Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 569

Solutions to the problem of too many freakin gifts

This is an exceptionally gift-filled season for our family. 

My wife is Jewish, so we celebrate Hanukah.  Or Hanukkah.  Or Chanukah.

Her people really need to decide upon a spelling.     

In accordance with the tradition, we should be giving a gift to one another every night for eight straight  nights.

That means a total of 24 gifts if Clara, Elysha and I participate in this tradition. 

That's a lot of gifts.

And it's just the start.     

I grew up celebrating Christmas, so Elysha and I celebrate this holiday as well.  There are stockings in need of filling and space under our Christmas tree in need of presents.

More gifts to add to the mix.

But there's more.       

My wife's birthday falls in the first week of January, and my daughter's falls in the last week of January.

More presents.  

My birthday falls in the middle of February.

Still more. 

Add to this my father-in-law's birthday on New Year's Eve and we have a great many gifts to purchase over a two month period.

And while my wife and I are probably less enthusiastic about receiving gifts than most, we enjoy giving gifts quite a bit.  It creates quite conundrum since we are not yet independently wealthy and still need to eat during the holiday season.

But good news!  The New York Times reported on a study this week that illuminates three new rules for gift giving:

You don't have to spend any time looking for "thoughtful" gifts. You don't have to spend much money, either. Actually, you may not have to spend any money.

"Our research shows that while gift-givers think they're being more thoughtful by picking out expensive gifts, the recipients don't appreciate the hefty price tag," Dr. Flynn said. His experiments have shown that the price of a gift matters more to the giver than to the recipient, and that people like a surprise gift less than cash or something they picked themselves through a gift registry like Amazon's wish list.

Good to keep in mind during this holiday season.

And while I wholeheartedly agree with the findings of this study (I wanted to send deposit slips with our wedding invitations but Elysha nixed the plan… and later acknowledged it wasn't so bad an idea), there are individuals in my life who place great meaning in both the gifts they give and the ones they receive. 

Gift giving and gift receiving is a serious situation for these people, so tread carefully lest you find yourself in a quagmire of backbiting, misplaced angry, nonsensical logic and materialistic fisticuffs. 

Thankfully, my wife is not one of these lunatics.  She is a genius when it comes to finding gifts under $5 that I will adore forever, but like me, she does not place a great deal of importance on the receiving of gifts.  While some concern themselves with gift giving equity and gift giving reciprocity, we care very little. 

Nevertheless, we face a massive demand every holiday season, and as a result, Elysha and I cut deals in order to avoid going into massive debt every year. 

In regards to Christmas, she and I have agreed to stuff one another's stockings this year but otherwise forgo Christmas gifts in favor of upgrading our entertainment system.  A device of some sort to stream Netflix and perhaps other media outlets like Hulu, and maybe (at last) an HD television.

We currently watch TV on a 46-inch projection television that I purchased in 2002.  It's plenty big and still works fine, especially for two people who don't watch much television, and I have no place for it once it's been replaced with a more modern TV, but it might finally be time to retire the massive thing it to the basement.

My friends won't even come over to watch football anymore since I can't display it in high definition.  

So giving ourselves an upgraded entertainment system makes sense.  We were going to eventually spend the money anyway, so why not make it our mutual gift and kill two birds with one stone. 

Then we had to make a decision on Hanukah.

We began by agreeing to give each another a gift on the first night.  After that, we decided to get creative.

I proposed a small food item for each night.  Something that we wouldn't normally have the chance to eat, or perhaps something new altogether, but this idea was dismissed based upon the number of calories that it would introduce into an already calorically challenged holiday season.

I thought my next idea was a stroke of brilliance.  In lieu of gifts, we would each provide the other with a URL to something on the Internet that would interest and entertain each other.  A website that we would not normally land on without someone specifically directing us there.  It would be the gift of discovery.   

Elysha didn't like it.  In retrospect, it is kind of dumb.  But I still like it.

Then Elysha proposed an admirable solution.

In lieu of gifts, we will take turns taking one another out on a date once a month for seven months. 

I take Elysha out in January.  She takes me out in February.  We continue alternating months this way through July. 

Yes, this means that the last couple months will run into the new baby, so the date may consist of pizza and a movie (hopefully streaming through Netflix on our new high definition television), but it will be up to the person responsible for that month to make the date the best it can possibly be.   

A good solution, I thought, and something we should be doing for one another more often anyway. 

So I find myself wondering if other families cut these kinds of deals in order to avoid going into hock. 

And also wondering if we might still be doing the same thing even if we had all the money in the world. 

Alternate-date month sounds like fun.

Opting for an upgraded entertainment system over another new sweater sounds about right to me.

So many of us have so much already.  Too much.

What to give a teacher for the holidays

The New York Times tackles the always tricky question of what to give your child's teacher for the holidays. 

After thirteen years of teaching, allow me to chime in with some advice.

First, giving your teacher nothing is perfectly fine. Teachers do not expect to receive a gift and are often surprised by the generosity of parents, especially considering the state of the economy today.

Not giving a gift does not make you a bad parent in anyway whatsoever. 

And contrary to the belief of at least one parent who I know, the gift that a teacher receives (or doesn't receive) has no bearing on his or her opinion of the parent, the child or the family in general.  We do not keep score in terms of gift giving.  No teacher will ever remember which child arrived at school with a gift and which did not.  

Trust me. Not giving a gift is perfectly acceptable with every teacher in every situation.

In fact, many schools have a policy that does not permit teachers to accept gifts from parents, so offering a gift can place a teacher in an awkward and difficult position.  Refusing the gift, regardless of the policy, is impolite, but accepting the gift violates school policy. 

As a result, no gift is sometimes just easier for a teacher. 

But if you are going to give your child's teacher a gift (full discloser: my wife and I give Clara's teachers gifts), here are a few suggestions:

The best gift I ever received from parents was given to me when my daughter was born.  Each student in my class purchased his or her favorite book from childhood and signed the inside cover with a message to Clara.  These books were then assembled into a library and presented to me after Clara's birth.  The books in that library are still some of Clara's favorites today, and we always take a moment to read the messages that my former students wrote to her after we are finished reading the book.  A couple of the kids actually pasted photographs of themselves into the book along with the message, and Clara now knows these kids by name.

It was a remarkable thoughtful and lasting gift that I continue to appreciate to this day.   

Three things to take away from this:

Books are always excellent gifts.  Be sure to personalize them with a message for the teacher if you decide to give a book.  Gifts for a teacher's children make excellent gifts. When the class is able to come together and pool their resources, the gift that the teacher receives is often be something special.

Along these lines, I know a teacher who received a gift certificate to the local golf course from his class at the end of the school year.  Not only was this thoughtful in terms of matching the gift to the teacher's interest, but he was able to brag to his golf buddies (me included) that every round of golf throughout the summer was sponsored by his students.

Making an effort to match the gift to the teacher's interests and passion is always appreciated. 

Playing golf for free is great. 

Providing a teacher with the opportunity to taunt his friends all summer long is the best. 

But when it comes to gifts, I firmly believe that the best gift that you can give a teacher is simply a note expressing your appreciation for all that he or she has done for your child. 

Teaching can be a lonely profession.  We work in isolation for much of the day, and our clients, the students, are not always forthcoming or insightful enough to adequately express their appreciation for their teachers.  While we are routinely observed and critiqued by administers, these critiques do nothing to elucidate the impact that a teacher can have on a student or a family. 

I have letters from mothers and fathers that I cherish as much as any other object in my life.  I read these letters after difficult days in the classroom and they lift my spirits beyond measure.  They serve as reminders that what I do is making a difference in the world when a tough day or an impossible situation causes me to think otherwise.

Regardless of the gift that you plan on giving your child's teacher this year, take some time this month to sit down and write a letter to your child's teachers, telling them how much they have come to mean to you and your child.  Remind the teacher that his or her impact extends far beyond the classroom and that he or she is making a difference in this world.   

And if you truly believe that your child's teacher is exemplary, send that letter to the principal or even the superintendent of schools as well.  During my first year of teaching, a mother sent a note to me during the holidays expressing her appreciation for all I was doing for her daughter, and along with it was a copy of a letter that she had sent to the principal and superintendent expressing her support for me.

For a first year teacher, this meant the world. 

It was better than anything else I could have been given that year. 

During the holiday season, give a teacher the gift of words. 

Give the gift of appreciation and admiration and love.  It really is the best gift that you could give. 

Yes, my wife and I will probably be giving Clara's teachers a gift this year, but we will also take an evening to sit down and write a letter thanking them for all that they do on a daily basis to help make our little girl the person she is today.

I suspect… no, I know that they will appreciate and cherish these letters more than any book or gift certificate that Elysha and I might give.

You just lost a customer, Lowes

Check it out. I'm exceedingly pleased, and perhaps even proud, of one of Connecticut's US congressmen. 

With Congress' approval rating close to single digits, that doesn't happen often.

And thought I've never been a Home Depot loyalist, it turns out that I am now.

A chink in my super hero armor

One of my super powers is my ability to sleep.  Not only do I require very little sleep, but I am also able to fall asleep within a minute of laying my head on the pillow and can sleep in the most uncomfortable of circumstances.

Except for the fact that many of my nights are spent in the midst of harrowing nightmares, I kick ass at sleeping.  

Until last night. 

This morning I awoke and told my wife that I suffered with insomnia for the first time in my life.  I was awakened by a nightmare around 1:30 AM and couldn't fall back asleep for at least twenty minutes. 

Maybe thirty. 

It was so frustrating.

As it turns out, describing a twenty minute period in which I could fall back asleep as insomnia to a pregnant woman who spends much of the night tossing and turning is not a great idea. 

Not a lot of sympathy for my suffering.  I think I only managed to annoy her.     

There is no need to add your stupidity to the search

The inability to locate an item like a set of keys, a phone or a wallet can be frustrating.

Thinking it helpful to offer someone advice like "retrace your steps" or "think about when you had it last" only makes the situation worse.

Yes, we all know about retracing our steps. This is not some cutting edge strategy.  If you want to help us find the lost item, spare us the annoying platitudes and just look around a little. 

But the worst piece of advice that you can give in this regard is this:

"Don't give up. It's always the last place that you look."

Of course it's always the last place we look, you moron.  Once you find a lost item, only an idiot would continue looking for it. 

Therefore, whether the lost item is in the first place that we looked or the thousandth place we looked, it's always going to be the last place we looked.

Is it really so hard to keep your mouth shut and simply help in the search?

Interview with my bully? Probably not.

Salon has been running a series entitled Interview With My Bully.

The premise is this:

Some adolescent scars linger well into adulthood. Interview With My Bully, our new essay series, hopes to provide some closure, and maybe even build some understanding and common ground between the picked-on and their young tormentors. Ever wonder what happened to the person who pushed you around in junior high? Why not track him or her down — and post your essay on Open Salon. 

It's been a fascinating series thus far, filled with essays with titles like What My Childhood Bully Taught Me, The Bully Who Denied It, and The Bully Who Asked For Forgiveness.  

The topic is interesting to me because it ties in closely to the book that I am currently writing but also because my childhood was not without its share of bullies as well.  In fact, during my freshman and sophomore year, I had a great number of bullies as a result of my refusal to comply with the freshman-senior hazing tradition that existed at our school.  I was beaten up many times, sent to the hospital once, forced to fight another lowerclassman for sport, suspended from school for inciting riot upon myself, and more.

It was a tough couple years, and I often wonder why I chose not to conform to the traditions set forth in previous years.  Had I agreed to carry lunch trays, wear humiliating signs around my neck and keep my mouth shut, I could have made it through my freshman year relatively unscathed. 

Instead, I fought the upperclassman at every turn, refused to comply to a single request, escalated the situation through my own attacks, attempted to humiliate them at every turn and suffered the consequences.

In retrospect, compliance and conformity would have been the simpler and less painful course of action, and yet for reasons I still don't fully understand, I was unable to do so.  

It's a question that I am dealing with in the book I am writing now and an issue I still deal with quite often.    

In terms of bullies, I could list the names of half a dozen upperclassmen who were responsible for these acts of aggression, but even though it was a constant battle to survive, only one bully really frightened me and made me feel unsafe and constantly threatened. 

His name was Eddie.

Though I was beaten up and harassed by others, it had always felt like a game when dealing with the other upperclassmen.  Yes, I might get punched, and yes, they might attempt to bowl me (the only indignity I managed to avoid), and yes, I might find myself handcuffed to the bumper of a bus, but I never thought that any of them really wanted to hurt me. 

Except for Eddie. 

Eddie's attack of choice was to ring me.  Ringing consists of turning around your rather large class ring around on your finger so that the stone is facing down and then hammering it down upon the scalp of your victim.  Not only does it hurt like hell (even without the ring, having the top of your head slapped like that hurts), but it often splits your scalp open, causing your hair to mix with blood.  Eddie would ring me at every chance he got, and if I did not run after being ringed (which was sometimes impossible because the ringing would oftentimes knock me to the ground), he would toss in some additional acts of random violence for good measure. 

Unfortunately, Eddie played the cymbals in the same drum line to which I was a member, so we saw each other a lot, including band camp. 

Hazing at band camp took on unusual forms, including that of the doughboy. To doughboy a person is to throw them into the shower, run the water over their body, and pour in bags of flour over the head and body of the victim.  Let that set for about fifteen minutes, and the result is a sticky mess and an embarrassing walk of shame back to your own room, where the complete removal of the flour could take an hour or more.  

I was doughboyed at twice at band camp during my freshman year, and while it was not fun, it was also not supposed to be violent. 

Embarrassing, yes.  Painful, no. 

Except the first time I was doughboyed, I was caught by Eddie.  Considerably larger and stronger than me, Eddie lifted me off the ground (after ringing me, of course), dragged me to his room (where several other seniors were waiting to assist), and literally threw me into the tub, cracking my head, knee and elbow on the porcelain surface.  My legs caught the  shower curtain on the way by, yanking down the shower rod, which Eddie then grabbed and used to whack me in the head and back every time I tried to sit up.

The intended humiliation of the doughboy was replaced by the pain I felt from the beating I took while prone in that bathtub.

It hurt like hell, and I was scared as hell during the entire process. 

Thankfully, marching band season ended in late November and that limited the number of times that Eddie's and my path crossed.  During the course of the school day, it was easy for me to avoid him, and when that was impossible, it was unusual for us to be alone without an adult nearby.

Eddie's reign of terror lasted about three months, but it was a long and painful three months.    

Eddie was not the one to send me to the hospital later that spring.  That was another boy, and while he was the certainly the cause of the injury (a punch to the chest), it was unintentional.  He wanted to hurt me but not hurt me. 

I am not implying that the hazing that took place during my freshman year (and parts of my eight grade and sophomore year as well) was appropriate or fun, but none of it ever caused me to feel the terror that Eddie did. 

Eddie simply didn't care about the results of his actions.  He found joy in hurting me, and he had a temper which frightened me beyond measure.   

The seniors who participated in these acts of bullying and hazing wanted to hurt me, but only Eddie wanted to really hurt me. 

I've searched for Eddie online and had no luck.  I am friends on Facebook with many of his former friends, and none of them have connected with Eddie either. 

But to be honest, I am not sure if I would be willing to interview him had I managed to locate him. 

Surprising (or perhaps not so surprising), I don't think I ever want to see Eddie again.  The mixture of fear, anger and loathing (but mostly fear) that I still feel towards him is enough to keep me away. 

I could contact other guys to interview if the need strikes.  A senior named Dan was my chief rival during that freshman-sophomore year, so he might make for an interesting interview.  I targeted him for reasons I can't quite remember, and while Dan was tough on me, I was never truly afraid of him.

Yes, he hurt me, but he never really hurt me.  Not like Eddie.  

Creating is hard work.

I have never found this to be the case.

No more goodie bags

Elysha, Clara and I attended the birthday party of our friends' three year old daughter today.

It was an art-themed party. 

 

While the 1:00 start time on a Sunday was less than ideal, especially in the midst of an NFL season, I was extremely pleased to leave with party without a meaningless, useless, wasteful after-party goodie bag for my daughter.

What a pleasant change of pace.  

In fact, I hereby call for an end to all goodie bags and similar parting gifts at children's birthday parties.

Will you join me?

The problems with these goody bags are numerous. 

First, it's not my kid's birthday, damn it.  She shouldn't be coming home with an assortment of candy and trinkets that I will invariably be throwing away in less than a week.  Not getting a gift when it's not your birthday is one of life's little lessons.  It needs to be learned.  Stop indulging every child's desire to acquire junk.

I've been told by more than one mother that they felt obligated to provide a goody bag for their guests because their own child had been given a goody bag at previous parties. 

I am here to assure you that goody bag reciprocity is stupid. 

It reminds me of the kind of adherence to peer pressure that caused kids in my high school days to wear parachute pants and Member's Only jackets.

As stupid as these kids looked, they put those ridiculous clothing items on every day because everyone else was wearing them. 

But this is not high school.  Just because Sally Jane up the street handed out a bag of crap at the end of her child's birthday party doesn't mean you need to do the same. 

There are also those parents who have raised the after-party goody bag to an art form, presenting children with personalized gifts that only similarly insane parents could appreciate.  These are the goody bags that look as if they required massive amounts of planning, money, ribbon and hot glue. 

In the end, no matter how much time you spend filling your otherwise empty life with good bag fabrication, that stupid bag is going to end up in a garbage can.

So just stop it.  Stop it now.   

Let's all agree to reduce the amount of sugar and petroleum-based trinkets that enter our homes by dispensing with this ridiculous tradition as my friends did today.

More important, let us also agree to stop doing stupid stuff just because everyone else is doing stupid stuff.

Can I get a "Huzzah!"?

I dont trust fifty.

I don't trust even numbers. 

I assume that every Top 10 list either contains one too many entries or is missing one or two deserving entries that were axed in order to keep the list at a conventionally round number.  

I have never liked the emphasis placed on round numbers in sports, such as the prestige attached to 100 yards of rushing in an NFL game. Is 100 yards of rushing really any more representative of excellence than 95 or 98 yards?

I don't think so. 

Yet just this week, I heard an NFL analyst say that a team is struggling to run the ball based upon the fact that no player on the team had rushed for 100 yards since week 5. 

I was left wondering how the team had performed in terms of rushing the football since week 5. 

Was the team using a running-back-by-committee approach, in which the ball is shared by several players in order to avoid wearing out any one player?

Or was there a player on the team consistently rushing for 80-90 yards per game, and if so, is this really an indicator that the team can't effectively run the ball?

I don't think so.  

Yet this round number has come to symbolize effectiveness in terms of rushing the football, even though it is often statistically irrelevant. 

With this in mind, I am fascinated that after 235 years of nationhood, the United States ended up with the conveniently round number of fifty states. 

Fifty. 

Not forty or sixty.  The delightfully satisfying round number of fifty. 

It makes me wonder if Puerto Rico might have already become a state had Hawaii been our 49th state instead of our 50th state. 

Or if the District of Columbia might have been granted statehood in order to achieve the round number. 

I also wonder if perhaps our round number of states has helped prevent Puerto Rico from becoming a state?

After all, who wants fifty-one states when we can have a number like fifty?

See what I mean?  Fifty seems too convenient.  Too round. 

And history is a messy piece of business. There are too many people with too many motivating factors involved in decision making over too long a period of time to believe that we carved up enormous portions of the North American continent into separate political entities over a period of more than 150 years, then tacked on two non-contiguous territories and just happened to arrive at the number fifty.

Fifty.  It's too damn round for me.

I don't trust it.

Grand plans

My daughter awoke this morning at the crack of dawn with the desire to build castles and speak in singsong. 

We followed it up with a reading of WHERE'S MY SWEETIE PIE?

My kind of morning.