My parents were named Norbert and Agnes, but everyone called them Nubs and Aggie. Not exactly the nicknames a kid would pick out for his parents, but they were the best parents a kid could ever be lucky enough to have.

Nubs was born in St. Cloud, Minnesota, and his grandparents were from Germany. Aggie was born in Minnesota, too, and her parents were both Irish. Now, that’s quite a mix: German structure blended with the carefree heart of the Irish. Good stuff, you betcha.

Dad worked at the St. Cloud post office where he sorted mail for a living. He was a good guy—just not the most flexible person you’d ever meet. He was a classic old-school dad:

“We eat at 5:30 p.m. sharp. If you are not at the table, you won’t be eating with us tonight.”

“We buy Ford. What the heck were you thinking when you bought that Fiat?”

“We eat fish on Friday. I don’t care if the Pope says it’s now okay to eat meat on Friday. I am not going to go to hell because that guy changed the rules.”

“That’s my chair. If I am not in the house, you can go ahead and give it a test drive, but if I walk in the back door, you get the heck out of my chair.”

One thing was for sure—you knew where my dad stood on all issues.

My mom? Well, she’s a saint, and if there’s a hard way to do something, she’ll find it. At eighty-seven years of age, she still does the laundry in the basement with a Maytag wringer washer. You can only find them in antique stores today. She then takes the laundry, hauls it in a basket up the basement steps and outside to hang on the clotheslines. Mom does this every Monday, every month of the year, including January.

Of course, if you live outside of Minnesota, you may have no idea what happens to Mom’s wet laundry when she hangs it outside in January. The clothes don’t freeze eventually . . . they freeze immediately! Mom then takes the frozen laundry off the lines—stiff as a board—and hangs it on the kitchen chairs to dry. I once asked her, “Mom, why do you do this?”

Her response was, “Oh, it just smells better.”

Mom has arthritis in her hands, and sometimes, it gets pretty painful. Yet, in her spare time, she sews quilts and gives them away. Mom’s belief is that if you let the little pains in life slow you down, you’re giving up, and there’s no time for that.

I can honestly say that I have never—and I do mean never—heard my mother complain or whine about anything. I, on the other hand, whine constantly! When I grow up, I want to be as appreciative of life as my mom is every day.

# # #

With five children in the house when we were growing up, Mom never worked outside the home—not until Dad retired. Then, she got a job as a cafeteria supervisor at an elementary school. Supervisor meant that she carried a washcloth, a whistle, and a clipboard. Her mission was to keep a sense of order in the cafeteria.

Going to work wasn’t a tough decision for Mom: Spend a couple of hours every day monitoring 700 noisy, hungry elementary school kids in a crowded cafeteria, or spend that time with classic old-school Nubs? She jumped at the chance to be with the 700 noisy kids.

Mom loved her job. She connected with the kids, and the kids connected with her. They called her “Aggie, the Retainer Lady.” This was because kids wrapped their retainers in napkins and put them on their trays at lunch. At the end of lunch, they’d often forget about the wrapped retainers and accidentally dump them in the trash.

Five minutes later, they would run to my mom and say, “Aggie, I forgot my retainer was wrapped in a napkin, and I threw it in the garbage can!” With that, Mom would don a pair of rubber gloves and dig in the trash bin until she found the retainer. Whether the student wore it again is another question, but Mom holds the record for saved retainers at that school.

Mom was also famous for keeping Hershey’s Kisses in her pocket, and whenever students had a birthday, they always told my mom in order to get one of “Aggie’s birthday kisses.”

One Christmas after Mom had been working at the school for a few years, I was talking to Dad, and he came out with his usual, “What the hell!” It was one of his favorite expressions. It worked for everything—good, bad, or indifferent.

Then, there was a long pause, and he shook his head.

“What is it, Dad?”

“Oh, it’s your mother.”

“What about Mom?”

“Those doggone candy canes, Mark. Cripes! Seven hundred of them to be exact. Every year since she’s been at the elementary school, it’s the same darn thing. Plus, she doesn’t want the little candy canes—they’re not good enough! She wants the big ones, for crying out loud. I have to drive all over town and try to find them, and you know we’re living on a fixed income. It’s not like we’re the Rockefellers. Money doesn’t grow on trees! I wish it did, but it doesn’t. But you know your mother!”

“Dad, I’m clueless here. What are you talking about?”

At this point, my sister, JoAnne, the kindergarten teacher, joined in the conversation and explained to me that Mom was giving every student at the elementary school a candy cane over the holidays. On the cafeteria menu board, it would read, “Aggie’s candy canes!”

Now, for Dad, this was a big deal, because he had to drive all over town and try to find those 700 big candy canes. Mom would have done it, but she was never taught to drive as a teenager. Later in life, she was never given the opportunity to drive because the driver’s seat was always Dad’s “chair.”

“Mom, do you really do that?” I asked.

“Oh, yes.”

“How long have you been giving away candy canes, Mom?”

“Oh, every year. The kids really like them.”

“Mom, that is so sweet. What do the kids say when they get one of Aggie’s candy canes?”

“Oh, Mark, you know kids. As long as they pick up the wrappers, that’s fine.”

“How about the school principal, Mom. What does he say?”

“Oh, Mark, he doesn’t say anything.”

“Mom, you give out 700 candy canes, and this guy doesn’t say a word?”

“Mark, he’s kind of a Type A. He’s an ass.”

Mom rarely uses that kind of language, but she nailed the guy with that one. Once I stopped laughing, I got upset. My mom was giving a candy cane to every kid in the school for eight years in a row, and not only did this principal not say anything, but he didn’t even notice.

I wanted to drive over to the principal’s house and say, “Hi, my name is Mark. My mom gives a candy cane to every student in your school, and you don’t even notice. Mom is right—you are a Type A.”

I wanted to do it, but I didn’t, because guys like that just don’t get it. They wouldn’t know a “Nice Bike” if it ran over them. They don’t know that when you appreciate others and their contributions that it creates a culture where more people contribute and leave the campsite a bit better than they found it. It helps to create a sense of teamwork within an organization.

When Mom retired from her job, she was sixty-eight years old. She didn’t want to quit, but the school district had a policy that all employees must retire by that age. A lame policy, if you ask me. Some people well over sixty years old act like they’re in their forties, and some people in their forties act like they’re two weeks from retirement. It’s never the age—it’s always the attitude.

Well, when the sixth graders at the school heard that Aggie the Candy Cane Lady/Aggie the Retainer Lady was being forced to retire, they were not happy. They knew she loved connecting with them and that she didn’t want to quit.

So, the sixth graders started a petition drive to “Save Aggie.” Six hundred out of 700 students signed the petition. No doubt the kindergarteners would have signed it, too, if they’d known how to read and write.

The students presented the petition to the school board at a regularly scheduled meeting. Although the board was impressed by the action, they voted to maintain the mandatory retirement policy.

Mom moved on to have lunch with Nubs every day instead of the 700 elementary school children, and the candy cane tradition stopped. No more Hershey’s Kisses on birthdays either, and you can bet that quite a few retainers remained in the lunchtime trash bin.

If you go to my parents’ home on Washington Memorial Drive, you won’t find a lot of awards on the walls. You’ll find the pictures of five children, twelve grandchildren, and a ceramic plaque of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper on the wall. The values are clear in this house.

If you head toward the bathroom, you’ll see a set of drawers in the hallway. If you open what used to be the junk drawer, you’ll see that the junk has all been cleaned out. The broken crayons, balls of string, collections of odd pens and pencils, random pads of paper, and half-used glue bottles? They’re gone.

The drawer is now filled with a neat stack of paper. Each sheet has a heading that reads, “Save Aggie! The Candy Cane Lady,” and a collection of signatures is underneath each heading. There are more than 600 signatures from elementary school children for my mom. She connected with each of the students in her lunchroom, and they responded to that connection by acknowledging her generosity, honoring her dedication, and connecting with her kindness.

Dad always had his chair, but Mom has her drawer. Every now and then on a cloudy day, she walks over, pulls the drawer open a bit, and she can almost hear the love of 600 kids saying, “Nice Bike, Aggie!”

This story was originally published in Nice Bike: Making Meaningful Connections on the Road of Life, by Mark Scharenbroich. © 2010 Echo Bay Publishing. Reprinted with permission.

Taking “Homemade Italian” Literally

The 35-seat Enoteca Maria restaurant brings in grandmothers to cook for customers: nonnas from Napoli, Sicily, Abruzzo, Venice, Milan, and Campania.

What’s for dinner? Depends on who’s in the kitchen and which ingredients are in the refrigerator. Every day, one of the eight grandmothers employed by owner Joe Scaravella arrives at about 3 p.m. and gets cooking.

The best dishes, from recipes handed down generation to generation, are served randomly throughout the week.  The food is authentic Italian, full-flavored and made with love (and without a microwave).  The grandmothers relish their time with the staff and customers.

The only question one Italian woman asked before accepting the position: “Who does the dishes?”

Sometimes, when the nonnas get together, they disagree on recipes, “but then we have a glass of wine and all differences are resolved.”

Kate loved her delicioso meal at Enoteca Maria; however, the intergenerational connections between the Italian grandmothers, the customers and the community at large made for a unique experience. The applause for the nonna-chef of the night could be heard down the street.

Owner Joe Scarvalla is a Nice Bike kinda guy.  He acknowledges the talents of the nonnas, honors their talents and connects them to the community. Now, that’s Italian. Nice Bike, Joe!

Do you have a favorite restaurant that serves up great homemade food, or great connections, like the ones at Enoteca Maria? Leave a few crumbs below.

Mark,

I just finished reading Nice Bike and really enjoyed it. It heightened my awareness of the importance of complimenting people and affirming them whenever you can. Your message of conversing with people at their level —engaging people in conversation in what interests them —is something I really needed to hear. That message was so timely as I visited my husband’s dad in a care center over the last two years.  At first, I brought books that interested me and games that I thought he would enjoy.  However, they were not interesting to him.

The only other person in the area was a twenty something young woman who was curled into a corner. Kate noticed that the other girl was quietly sobbing to herself, looking at her phone and generally very distraught.

Kate thought for a moment and reached into her travel bag and pulled out a dark chocolate bar that she always keeps on hand in the event of a chocolate emergency.  Kate approached the crying woman, put the chocolate bar on top of her backpack and said, “Chocolate always makes everything better.”

Through her tears the young woman said, “Thanks, that’s really sweet of you” then packed it into her bag and headed down the concourse.  Kate left the concourse minutes later and headed down to board her flight.

After Kate boarded her flight, she was amazed to see the young woman who was sobbing in the hallway was the last passenger to board the plane to Minneapolis.  Even stranger, the woman was seated in the middle seat right in front of Kate.  However, as she boarded, she didn’t notice Kate right behind her.

Just as the flight was getting ready to land, Kate over heard  the young woman telling the passenger next to her, “I was on the standby list for this flight home to Minneapolis and the airline was just jerking me around not giving me any information.  All I wanted to do was to get home for Christmas and this was the last flight out.

“I broke down in tears sitting by myself when the sweetest thing happened.  A really wonderful girl just came over to me, gave me a chocolate bar and told me that everything was going to be all right.  It was so nice.”  The young woman had no idea that Kate was right behind her.

Nice Bike is about acknowledging others, honoring them and making a meaningful connection.  Kate didn’t need to find out what was wrong or why the other girl was crying, she just wanted to connect with her during a tough time.

This Christmas, give the gift of Nice Bike.  Acknowledge, honor and connect with someone not because of what it does for you but because of what it can do for others.  That is a true gift.

Nice Bike, Kate.

Last summer, driving on University Avenue in St. Paul, a guy in a shiny big car pulled up quickly behind me, passed me on the right, slowed a bit in front of me, and then pulled way over to the far left lane. I honked, didn’t have to but hell, he cut me off! As fate would have it, we’re side by side at a stoplight a couple blocks later. His windows are down and so were mine. He was a big dude. In any of the manly arts except for a spelling bee he’d have bettered me in pretty short order. He looked right at me.  I glared back at him, smiled and said: “Nice set of wheels.” Sure enough, he nodded, smiled and said “Thanks”. Pause. “Didn’t mean to cut you off back there. Sorry, man.” No way, had I not sent forth a complimentary message would that have been the same verbal exchange that he and I might have otherwise had.  Nice Bike not only creates connections but also kept me out of the hospital.

Nice Bike, book reader, George Kremer

However, every time the crew at Jiffy Lube changes the oil and puts a reminder tag in my window, they list the 3,000 instead of 5,000 for the next change.  In the past, I have always made a point of asking the crew at Jiffy to make sure to indicate my next change at 5,000 miles. I always got the same response, “No problem” yet it always was a problem because they would forget.

The last time I went into Jiffy Lube, I gave the young man my same requests, noting that it gets by most of his fellow workers.  His response was different, “I am so sorry to hear about the past service sir, I will personally see to it and make sure it’s done right.”  His name was Elliott, a year out of high school but he understood customer service well beyond his years.

He took responsibility to make sure it was done right.  He honored me with a personal promise to get it right – which he did.  In fact, before I drove out, he made a point to walk over and point out the correct figure on the reminder tab.

The three action steps of Nice Bike are acknowledge, honor and connect.  This young Jiffy Lube crew member did all three, he acknowledged the problem, he honored me by making a personal promise and he connected with me as a customer.

Nice Bike, Jiffy Lube guy.

My presentation closed out the three day meeting of 200 key leaders and management for Encompass. After my presentation, Cynthia Young, the President of Encompass wrapped up the meeting.

No doubt about it, Cynthia is a dynamic leader. She has a clear vision for the company, a keen ability to surround herself with talented people, and she knows how to connect with her team.

Like most company presidents, Cynthia wanted to thank the team that worked so hard in putting together a great meeting. At most meetings like this, the President will ask the planning team to stand-up and, as their names are scrolling on a screen up front, the audience applauds for 8-10 seconds. It is the norm.

Nice Bike is beyond the standard. It is making connections that move people. Cynthia went beyond the standard. She asked all of the 12 planning team members to stand-up, and then she said, “I want to thank each and every one of the team members for putting in so much time to make this such a turning point meeting for all of us.

“Now, most of you know either the team member’s face, their title or what they do for Encompass, but each of these people has so much more going on in their lives and I wanted to take a moment to not only say thank you, but to share something about each of these talented people …”

Cynthia went on to share something about each person’s hobbies, their family, their service in the community – something unique about each and every person. Her comments were specific, interesting and very complimentary. No notes. It was all from the head and from the heart.

I have never seen people beam so much in my life. The room lit up with their smiles. Why does Cynthia Young have such a dedicated team at Encompass? She recognizes, validates and connects with each and every team member.

Nice Bike, Cynthia Young.