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\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tWelcome to Episode 39 of Navigating the Fustercluck\u2014a podcast full of snackable insights to help you navigate the everchanging world of creativity & marketing.\xa0My name is Wegs, like eggs with a W, joining you from Deaf Mule Studios in Dallas, for a special edition of the show.\xa0A common thread thru many of our episodes has been the art and impact of storytelling. Since this is the week of my birthday, and some of you have asked for more details about me personally, I thought that we\u2019d share a story I told live on stage for a local storytelling group called Oral Fixation. It\u2019s a story about me and my father. It\u2019s a story that may just give you some ideas on how to present your stories. Business. And personal. A story called, The Triple Special Day:\xa0The Triple Special Day\xa0With an uncertain hand, I took the dull shears, and cut off 5 locks of his bone-white hair.\xa0One for my mother. One for my older sister, Lea. One for my younger sister, Karen. One for me. And one for which I had special plans.\xa030 minutes had passed since my father had drawn his last breath. Staring down at his face, two things struck me:\xa0First, I was not placed on this earth to be a barber.\xa0Second, over the years, my father and I had come a long way.\xa0A long, long way from the gaping silences, and years of me going M.I.A. from every major holiday but Christmas.\xa0Back then, it seemed like only 2 topics were non-combustible.\xa0Sports was one.\xa0Bonafide Cheeseheads, fondue, and not blood, ran through our veins.\xa0Then there were my grandparents.\xa0Mama & Papa had died while I was a toddler, yet lived on in stories.\xa0Take their wedding…\xa0Grandpa called it…\xa0The Triple Special Day.\xa0As dad told it, after WWI, Austria\u2014 lederhosen, not kangaroos— was hurting– badly.\xa0Still, on August 4th, 1924, my grandfather, two of his brothers, and their three brides, married in one large ceremony in a small village called Putzleinsdorf…\xa0(Population 300, counting the cows & pigs. 400, with the chickens & geese.)\xa0According to the local paper:\xa0Probably never has our place experienced a celebration like that on August 4th.\xa0To escape hard times, 11 days later, all six boarded the Hansa, the ship that would take them to America.\xa0While they often dreamt of it, my grandparents were too poor to return.\xa0Over the years, Grandma would helplessly sob over the letters announcing the deaths of her sister, brother, friends and father.\xa0The closest my grandparents ever got back to Austria was when dad took them to see the Sound of Music.\xa0Sometimes, I would ask him, Dad, do you think you\u2019ll ever visit Austria?\xa0We\u2019ll see, he\u2019d say.\xa0For me, however, it was only a question of when.\xa0Shortly before my 28th birthday, my answer finally arrived.\xa0The U.S. Postal Service kindly delivered it to my doorstep…\xa0At the time, I was living the dream, but not sleeping much in Chicago. The mad boy had become a \u201cmad man\u201d, writing ads for beer.\xa0At long last, I felt free of my parents, teachers and my hometown of Kenosha, Wisconsin.\xa0Or as I called it back then, \u201cKenowhere\u201d.\xa0I felt like I\u2019d made it\u2014 at least at first.\xa0Over time, a creeping feeling started gnawing at me– I couldn\u2019t escape my way to happiness. Not even a world-class city like Chicago truly felt like home. Disappointing, because growing up, I just knew that Chicago was my pre-ordained destination.\xa0The letter my mailman delivered that November day would take me another direction, and time zone all together.\xa0Even in a mountain of circulars, bills and my 12th overdue notice from the Columbia House Records Club, this letter stood out.\xa0The envelope had striped-edges, looking as if it actually cared about the message it cradled inside. The postage was like art. I took this odd-looking letter down the block to my favorite hot dog stand\u2014the infamous Wiener Circle, where I ordered two red-hots and an order of cheese fries.