Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 86
June 5, 2023
Pride Month here. Bigotry there.
It astounds me that during Pride Month, I live in a region of the country – New England – where flying the pride flag at the elementary school where I teach and the football stadium where I’ve spent so many Sundays is considered normal, acceptable, and entirely appropriate by the majority of people around me.
Yet travel to another region of our great country, and my fellow Americans would throw fits, erupt in protest, and lose their damn minds if their school or football team dared to honor this month by displaying a flag.
I know that the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice, but I wish it would bend a lot faster and clear out all of the bigots, fools, and buffet-style religious zealots who make this world so much harder for people to love whoever they damn well please.
June 4, 2023
They love reading, and it’s my fault.
Charlie came downstairs early on Saturday morning, picked up a book, sat down on the couch with the cat, and spent nearly an hour reading.
His weekend was dawning, and his first choice was to read.
His sister was still in bed at the time, also reading.
I know what you’re thinking:
What a couple of great kids.
But no.
They were not born readers. No human is born with a book in their hand and a love of literature in their heart.
I take full credit for their love of reading.
Elysha would get credit, too, but she’ll probably unselfishly, foolishly pass on the credit to the kids.
She’s a better person than me.
Not correct. Just better.
June 3, 2023
Russian
Behold. The Russian cover for my novel “The Other Mother.”
I like it a lot.
My Russian friend says it’s very Soviet in style.
My students thought it looked like the work of a toddler.
No accounting for taste.
Also, they probably said that just to hurt me a little.
June 2, 2023
Fragile white people only hurt their children
Amanda Gorman’s poem “The Hill We Climb” has been moved from the elementary section to the middle school section of a Miami-Dade County public school after a parent complaint and school review.
A parent of a student at Bob Graham Education Center objected to the poem, claiming it “is not educational and have indirectly hate messages.”
The grammatical error is not mine. It’s a direct quote from the written complaint.
The complainant also argued that the poem would “cause confusion and indoctrinate students.”
They also claimed that the poem was written by Oprah Winfrey.
The same parent made similar complaints about “Love to Langston,” a poetry-based biography of Langston Hughes; “The ABCs of Black History,” and two books about Cuba.
Those books remain untouched on their previously assigned shelves.
My students and I watched the Presidential inauguration in 2021 and heard Amanda Gorman read her poem.
I’ll never forget it. My students and I loved it. I still do.
It’s a beautiful poem.
Every time I read about one of these ridiculous book bannings or attempts to ban a book, I always think the same thing:
There are a lot of fragile, frightened, small-minded white people in our country.
A surprisingly large number of people lack the intellectual rigor and ethical footing to both acknowledge the truth of the past and accept the realities of the present.
Also a bunch of bigots, too. White supremacists, racists, and the like. Real scum of the earth villains.
Not the majority, of course, or even close to it, I hope. But enough to be annoying, threatening, and sometimes exceedingly destructive.
Sadly, their kids will ultimately pay the price for their fragility.
These children will either fall down the same ugly, racist rabbit hole as their parents, or they will be poorly equipped to handle adversity, incapable of navigating nuance, stunted in their ability to feel empathy, unable to work with and love those who don’t look or think like them, and find themselves trapped in homogeneous pockets of our country where opportunity is so often limited.
If you believe that Amanda Gorman’s poem is somehow dangerous to your children, you have likely doomed those same children to a small, stunted, narrow life filled with anger, hate, and disappointment.
As a teacher, I can’t bear the thought.
June 1, 2023
Resolution update: May 2023
1. Don’t die.
No near-death experiences in May. Also no death.
As always, I plan on living forever or die trying.
2. Lose 20 pounds.
I lost another 8 pounds in May, bringing my total weight loss to 32 pounds in 2023.
I won’t declare victory until I get through the year with sustained weight loss, but at the moment, the goal, as well as my revised goal of 30 pounds, has been achieved.
Now that I’ve hit my new goal, I’m setting my sights on another 10 pounds, which would bring my total weight loss to 40 pounds. This might be difficult but not impossible.
I really need some new pants.
3. Do at least 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, and three one-minute planks five days a week.
Only missed two days in May.
One of my students caught me doing push-ups at lunch last week, which was weird.
4. Cycle for at least five days every week.
Done. I cycled every day but two in the month of May. I couldn’t find time to cycle on a travel day from Connecticut to New Jersey, and I couldn’t find time on a day when I left work for NYC for a Moth StorySLAM.
I also rode the bike (stationary and actual bike) two or more times on a single day for 12 days in May.
I’m now looking into a stationary rower. I found one that I love, but it’s the space in our home that is lacking. Not sure how to solve that problem.
5. Improve my golfing handicap by two strokes.
My handicap at the start of the year was 17.6.
I played six rounds of golf in May and increased my handicap from 16.2 to 17.0.
Lessons continue.
WRITING CAREER6. Complete my eighth novel.
The book is about half complete, but I haven’t made any progress in 2023 as I focus on my nonfiction first.
7. Write my next Storyworthy book.
Work continues. Five chapters were completed in May. Due September 1.
8. Write/complete at least three new picture books, including one with a female, non-white protagonist.
My agent has my beaver-related picture book for review.
I’ve also started two new ideas. Short, incomplete, and very much in the rough draft stage.
But progress.
9. Write a new solo show.
“Writing” is being completed in earnest. I put the word “writing” in parentheses because I don’t actually write anything that I perform onstage. I speak it aloud, crafting and revising orally, holding it in my mind, and eventually, I’ll make a recording that I can then listen to, evaluate, and revise.
I may eventually use text-to-speech to create a document that can be used for lighting cues, but for now, everything is worked on aloud and stored in my brain, as is my process for everything I’ve ever spoken onstage.
But still… it’s coming along. I’ve got a solid 20-30 minutes so far.
10. Perform a new solo show.
July 30 and 31. TheaterWorks in Hartford, CT. Get your tickets here.
11. Write a musical.
My friend Kaia and I are writing a musical that we will also perform, even though I cannot sing. She writes the music and lyrics. She and I write the story.
I need to write some of the story in order for Kaia to begin writing music. I haven’t done that yet because we are currently immersed in the solo show, but once it’s done, I’m hoping to turn my focus on this next staged project.
12. Submit at least five Op-Ed pieces to The New York Times for consideration.
No progress.
13. Write at least four letters to my father.
I wrote a birthday note to my father in March.
One letter has been sent in 2023 so far.
14. Write 100 letters in 2022.
Another 12 letters were sent in May, bringing the total number to 79.
Recipients included students, the parents of students, colleagues, and friends. I also wrote a letter for someone in May, which is a first.
15. Convert 365 Days of Elysha into a book.
No progress. There is probably a company that does this sort of thing.
16. Read at least 12 books.
I read “This Will All Be Over Soon” by Cecily Strong and “Magic Words” by Jonah Berger
I’m in the middle of reading the following books:
“The Science of Storytelling” by William Storr
“Out of the Corner” by Jennifer Grey
“Tough Sh*t” by Kevin Smith
“From Saturday Night to Sunday Night” by Dick Ebersol
“Think Like a Monk” by Jay Shetty
“The Groucho Letters”
Six books read so far in 2023.
“Sapiens” by Yuval Harari
“Life’s a Gamble” by Mike Sexton
“The Sea We Swim In” by Frank Rose
“Born a Crime” by Trevor Noah
This Will All Be Over Soon” by Cecily Strong
“Magic Words” by Jonah Berger
17. Read TIME’s 100 Best Children’s Books of All Time.
I read two more of the 100 books in May.
A total of 15 so far.
I’ve read many of the other books on the list in the past, but I am only counting those books that I have read in 2023 toward my goal.
18. Write to at least six authors about a book I love.
No progress.
STORYTELLING/SPEAKING CAREER19. Complete the re-recording of Storyworthy For Business.
“Storyworthy” for Business is complete and available for purchase. Find it and much more at storyworthymd.com.
I want to produce a much-improved version of the course ASAP. Module 1 is now re-recorded. Module 2 (and many other things) is currently being recorded. It will take a while, but the results, I believe, will be extraordinary.
20. Record the next Storyworthy course.
Done.
Two brand-new courses have been added to the Storyworthy platform:
Finding Stories
Anatomy of a Story
I’m exceptionally proud of both. You should check them out.
My brand new humor course will be available in less than a month. Editing is complete. Building has commenced.
21. Produce a total of six Speak Up storytelling events in 2023
We produced two shows in 2023 so far:
April 22 at the Connecticut Historical SocietyMay 4 in partnership with Voices of HopeWe also have shows scheduled in the summer and fall that we will be announcing shortly.
22. Pitch myself to at least three upcoming TEDx events with the hopes of being accepted by one.
Done!
I spoke at a TEDx event at the University of Connecticut in January. It went well despite a malfunctioning clicker that sometimes advanced two slides instead of one.
You can’t imagine how annoyed this made me.
Also, due to the delay in posting a TEDx Talk from more than a year ago, my University of Connecticut talk will not be loaded onto the TED platform for reasons I don’t quite understand.
I also spoke at a TEDx event in Natick, MA on April 13. It went quite well.
I pitched myself to TEDx events in Harlem, Roxbury, and on the campus of Yale University. Harlem has declined. I await word from the two others.
23. Attend at least eight Moth events with the intention of telling a story.
I attended two StorySLAMs and a GrandSLAM in May.
I told a story in Boston and finished in second place. My name remained stubbornly in the hat in NYC.
A total of seven Moth shows altogether in 2023 thus far.
24. Win at least one Moth StorySLAM.
Done. I won the Moth StorySLAM in Boston on March 29.
25. Win a Moth GrandSLAM.
I competed in a Moth GrandSLAM in Boston in May and did not win. I also had to go first, which is not exactly fun or conducive to winning.
I was invited to compete in the Seattle GrandSLAM in March, but traveling cross country was not possible at that time.
I await invitations from producers in New York, Washington DC, and Boston again (where I have won StorySLAMs in the past year) when my turn comes up.
26. Produce at least 24 episodes of our podcast Speak Up Storytelling.
No progress.
27. Perform stand-up at least six times in 2022.
No progress.
28. Pitch three stories to This American Life.
No progress.
29. Pitch myself to Marc Maron’s WTF podcast at least three times.
No progress.
30. Send a newsletter to readers at least 50 times.
Four newsletters were sent in May. Two were my bi-weekly storytelling strategies newsletters. The other two were Speak Up show and workshop updates.
A total of 35 newsletters have been sent thus far in 2023.
HOME31. Clear the basement.
Incremental progress was made in May. I throw away one thing every time I exit the basement.
32. Clean and clear the garage.
A much-needed dumpster (or perhaps a neighbor’s tag sale) will be key to completing this task, but it’s looking pretty good. There are large items that need to be discarded, and a pile of school supplies needs to be eliminated, but otherwise, it’s nearly done.
33. Furnish and decorate the studio.
Done!
34. Eliminate clothing not being worn and closet bins.
Just two bins left to go through with Elysha.
In May, I eliminated all pants and shirts that no longer fit. The closet itself is complete. Only those two bins remain.
FAMILY/FRIENDS35. Text or call my brother or sister once per month.
Failed to achieve this goal in May.
36. Take at least one photo of my children every day.
Done.
37. Take at least one photo with Elysha and me each week.
Two photos of just Elysha and me together in May. Lots of photos of the four of us together, but only two of just us.
38. Plan a reunion of the Heavy Metal Playhouse.
No progress.
39. I will not comment – positively or negatively – about the physical appearance of any person save my wife and children in order to reduce the focus on physical appearance in our culture overall.
Done.
40. Surprise Elysha at least six times in 2023.
Done!
I surprised Elysha three times in May.
Another Pusheen Mystery Box arrived for her in May.
I also delivered another round of desserts for her to share with colleagues.
Since we were originally slated to be driving home from New Jersey on Mother’s Day, I surprised Elysha with a Mother’s Day gift consisting of three great night outs to replace the lost day, including tickets to Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me at Tanglewood, Tiny Fey and Amy Poehler in Springfield, and Jenny Lewis in New Haven.
We ended up driving home the night before, but it still made for a great gift.
Surprises this year have included:
Half a dozen birthday cards, all handmade, scattered throughout her life on her birthdayTickets to the upcoming Lizzo concertA Pusheen Mystery BoxGoodie bag of Trader Joe’s delightsCoat from Canyon RanchVisit from KathySurprise dessert delivered personally to her schoolAnother surprise surprise dessert delivered personally to her schoolAnother Pusheen Mystery BoxTickets to Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me, Tina Fey/Amy Poehler, and Jenny LewisTen surprises so far in 2023.
41. Play poker at least six times in 2023.
No progress.
42. Spend at least six days with my best friend of more than 30 years.
No progress. Attempts were made but ultimately failed.
MUSIC43. Memorize the lyrics to at least five favorite songs.
I’m still working on Fleetwood Mac’s “Go Your Own Way” and “Renegade” by Styx (with Charlie). Admittedly, there wasn’t much work done in May.
44. Learn to play the piano by practicing at least three times a week.
Done.
MISCELLANEOUS PROJECTS
45. Learn the names of every employee who works at my school.
Progress! I learned the name of two paraprofessionals including one who will be working in my class next year.
46. Convert our wedding video to a transferable format.
Done! The wedding video, along with a great deal of other content, was successfully extracted from my ancient Apple laptop. The footage was not removed in perfect order, so some work will need to be done to reassemble the parts of the video, but at last, this goal has been completed.
So excited!
47. Memorize five new poems.
No progress.
48. Write to at least three colleges about why they should hire me.
I have begun writing the letter, though I’m starting to wonder if I would still want the job.
49. Complete my Eagle Scout project.
I’ve reached out to the folks who manage the cemeteries in Newington for assistance on this project in March.
No response.
I need to try again.
50. Post my progress regarding these resolutions on this blog and social media on the first day of every month.
Done!
May 31, 2023
I was naked onstage after all.
Last week I wrote about the unlikelihood of me performing storytelling or standup while naked. Then it occurred to me:
I’ve already been naked onstage once before.
I had forgotten.
Here is the story:
I am quite susceptible to hypnosis. This trait may run in the family. My mother, a smoker for more than twenty-five years, quit immediately after one hypnosis session and never smoked again.
I discovered my susceptibility to hypnosis after attending hypnosis shows twice in my life. Both times I had been brought on stage, successfully placed under hypnosis, and made to be a major part of the show.
The first time was in 1990. Frank Santos, a well-known comic and hypnosis expert, was performing in a nightclub in Attleboro, Massachusetts. I took my girlfriend, Kelly, to the show, unaware that I would soon become the main attraction.
When Santos asked for volunteers, I approached the stage. I had no idea if I was capable of being hypnotized, and honestly, I doubled its legitimacy, but I wanted to give it a shot. Santos performed a series of quick tests on each prospective volunteer, including a trust-fall, and I passed.
I’ve always been the kind of person who will trust-fall into anyone’s arms.
He asked me to assume a seat on the stage.
This is the last thing that I definitively remember. Everything from here on consists of memories that came back to me well after the show, in addition to what Santos, my girlfriend, and the audience members would later tell me.
I was hypnotized almost immediately. As volunteers failed to become hypnotized or quickly fell out of hypnosis, our ranks were thinned until four of us remained on the stage for the majority of the show.
In no specific order, I was told to do the following things onstage:
Santos told me I was Mick Jagger and asked me to perform Satisfaction for the audience. The DJ played a karaoke version, and I performed the entire song, singing and dancing and doing my best Jagger impression. This memory, and the absolute belief that I was Mick Jagger, returned months later when I was driving in my car on I-295 in North Attleboro, Massachusetts, and the song came on the radio. Like a ton of bricks, the entire recollection dumped into my head, forcing me to pull into a rest area to regain my composer.
In a way I cannot describe, I truly believed that I was Mick Jagger, and in my memory, the audience loved me.
I was told that the floor was quicksand and that I was sinking. I quickly grabbed the guy sitting next to me, forcing him to the ground and climbing atop him to save myself.
A peek at my true colors, perhaps. My unrelenting survival instinct. I don’t remember this at all. Kelly told me about it later.
With the permission of my girlfriend, I was told to make out with the hypnotized girl sitting next to me. Apparently, this went on for some time, and other, more colorful action was added to the moment. A vague memory of this came back to me several nights later while kissing my girlfriend. Again, like a ton of bricks landing on my head, I felt I had secretly cheated on her.
I recall panicking for a second before I grasped the reality of the situation.
But the moment that was remembered most was when Santos handed me a one-piece, unitard-like Superman costume and asked me to put it on. He told me that I was Superman and needed to save the world.
Santos later said, “In all my years of doing this, every volunteer has taken that costume from me and run to the restroom.”
I did not. Santos turned his back, thinking I had left the stage, and began working with another volunteer. As he did, I removed all of my clothing and donned the costume. My girlfriend later told me I was fully naked onstage for at least ten seconds before finally pulling the outfit up my legs and over my waist.
When Santos finally turned back and saw the pile of clothing and my half-naked body, he realized his mistake. But with no way to correct it and unaware until after the show of how exposed I had really been, we went on with the show. In my red and blue unitard, I proceeded to save several women in the audience from imaginary disasters before he specifically told me to go to the men’s room to change back into my regular clothing.
I later recalled saving a woman from an imaginary safe falling on her head and jumping over an electrified fence to rescue her from a pit of snakes.
Kelly told me that I lifted the woman right out of her seat and carried her across the room before depositing her on a table, but I don’t remember this at all.
I also have no recollection of my moment of nakedness onstage.
There were many other things that I was asked to do that night, but I never remembered them in any way. Needless to say, I did not pay for a single drink for the rest of the night and was patted on the back and thanked effusively by the audience members who remained after the show to drink and dance.
I’m not sure if I’m happy that there were no mobile phones in 1990 or not. Part of me wishes for a recording of that night to see what I can only vaguely remember, but another part is happy that those memories are lost to time.
Years later, in the summer of 1995, I would be hypnotized onstage again at the Eastern States Exposition, and this time the show was recorded. Once again, I became the featured attraction. Though I have little memory of that show, I purchased the videotape to see precisely what happened onstage.
It was uncomfortable to watch. It was like watching someone who had taken over my body. Though my friends watched the recording and cackled at my antics, I was forced to leave the room while it played.
I couldn’t stand watching it.
Frank Santos died in 2009. His son, Frank Santos, Jr., is a hypnotist who, like his father, now performs clinical hypnosis and a brand of R-rated comedy as his father once did in New England.
He will be performing on July 21 at Rosalini’s in Pawcatuck, CT.
I’ll be out of town that day.
May 30, 2023
Happy birthday, Charlie
Charlie turns 11 years old today.
This joyous boy has been in my life for 4,017 days.
On his first day, I wrote this on Greetings Little One, a blog I wrote to my children every day for their first eight years. I’m so happy that I did. I certainly remember the day that Charlie was born, but some of these details – glorious to me but less meaningful to you – had been lost until I re-read these words.
Great job, Past Matt, for taking care of Future Matt. That’s what writing does:
It preserves the past for the future version of yourself and others.
_____________________________
The cesarean section was planned for Friday, June 1, 2012, but our son decided to come two days early on May 30. Elysha began labor on Tuesday night but only realized this the next day.
The same thing happened with the birth of our daughter. It would seem that in terms of discomfort and pain, labor and indigestion are nearly indistinguishable for my wife.
The next morning, Elysha recognized that she was having contractions, but they were irregularly spaced and still not painful. She probably should have realized something was wrong when she awoke at 3:15 AM and could not go back to sleep. She eventually went to the kitchen at 4:45 to eat breakfast, an hour of the morning that I don’t think she’s ever seen before that day.
After Clara and I left for school, Elysha called the vet to make an appointment for Kaleigh, who was suffering from terrible allergies. Licking, scratching, and making us crazy. When the receptionist said the earliest appointment was three days away, Elysha began crying. The receptionist then offered a Saturday appointment, which in her state of hormone insanity, she declined (creating problems for me later on). After hanging up the phone, she began crying hysterically until finally falling asleep in bed.
Looking back on that phone call, Elysha says this was when she should have known she was in labor.
When she awoke, she called the doctor’s office and spoke to a nurse who told her to drink two glasses of water and wait for a return call. When the nurse called back five minutes later, she asked if Elysha had drunk the water.
“I drank one,” she said.
“Don’t drink the other,” the nurse said. “Come in.”
When Elysha arrived at the doctor’s office that morning, she was already three centimeters dilated and 75 percent effaced. She may have difficulty delivering children naturally, but her ability to go through labor relatively pain-free is remarkable.
Charlie’s timing could not have been better for a number of reasons.
First, I was at work when I received the call that the time had come. I had just finished my lunch and was minutes away from picking up my students from the cafeteria for an afternoon of teaching. This was to be followed by a district-wide curriculum meeting at Town Hall. I have always despised meetings, especially at the Town Hall where parking is near-impossible, so Charlie’s first act in this world was to extricate his father from something he would not have enjoyed.
Brilliant.
His early arrival also pleased my wife. She was unhappy with the prospect of another C-section for many reasons, mostly pertaining to recovery, but she also never liked the idea of planning the birth date for our child. She’s always felt that a baby should be born when her body and the baby decide the time is right. By coming two days early, Charlie did not allow doctors to choose his birthday.
Like most children, he chose it for himself.
The early arrival also eliminated what would have surely been an anxiety-riddled Thursday night prior to the scheduled C-section, as well as the forced starvation that would have been required. Instead, Elysha enjoyed a relaxing Tuesday evening and even had some breakfast on Wednesday morning, not knowing that eight hours later, she would be in surgery, delivering her son.
Once the doctor realized Elysha was in active labor, she sent her to the hospital. I stopped at McDonald’s for a Quarter Pounder with Cheese and fries before heading over because I had failed to eat prior to Clara’s birth, which turned out to be lengthy, and I had fallen down while walking to Friendly’s for food, panicking several nurses.
I met her there where she was waiting with Charlie’s soon-to-be godmother, Kim. Nurses and doctors came and went, checking vital signs, presenting us with consent forms, reminding us that surgery can sometimes end in death, and preparing Elysha for the procedure. It took almost two hours before we were ready for the delivery, but with the hustle and bustle involved with the preparations, the time flew by.
At one point, we were asked if we wouldn’t mind allowing a Trinity College student to be present at the birth. He was studying nurse interactions with patients and wanted to observe how the nurses assisted Elysha through the process. She consented, and so we were joined by Jake, who was only asked to leave (by Elysha) during the injection of Elysha’s spinal and when she nursed Charlie for the first time.
Eventually, we were brought to the operating room. Elysha went in ahead of me while I waited in an adjacent room. Fathers are never invited into the operating room until the mother is lying on the operating table, strapped down and drugged up. I’m not sure why this is the case since this seems to be one of the most frightening moments of the process for mothers, but I spent my time, about twenty minutes in all, reading email, checking Twitter, texting friends about the possibility of golf on Sunday, and taking notes on a memoir proposal that I hope to complete this summer.
During Clara’s birth, I wrote sections of my second book. Before transitioning to a C-section, Elysha pushed for four hours, so in between contractions, I would roll across the room and work on the novel. I had less time to write during Charlie’s birth, but I managed to complete the outline of my memoir and add two additional scenes to it.
When I was finally invited inside the operating room, I was greeted by “Something” by The Beatles, playing on the Pandora station that Elysha had chosen for the delivery. This was the song that Elysha walked down the aisle to six years ago at our wedding, so it seemed like a good omen.
Like Elysha’s previous cesarean section, the delivery only took about ten minutes. Putting her back together took considerably longer.
Unlike the previous C-section, Elysha was not cold, and the suction line that had been positioned in my field of vision had been moved to a position out of my direct line of sight. I eventually saw the line with all its gore, but at least I was able to avoid staring at it while I sat there.
Charlie was born at 3:09 PM as the song “Turn Turn Turn” was playing in the background—serendipity at its finest. I’m not sure if we could’ve chosen a more perfect song.
“It’s a boy!” the doctor proclaimed, and I began crying. A nurse explained they had no tissues but offered me gauze to wipe my eyes. The doctor lifted him over the sheet as the nurse warned him not to “drip on us.”
We took our first look at our son.
Someone in the room asked his name, and my wife shouted, “Charlie!” Her words sounded so happy and so right.
Then the nurses’ work began. As they worked on measuring and weighing and cleaning Charlie up, a nurse told us what was happening, step by step.
He weighed 7 pounds, 1 ounce. He was 18 inches long.
He scored a nine on the Apgar.
A nurse named Heather began taking photographs. We were told that she was especially good at delivery room photos, which turned out to be true. Even my highly discerning father-in-law thought these photos were perfection.
Charlie was grunting when he was born, a sign that his lungs were not yet clear of fluid, which is typical for C-section babies. I was encouraged to hold him upright and pound on his back to make him cry, and when I was not deemed forceful enough, the self-proclaimed “mean” nurse took him away to attempt her own form of cruelty.
Eventually, Charlie was taken to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit to clear his lungs. After about thirty minutes, he returned to us in the recovery room, where Elysha could hold him for the first time.
Welcome to the world, Charles Wallace Dicks!
May 29, 2023
Memorial Day 2023
On this Memorial Day, in addition to honoring the fallen servicemen and women who gave their lives for this country, I will also be thinking about the men in my family who came before me and fought for our country abroad.
My great-grandfather, who served in the US Navy and fought during World War 1.Both of my grandfathers, who served our country during World War 2.My father, who was drafted and fought in Vietnam.Thanks only to fortunate timing, my siblings and I were never called to defend our country and its interests abroad. My brother, Jeremy, joined the Army after high school, and he nearly went overseas during Desert Storm but operations concluded before he was needed.
By contrast, my mother’s father, a 1st Lieutenant in the 63rd infantry, spent 119 days in combat in Europe and on April 29, 1945, led his troops to liberate the Dachau concentration camps in Landsberg, Germany.
Thankfully, my family members survived combat overseas and returned home. They were lucky. More than 1.3 million Americans have died defending our country in its 247-year history.
It’s an enormously tragic number.
Giving your life in defense of our nation is one of the greatest sacrifices that a person can make. As I enjoy this day with family and friends, I will be thinking about all of the men and women who died to forge and defend this great country.
Happy Memorial Day, everyone.
May 28, 2023
Big moment in a big game
Charlie’s Little League catapulted into first place on Friday night with a decisive victory against the league’s then-first-place team.
Charlie played second and third base. He knocked down – and nearly snared – a line drive hit to his right. He cheered on his teammates. Backed up every throw from the catcher to the pitcher. Communicated the number of outs and where the play was to constantly.
It was beautiful to see. It’s also something he does in every game.
But the fourth inning was different.
Charlie was at the plate with a man on second and two outs. He swung at the first pitch but was late for strike one. He stepped out of the batter’s box, and the first base coach – the vice principal of our high school (and therefore a teacher) – told him that his swing was true, but he needed to swing earlier.
Don’t cock the bat as the pitch is thrown, he explained. “Just be ready to swing. Catch up to that ball.”
On the second pitch, Charlie swung again and missed.
Strike two.
He stepped out of the batter’s box again, and once again, the first base coach spoke to him from down the line.
“Better, but you’re still a little behind. Swing hard and fast,” the coach said.
Charlie returned to the batter’s box, took his stance, and waited for the pitch. When it came, Charlie swung, doing precisely what he was told, and connected with the ball in a way he never had before. He smacked the ball into centerfield for a single, scoring the man on second.
Standing on first base, the coach approached him, bumped fists with him, and said a few words. Charlie nodded, smiled, and then looked across the diamond to the third base coach for the signal.
He would eventually steal second base and score on a single by a teammate.
After Charlie hit the ball and stood safely on first base, Elysha turned to me. “Are you crying?” she asked.
I was not.
There is a difference between crying, which involves some form of verbal exhortation, the gulping of air, and possibly snot, and what I was doing, which was shedding a tear.
It was admittedly an odd response. Charlie has certainly hit the ball before. In the second inning, he hit the ball down the first baseline but was out when the first baseman snagged the ball for the force out.
But this was different. I watched Charlie listen to the coach. Think. Process the information. Adjust. I saw confidence that I had not seen before. I saw poise. I saw a boy who wanted to be coached, and I watched a coach who knew precisely what Charlie needed to hear to be successful.
It was a big deal for Charlie. A solid line drive to the outfield. His first hit to the outfield.
It was a big deal for me, too.
So yes, I shed a tear or two. And yes, I shed a couple more every time I think about that moment.
But it wasn’t just me who recognized the importance of that moment. At the end of the game, as the team gathered in right field and took a knee to listen to the coach’s post-game meeting, Charlie was awarded the game ball.
Best start to a Memorial Day weekend ever.
Elysha and I talked later about how fortunate we are to have so many incredible human beings in our children’s lives. From Little League to Scouting, our kids are blessed with these remarkable adult volunteers who give their time and energy to help our kids become better, more successful, happier people.
We’re so incredibly grateful.
You can’t ever have enough positive role models in your child’s life.
May 27, 2023
Naked storytelling
My friend recently read about a naked standup show in New York City and texted:
“Please don’t invite me to come watch if you decide to do this.”
I was honored by his thought that I might consider doing such a thing. Standup is hard enough already. The possibility in my friend’s mind that I might be willing to perform standup naked is a good thing, I think.
As an elementary school teacher, it’s probably not a good idea. Also, the show seems to draw professional comics, and I am definitely not a professional.
Still, it’s a thought.
About five years ago, I was invited to perform in a naked storytelling show in Boston, and I declined for the same reason:
Teachers probably shouldn’t appear naked in public. When I need to pee on the golf course, I walk into the woods on the advice of a former principal who advised that I never give a reason for anyone to ever think I’ve publicly exposed myself, accidentally or otherwise.
Performing naked seems like the extreme edge of this concern.
Also, I’m not sure how Elysha would feel about this.
But it still bothers me that I declined. I’m a person who preaches and relentlessly practices the philosophy of saying yes to every opportunity presented, every time I declined an opportunity lingers with me, making me wonder if it was a rationale, reasonable decision, or simply one born from fear.
In the case of naked storytelling, I’m not sure. I suspect that my role as an elementary school year is a good reason to avoid this kind of thing, then again, the show was in Boston, 150 miles away in another state.
Not exactly in my backyard.
And though my school district might prefer that I avoid such things, could they really terminate my employment over performing naked during non-school hours?
I’m not sure.
And if a video of the performance was ever recorded and uploaded to the internet, that might create some problems for me, too. My students already read my books, watch my stories online, and even listen to our podcast.
None of which I promote, advise, consent to, or even think is worthy of their time.
It’s not hard to imagine them also finding some audience member’s video of me performing standup naked, which would make for an awkward school day for both them and me.
Probably best that I said no.
But declining that opportunity to tell stories naked really has bothered me over the years. It violated a core principle of mine, and I worry that I may end up regretting that decision later in life.
But knowing that my friend saw naked standup as something I might do someday mitigates that fear of regret a bit. Perhaps it wasn’t latent fear that caused me to decline the offer but old-fashioned common sense.
