, but a victory is a victory.

I was so happy for him.

So happy for me.

As a father, I have no interest in paving my children’s roads with gold. I hope for potholes and detours along the way. Lots of hardscrabble and bumps. Nothing too hard or too painful, but a less than smooth ride, too. As a teacher, I’ve watched some parents pave their children’s roads with gold and witnessed the results firsthand.

It’s not pretty. I suspect that it’s not pretty for a long, long time.

I often tell kids (and adults) that it’s the bumps in the road that often bounce us into the light.

As someone who had his own share of struggles, I know that I move through life with greater confidence, positivity, relentlessness, and enthusiasm because of the things I’ve been forced to overcome throughout my life. I would not wish my particular struggles on anyone, but a winless baseball season?

Those seemingly unending losses might produce better results over the course of Charlie’s life than a championship.

But as one who knows what it’s like to struggle for an incredibly long time without even a ray of hope, I also know that a few victories along the way are important, too.

As a father, I want my children to enjoy some smoothly paved roads, too. The occasional downhill glide. Maybe even a little bit of gold.

Yesterday Charlie found a little bit of gold. He was so happy. He could barely contain his excitement. And it was earned. More than a year of hardscrabble had yielded a precious, unforgettable, joyous day in the sun.

I hope he has a few more before this baseball season comes to a close.

Find the L-6

Bestselling author Michael Lewis discusses expertise on his current season of is podcast Against the Rules. He makes the point that if you need a solution to a problem, you must go down at least six levels in any organization to find the answer.

The people who understand an organization best are not sitting in the ivory tower. They are on the ground, doing the work, gaining skill and expertise everyday.

McDonald’s understood this well. Need a new product? Want to expedite a process? Looking to eliminate waste?

Ask a swing manager. Question the crew people who do the job. Interview the custodian. They have the answers.

This is why I ask my students for a performance review every month. I ask them to tell me what I’m doing well and what I could be doing better. I ask if they have ideas that might make the classroom run more efficiently. I’m constantly asking students if they know of anyone in need of help who I haven’t noticed.

Kids know. They have all the answers. Their feedback has been far more helpful to me than the feedback of any administrator over the course of my career. I am a far better teacher because of the things my students have told me rather than anything any administrator has said.

According to research documented by Michael Lewis (as well as my own personal experience), most organizations don’t operate this way. Most organizations are run by people at or near the top who think they have all the answers. These are leaders whose arrogance, ignorance, or incompetence make them believe that they know best, or they are simply are too afraid to ask for help. Admitting that they can’t solve a problem, need help, don’t know, or are making bad decisions is too threatening to their fragile, useless egos.

If you’re a leader and are not routinely asking people much farther down the ladder for ideas and solutions to improve your organization, you’re making a terrible mistake. You don’t deserve the position that you currently occupy.

As informed, competent, and talented as you may think you are, there is someone farther down the ladder who knows more and could make a real difference in your organization if you were just smart enough or brave enough to find them.

These are school administrators who tell teachers that the curriculum is excellent even though they don’t actually teach it and last worked  as a classroom teacher during the Bush administration.

These are CEOs who haven’t spent a day of their lives in marketing or sales explaining why your pitch deck is all wrong.

These are storytelling directors and speaking coaches who have never performed onstage telling performers what is wrong with their stories, speeches, and delivery.

Rather than seeking and relying on the expertise from those who are doing the job on a daily basis and understand better than anyone else, these people somehow think that they know a lot a subject that they have never done or haven’t done in more than a decade.

Sometimes it’s hubris. Other times it’s fear. Still other times it’s simply incompetence.

In all cases, it’s disastrous.

 

Charlie, the Celtics, and Chernobyl

Charlie and I were watching the Celtics playoff game last night. The Celtics took a huge lead early on and thankfully refused to give it up, so Charlie grabbed his iPad, keeping one eye on the game and the other on something on his own screen.

Then I heard him say, “Chernobyl.”

“What did you say?” I asked.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Who were you taking to then?” I asked.

“The internet.”

I leaned over and saw that he was using voice recognition to search the internet. “Why are you reading about Chernobyl?” I asked.

“We learned about it in school today,” he said. “I wanted to know more.”

I was pleased. With few people encouraging me as a child, curiosity saved my life. My desire to know things when no one was insisting that I work hard in school turned me into an avid, relentless reader and allowed me to earn excellent grades in school even when no one was checking my report card and college seemed like an impossibility.

Somewhere along the way, I thankfully developed into a lifelong learner, and it kept my head in a book, my eyes on the news, and my brain constantly processing new information. Even today, I find myself doing deep, years-long dives into subjects that have changed my life for the better.

A minute later, Charlie said, “Radiation.”

Then “Exclusion zone.”

Then “Graphite.”

Then “Meltdown.”

Having read extensively about Chernobyl and understanding the causes of the accident, I could see exactly where his rabbit hole was taking him.

I was suddenly incredibly jealous of Charlie’s ability to learn so much, so easily. In the midst of watching a basketball game, he started wondering about a topic he had learned about in school.

Seconds later, he was deep into that topic.

When I was his age, that same kind of research would’ve required a trip to the tiny, one-room library in the basement of the Blackstone Town Hall, hoping to find a single book on the subject. It would’ve taken hours of effort for singular answers that are now available by simply asking a hand-held machine to deliver them instantaneously, in text, image, and video form.

Incredible.

Then again, when I was Charlie’s age, I was also able to ride my bike to the library without request or supervision. I swam in ponds and rivers with my friends, unsupervised by adults. Played midnight basketball at the middle school before walking home alone near daybreak. Climbed impossibly high trees, became helplessly lost in unknown forests, and rode horses bareback.

Also, I had Larry Bird.

Jason Tatum is a great player. Marcus Smart is incredibly fun to watch. Grant Williams is on the verge of stardom.

But none of them are Larry Bird.

Still, as a father, it’s kind of thrilling to watch my son keep one eye on a Celtics game while focusing the other on science and geopolitical history.

The kids are alright.

Wealth breeds wealth

Thanks to Amazon’s success, CEO Jeff Bezos is the richest person in the world, worth $207 billion, according to the Bloomberg Billionaires Index.

It’s an impressive accumulation of wealth, but it’s good to remember that it began with his parents’ investment of $245,573 back in 1995.

The equivalent of nearly half a million dollars in today’s money.

At the time, Bezos told his parents that it was “very likely they’ll lose their entire investment in the company.” Despite the warnings, his parents invested anyway.

The message here:

Wealth breeds wealth.

Jeff Bezos built Amazon into the behemoth it is today, but he also had parents willing to back him with a considerable amount of money that they were willing and able to lose if his company failed.

The same holds true for college students who graduate with little or no debt. Sometimes with a car or pile of cash. These are young people who begin their adult life with an enormous financial cushion.

I’m not belittling their achievements, I’m quite sure that hard work was required to succeed, but the advantages that wealth brings someone starting out in life or launching a business are astronomical.

This is why I prefer the stories of the bootstrappers. The people who launched their business absent friends and family investments. The students who put themselves through college by working like hell while learning like hell. The ones who had to find their own way through life on hard work, wits, and sacrifice.

If your bills were paid and you didn’t need to work while attending Harvard or Yale, it’s not exactly a surprise that you graduated. Of course you achieved academic excellence. Given your enormous privilege, it’s what you were supposed to do.

Contrast that to Todd Graves and Craig Silvey, founders of Raising Cane’s Chicken Fingers, a fast food chicken restaurant with more than 600 locations worldwide and second only to Chick-fil-A in the average sales per restaurant.

Graves and Silvey worked as bartenders and cooks throughout college to help pay for their tuition, living in squalor at times to make their dreams come true. When their business plan for Raising Cain’s Chicken Fingers – written as an assignment in one of Silvey’s college classes – was rejected numerous times by potential investors, Graves earned the money needed to launch their first restaurant by working as a boilermaker in a refinery in California while Silvey fished for sockeye salmon in Alaska.

Both jobs paid exceptionally well. Both jobs were especially dangerous. Most important, neither Graves nor Silvey had any experience doing either job. But they knew that these were the kinds of jobs that paid large sums of money in short periods of time. They required employees to work shifts of 12-18 hours a day, 6-7 days per week, but if you wanted to accumulate a pile of money relatively quickly, these jobs were ideal to the task.

In a little more than a year, Graves and Silvey had earned enough money to convince a bank to fill the needed gap in their financial plan with a small business loan.

This is the kind of success story that I adore.

I’ve known so many extraordinary people over the course of my life – intelligent, hard working, clever human beings who were fully capable of building great businesses and making their dreams come true but could not because they were born into poverty. Immigrated to this country and lacked the generational wealth to support them. Grew up in an environment of addiction and abuse. Did not speak English.

These were folks who would’ve done quite well in college but never had the opportunity because they needed to support family members or feed and house themselves. They were people who didn’t have a chance because they didn’t speak English well enough or were discriminated against because of their race or sex. They came from broken homes and dysfunctional families who could not offer a leg up.

Jeff Bezos was a white, straight, American man working at a hedge fund when he decided to accept a large investment from his parents in order to launch a business.

Is it surprising that the business became the largest in the world?

Absolutely.

Am I surprised that his business was ultimately successful?

Not really.

It was supposed to happen. It would’ve been surprising if it hadn’t.

He made this