What My Mom Taught Me About Confidence (and Candy Bars)

An ode to my mom for her birthday

Every time I go grocery shopping, I buy myself a candy bar.

It could be a Milky Way, maybe Twix, and occasionally a 3 Musketeers if I’m feeling sentimental and willing to pretend nougat is satisfying.

I don’t buy one because I’m being psychologically tricked into an “impulse buy” every time. I do it because, as a kid, that was the deal: I went shopping with my mom, I behaved, I got a candy bar at the checkout.

Simple. Transactional. Sweet.

That’s just one of many things I picked up from my mom, who turned a spry 71 on Tuesday. And I’ve been reflecting on just how much of who I am is because of who she is.

The Confidence She Gave Me

I’ve done some “brave” things in my life.

I left a great job at Procter & Gamble to start a business around humor. I became a digital nomad. I moved to Panama. I started telling jokes on stage that sometimes work. All of that required a certain amount of audacity (or foolishness, depending on your perspective).

But that confidence didn’t come from nowhere. It came from the foundation my mom built. From the very beginning, she made it clear that I was loved—no matter what.

Not loved if I got good grades. Not loved when I accomplished something. Just… loved.

The only thing bigger than those glasses is her heart.

When I told her I was leaving P&G, she didn’t panic. The same is true for when I decided to become a nomad, when I told her I was proposing to Pretzel (my wife), and when we opted to move to Panama

Each time she was open, supportive, and asked reasonable questions (like when proposing to Pretzel: “Why didn’t you do this sooner?”).

And she always followed it up with, “Well, if it doesn’t work out, you can always come live with me again.” Not a guilt trip. Not passive aggressive. Just that the option was there.

That kind of support changes you. It makes you braver than you probably deserve to be.

Her laugh came first, before any stage

One simple way she shows that support is she’s very quick to laugh. She appreciates the small things in life and often gets “tickled pink” (as she might say).

Like when I was little, I had a joke I repeated so often it should’ve driven her insane. It was:

The Ohio River is flooding: “Dam it, dam it, dam it.”

It’s a silly joke the first time you hear it, it’s just me cursing by the second or third time. And yet she laughed. Every single time..

Years later, I started doing stand-up for real. My first actual paid gig was opening for Pauly Shore, six shows at the Cincinnati Funny Bone.

My set was seven, maybe ten minutes of material that… wasn’t great. And yet, she came to every single show. She sat through the exact same routine every night. Then stuck around for an hour of raunchy jokes that were definitely not her style.

She’s since seen me on TEDx stages, during my Dry Bar Comedy Special, and through the vows I shared with Pretzel. Every time, she stays, claps, and laughs in all the places I hope someone would.

She shows up. That’s what she does

And not just for me. As a friend, a sister, a daughter, and a mom to three boys (naturally, I’m the youngest, because practice makes perfect).

Realizing Not Everyone Gets This

As I’ve gotten older and met more people, I’ve realized something: not everyone has a mom like mine. In fact, the vast majority don’t.

It makes me want to be that kind of parent to Pineapple (my daughter) and that kind of spouse to Pretzel. And if I’m being honest, I could be doing a much better job of being that kind of son.

It’s easy to make fun of the generation that got told “you can do anything.” But when someone actually tells you that, and then keeps showing up, over and over again, you start to believe it.

I’ve made a bunch of “audacious” decisions in my life. Stuff that looks risky on paper. But I’ve never felt like I was taking some kind of giant leap, because I never doubted, no matter what, I always had someone in my corner who said, “You can come home.”

So yeah. I still buy a candy bar. Not because I need it (my A1C results prove that). But because it’s one of a thousand things that reminds me of the person who helped me become who I am today.

Happy birthday, Mom. Thanks for everything.

-Andrew

PS. My mom’s coming to town next week, and I’m thinking of interviewing her for a podcast episode. Should I do it? If so, what should I ask her?