Matthew Dicks

Gratitude journal: The denial of ice cream

Tonight I am grateful that I did not grow up in Park Slope in 2012 where lunatic parents are attempting to ban ice cream trucks from the public parks because saying no to their children is difficult and sometimes makes their children cry.

“Along with the first truly beautiful day of the year, my son and I had our first ruined day at the playground. Two different people came into the actual playground with ice cream/Italian ice push carts. I was able to avoid it for a little while but eventually I left with a crying 4-year-old.”

No parent wants their four-year old son to cry, but if he cries when he is refused ice cream, those tears are a necessary and important part of growing up.

What I hear in this statement is a selfish woman who had her “first truly beautiful day of the year” ruined when her four-year old boy acted like a four-year old boy.

Thankfully, not every parent in Park Slope is an idiot.

One mom — who asked to remain anonymous for fear of being ostracized by other parents — said her friends want an ice-cream ban, but she disagrees.

“People just need to say no,” the mom said while with her son at Prospect Park’s aptly named Harmony Playground. “I say no to him all the time, and I feel his wrath. But he needs to hear that no.”

This mother is right, though why she is worried about being ostracized by a bunch of lunatic parents is beyond me. She should embrace the threat of being ostracized and use her free time to find more intelligent, reasonable friends.

There’s nothing worse than your kid becoming close friends with a spoiled brat.

I had very little growing up. Treats like ice cream were so rare that we learned to never even waste time asking for it. Yet I look back upon my childhood with great fondness. I was a happy child, and I learned how to be happy without the need for material possessions and ice cream.

These children in Park Slope need to learn these same lessons, and yes, learning these lessons can be difficult and even painful at times.

But what’s the alternative? Insulating your child from every possible temptation? Curbing desire by eliminating anything that your child might find desirous?

Tonight I am grateful to have grown up in a place at a time when the happiness of a child and a parent did not supersede the importance of a lesson learned.

Gratitude journal: Location location location

Tonight I find myself grateful for my location. I live in Newington, CT, two towns over from the state capitol of Hartford and in the relative center of the state.

This positions me about two hours west of Foxboro, MA, home of the New England Patriots, and about two hour east of New York City, the center of the universe.

As a Patriots season ticket holder and an author whose publisher is located in Manhattan, it’s a pretty good location.

Equidistant from these two exceptionally important entities in my life.

My wife and I also have family and friends living in the city, and I find myself driving there with ever increasing frequency for events like The Moth, making our location ever more ideal.  

We are also about ninety minutes south of my in-laws, who make their home in the Berkshires, which means they are close enough to see them fairly regularly but far enough away to prevent the unexpected visit. 

The perfect buffer zone.  

Tonight we drove into the city to celebrate my wife’s grandmother’s 90th birthday. While I do not particularly enjoy driving into the city, especially when the overall drive time exceeds the amount of time I am actually spending at the restaurant with Nana, it’s nice to be able to get there without too much trouble.

Gratitude journal: Surprise

Tonight I am grateful for the potential for surprise that fills my life as an author.

Today my agent informed me that we had received an offer from a French publisher for MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND. Just like that, my book will be translated into another foreign language and sold in another country.

I woke up thinking that this would be a relatively uneventful day, but by noon, I was going to be published in France.

Surprise! 

Earlier this week I received news from my film agent that a production company has expressed interest in MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND. While this means absolutely nothing (both of my other books are currently optioned for film and television but nothing has happened as of yet), this news brings greater possibility to my life.

Surprise!

I also learned this week that the book has entered its fifth printing in the UK and its third printing in Australia.

Surprise!

Admittedly this was an especially surprising week for me, but it’s the possibility for surprise that I find myself especially grateful for this evening. Before publishing my first book, my life was relatively predictable.

Not unhappy, uneventful or unfulfilling, but marked by considerably fewer surprises.

Being an author requires a great deal of patience. Weeks and months can go by without a speck of good news and sometimes some absolutely dreadful news. But knowing that surprises like the ones that filled my week could be just around the corner make the hard work and the endless waiting all worth it.

Gratitude journal: A stolen kiss

Tonight I am grateful for a stolen kiss, which wasn’t really stolen considering it was requested that I steal it.

After putting Clara in her crib, I asked for a kiss goodnight and she refused, which she does quite often. Instead, she typically latches onto Elysha and cuddles with her while Elysha sings her a song and I turn out the light and leave the room.

As I stood in the doorway tonight, ready to turn out the light, Clara said, “Daddy, come steal a kiss”, a phrase that I use from time to time when sneaking in and kissing her while she is busy doing something else.

It’s one of those moments I suspect I will never forget.       

Gratitude journal: The ticking of the clock

I find myself struggling to find gratitude this evening.

I left the house at 6:30 this morning and returned at 8:00 this evening, thanks to a day of teaching followed by a series of parent-teacher conferences. As a result, I spent about 90 seconds with my daughter today, who was already in her crib and nearly asleep when I finally returned home. 

I can’t tell you how upsetting this is to me.

And I get to do it again tomorrow.

And I already did it yesterday.

Nevertheless, there were things to be grateful about today.

1. My conferences went very well.
   
2. My students worked very hard throughout the school day.
   
3. One of my colleagues is keenly aware of the number of hours that a classroom teacher works during the week of parent-teacher conferences and has done her very best to ease our burden throughout the week, including today. I can’t tell you how much this means to classroom teachers. For this alone I should be supremely grateful.    
   
4. I received great news from my agent regarding sales of my new book in the UK, Australia  and New Zealand.
   
5. My audiobook publisher sent the audio recording of the first two chapters of my new book, and I loved it.

In truth, there was much to be grateful for today, but the almost complete absence of my daughter looms large over everything else.

So I try to find gratitude for all the good things that have taken place today, but instead, I find myself grateful for every minute that ticks off the clock, for each minute that passes brings me closer to the moment when I can pluck my daughter from her crib and squeeze her again.

Gratitude journal: Daddy

Tonight I am grateful to be called Daddy.

My daughter is three years old, so Daddy is probably safe for a while, but I know that Daddy will eventually evolve into Dad.

And while Dad is just fine, there is nothing like walking in the door after a twelve hour day of teaching and parent-teacher conferences and hearing your daughter scream “Daddy!” from the back of the house, followed by the scampering of her little feet as she runs to the front door. 

Gratitude journal: The best of friends

As you may know, my next novel, MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND, has already been released in the UK, Australia, New Zealand, and even places like Dubai and Singapore.

Anywhere that my British publisher, Little Brown UK. might ship books.

In the US, however, the book doesn’t publish until August.

Unwilling to wait for the August release, several of my friends have decided to purchase the UK edition of the book, despite the additional cost of shipping from overseas, and despite their assurances that they intend to purchase the US edition as well.

I find these decisions quite humbling.

Tonight, one of my friends received his overseas shipment and sent me this photograph.

I can’t tell you how grateful I am for the friends that I have in my life.

Gratitude journal: Clara’s kisses

Tonight I am grateful for the way Clara will grab hold of my the cheeks and pull me in for a kiss.

There will come a day when her kisses are decidedly less exuberant and significantly better aimed, and that will be a sad day indeed. 

Gratitude journal: The almost perfect game

Yesterday I was grateful for poker, which I described as the perfect game.

Tonight I am grateful for golf, the almost perfect game. I played today thanks to a spat of unseasonably balmy temperatures, my first time on the links this year. I played well at times, poorly at others and finished with a score of 56, which stinks.

But still, it was golf. In March.

Like poker, golf is competition wrapped in a social milieu. Despite the ongoing battle for first place (or the more important battle to avoid last place), it is also time well spent with friends. It does not place nearly as many intellectual demands upon a player as poker does but adds a layer of physicality that poker does not possess. 

It’s a magnificent game, and I would play everyday if I could.

Here’s the thing that keeps golf from being as perfect as poker:

At the poker table, anyone can win. An inexperienced, stupid player can make a series of good decisions, become uncharacteristically aggressive, or pick up on a tell and win the game. At the poker table, every player, regardless of skill or experience, is a legitimate and persistent threat to the best player at the table.

Golf is very different. I play golf with guys who are in many ways playing an entirely different game than me. They are hitting the ball so much farther and higher and with such greater precision that beating them is a near-impossibility.

While poker provides a relatively level playing field for all players, golf does not. Experience plays an enormous role.

And some guys are just better.

Still, I love the game, despite its imperfection. Thankfully, winning and losing does not matter as much in golf because it lacks the head-to-head combat of poker.

Simply put, you cannot play poker without an opponent.

This is not the case for golf. Opponents are not required to enjoy the game. In many ways, you play every round of golf by yourself while in the midst of three other people and then compare your scores at the end of the round to see who played alone best.

If given the choice, I prefer the cut-throat, head-to-head battles that poker provides, but golf is a close second.

Gratitude journal: The perfect game

Tonight I am grateful for poker.  It is a perfect game. It creates an environment in which a group of players attempt to extract money from one another by utilizing intelligence, observation, intimidation, daring, creativity, histrionics, experience, bravery and coercion.

Yet the game is played in a social setting amongst people who genuinely like one another. It creates a unique context in which I can spend time with friends, chatting and laughing, even as I take their money.

There really is no better game.

The fact that I made about $60 last night increases my level of gratitude considerably.