Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 317

My Jewish daughter understands Easter - and religion - perfectly.

Easter morning. My Jewish children scamper around the house, searching for Easter eggs.

Clara, my seven year-old says:

"I think Easter is about thinking sweet thoughts. Soft things. That's why we get candy. To make us think of sweet things."

Clara has also told me that she plans to marry someone who isn't Jewish so she can "celebrate lots of holidays and learn about lots of different stuff and know lots of different people."

If only everyone thought a little bit more like Clara.

A little less tribal. Actually, a lot less tribal.  
A little more openminded.
A little more willing to embrace difference.

I think she might have this religion thing figured out perfectly.

He's not confessing to anything

I like to imagine that this is what I looked like during my many police interrogations in 1992.

Maybe a little older.

Boy vs. Girl: Episode 20A and 20B - Twenty Questions

In this week's episode of Boy vs. Girl, Rachel and I play 20 questions in a special two part episode celebrating our 20th episode. We ask each other about spirit animals and Super Bowls and coed naked podcasting. 

You can listen here or - better yet - subscribe to our podcast in the iTunes store or wherever you get your podcasts.

And if you like the show, please consider leaving a review on iTunes. It helps readers find the show, and it makes me feel even better about myself.

My children are stars in an Instagram ad. Apparently the entire world has seen it.

A large number of our friends - at least those with Instagram accounts - began sending us messages yesterday after having seen Clara and Charlie in a TurboTax ad. 

Rest assured that this was no surprise to us. Months ago an advertising agency contacted us after seeing a photo of the kids on my blog. After signing nondisclosures and negotiating terms and compensation, we agreed to the use of the photo in this ad.

We didn't realize the ubiquity that the ad would achieve. So many of our friends have seen it, and as if this moment, the ad has 180,749 likes and almost 2,000 comments.

TurboTax isn't messing around.  

We also decided that the compensation received would be used to pay for a weekend at Great Wolf Lodge, a place that the kids have been asking us to take them for months. We explained to them how we would be paying the trip - essentially with money they earned - and they were thrilled.  

This situation also illustrates the fundamental belief that I have in "putting yourself out there." Some day I will create a list of all the things that have come back to me thanks to my willingness to put myself out there - online, on stage, in print, and elsewhere. Unexpected, almost always positive responses from the world. 

The Moth brought me and my elementary school prinicpal back together

Earlier this month, I told a story at a Moth GrandSLAM in Brooklyn about a time in my life when I had to face down the principal as a third grader. After stealing a classmate's stamp catalog, I was forced to admit to the theft or risk allowing my entire class to be punished for my crime.

Walking into the principal's office and telling him the truth that day remains one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. I can still remember the moment like it was yesterday, and I think about it often when faced with the need to speak a difficult truth or admit to a mistake.

It was a lesson for a lifetime. 

It wasn't a typical story for me. Too long for a Moth slam, I stripped the story down to its bones and retained more humor than heart. Not my unusual strategy in storytelling, and especially in competitive storytelling, but I enjoyed telling it just the same. I don't often go for the laugh as often as I did that night, and I probably swore more on the stage that night than all the stages I've ever stood on combined. 

It was a different side of me as a storyteller. Not my most effective side, but a fun alternative.

The principal's name was Fred Hartnett. I had not seen or spoken to him since elementary school, though a few years ago, I discovered that the new middle school in my hometown - built on the street where I grew up - bears his name. I thought it was the perfect choice of name given how much that man still lives in my heart and mind almost four decades later. 

I assumed that Mr. Hartnett had probably passed away years ago, given that he was my principal back in 1979 and already seemed old to me even back then, but when I mentioned on Facebook that I was telling a story about him, a former classmate sent me a message informing me that Mr. Hartnett is alive and well and passed along his email address.

Since then, Mr. Hartnett and I have exchanged emails.

I can't believe it. 

In addition to the message I sent him, I attached a recording of the story made at a Speak Up event, where I had first told the more complete version of the story.

He replied:

"I certainly do remember you as well as other members of the Dicks family. I must admit, however, I do not recall the incident you referenced. That having been said, I thoroughly enjoyed your presentation."

He went on to expound on the fates of several people in the story, including my teacher and a classmate who plays a significant role in the tale.

In regards to the new school bearing his name, he writes:

"As for the middle school at BMRSD, it was my responsibility as superintendent to construct it, The school committee announced the dedication at graduation in 2003, the year I retired. I was, and sometimes remain, uncomfortable about it, though relieved it's not posthumously! On occasion, when I drive in I reflect it's similar to seeing one's name on a tombstone."

The man still has it. 

Remarkable how the power of The Moth has once again brought someone back into my life and re-established a connection that means so much to me. Mr. Hartnett and I continue to exchange emails. A man who once lived only in my heart and mind has come to life once again for me. We have discussed our teaching, writing, and course of our lives.

It's been remarkable.  

Tell your stories. On stages or in living rooms or at dinner table. Share them with friends and family and people willing to listen. You never know what may happen.

The best worst magic show ever

Last week I told a story for The Moth at the beautiful Brooklyn Academy of Music about the armed robbery that I survived back in 1993.

The story opened with an anecdote about a magic show that had taken place just a few days prior to telling the story. I managed to record a little bit of the magic show. Whether or not you ever hear the story, the magic show is worth a peek.    

Four rules about being precious about your stuff

You know what I mean when I say precious. Right?

It's when you write something on social media about your perfect Sunday afternoon with your highly attentive husband and your GMO-activist toddlers and tag it with something like #weekend or #bliss or #joyofparenting or (please don't) #yummy

It's when you extoll the many virtues of your home grown Swiss chard or say the phrase "farm to table" more than once or twice in a single decade.

It's when you post a photo on Instagram of the creamy heart that your Argentinian barista designed in your no-fat organic soy latte along with some reference to the restored Amazonian teak inlays in your independent coffee shop's granite countertops. 

It's when you speak in hushed, reverent tones about time spent with your private yoga guru or the unique tonality of your meditation chime and how it has completely changed your life.  

Precious. Right? Annoyingly, disgustingly, offensively precious. 

Four rules about being precious about your stuff:  

Don’t do it.No one likes it.Yes, this applies to food, food preparation, beverages, Sunday brunch, your overly publicized workout routines, sunsets, your child's achievement of milestones, and the fetishization of the weekend in general.  Punch me when I do it.

Caught in the Middle: A musical filled with stolen words, purloined ideas, and personal philosophy

I spent this weekend watching the first two productions of Caught in the Middle, a musical that my writing partner, Andy Mayo, and I wrote about life in middle school. It was produced in full for the first time ever by a local theater company.

This was the second show that I have written that I was able to see performed onstage, and it never disappoints. 

It's thrilling, to be honest. The writing isn't always fun, and getting it produced can be a pain in the ass (though truthfully, it's my partner's pain in the ass), but the final results are fantastic.

I wrote this show more than two years ago, and while I remembered the story and its characters, I didn't really remember it. With about ten minutes to go in the show, I found myself wondering, "How is this thing going to end?"

It's also fascinating the listen to the influences and personal history that I have embedded within the story and the dialogue. Watching the show was like peeking through a notebook full of thoughts and ideas that I have espoused, stolen, appropriated, or admired over the years. 

I heard myself in the voices of many of the characters, speaking about the nature of teaching, the sadness associated with growing up, my ever-present existential crisis, my internal struggle for meaning in this life, and the absurdity of homework.

I heard the words of my colleague of almost two decades, Donna Gosk, on the nature of getting older - words that were originally spoken by her late mother.

I heard the voices of so many of my former students as they return to elementary school after having been away for a year or two in middle school. 

I heard a haiku that appeared in the New York Times years ago that continues own a piece of my heart. 

I heard inspiration derived from children's author Mo Willems.

I heard the words of my daughter. 

I also saw moments from my own life reproduced onstage.

A moment in a gym class at Maloney Middle School circa 1984.A moment in a high school cafeteria circa 1987. Moments from many of my high school relationships with girls. 

Having forgotten much of the show before seeing it for the first time, it was a great reminder of how the work that we do is so influenced by the people and events around us. How those influences become a part of us, embedded in our DNA. 

I do not write in a bubble. I don't create in a void. I do not start with whole cloth. The tapestry that I weave is a patchwork, filled with the words and images and people of my lifetime.  

It was a great show. I can't wait to see it again. I really hope that someday, I will have the opportunity.  

You have to admire a true artisan

Text and photo combo of the week

Sent by my wife, Elysha, to brighten my day:

Playmobil Porsche dealership with Playmobil douchebag at the wheel.