Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 68

Dating yesterday and today

I was talking to a younger friend about his new girlfriend, including how they met. He laughed and said, “On the apps,” as if I had asked the most ridiculous question possible.

So I asked him if he’d ever met someone – a stranger in the real world – who he dated or might want to date.

“What are you mean?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“Let’s say you see the same person behind the counter at Starbucks. Day after day. Maybe you know their name. Maybe not. But you think they’re cute. You like their style. They strike you as funny and kind. Would you ever ask them out?”

“No one does that,” he said.

“Never?”

“A stranger? Someone I don’t know or my friend doesn’t know?” he said. “No. I can’t see when I would do something like that. I don’t know anyone who would do that.”

I explained that when I was dating, in a pre-phone, pre-app, analog world, you would meet someone you find attractive somewhere in the world, and if time permitted, you would try to talk to them. Attempt to get a sense of who they are. Figure out if you might want to ask them out on a date.

“Where would you meet these people?” he asked, making me feel like a damn historian.

“Anywhere,” I said.

I told him that I dated girls who I met at work. At parties. In dance clubs and bars. In stores and restaurants. I told him that I once waved to a girl as she drove by me along the shores of Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire. She stopped, turned around, and asked if I wanted a ride.

We dated for six months.

I asked out a girl who was waiting tables in a restaurant in Mendon, Massachusetts. She wasn’t serving me, but I thought she was cute and was making the customers at the neighboring tables laugh, so I asked her out as I left. We went on one date before she and I concluded that I wasn’t even close to being cool enough to be dating her.

I once asked a girl in an adjacent car at a stoplight if she wanted to have breakfast with me, through our open windows, and she agreed. We didn’t see each other again after that meal, but it was a lovely breakfast.

I once told a girl at Disney World that she was beautiful and funny. We had spent the day coincidentally standing in many of the same lines, riding many of the same rides. She was with her family, and I was with friends. We had finally struck up a conversation while waiting for the last ride of the day, but I hadn’t found the courage to tell her how I felt.

Plus her parents were standing beside her the whole time.

As my friends and I were leaving the park, I said, “I need to tell that girl how I feel.” So we turned around and raced through the park until I finally found her, eating ice cream on a bench alongside her parents. I stood before them, screwed up my courage, and said, “I just wanted you to know that I spent a little time with you today, and I think you’re beautiful and funny. If I didn’t live in Massachusetts, I’d ask you out. I had to say that before I left, or I’d regret it forever.”

She smiled and thanked me. Then she rose and hugged me.

Then I turned to her parents and said, “Sorry. I had to it.”

Her father said, “Good job, kid.”

I’ll never forget it.

“You were a crazy person,” my friend said after listening to that story.

“No,” I said. “It was glorious.”

“How did you know if these girls were even available?” my friend asked.

“I didn’t. Unless someone was setting me up with a friend, I never knew.”

Sometimes, I explained, the girl would have a boyfriend. Sometimes, she didn’t have a boyfriend but told me so because she wanted nothing to do with me. And sometimes she just said no. Rejected me on the spot.

A girl once told me that she wasn’t into guys, which was a hell of a lot more daring thirty years ago than today.

“It all sounds awful,” my friend groaned.

I told him that it was far from awful. Admittedly, it required daring, courage, and self-confidence, but back then, I think we all had more of those things. If you were shy, you admittedly struggled, but shy people seemed to find each other, too. Or someone with confidence eventually made the first move.

It wasn’t a perfect time, of course. I kissed many girls on the first date, simply assuming consent, and at least once, I was wrong about that consent. The girl made it clear that she hadn’t wanted to be kissed.

And I’ve been kissed at least twice while dating (and once while married) without consent, too, so it certainly went both ways.

And some of those girls who didn’t complain about my kiss might have silently objected. I’m sure that happened a lot back then and probably still a lot today. But I wasn’t exactly the most aggressive guy. I often allowed the girl to make the first move.

Elysha, for example, kissed me first.

There was also a lot of rejection, right to your face, often in the company of the girl’s friends or yours. A lot of teasing and laughter at your expense after the fact, too. You’re friends never let you hear the end of an especially painful or public rejection.

But it was exciting, too. You see someone in a club who you think is cute. You ask her to dance. Later, you talk at the bar. By the end of the night, your friends find you making out with her in the corner.

“A lot better than swiping and texting,” I said.

My friend’s response:

“That doesn’t even sound real. And it sounds so stressful.”

Here’s the thing:

It wasn’t even that long ago. Dating apps in the way we know them today first appeared less than 15 years ago, and it wasn’t until 2017 that dating apps became the primary way for people to meet. Yet when I speak to my young friend, he looks at the idea of dating without the apps as ancient history.

Also crazy, stressful, and ridiculous.

But it really wasn’t that long ago.

I’ve never used a dating app in my life, so I don’t have firsthand experience with their effectiveness and usefulness. Maybe dating is one thousand times better today than when I was dating.

But here is what I know for sure:

My mind is filled with hundreds of memories from my dating life. Moments of disappointment and delight. Daring and disaster. Camaraderie amongst friends. Jokes at their and my expense. Intense, suspenseful, courageous moments when you opened your heart to someone you barely knew and waited for a response. Joyful, hilarious adventures in love and life that I wouldn’t trade away for the simplicity of swiping.

I don’t know if dating was harder or easier two decades years ago, but I suspect that it may have been more interesting.

Or at least more storyworthy.

He’s hooked

Elysha and I were out to dinner with friends.

Clara and Charlie were home alone.

In the middle of dinner, I received a text message from Charlie and a photo.

The message alerted me to the score in the Celtics-Raptors game.

The photo was of the television. The Celtics had switched back to the traditional parquet floor after changing it for a midseason tournament game.

Charlie and I hate the tournament floor. It’s a monstrosity. Charlie wanted me to know that sanity had been restored in the Boston Garden

My first and primary thought:

Charlie is watching the Celtics for the first time without me.

My work is done. He and I will share a love of the Celtics for the rest of my life.

Huzzah.

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Not everything, but admittedly a lot.

During a lesson on the three branches of government, a student asked if a person could sue the President.

“Actually,” I said somewhat sheepishly. “I was the member of a lawsuit against the President back in 2017 for violating my First Amendment rights after he blocked me from his social media accounts, and in 2020, I won. The President was forced to unblock me.”

How often has something like that happened in a classroom?

One of my students, listening intently said, “Mr. Dicks, everything happens to you.”

Not entirely true, of course. Not even close. And some of those things that have happened to me aren’t great.

But I understand her point.

Thankful for the good and the bad

Last Sunday, I posted an amusing anecdote on my blog and social media.

At least, I thought it was an amusing anecdote. Instead, a whole bunch of readers disagreed with my thoughts and actions, as described in the post. The context isn’t important, but suffice it to say:

I noticed and said something to a stranger that I thought was funny.

Many people did not find my comment funny at all. Many thought it was insensitive, unkind, and mean-spirited.

And so, what I thought would be a nothing-burger of a post resulted in many comments on my multiple social media accounts and a flurry of emails in my inbox.

In addition to reading my blog via social media, about 20,000 people read my blog daily on my website or via an email subscription, so email is often how these readers communicate with me.

They certainly communicated with me a lot on Sunday.

A few thoughts about the enormous response to the post, which was, for the most part, not positive:

As someone who, in the words of one friend, “lives out loud,” these things happen from time to time. They actually happen less frequently than I would expect, given the amount that I write and my level of contrarianism, but they sometimes do. There are times when I suspect that a post will create a stir, but many times, like this most recent one, I have no idea.

But this is what happens when you express an opinion, relate an anecdote, tell a story, offer advice, or attempt to be funny online and publicly every single day without fail for nearly two decades.

Some things don’t land so well.

A handful of especially empathetic readers often worry about me when this happens, writing in support even when they vehemently disagree with the actual post. They see people calling me names or using derogatory words to describe me and worry that I may be upset or wounded. Every time, I assure these kind-hearted angels that I am fine.

These things happen.

I’ve become quite accustomed to criticism and attack. As an author, columnist, storyteller, and blogger, I know that it comes with the territory. You can’t create in a public space without some people noting their objections to your work.

I’m also an exceedingly, almost offensively optimistic person, even while under verbal assault. It takes a whole lot to pierce my armor and draw blood.

I also receive more than enough positive feedback to counteract any negative responses.

More importantly, I genuinely enjoy the discourse. I love debate. I even adore criticism.

If I write or say something that offends, but my intent was not malicious, I know in my heart that it’s simply an example of my imperfect floundering through the universe.

It should not be shocking to anyone that I make mistakes.

I also love differing perspectives. I invite opportunities to reconsider my position. I admire people who are willing to express divergent views. I’ve never been opposed to push-back. I was a debate champion in college for a reason:

I like a good argument.

Even the name-calling is fine. It’s not the nicest or most effective way to approach disagreement, but I’m relatively impenetrable.

“Sticks and stones…” isn’t always true, but with me, it’s almost always true.

I also remind myself that when someone attacks me in a less-than-civil way, they are also imperfect. They are also probably less likely to share their imperfections with the world, which is fine and probably advisable, but I rightfully assume they say and do stupid things, too.

We just don’t hear about them as often.

I also know that people are far more likely to speak uncivilly online than in person. Very good people can sometimes sound really rotten online. The filter of the internet is a powerful and unfortunate thing.

It’s all good.

On Sunday, one of my readers pointed out that even as people expressed their distaste or even disgust for me and my actions, I did not delete or edit my post to make the problem go away.

This is true. I never do.

But those kind words were still appreciated. They are especially appreciated on days when everyone seems to disagree with you, and on Sunday, they were actually expressed by someone who also disagreed with me, making her kind words even more meaningful.

Readers also told me that they are sometimes afraid to come to my defense after a large number of people have spoken out against me. They fear the same kind of response I am receiving, which makes sense. Not everyone is wired for criticism. Not everyone is itching for debate. Few people are willing to gladly absorb abuse.

Also, my unearned privilege as a white, straight American man with no physical disabilities or mental illness makes absorbing heaps of criticism far easier for me than for someone from a marginalized group who is constantly under attack by monsters and dimwits.

I get this, too.

I know a lot of men who enjoy the same unearned privilege as I reject this notion, insisting that they have earned every bit of their status and success, but those little men are stupidly naive, tragically ignorant, sexist, bigoted, or pathetically fragile. Probably some combination of a few.

I also know that as upset as someone may have been with me on Sunday, these moments are often fleeting at best. As angry as a reader may seem, I’m an infinitesimal fraction of their life, and their outrage will often subside or be forgotten entirely in a week.

Sometimes in a day.

I also know this:

Defending my position in these circumstances is often unwise and foolish, and attacking my detractors is always wrong. Instead, I prefer to thank my critics for taking the time to read and respond. I may explain how I landed on my position, clarify something that potentially confused my readers, and offer reasons why I thought (and perhaps still think) that was right, but I try not to sound too defensive and make it clear that I’m more than willing to listen to alternative viewpoints.

I suggest this to anyone in situations like these. Gratitude, transparency, open-mindedness, and clarity are always the best routes.

While some readers call me names or describe me with unfortunate adjectives, I never respond in kind.

You don’t win those battles, nor should they ever be fought.

Ultimately, I see days like Sunday as positive moments for me, my work, and my engagement with my readers. Most were unhappy with me, but they read my words, processed my thoughts and actions, and responded.

This is always the goal, even if the response is not what I had hoped or expected.

I was watching Taylor Swift’s “Diary of a Song” on Sunday. It’s a New York Times feature wherein musicians, producers, and songwriters talk about the making of a specific song. She was describing her process in writing “Lover.”

The reporter tells Swift, “The word ‘lover’ is polarizing. For some people, it gives them the creeps.”

Swift’s response: “Anything I do is polarizing, so I’m used to that.”

That’s probably not entirely true for Taylor Swift, nor is it altogether true for me, but those words seemed to be sent from the universe to me on Sunday, reminding me that when people express their thoughts and feelings to the world on a regular basis, it’s not always going to be hearts and rainbows.

Polarizing, in many ways, is a good thing. It indicates creativity, daring, and engagement.

So thank you for your kind words, your decidedly less-than-kind words, and everything in between.

Mostly, thank you for reading. I can’t promise that I won’t annoy or even enrage you from time to time. I am, after all, tragically imperfect.

But I’ll keep writing, and occasionally upsetting you, as long as you keep reading.

The Binder/Dicks Plan of Thansigving Day Fights

A day late, but file this away for next year:

My friend, Kathy Binder, has an outstanding means of avoiding political arguments or similar kerfuffles at Thanksgiving:

Invite friends. Non-family members. It’s certainly not a guarantee that there will be no arguments, but when non-family members are present, your stupid uncle, know-it-all nephew, and angry aunt are far more likely to be on their best behavior.

It’s much harder to be a jerk in the presence of company.

Kathy has never hosted a Thanksgiving when she didn’t include friends.

Smart lady.

My method of avoiding political arguments at Thanksgiving is a little simpler:

The first person to launch into a political argument at Thanksgiving is the big, stupid loser, even if they are the most rational and reasonable person present because Thanksgiving is no place for political debate.

Thanksgiving is about family, friends, food, and football.

It takes a special breed of jackass to think otherwise.

A Thanksgiving Day offering

In honor of Thanksgiving, I offer a gift for all of you who look forward to football just as much as you do the turkey, and probably more.

If you are a serious football fan, this is a must-read essay by the sometimes annoying but more often brilliant Chuck Klosterman. It comes from his book, “Eating the Dinosaur,” which I read and loved.

It’s the kind of essay that football fans will bookmark and refer back to for years to come, and it is guaranteed to increase your grid-iron credibility amongst your pig-skin-loving pals.

Thanksgiving Day mishaps from the past

Thanksgiving 1981

My family is spending Thanksgiving at my grandparents’ home. I’m 11 years old. After dinner, I try to sit at the adult table and engage in conversation.

I’m quickly shooed away.

Instead, I grab paper and begin writing political cartoons about the challenges of Reaganonmics, the need to save the whales, and the dangers of inflation while listening to the adults talk. My aunt Diane sees my cartoons and is impressed.

They aren’t great, but for a ten-year-old kid, they are impressive. Before leaving, she scoops them up for safekeeping.

Twenty-five years later, she sends them to me.

Thanksgiving 1989

I’m 18 years old and living with my friends in Attleboro, Massachusetts, in a home we affectionately call The Heavy Metal Playhouse. I’m managing a McDonald’s restaurant in Milford, and the company has given me a free turkey for Thanksgiving. Unable to go home for Thanksgiving because of my relationship with my stepfather, I cook my first turkey for a handful of friends and employees with no other place to go.

I overcook the turkey. The gravy is so bad that it doesn’t register as gravy. The boxed stuffing is fantastic. So, too, is the instant potatoes, canned corn, and canned cranberry sauce.

We also drink a lot of cheap alcohol.

Thanksgiving 1991

My girlfriend’s father serves me stew consisting of my pet rabbit. I had given him the rabbit after discovering that indoor rabbits don’t make great pets. He has a hutch full of rabbits in the backyard, so I assume he loves rabbits.

Instead, he was raising and selling them to Portuguese restaurants.

“How do you like the stew?” he asks as I take my first bite.

“I like it,” I say.

“You should,” he laughs. “It’s your rabbit.”

I rise from my seat, say a few regrettable words, and leave.

Thanksgiving 1992

I’ve just been rescued from homelessness, but the family who did the rescuing is celebrating Thanksgiving with family members in a neighboring town, leaving me alone for the day. My mother is living alone and eating via a feeding tube at the time and doesn’t want to acknowledge Thanksgiving and the rest of my family and friends are unaware of my situation, so none have invited me to celebrate with them.

I eat hot dogs and candy bars from 7-11 before heading to the Cineplex in Brockton, Massachusetts, to watch Unforgiven in an empty movie theater.

I sit in the third row, feeling as alone as I have ever felt.

Thanksgiving 2002

I’m sitting at a large table in my girlfriend’s parents’ home as her father serves dinner. He’s wearing a chef’s hat and explaining each dish before handing it to his wife to pass around the table.

When the yams reach the woman beside me, she whispers, “I hate yams.”

“Me, too,” I say. “Why are you putting them on your plate.”

“My mother taught me it’s rude to pass on something someone has cooked for you,” she says.

I laugh. “Your mom was wrong,” I say. “It would be rude to force you to eat something you don’t like. Besides, you’re a grown-ass woman. Eat or don’t eat whatever you want.”

She pauses for a moment before saying, “You’re right! Why should I eat something I don’t like?”

A woman across the table overhears this conversation and joyfully says, “I agree!” and passes the dish in her hand to the next person without spooning any of the food into her plate. A discussion erupts on how crazy it is to eat something you don’t like just to avoid being rude.

My girlfriend’s father hears all of this and is not pleased. Not pleased one bit.

Thanksgiving 2004

Elysha and I drive to Fort Lee, New Jersey, for Thanksgiving with her family. We spend nearly five hours in traffic, including over half an hour on the George Washington Bridge. As I enter the home, I’m asked about the length of the drive.

“Almost five hours,” I say.

“That’s not so bad,” the host says.

I want to kill him.

I will soon discover that the only television in the home is located in a back room and is tuned to the Oprah Winfrey Show.

Football is not a part of this Thanksgiving Day tradition. It’s the first Thanksgiving I spend without any football whatsoever.

We never go back to New Jersey again for Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving 2016

Elysha’s uncle is assigned to bring mashed potatoes to our feast. He arrives at our home with potatoes in a very partial state of completion. Elysha is cooking and has no space or time for her uncle’s potatoes.

She’s displeased.

He asks Elysha for an electric mixer. Then he breaks it.

Meanwhile, I make instant potatoes in the microwave. It takes less than ten minutes. We don’t tell our guests which potatoes are real and which are instant, then survey them, asking which they prefer.

It’s the Great Potato Cook-Off.

Elysha’s uncle’s potatoes are excellent.

My instant potatoes win in a landslide.

Thanksgiving 2023

Hopefully, a festive occasion filled with excellent food, even better company, and lots of memorable stories.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

Golfing disaster made good

I’m playing golf with a friend. He has two birdies, a handful of pars, and one bogie through six holes. He’s a very good golfer, but this might be the best round of his life.

He can’t seem to miss.

On the seventh hole, from an elevated tee box, he hits the ball and pulls it left, launching it high and deep into the forest.

“There goes my round,” he says.

He tees another ball and swings. The result is identical. He launches it into the same spot in the woods.

He tees up another. Same thing.

Tees up another. Same thing.

I’ve seen golfers do these kinds of things in the past, and I have done things like this many times, but I’ve never seen this particular friend fall apart quite like this.

It was unprecedented.

Finally, he puts the driver in the bag and hits a 3-wood down the left side of the fairway. He continues to play the hole poorly and finishes the hole with a 14. I’ve never even seen him score in double digits before.

On the next hole – a par-3 – he puts a ball into the water before finishing with a 6.

It was pretty remarkable:

He had hit the ball about 20 times over the course of the first six holes. Then he hit the ball another 20 times on the next two holes.

All of this would be hilarious, except for this:

Our scores were tied at the end of the round. I went into the final hole with a one-stroke lead. My friend parred the hole. I played it well but still bogied.

We both finished with a 46.

He shot a 14 on a par-4, but I still only managed to tie him.

It somehow becomes a disappointing round for both of us.

And so, a lesson:

Even in your worst moments, when nothing is going well, you can sometimes find a tiny glimmer of light. A silver lining of sorts. Even when you’re failing miserably, you can still miraculously find a way to win.

Or tie, which on a day like that, can feel like a victory.

Four ways of dealing with a terrible boss

In his newsletter, The Daily Coach, Mike Lombardi offers four lessons for dealing with terrible bosses. He was watching Succession at the time and witnessing the rise of the character Tom Wambsgans, who turned out to be a monster.

I have been both a boss and an employee throughout my working life, so I am familiar with both sides of that leadership coin. Today, I consult with business owners, managers, and even CEOs on issues related to leadership, so I’m often involved in discussions and decision-making on this topic.

Leadership does not come naturally to many people. It takes work, practice, and study to be effective.

I liked Mike’s list a lot and almost immediately found ways in which I have incorporated his lessons into my life.

For the record, my current boss is not a monster, but I have certainly worked for monsters in the past. I’m unsure if any former or current employees would characterize me as a monster, but I hope not.

But anything is possible.

Here is Mike’s list of suggestions for dealing with a terrible boss, along with my reflections:

1. Set boundaries: Be assertive but diplomatic in communicating your limitations.

A boss once asked me to lie to a governing body about money and the budget.

I refused.

He was exceedingly angry with me. He later made the request a second time, and when I refused again, he threatened me.

I informed him that if he took action against me, I would inform the governing body and his boss of his request. Also, I had taken extemporaneous notes on the incident, so I had evidence of his attempt at corruption.

He was never able to bother me again about this or anything else. I held this incident over his head like a Sword of Damocles, which was pretty great since he was a spineless, narcissistic monster.

This was an example of setting diplomatic boundaries.

2. Manage expectations: Ensure that you have a clear understanding of your boss’s expectations.

Understanding expectations is essential, but if you simply do your best and make the logical, ethical, and most effective decisions possible, you won’t need to worry much about your boss’s expectations.

Just do your job to the best of your ability, and the rest will often fall into place.

Your boss will let you know if you’re unknowingly failing at some aspect of your work.

3. Maintain professionalism: While dealing with an ambitious boss, it’s essential to remain professional in all interactions. Stay focused on your work, meet deadlines to the best of your ability, and maintain a positive attitude.

My advice:

Your primary objective regarding your relationship with your boss is to avoid placing any demands on them unless absolutely necessary. This means solving your own problems, minimizing unnecessary communication between you and your boss whenever possible, and looking for opportunities to remove things from your boss’s plate.

Be the person who quietly and efficiently takes care of business.

Oddly, some people feel that “face time” is essential for a positive relationship with your boss. You must see your boss every day and make an impression. This is not true. Almost every boss in the world would prefer that employees do their jobs and move on, connecting only when necessary and appropriate.

This is the best way to get the boss’s attention.

Leave your boss alone. Save your face time for scheduled meetings, moments of actual need, and when the boss genuinely wants to connect.

4. Develop coping mechanisms: Practice self-care by engaging in activities that help you relax and recharge.

The notion of self-care receives enormous attention today, but as far as I can tell, few people engage in self-care regularly. Even worse, when people see someone engaging in meaningful self-care, they often openly question, cast aspersions, or even mock that person’s drive, desire, or capacity to complete their work well.

I take self-care very seriously. I don’t call it “self-care” because labeling commonsense things that have existed forever is silly and only opens it up to attack (“woke” is a perfect example of this), but I believe in selfishly supporting your own happiness to be your very best for those around you.

Put the oxygen mask on yourself before placing it on another person.

For me, this means playing golf before work whenever possible. Exercising daily. Listening to music. Following a rigorous sleep routine. Petting my cats often. Looking up into trees and sky whenever possible. Meditating. Playing with my kids as much as they will allow. Holding Elysha’s hand. Attending storytelling, Broadway, and comedy shows with friends. Reading. Hugging loved ones. Speaking positively about myself to myself.

But it doesn’t take much.

Take a walk around the block. Spend a few minutes, every day, in nature. Compliment yourself aloud. Talk to a friend.

Yesterday, a friend who I hadn’t seen in a while called me while I was driving to work, simply to chat. The dozen or so minutes we spent talking and laughing were a glorious way to begin my work day.

Take care of yourself to better manage the challenges of a terrible boss, a toxic work environment, your inept coworkers, or your monstrous customers.

It won’t make any of them disappear, but it will help you mitigate their power and influence over you considerably.

Nerd town

Clara says to me, “Hey Dad, I memorized some of The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe.”

Then she smiles and adds, “Just for fun.”

Because that is who she is.