Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 147
October 11, 2021
Friends are mean because they love you.
The podcast Smartless is hosted by actors and friends Jason Bateman, Sean Hayes, and Will Arnett. The format of the show is simple:
Each week they interview a celebrity guest. Actor, writer, musician, athlete…
But the joy of the show has little to do with the people who they are interviewing. They could be speaking to a tree, but I’d still be listening to their podcast. it’s the interaction between the three of them that I find most appealing:
They make fun of each other. Constantly, pointedly, and relentlessly. Their verbal jabs are funny, biting, and sometimes even cruel. They almost never say a kind words about one another.
It’s a clear indicator of the depth of their friendship.
Bateman, Hayes, and Arnett truly love one another.
Teasing, I think, is a sign of genuine, deeply-felt affection. It’s an acknowledgment of the love and appreciation that you feel towards another human being. It demonstrates a level of comfort and ease that you only feel with the people to whom you are closest.
When I am teased by my friends – and I am a lot – I know that they love me.
I’ve been told by women that this dynamic exists more often or more frequently in male friendships than female ones. Not being a woman, I can neither conform nor refute this claim except to say that in my many friendships with women, teasing is exceptionally common, too. Perhaps not as frequent as my friendships with men, but not too far behind.
Recently, my friend, Jeni, texted me and her friend, Amy, to tell us that she had just successfully parallel parked.
Sadly, this is an achievement for Jeni.
She texted her husband, Mike, separately as well, and he rightfully offered Jeni words of congratulation.
Of course he did. Yes, his wife is a grown-ass women who has been driving for decades, but when you’re successful at anything for the first time, your spouse is undoubtedly going to be proud of you. Spousal relationships tend to be more supportive and complex, though Elysha and I – and especially Elysha – are more than willing to tease each other from time to time, too.
But in the case of myself and Amy, our responses over the next 15 minutes were far more indicative of the teasing that exists between friends who truly care about one another.
Amy and I were relentless. It was lots of fun for both of us. I’m sure it left Jeni feeling overwhelmingly loved and incredibly supported.
Right, Jeni?
October 10, 2021
Confidence in our marriage
Standing inside Ben & Jerry’s yesterday, Charlie turned to Elysha, and entirely unprompted, said, “Mom, you didn’t make a mistake marrying Dad.”
Elysha looked confused. “I didn’t think I made a mistake,” she said.
A few seconds later, he turned to me and said, “Dad, you didn’t make a mistake marrying Mom, either.”
Where does the boy get this stuff?
October 9, 2021
Speak Up Storytelling: Virtual, free, and must-see
Not your typical post, but slightly more important than the usual drivel…
Hope to see you there!
Speak Up Storytelling and Voices of Hope is excited to announce the seventh Speak Up Showcase on Sunday, Oct. 17, 2021 at 2 p.m. EST.
The show will feature survivors and descendants of the Holocaust and the Rwandan and Bosnian genocides. The cast includes Linda Grosser, Bekir Hodzic, Coinsolee Nichimwe, Sally Rozenberg, Rachel Rosenblatt, and Hannah Zwiebel.
Storytellers will be telling true, personal stories that illustrate how the experiences of their descendants, as well as their own personal experiences with genocide, have shaped their lives.
Due to the pandemic, the show will be performed virtually via Zoom and is free to all.
You can click here to register for the show.
Speak Up Artistic Director, Matthew Dicks, who is a teacher at Wolcott Elementary School in West Hartford, will also be telling a story about his work with the cast, and Speak Up Executive Director, Elysha Dicks, also a West Hartford teacher, will be hosting the show.
“Our collaboration with Voices of Hope has been one of my favorite things since we began Speak Up,” Elysha Dicks said. “It has brought incredible people into my life and it has been an enormous honor to help them develop and share their stories. I have found that especially during recent years when there has been an increase in the visibility of antisemitism in this country, being able to shine light on these stories has felt like action against hatred. And this most recent exhibition, which also includes stories of the Rwandan and Bosnian genocides, feels more important than ever as we’re reminded, through these firsthand accounts, that this is going on and is not just a news story we can switch off.”
Voices of Hope Executive Director Kathy Fishman, who has spearheaded the program since its inception, said, “Our Speak Up showcase is an important program for Voices of Hope. Thanks to the leadership and guidance of Matthew and Elysha Dicks, storytellers will begin the process of crafting their family’s story to be shared not only in our showcase, but eventually in schools and in the community. As descendants of survivors, they are the next generation who will use their voices to Speak Up and provide lessons for the future. We must all learn from each other and work together to educate and stop hate.”
October 8, 2021
Some honeymoons are too long
I was anxious to read about the concept of the solo honeymoon – this alleged shift in nuptial vacation wherein newlyweds go on separate honeymoons, called unimoons or solomoons, rather than vacationing together following their wedding.
The New York Times published a piece on this new trend, which I tend to think is far less of a trend than the New York Times would have us believe. Good for clicks but not an actual shift in cultural norms.
Just a collection of selfish weirdos.
Still, I was excited to write a humorous, judgmental screed attacking this stupid idea and the people involved.
But then I ran into the photo topping the article and its caption, and I was forced to stop reading lest I throw up a little in my mouth.
I haven’t vomited since 1983, so it would’ve been quite the thing.
The photo alone is something to behold… but then I read the caption. A “three month break from each other in the middle of their yearlong honeymoon?”
I’m not sure which is worse? The need for three months apart from your brand new spouse or the performative privilege the yearlong honeymoon?
It’s one of those instances where the combination of two things magnifies and expands the awfulness of each individual thing.
A 1 + 1 = 3 situation, except in this case, it’s 1 + 1 = -3
Even if you’re willing, capable, and in need of such a thing as a year long honeymoon, why would you allow this fact to be published in the New York Times? Do you really require this level of attention? Are you really so desperately needy as to pronounce your 365 day honeymoon (and your need to escape your husband for more than 2,000 consecutive hours) in the newspaper of record?
Who does this kind of thing?
I know. I’m judging. I’m making assumptions about people who I’ve never even met.
Yes, I am. I’m happily, gleefully, and righteously judging. But I’m also sure that these newlyweds are outstanding human beings who I would love and admire if I had the opportunity to know them, and if given half a chance, I’m sure that they would instantly befriend me.
Right? I’m sure we have loads in common and a shared set of values.
And our friendship might prove highly beneficial for Pawel and Carlos, because if any of my friends ever posed for a picture like this above a caption like this, I would immediately punch them in the faces.
Metaphorically, of course.
October 7, 2021
Good riddance, stupid fairy-hating Matt
On Saturday, Elysha, the kids, and I went to visit the annual Fairy House display at Winding Trails. Families, Girl Scout troops, and others spend months building elaborate fairy houses that are then spread out across a path in the forest. Visitors walk through, examining each one, before ending our walk at the edge of a pond, where the Winding Trails staff serves food, carves out a space for kids to build their own houses, and lights a campfire for all to enjoy.
When Elysha first proposed going to this event years ago, I thought it sounded ridiculous and awful. Stupid. I didn’t want to go.
Years later, I’m the one who who watches for date of the event to be published, adds it to our calendar, registers the family, and can’t wait to go.
I adore the fairy houses.
Part of my enjoyment is the creativity on display, Elaborate homes, villages, waterfalls, beaches, and more are sprinkled along the path. This year I found a collection of fairy homes modeled after the three little pigs homes especially impressive, as well as details like a rainbow shell welcoming all, a fairy graveyard, and a Salem witch trial theme that included parking for the witches’ brooms.
An even larger part of my enjoyment is watching the excitement of my kids as we stumble upon each fairy house. They’ve been coming to this event since they were very little, but their enthusiasm has not waned one bit. I felt so very lucky that this is still the case. Clara is 12 years old, and I know that some kids start to pull away from things like this in the midst of middle school.
Happily, Clara still finds enormous pleasure in being with the family and great wonder in the artistry of others.
This year we met a family from the school where I teach who walked the path with us. The kids ended up playing together while the adults sat by the fire, and by the time we were ready to leave, Elysha was (not surprisingly) collecting their contact information.
They’ll probably be sitting on our deck for brunch next weekend.
I found myself thinking back on that first foray to the fairy villages years ago, remembering how jaded and annoyed I was about the whole idea.
It was a much stupider version of me, an uninformed, full of assumption, holier-than-thou version who didn’t understand the value of tradition, simplicity, and my children’s riotous enthusiasm. It was a version of me who assumed that fairy houses built by Girl Scout troops and young children couldn’t be very good.
I’m glad he’s gone. Good riddance.
And next year, for the first time, we plan to build our own fairy houses. Mine will be a fairy prison, complete with a tiny guillotine and basket for chopping off fairy heads. My children are appalled at my concept, but Elysha surprisingly supports the idea, and the director of the program – a man after my own heart – thinks it’s brilliant.
I suspect the makers of this year’ fairy graveyard would approve. too.
October 6, 2021
A well placed bench and much more
I love a bench with a memorial plaque.
I adore any opportunity to imbue story, nostalgia, and history into this world. I can’t stand to see a building without a name or a library or school named simply after the town or street where it is located.
What a waste of an opportunity to honor someone of merit.
I saw this bench while on a field trip with my students yesterday, sitting atop a hill, and thought, “That is a well placed bench.”
So I climbed the hill to sit and check out the view. To my delight, I also found a plaque memorializing Francis J. Costello, a man who I never met but is someone who I think I would’ve liked a lot when he was alive. I also love city parks, good newspapers, and a well placed bench.
It’s such a simple thing – a few words affixed to a spot where folks will park their ass for a time, but in a world where people are so quickly forgotten and everything can feel so fleeting, this simple bench is a lovely and effective way of keeping someone’s memory alive and well.
Of course, my second thought after seeing the plaque was to question the capitalization of the “A” in the final line.
And maybe the capitalization of the “F” in the second line.
And perhaps the lack of an ellipse at the end of the first line.
But that’s just me.
Thankfully my inner critic did nothing to spoil the moment nor the view.
October 5, 2021
Your chances of dying of COVID-19 is greatly influenced by this one thing.
October 4, 2021
Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood is slipping away
I find this hard to believe, but not one single student in my class knows who Fred Rogers was.
And Mr. Rogers Neighborhood?
Never heard of it.
In fact, the adult in my classroom at the time of this discussion – someone much younger than me – has also never seen Mr. Rogers Neighborhood and was only vaguely aware of its existence.
The show ran for 33 years. It was a staple of children’s television until 2001.
Now it’s all but forgotten.
You can still watch Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood on Amazon Prime, and PBSKids.org has a permanent player which airs vintage episodes of the series on a rotating basis, but in the span of just two decades, a man who was once known by just about every human being in America is completely unknown by the people he wanted to reach most:
Children.
It’s astounding. And so deeply disappointing.
Fred Rogers died in 2003. Less than 20 years after his death, this icon of American television and role model for hundreds of millions of children around the world – entire generations of kids – is fading away.
He not even being forgotten. He’s never being known.
I’ll be sticking my kids in front of the television this weekend and showing them an episode of the show. It’s probably too late for my 12 and 9-year old to fall in love with Fred Rogers like I did as a child, but I’ll at least make sure that they know who he was and what he meant to children for so long.
October 3, 2021
Three is a lot.
As I was leaving Boston Market yesterday, meal in hand, I recalled the moment 20 years ago when I was hit by a car in this very parking lot.
It was a rainy, autumn afternoon in 2001. I was picking up food at halftime of a Patriots game. As I walked toward my car, two large bags of food in my hands, a pick-up truck came screeching around the corner and plowed into me.
Thankfully, I wasn’t hurt very badly. The truck sort of punched me to the ground. My food went flying, my hand and knee were torn open on the pavement, and my hip and shoulder were sore for a few days, but I was otherwise fine. A panicked man asked what I could do to make it right, so I told him to repurchase my food and pay me $100 for my trouble.
He happily agreed.
As I recalled this event yesterday, it occurred to me that my brother, my sister, and I have all been hit by cars.
My brother Jeremy, was hit by a car as he crossed two lanes of traffic on his bike when he was about 11 years old. He was following me on my bike, and when I made the left turn over from Summer Street over to Federal Street, he assumed that it was safe for him to cross as well. The car hit him broadside, knocking him off the bike, onto the hood, across the windshield, and onto the ground. He was hurt pretty badly, and his glasses were broken into three pieces. As the driver tried to insist to me that she wasn’t speeding, I ran into a neighbor’s house and called my home. When my mother answered, I said, “Put Dad on the phone.”
He called 911, and an ambulance arrived at the accident scene just before my parents did.
Jeremy spent a day in the hospital before being released.
More than a decade later, my sister, Kelli, was struck by a car as she ran across a three lane highway in Rhode Island.
Don’t ask why.
She was thrown more than 50 feet through the air and survived only because of the grassy median where she landed. Still, she was hospitalized for weeks, required many surgeries, and took more than a year to recover. She still suffers from the after effects of that accident to this day.
When a police officer eventually found her purse at the accident scene, he drove it to the hospital and couldn’t believe it when the doctors told him that she was still alive. He was absolutely certain that the accident had killed her.
Of course, I was also involved in a head-on collision when I was 17 years-old that sent my head through the windshield and required paramedics to perform CPR in the back of an ambulance to restore my life, but I don’t count that incident because it was technically car versus car.
I was simply collateral damage.
Three siblings, all struck by cars at some point in our lives. I never thought about it before, but that seems like a lot.
Unlikely at best. Perhaps a bit unlucky in terms of our family. But unusual.
Right?
October 2, 2021
Lucky me
My students asked me when I first met Elysha.
I told them that I first saw Elysha in a late August faculty meeting as we were preparing to start a new school year. I’d been working at the school for three years before Elysha stepped through the doors as the new fifth grade teacher.
I remember seeing her for the first time very clearly. I was smitten immediately.
She remembers thinking that I was one of the cool kids sitting in the back, causing trouble with my friend, Donna.
But the first real conversation that I had with Elysha took place a few weeks later as we led a class of fifth grade students on a hike around Triangle Lake at Camp Jewell in Colebrook, Connecticut. We were walking side by side, talking about the wedding that she was planning for the spring. As a wedding DJ with years of experience under my belt, I was offering her some advice.
As we hiked, I remember thinking, “Whoever is is marrying this girl is one lucky guy.”
As I told my students the story, it suddenly occurred to me, for the very first time:
“I was that lucky guy! I didn’t know it yet, but I was thinking about myself!!”
The wedding that Elysha was planning never happened. She didn’t call it off for me, and it would be more than a year after that wedding was cancelled before Elysha and I would begin dating, but hiking around that lake on that autumn day… little did I know that the man who I thought so lucky to spend the rest of his life with this beautiful, clever, funny woman would one day be me.
Lucky me.
