Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 261

For the first time in his life, my son cried because of a book.

I read The Giving Tree to Charlie, my five year old son, last night for the first time. 

It was incredible. 

He sat quietly beside me on the bed as the boy and the tree played together in the summer sun. 

He remained quiet as the boy returned years later, first taking the tree's apples to sell for money and then her branches to build a home.

Then the boy - now an older man - returned with the desire to sail far away. The tree offered the boy her trunk to build a boat, and when the boy chopped the tree down to a stump, Charlie gasped.

Then he began to cry. 

The boy - now an old man - returns to the tree one final time looking for a place to rest. The tree offers him the only thing she has left - her stump - as a fine place to sit. 

He does, and the tree, at least according to Shel Silverstein, is happy.

I closed the book. Charlie's eyes were filled with tears. He began speaking. 

"I hate that book," he said. "Why did you read me that book? Why would someone write such a sad book? Why did you choose that book, Dad? Don't ever, ever, ever, ever read me that stupid book again."

I told Charlie that it's a very famous and popular book. "Lots of people read it." 

"Why?" he asked. His sadness had shifted into anger. He was mad. "Who likes a book like that? I hate that book. I hate that boy. Why did he do that? Don't ever read that book to me again."

Elysha came into the room, and Charlie summarized the book for her.

"I liked the book when the boy and the tree were playing together, but then he chopped the tree down. Why did he do that, Mom? I hate that book. I never want to read it again."

Then he insisted that I stay for the before-bed cuddle. It was the first time he's ever asked me to stay and cuddle with him before bed.

I don't disagree with Charlie. I despise The Giving Tree. I'll never understand why anyone likes this book. I chose to read it to Charlie for the reasons I explained:

It's a famous and popular book. You should read it at least once in your life.

But once was more than enough for Charlie, and I agree.  

I despise the book so much that I wrote a a satirical twist on The Giving Tree last year. We hope to find a publisher for the book in the coming months.   

I told this to Charlie. 

"I hope the boy and the tree stay friends in your book like in the beginning of this book," he said. "I liked the beginning of the book. I hope your book is good like that, Dad."

Not quite, but good luck explaining satire to a five year-old boy. He'll read my version someday, and though it's not the idyllic story that he is hoping for, I think it's a hell of a lot better than Shel Silverstein's classic. 

Quite possibly the worst person in the world

In the unfortunate event that you are suffering with a despicable person in your life - colleague, family member, neighbor, boss, clergy person - I offer you my condolences and some potential solace. 

This is a question posed to Dear Prudence (Mallory Ortberg), Slate's advice columnist. After reading this person's question, you may feel a little better about the rotten person in your life.  

It's hard for anyone to compare to the awfulness of this person. 

___________________________________

Q. Daughter’s friend being in wedding: My 27-year-old daughter and her best friend, Katie, have been best friends since they were 4. Katie practically grew up in our house and is like a daughter to me. My daughter recently got engaged to her fiancé and announced that Katie would be the maid of honor (Katie’s boyfriend is also a good friend of my future son-in-law). The problem is that Katie walks with a pretty severe limp due to a birth defect (not an underlying medical issue). She has no problem wearing high heels and has already been fitted for the dress, but I still think it will look unsightly if she’s in the wedding procession limping ahead of my daughter. I mentioned this to my daughter and suggested that maybe Katie could take video or hand out programs (while sitting) so she doesn’t ruin the aesthetic aspect of the wedding. My daughter is no longer speaking to me (we were never that close), but this is her big wedding and I want it to be perfect. All of the other bridesmaids will look gorgeous walking down the aisle with my daughter. Is it wrong to have her friend sit out?

Share your failures with the world

One of the more surprising reasons that people take my storytelling workshops is for dating.  

Men (so far it's only been men) realize that what they say on a first date does not yield them a second date. Something is going wrong. So they arrive to my workshop hoping to improve their ability to engage, entertain, and amuse.

This makes sense. When Elysha was asked by someone how she first fell in love with me, she surprisingly didn't say my rugged good looks or muscular physique. She told the person that it was my stories.

As friends and colleagues, Elysha and I went to dinner one night while waiting for a school talent show to begin, and over the course of the meal, she discovered that when you ask me a question, I often respond with a story. By the end of that night, she had learned that I was different from anyone she had ever met, and that I could tell a good story.  

I managed to marry the perfect woman thanks to storytelling, and this was long before I ever took a stage and started performing. 

So when people look to storytelling to help them find love, I understand. It makes sense. 

What I've learned in talking to these people is that most don't realize is that stories of your failures are almost always better than stories of your successes. So many of the men who come to my workshops believe that the best way to impress a woman is by demonstrating strength and self confidence by projecting an image of high achievement and success.

"I'm an amazing person, and I did an amazing thing, and it turned out amazing."

Not a good story, but an excellent way to identify a douchebag. 

So many people are repulsed by the idea of talking about a moment of embarrassment or failure. Rather than telling stories of disappointment or ruination, they talk about their recent business successes. They name-drop their Ivy League credentials. They find a way to mention their recent sculling victory or the trellis in the backyard that they built with their own two hands.  

All lovely things and worthy of mention at some point, but unless you flunked out of your Ivy League school or recently capsized your boat, these are not the ways to connect to another human being. Your Yale law degree or your sculling trophy will not endear yourself to anyone. These are not the things that make a person laugh and wonder.

They also fail to project strength and self confidence. In fact, they do the opposite. Listing your greatest hits is an excellent way to demonstrate uncertainty, fear, and low self esteem. 

Think about the President. He is constantly engaged in self congratulation. Does anyone really believe that Trump is a supremely confident man? Would a person with a shred of inner fortitude insist on lying about the size of his inauguration crowd or his Electoral victory? Would a person who believed in himself stage a moment wherein each of his Cabinet members publicly praised him while the TV cameras were rolling? Would a confident person tweet about his net worth or retweet the praise of random Americans? 

What people don't realize is that sharing your mistakes, your blunders, your failures, and your moments of embarrassment is the best way of demonstrating supreme confidence. Telling a person about the time you spectacularly failed to achieve a goal is far more interesting and relatable than sharing your latest business deal.  

You know who understands this? Elon Musk, founder and majority owner of SpaceX. 

SpaceX, a company whose sole mission is to commercialize space flight, recently published a video of their spectacular string of failures while attempting to land an orbital rocket booster. A company that hopes to send human beings to Mars and needs other companies to trust them with their multi-million dollar satellites produced a video showing the many ways that their rocket boosters exploded during reentry and landing.

Were they worried that this video might undermine confidence in their ability launch hardware and people into space in the future?

Of course not.

On the contrary, their willingness to share their failures demonstrates the confidence they have in their future.    

Want to connect with another human being in a deep and meaningful way?

Tell them a story.

Want to project strength and confidence?

Tell a story about your own orbital rocket booster disasters. Talk about the time you went up in flames. 

Our dream-come-true comes to an end. A new chapter begins today.

Today my wife returns to work after eight years as a stay-at-home mom.

For a couple years when Clara was in preschool, Elysha worked part-time as a reading tutor in the school where I work and where she once worked, but for all intents and purposes, she has been home, raising Clara and then Charlie, ever since they were born. 

A few weeks ago, Charlie finally entered kindergarten. It was time for her to re-enter the workforce.

About a week after Charlie started school, Elysha was hired to work as a teaching assistant in my school district. Her goal is to become a kindergarten teacher (after more than a decade teaching grades 3 and 5), so she's hoping that a year spent in a kindergarten classroom with an experienced kindergarten teacher will serve her well.

A paid internship of sorts. 

It's been a glorious eight years, for both Elysha and me. Though I have often felt envious of my wife for being able to stay home with the kids, I'll always view these years as some of the proudest of my life. Thanks to my tireless work in my many careers, as well as my publishing success and our launch of Speak Up, we have managed to give our children a full time parent during these exceptionally formative years.

It wasn't easy. We made enormous sacrifices. We traveled almost nowhere. Most of our furniture is hand-me-down. Wardrobes declined. Our dreams of home decor were put on hold. We incurred debt that we will now have to eliminate. 

But what we received in return for these sacrifices have been more than worth it. Our kids are so well prepared for the challenges ahead of them. They are happy and kind and so filled with curiosity. And as a husband, it's felt so good about being able to make these past eight years possible for Elysha. 

We honestly never thought it possible. Sometimes I didn't think it would continue to be possible. Every time, we found a way.  

Elysha did not waste a moment of this time with our kids. Our children know every museum in Connecticut like the back of their hands. They can describe every library and bookstore with incredible precision. They are experts on the playground architecture of Connecticut. They have picked every kind of fruit possible, pet every species of farm animal, and attended every outdoor concert available to them. They have sipped hot chocolate and eaten scones in the finest coffee shops in the greater Hartford area. They are masters of the playdate. Their lives are filled with friends both young and old.  

All of this is thanks to Elysha. The best mom. The best wife. Soon to be the best teacher once again. 

I know this time is bittersweet for my wife. I know this is an incredibly difficult chapter of her life to close.

Our babies are no longer babies.  

But I also know that Elysha is excited about the school where she will be teaching. She's thrilled with the teacher who she will be joining. She can't wait to meet the children who she will be helping. 

It's hard to end a dream-come-true, and in many ways, that is what these part eight years have been for us. A seemingly impossible dream come true. 

For me, the dream-come-true has been Elysha. The smiles, the laughter, the joy, and the love that she has brought to Clara and Charlie. They are good and happy and kind because of the time that they have spent together. 

Today will be beautiful and bittersweet for my wife. I understand. But Clara and Charlie and I will forever be grateful to her for all that she has given to us over the past eight years.

There has never been a better mom. Those kindergarteners have no idea how lucky they are.   

A Columbian tradition that I will make my own

I received an email from a mother and son from Columbia, who just finished reading Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend. She explained that it's a tradition in her country to sign the last page and date it when finished reading a book. 

She sent me a photo of the last page. 

I love this idea. What a perfect way to record a moment for posterity. What a treat for readers to land on the last page and have a record of anyone who has read the book previously.

I'm doing it. I'm going to teach my kids to do it. I think you should, too.  

The fade out (and fade in) explained.

If you're a lover of music, you will find this fascinating. 

Promise. 

Mystery machine

The Scooby Doo gang was pretty presumptuous to name their van The Mystery Machine.

I realize that they encountered an uncanny and irrational number of criminals trying to cover up crimes by using the ghost story and costume, but still, did they really expect it to continue week after week?

Who could assume that after encountering a fake Yeti on a ski trip and a two-million-year-old caveman while out fishing, similar encounters would happen again and again and again? 

It seems fairly irrational. 

For 41 episodes in the first iteration of the show and hundreds more thereafter.  

Presumptuous, I say. 

Also (and this might be nitpicking), but if you own a van, why the hell is everyone always sitting in the front seat?

Teaching is full of unexpected surprises

One billion years ago, I taught a third grader named Kaity to multiply. 

Last night, as Elysha and I were leaving for a Moth StorySLAM in Somerville, I asked Kaity, now an adult and frequent babysitter to our children, to help my third grade daughter with her multiplication homework. 

It was surreal. 

No one ever told me that so many of my former students would remain in my life as they have, and I could never predicted that when I was teaching Kaity to multiply all those years ago, I was also investing in my daughter's future.

Being a teacher is full of surprises. 

When we arrived at The Moth a couple hours later, we discovered that four of my former storytelling students were at the show, their names already in the bag, hoping to tell their stories. For all but one, it was their first time at The Moth.

I wasn't called to the stage last night, but three of my four students were called. They all performed brilliantly, and one of them, Tom Ouimet, won the slam!   

It was quite a night for a storytelling teacher, listening to stories that I had helped to develop, told on stage so well by storytellers who I've spent lots of time with honing their craft.

As a teacher, you can never know where the lessons you teach might take root and grow. And it's impossible to predict where the fruits of that labor will flourish. 

It would've been nice to take the stage and perform last night, but as a teacher, I found a far greater reward than the applause of a audience and the opportunity to come out on top.

TEDx Pomfret: It's Not the Curriculum

Last year I spoke at a TEDx conference in Pomfret, CT on the subject of education. Specifically, I spoke about what is important and what is not when it comes to teaching children and young adults.  

I have yet to watch the video. I'm highly self critical of my own performances and will need some time to watch closely, take notes, tear myself down, and nitpick every single mistake, as tiny as it may be.

But friends and colleagues have watched and approve, and the video has been used in a few school districts as part of professional development, so here it is.

I hope it's not terrible.

A serious commitment to golf

I've played golf in the rain many times. 

I've once played golf in the snow. 

To be fair, it wasn't snowing when we started the round, and the forecast hadn't called for snow. But it was definitely cold enough for snow. 

But this photograph of golfers in California playing as wildfires burn in the distance is both unbelievable and most impressive.