Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 60

My favorite haikus

It’s snowing this morning. It’s that lovely brand of snow that doesn’t threaten to make travel hazardous or require any shoveling.

Just a gentle, steady flurry. Picturesque and beautiful.

It brings to mind one of my favorite haikus:

First snow
the neglected yard
now perfect

– Elizabeth St. Jacques

Haikus, it should be noted, are not those 5-7-5 syllable poems you may have been taught in elementary school. The 5-7-5 format is a bastardization of the Japanese alphabet, designed by teachers who want to teach syllabication.

As you can see from the haiku above, syllables are irrelevant in haikus.

A haiku is a three-line poem – almost always about nature – wherein the first two lines establish a scene, and the third seeks to upend that scene in some way.

Haikus are essentially jokes. Some are amusing. Some are enlightening. Some are transformative. Others are laugh-out-loud funny.

But all haikus seek to do what a joke does:

Establish a premise in order to counter that premise in some clever, insightful, or amusing way.

Here are two more that I love, both by Ernest Berry:

old garden shed
the insecticide can
full of spiders

filleting cod
trying to avoid
eye contact

No right way

Career advice from author and entrepreneur Charlie Hoehn:

“Just DO things. Chase after the things that interest you and make you happy. Stop acting like you have a set path because you don’t. No one does. You shouldn’t be trying to check off the boxes of life. They aren’t real, and they were created by other people, not you. There is no explicit path I’m following. I’m not walking in anyone else’s footsteps. I’m making it up as I go.”

I agree wholeheartedly.

I also think it’s essential for people of all ages to adopt this mindset, especially when they cannot pursue a traditional path because life circumstances don’t allow it or it’s simply not right for them.

It’s hard to watch everyone around you moving in a single, traditional, seemingly productive, and advisable direction when you can’t or shouldn’t. It doesn’t mean your own path won’t bear fruit and lead to happiness, but when you’re alone on your path, watching everyone else move in a different direction, you can begin to wonder if your path will ever lead to the promised land.

I know this feeling. I felt it often.

But Hoehn is right. There is no set path. Choose your own way. Walk in your own footsteps. Embrace the unexpected, nontraditional path even when it’s forced upon you.

This is coming from someone who…

Started living on his own at 18.Didn’t make it to college until he was 23 years old.Earned his first degree from a community college.Turned down a full scholarship from Yale University in favor of Trinity College so I could be closer to my job managing a McDonald’s restaurant in Hartford, CT.Earned my teaching degree at an all-women’s college (by exploiting a loophole in a college consortium agreement) while simultaneously earning my English degree at Trinity College.Rejected the offer of a permanent position at a school in my hometown in favor of a one-year position covering a maternity leave at a school in a neighboring town because I liked the principal.

These were certainly questionable decisions at the time. Some were admittedly forced upon me by life’s circumstances, but most involved me making a choice that many of my friends thought was unwise, impossible, or just plain stupid.

But looking back today, those choices were absolutely right for me.

People, young and old, must be told that there is no shame in choosing a path different than those around them. Conventional wisdom is not right for everyone because many of us are not conventional by nature. Our lives are different than those around us. Our needs and wants do not conform to the expectations of the masses. We lack the support or means to follow a more traditional path.

Whatever the reason for your unorthodox road, just do things. Chase after the things that interest you and make you happy. Accept the limitations that life has placed upon you, but do not allow those limitations to stop you from moving forward. Find a way to work around them or bust through them if necessary.

My friend Plato is fond of saying, “The truth is one. The paths are many.” I know he’s quoting someone else, but in my mind, it’s Plato’s wisdom, and he’s right.

Most of all, do not allow the direction of the masses to make you feel any shame or embarrassment for being different, choosing an unconventional direction, or taking a longer, more circuitous path.

There is no room for self-doubt on our journey. No need to compare ourselves to others.

This never bears fruit.

We’re all making it up as we go. Some of us are simply more inventive than most, by desire, necessity, or a combination of the two.

Charlie Hoehn is right. Follow a path best suited for you, To hell with everyone else.

Birthday and a book!

Hello friends,

Today is my birthday! 

It’s an exciting day – not so much for my additional trip around the Sun – but because today I get to announce my brand new book:

Stories Sell: Storyworthy Strategies to Build Your Business and Brand

… a guide to using the power of storytelling for success in businesses of all types and sizes, whether you’re an online marketer, advertising professional, salesperson in any field, small business owner, independent contractor, or Fortune 500 executive. Also for those looking to improve their professional lives, advance their careers, or their personal brands. 

With a brilliant foreword written by marketing guru and friend Masha Cresalia.

Want to give me the best birthday present ever?

Please consider preordering the book today. And share it with anyone who might be interested, too! 

Preorders are critical in determining how many books will be printed on the first run, how many books will be placed in bookstores, and how much early attention a book receives. Preorders can be the difference between landing on bestseller lists and missing the list entirely.

If you’d consider preordering the book TODAY – on my birthday – I’d very much appreciate it.

And if you order before the end of February, you’ll also gain access to TWO FREE storytelling workshops.

Monday, April 1 at 7:00 PM ESTSunday, April 14 at 11:00 AM EST

Both workshops will feature lessons NEVER BEFORE TAUGHT by me in a workshop. BRAND NEW STORYTELLING STRATEGIES AND TIPS to help you tell the stories that will build your business and brand and tell your friends and family stories that are entertaining, engaging, and unforgettable.

Simply send proof of purchase to storiessellbook@gmail.com, and I’ll include you in the invitation to these workshops. Forward me your email receipt. Take a screenshot of your order. Send me proof that you ordered the book sometime in February, and you’ll be invited to these exclusive, first-time, never-before-seen workshops.  

Curious about the book? Want to know what it’s all about?

Check it out online at your favorite bookstore or read below.

Thanks so much for the enthusiastic support. It means more than you could know!
_____________________________________________

Stories Sell: Storyworthy Strategies to Build Your Business and Brand

The corporate world is flooded with data: spreadsheets, charts, graphs, and yawn-inducing PowerPoint presentations. But human brains are wired for stories. Stories help us make sense of the world. Stories move us in ways that data can’t, and a well-told story trumps a mountain of facts and figures.

Matthew Dicks has learned the value of storytelling in his career as a novelist, marketing consultant, and award-winning slam storyteller. He’s found that the basic principles of effective storytelling are universal and teachable. In Stories Sell, he applies those principles to business communication, guiding readers to craft stories that connect with audiences — whether a single person or a crowded auditorium.

Jam-packed with examples, Stories Sell reveals the ingredients of a compelling story and then demonstrates how they can be incorporated into persuasive marketing copy, productive face-to-face conversations, and presentations that people actually want to hear (no PowerPoint slides required!). Topics include:

The three elements of a winning story: stakes, suspense, and surpriseFinding the right narrative structure (and why beginning at the beginning isn’t always the best method)The power of being vulnerable: how admitting your mistakes can build rapport with audiencesWhen and how to use humorZigging while others zag: making yourself stand out from competitorsSO MUCH MORE! 

Above all, Stories Sell gives readers permission to be themselves, take risks, and make a splash in a sea of corporate blah. Everyday life is filled with meaningful stories if we only approach it with open eyes and open minds. Stories Sell teaches readers to find their voice and share those stories with the world.

 

Celebrating books around the world!

Yesterday, my agent negotiated the Spanish rights to “Storyworthy” and the Bulgarian rights to “Someday Is Today.”

“Negotiated the rights” means that these two books will be published in those two countries, and I will receive an advance on both deals.

I mention this to remind myself of how fortunate I am.

This is the problem with making our dreams come true:

We sometimes forget to celebrate when our dreams continue to come true. We forget how joyous it once felt the first time, so we ignore these once seemingly miraculous moments when they happen again and again.

I published my first book – “Something Missing” – in 2009. Seeing my book on a bookstore shelf was a dream come true for me. As someone who was lost for several years – jailed, homeless, awaiting trial for a crime I did not commit – I never thought I’d find my way to publishing a book.

As someone who was kicked out of his home after high school and didn’t begin college until he was 23 years old, I never thought I’d find a door into the publishing world.

And as someone who didn’t know a single person in the publishing industry, I thought my chances of ever landing a book contract were close to zero.

Still, I tried like hell.

So when “Something Missing” was published in 2009, it was the culmination of a lifelong dream—a joyous, unimaginable occasion that I never thought I’d ever see.

I’ve published eight books since then. Two more will be published this year. With the publication of each one, I remind myself how lucky I am and how momentous an occasion it is to publish a book.

At least I try.

I try to remember how I felt with the publication of that first book, and I try like hell to remember that every book is a damn miracle.

My books have also been translated into more than 25 languages and are sold worldwide.

That was a dream come true that I’d never even dared to dream. An amazing, unthinkable, previously unimaginable stroke of good fortune, largely thanks to my literary agent and friend, Taryn Fagerness.

So when she emailed me yesterday about the Spanish and Bulgarian rights to two of my books, I thought, “Oh good.”

Then I stopped, slapped my face, and said, “Idiot. Your dream just came true again.”

All of those things really happened, including the slap.

We cannot allow our past success to mitigate or marginalize our excitement over similar success in the present moment.

I often remind myself about this during the school day. I am 25 years into a teaching career I once never thought possible. I had wanted to be a teacher for as long as I could remember, but when you’re in jail, facing felony charges, and about to lose your home, a teaching career (and even a college degree) seemed like an impossibility.

I try to remind myself that every day I spend in a classroom – about 4,500 so far – is the culmination of a dream come true.

I try to remind myself about this when taking the stage to tell a story, perform a stand-up set, perform my solo show, or deliver a TEDx Talk. There was once a day, not too long ago, when I dreamed of being a performer and finding a stage where I might be allowed to entertain audiences from time to time. Today, those stages are everywhere. My opportunities to perform are almost limitless. I cannot allow the realization of that dream to stop me from celebrating the ongoing, repeated realization of that dream.

I remind myself of this when I see Elysha, often for the first time every day. There was a time when Elysha was the aspirational, impossible version of someone I might one day marry, but I never thought it would actually be Elysha. The thought of someone like Elysha spending her life with me was ridiculous.

When I told my boss that I was dating Elysha, he didn’t believe me. It was April 1, 2003, and he thought I was playing an April Fool’s Day prank on him.

“Like Elysha Green would ever date Matthew Dicks!” he shouted as he walked away from me.

Three years later, he officiated our wedding.

But his initial response was indicative of my chances of ever marrying Elysha, so 17 years into our marriage, I still find myself, thankfully, astounded that she chose me. I try to remind myself of this as often as possible.

People like to use the word “gratitude” in situations like these.” And yes, gratitude is a beautiful thing. A wondrous state of mind that actually triggers a release of chemicals in the brain that make you feel good, safe, and balanced.

I have nothing against gratitude.

But I’m talking about something more than gratitude. Maybe even better than gratitude. I’m talking about the joyous, rapturous, relentless feeling of elation upon making a dream come true. It’s the same feeling a football player feels after winning his second or third or even fourth Super Bowl… still running around the field like a little boy, hugging teammates, shouting for joy, jumping up and down, and weeping over the culmination of a dream come true.

Again.

It never gets old for a football player to win a championship.

I don’t want my “dreams come true” moments ever to get old, either. Nor should you. Celebrate the hell out of them, even when they are happening for the second, fifth, or ten thousandth time.

Elysha and I have been married for 6,422 days. We’ve been together for 7,624 days.

Every day, I want to be as excited as the first. Maybe that’s not possible, but it’s certainly worth trying.

So… publishers in Spain and Bulgaria purchased the rights to my books yesterday. My books will be on shelves in countries I have never visited. Translated into languages I cannot speak.

Honestly, I didn’t even know that Bulgaria was still a country.

So excuse me while I celebrate by eating one of Elysha’s homemade chocolate chip cookies and listening to Springsteen’s “Thunder Road” while I dance alone in the kitchen.

I’d dance with Elysha and the kids, but they’re still asleep.

Let them sleep. Once I’m finished dancing, I need to get writing so I can dance again one day soon.

John Paul Jones kicked ass. Why didn’t I know?

Why did it take me 52 years to learn that American naval hero John Paul Jones launched a successful amphibious attack on England during the Revolutionary War?

His bold and decisive victory included:

Leading a small detachment of two boats from his ship, the USS Ranger, to raid the port at Whitehaven, England, where more than 400 British merchant ships were anchored.Successfully taking the town’s southern fort, disabling its cannon, and setting fire to the fort, engulfing the entire town in flames.Continuing onto Kirkcudbright Bay, where he planned to abduct the earl of Selkirk and then exchange him for American sailors held captive by Britain.Unable to find the earl at home, Jones stole his silver, including his wife’s teapot, which still contained her breakfast tea.Finally, sailing across the Irish Sea to Carrickfergus, where he captured the HMS Drake after delivering fatal wounds to the British ship’s captain and lieutenant.

How was this not the lead story in American history class? How has a movie not been made about this expedition?

In case you didn’t know, John Paul Jones is better known for this:

Eighteen months after his assault on England, in September of 1779, Jones fought one of the fiercest battles in naval history when he led the USS Bonhomme Richard in an engagement with the 50-gun British warship HMS Serapis.

Amid the battle, the Bonhomme Richard was severely damaged, began taking on water, and caught fire.

When the British captain of the Serapis ordered Jones to surrender, Jones famously replied:

“I have not yet begun to fight!”

A few hours later, after Jones managed to lash the ships together, allowing him to take advantage of the Bonhomme Richard’s considerably more numerous crew, the captain and crew of the Serapis surrendered, and Jones took command of the British ship as the Bonhomme Richard sank to the bottom of the sea.

Although the Bonhomme Richard was lost in the battle, the outcome was one of the factors that convinced the French crown to back the colonies in their fight to become independent of British authority, thus shifting the balance of power in the war.

If history teachers led off their classes with stories like these – including amphibious assaults, stolen teapots, and unforgettable refusals to surrender – I suspect they would likely find themselves with students more engaged and more excited to learn history.

Bumps in the road

My students often learn quite a bit about my life. I tell stories, of course, primarily to teach lessons and entertain them while they learn.

But a great deal of my life can be found online, beginning with my Wikipedia page, so my more curious and nefarious students will spend some time researching my past, even as I implore them to find something more interesting to read and watch.

But many ignore my pleas. They go home, read about their teacher, watch his stories, and arrive in the classroom saying things like, “You didn’t tell us you owned a pet raccoon when you were a kid!” or “It’s hard to imagine you ever pole vaulting” or “How long did you spend in jail?”

Quality ways to begin a school day.

This year, my students have grown fond of pointing out how odd and occasionally disastrous my life has been with surprising sympathy and even sadness for my past.

A student will tell me that his frisbee got stuck on the roof over the weekend, and I’ll say, “I got stuck on the roof of a three-story building once, and I nearly died getting down!”

Or a student will tell me how she got lost in the mall on Sunday, and I’ll say, “I once got lost in the White Mountains of New Hampshire for two whole days!”

Or a girl performing in a play will tell me that she needs to hold hands with a boy onstage, and I’ll say, “My music teacher, Mrs. Carroll, once made me kiss a girl onstage in the middle of a school concert!”

The phrases my kids often use after hearing stories like these are:

“Of course, that happened to you, Mr. Dicks”

“Everything happens to you, Mr. Dicks”

… and more recently:

“The world doesn’t love you, Mr. Dicks.”

They say these things with such sadness and inevitability that it almost breaks my heart. I assure them that I’m happy with my life. Perfectly content with my past adventures. Just fine and dandy.

“A lot better than all of you!” I often add because I’m a jerk.

But I also said something to my students the other day that rang true for them and me, and perhaps, if you’re going through struggle or strife, it might mean something to you, too.

I said:

“The bumps in the road often bounce us into the light.”

And I think it’s true. Show me someone with confidence, inner fortitude, and unparalleled wisdom, and I’ll show you someone who has experienced many bumps along the way.

We don’t grow unless we are tested. We don’t evolve unless there is a struggle. We cannot achieve excellence absent strife.

“This, too, shall pass,” is fine, but maybe instead:

“This, too, shall pass, and I’m going to be the better for it.”

Or, perhaps more poetically, and hopefully more likely to land me in “Barlett’s Familiar Quotations” someday:

“The bumps in the road often bounce us into the light.”

Admittedly, one of my students said, “As far as I can tell, you ain’t seen much light, Mr. Dicks,” but that student was happily and sorely mistaken.

Soul Man is still available on streaming

I learned about John Howard Griffin for the first time this week.

In November 1959, in an attempt to better understand the Black American experience, journalist John Howard Griffin underwent a medical treatment to temporarily darken his skin and, for six weeks, placed himself in the shoes of those who suffered under the oppressive weight of Jim Crow laws in an attempt to foster greater empathy and understanding among his predominantly white readership.

Griffin chronicled his experiences in a diary that would later become a bestselling book, which I purchased this week.

I can’t believe someone did this and that it took me this long to hear about it.

It also reminded me of this:

In 1986, the movie “Soul Man” depicted Mark Watson, a pampered son of a wealthy family about to attend Harvard Law School with his best friend. When his father refuses to pay tuition, and Mark is denied a student loan, the only scholarship he sees is for African Americans, so he decides to cheat by using tanning pills, in a larger dose than prescribed, to appear as an African American.

Watson then sets out for Harvard, naïvely believing that black people have no problems at all in American society, only to discover this is not true.

Not unlike the journey of John Howard Griffin, albeit for more nefarious reasons.

As I was reading about John Howard Griffin, I thought about the role that C. Thomas Howell played in “Soul Man.”

I’m certain it would never be allowed today.

Howell essentially spent the entire film in the form of blackface.

Here’s what surprised me the most:

You can still watch “Soul Man” today. It’s available on Amazon, Apple TV, and YouTube TV.

I almost always despise canceling or banning of books, films, and the like because they no longer adhere to modern sensibilities. Art is reflective of its time, so while we may think that a movie like “Revenge of the Nerds” is a story filled with glorified rape and sexual assault, it should also continue to exist as a historical artifact of a time and place that thankfully no longer exists.

But “Soul Man?”

I’m happy it still exists and is available for streaming, but I’m shocked it is.

Stop

If you’re beating yourself up over failing to achieve a goal or realize a dream, please stop.

You are not weak.

You are not dumb.

You don’t lack talent.

Very often, you just need to stop giving up.

The journey to success is longer than many people realize.

Narrowly avoiding the cracking of my chest

Here’s how I managed to narrowly avoid the cracking of my chest:

In the fall of 2011, Elysha and I were having lunch with one of my college friends.

It was the first time I had seen her in a decade. A reunion of sorts that I had been anxiously awaiting.

I was eating clam chowder when an object became lodged in my throat. It wasn’t blocking my airway completely, but it was stuck and causing me to struggle to breathe. Based on what I was eating, I assumed it was a fish bone or a bit of a shell.

I began coughing, first intentionally in an attempt to dislodge the item, then uncontrollably. Then, the coughing became hacking and wheezing. I drank a glass of water in an effort to dislodge it. Then I drank another and another and another.

Still, I coughed and hacked and struggled to breathe.

Eventually, the manager arrived at the table and offered assistance. We were sitting in the middle of the dining room, so my coughing was undoubtedly creating a scene. The manager led me through the dining room (with Elysha in tow) to a closed-off bar area where, before I knew what was happening, one of the waitstaff began administering the Heimlich maneuver on me.

Ironically, Elysha and I had just been re-certified in CPR the day before, so I knew his attempt at this procedure was poorly executed. Since I was coughing and speaking, the Heimlich maneuver should never have been applied in the first place, but the way the man administered it was even worse. He wrapped his arms around my chest and began squeezing, lifting me off my feet as he did. This did nothing for the bone lodged in my throat but hurt like hell and made it even harder to breathe.

Between gasps, I begged for him to stop.

A moment later, an ambulance was called.

The manager led me and Elysha through the kitchen to a loading dock at the back of the restaurant. I initially thought the manager was being helpful, but I soon realized that he was just trying to get me as far away from the other customers as possible and avoid having an ambulance parked in front of the restaurant.

Seconds later, the ambulance arrived. Paramedics placed me on a stretcher and began taking my vital signs. I overheard one whisper to the other that I had “decreased breath sounds on the left side.”

I asked them to either share this information with me or do a better job of whispering because they were freaking me out.

I was loaded into the ambulance. Elysha climbed in alongside me, and we were off.

I was brought to the University of Connecticut Health Center, which was thankfully just a few minutes down the road. Doctors first attempted to use forceps to dislodge or retrieve the object. My throat was sprayed with a numbing agent, four doctors and nurses held me down to counter my gag reflex, and a fifth jammed a set of long, metal forceps down my throat.

It was awful. Painful and frightening and exhausting.

This process continued, off and on, for nearly an hour. I hadn’t vomited since 1983, but I was convinced this procedure would spoil my streak.

Somehow, it did not.

When this failed, a doctor inserted smaller arthroscopic forceps, complete with a camera and clippers, through my nose and down into the throat to remove the object.

It sounds horrifying, and it initially was, but that scope was soon put up my nose and down my throat so often that it became fairly normal. Just a thin, little snake sliding around in my skull.

It was eventually determined that the object was too large to bring back up through my nose, so it was back to the original forceps.

Numbing agents were applied again. More attempts to reach down my throat were made. I was worked on for more than three hours, each doctor older than the next, before it was determined that I would require surgery. Fearful that the object might end up in my lungs if not removed soon, the doctors would make an incision from the top of my throat down to my chest to remove the object.

“Depending on where it’s lodged, we might have to crack the chest,” one doctor explained.

This sounded insane to me. I was going to have my throat cut open and my chest cracked for a fishbone?

With Elysha by my side, they began rolling me from the emergency room to the surgical floor. As they rolled, I began to panic. I couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Stop,” I said.

To their credit, they did.

“Have we tried everything?” I asked. “Take a second and think. Is there anything else we could possibly do before you cut me open? Can we please think outside the box?”

To their credit, everyone was quiet for a moment, and then one of the nurses said, “Well, we’ve never tried to slide the arthroscopic forceps down someone’s throat before.”

“Well,” I said. “Let’s try that.”

Instant excitement swept through the team. If it worked, this would be a new procedure. A new use for a medical instrument. Other doctors were called to observe. Two video cameras – the large, old-fashioned VHS kind – were brought in to record the procedure. About a dozen doctors jammed themselves into a small examination room where the procedure would be attempted, pushing Elysha to the far corner of the room.

Once again, a handful of doctors held me down to counteract my gag reflex as the snake-like device slid down my throat, and a doctor, staring into the eyepiece, poked and prodded. A minute later, the scope was retracted. Trapped in its tiny forceps was a dried bay leaf.

Not a bone or a shell.

Just a leaf, which should have been removed before serving me the chowder but was not.

The room erupted in cheers. For a moment, I was entirely forgotten. I looked across the room, through a crowd of excited doctors, and made eye contact with Elysha. She looked exhausted, but she was smiling.

I spent about six hours at the medical center that day, and though I probably could have sued the restaurant, I did not.

In retrospect, I wish I had.

Nevertheless, I learned something very valuable that day:

There is nothing wrong with questioning your doctor. Had I not stopped that gurney from rolling into the operating room, I would’ve ended up with an incision in my throat or even worse. Panic caused me to stop the doctors that day and ask them to find a different solution, but in the future, it will be the knowledge that I can play an active and potentially helpful role in my medical care.

A doctor informed me that I would likely end up in a medical journal, which did not excite me as much as it seemed to excite him.

It also wouldn’t be the last time I became a subject in a medical journal. Years later, when canine scabies managed to burrow under my skin – something doctors had never seen before in a human being – a professional photographer was called into the dermatologist’s office to take photographs of my forearms for an eventual medical journal article.

Such is my life.

For the record, I never saw my college friend again. Once I left the table for the bar area and loading dock and ambulance, I lost track of her, and we never spoke again.

Such is my life.

Emergency room visits: A possibly complete list

A friend recently found himself in the emergency room for a thankfully minor injury. While telling me about his adventure, he said, “That might’ve been the first time I was ever in the emergency room as a patient.”

I nearly fell out of my chair.

“What about when you were a kid?” I asked.

“Not that I can remember.”

“Sports-related injuries?” I asked.

“Nope,” he replied.

I told him that I had probably been in the emergency room as a patient 20 times in my life, which he said was impossible. So I made a list.

I think it’s fairly complete.

I referred to my baby book to find a 1972 trip to the ER as a baby for bronchial pneumonia. I visited the ER two other times as a baby, but I knew about those visits already.

My mother loved to tell those stories.

I also decided to include if the mode of transport to the ER was an ambulance, which has happened quite a bit as well.

Turns out my friend was correct. I’ve only been in the emergency room as a patient 19 times in my life that I can recall.

But I was close.

Eight of those visits were by ambulance.

I was also brought to a medical facility by a colleague after a student accidentally hurled a softball into my face from about six feet away during a distance-throwing competition, giving me yet another concussion, but I think we may have gone to an urgent care facility. Being concussed, I can’t quite remember even though it happened just a few years ago. I remember sitting in a waiting room with a terrible headache, wishing the lights weren’t so bright, but I don’t think it was a hospital.

I’ll have to check.

It’s also interesting to note that my brother, my sister, and I have all been hit by cars in our lifetimes and been transported to the hospital by ambulance. My accidents (I’ve actually been hit by a car twice) were by far the most minor of the three, though one still required an ambulance.

My brother was clobbered by a car while crossing traffic on his bike as a kid (I watched the whole thing), and my sister was nearly killed after being hit by a car while running across an interstate and being thrown 100 yards through the air.

Long story.

I asked Elysha if she thought it was normal for all three siblings in a family to have been hit by cars, thinking she’d say, “Not really,” or “It’s a little unusual.”

Her response: “NO, IT’S NOT NORMAL!”

So perhaps my family has a bit of a dark cloud when it comes to these kinds of things. But I also suspect that athletes, people who work in dangerous environments, and people who perform physical labor have probably visited the emergency room as often as me.

Context is probably a determining factor.

And so, here is my list of emergency room visits over the course of my lifetime:

1971: Swallowed a bottle of paregoric/stomach pumped (ambulance)
1972: Bronchial pneumonia
1972: Head wound/stitches
1983: Bee sting/anaphylactic reaction (ambulance)
Circa 1983: Smoke inhalation during house fire (ambulance)
1985: Dog bite/stitches
1986: Bee sting/anaphylactic reaction (ambulance)
1987: Punched in chest/two broken ribs (ambulance)
1988: Head injury while pole vaulting/concussion
1988: Car accident (ambulance)
1991: Head wound/staples
1992: Head wound, broken ribs, broken fingers resulting from armed robbery/stitches
1996: Head injury/concussion
1997: Thumb crushed in a safe
1997: Knee injury/surgery
2000: Hit by car/concussion
2001: Pneumonia
2011: Bay leaf caught in throat (ambulance)
2018: Suspected heart attack (turned out to be pulled chest muscle) (ambulance)