A TRUE Story from the Heart

Recently, a friend who had been struggling with finding a direction in life’s maze asked me why I chose the career path that I had been on for 20+ years and had enjoyed so much.

It was an interesting question: Why are you doing what you’re doing?

The answer was pretty therapeutic…more so to me than to him!

But first…before I share that response…for the sake of 100 percent transparency …let’s go back.

My nickname has been “True” since college. Why? Well, I figured it was because the guys were too lazy…or scared…to say my full name…Trueblood, which is pretty common in my native Indiana believe it or not.

Who can blame ‘em, right!

I mean before HBO normalized the name with their show, True Blood, I had to spell it to many frightened people, many times a day!

BUT ALAS…the length of the name was not the issue. 

When asked, they told me it was because I sincerely and genuinely cared about people, animals…basically anyone that could feel joy or pain.

It’s True.

That kind of became my motto.

I guess that really started in middle school. I remember “calling out” a friend for demeaning another friend and saying, “You can’t treat someone like that.” When the reply was, “Why not?!!?”, a proverbial wave of Golden Rule social justice began pouring out of me.

Treating others with compassion…especially those who may be facing some tough challenges…became ingrained in me pretty early.

You see, my world took a steep turn on May 9th, 1982. It was Mother’s Day, and a great one…at least initially. It meant that family was visiting in full-force. It meant playing baseball in the front yard…eating cake…hamburgers on the grill…did I mention the cake?

At any rate, it was that day…12 years and 54 days into my humble little jaunt on earth, that a big part of my world crashed. My Mom was pretty much the center of my universe—my Dad worked a ton, so my older sister, Mom and I spent a lot of time together. It was on that Mother’s Day afternoon in 1982 that I learned that my Mom might have breast cancer.

My head spun.

I was overwhelmed with dread…fear…shock. I wanted to cry…scream…hide under any available rock.

What I did was head off to the ‘woods’, a small forest behind our house where I often explored with my collies Captain and Frisky. It was my way of trying to wrap my head around something that was unexpected and horrifying to me.

As it turned out, Mom did have cancer. The next three years were a huge battle…for her, certainly; and, the entire family. Mom’s approach was courageous and so brave. Dad was his typical amazingly, supportive self.

I was constantly scared. Many issues were swirling for a pre-teen to deal with for certain. And that’s not even accounting for the typical rough waters your average kiddo has to navigate.

People tried to help, but often did the opposite.

We were a pretty religious family. Although my spiritual self has evolved over the years, we were living in a distinctly conservative church-dominated world. That gave me a strong base to build from, in terms of earning my nickname, but came with frustrations.

I remember “talk” from Mom’s friends ‘wondering what sin she had committed to “bring this on her”.

I was stunned.

I was furious.

Could people really be this small minded? Display such outright ignorance? It crushed Mom, of course.

Keep in mind, this was from the same people and same church that, decades before my birth, had told my Grandpa that—even though he was doomed to hell because he was born out of wedlock, he should come to church anyway and give his wife and son at least some hope of heaven.

WOW…people really are stupid, aren’t they?

That taught me that people can be very mean, even if they believe they’re on the “right side” of religious ideology. It also taught me that ignorance was not bliss—it’s downright unacceptable.

So, any chance I got to stand up for someone enduring a big challenge…to “fight” for them…I took it. Mom was fighting. I figured I should too.

Maybe it just took my mind off of my fear. After all, during the following summer of 1983, the cancer returned. I think I might’ve slept a total of eight hours that summer. There was simply too much worrying to do and I couldn’t get it all done in the daytime. This was pretty much a constant state.

Each trip Mom made to the hospital…worry.

Each trip for chemo…worry.

Every procedure…worry…worry…you get the picture.

Then, on February 16th, 1986, my Dad walked into the house after spending the day with Mom in the hospital—she had been there since early December. His eyes were full of tears and he simply said, “She’s in a better place now.” My sister rushed to hug Dad. I just fell.

When you’re 15, it’s hard to describe that feeling…that heavy of a loss. I was devastated. Simply put, the biggest part of me was gone. I felt numb. I was a shell.

What got me through it? Well, sure…my Dad and my sister were amazing, but they were hurting, too. It was really my friends that offered a distraction. Batch…Danny…Anthony…the other Danny…Nicole…Michelle…Shirl…Jimmy…Stephanie…I could go on and on. They let me hurt. They hurt with me and helped me think about moving on.

What didn’t help?

Well, that would be part of my extended family, specifically my Mom’s side of the family. There, I was treated as if I were already dead as well. Don’t get me wrong…I suppose it’s understandable. My sister and I were exceptionally close to Mom.

She was our world, and we were hers.

It’s certainly understandable that they would know and certainly accentuate my pain. They were hurting, too.

However, treating me like there was something wrong with me…like I could never recover…like I was destined to be this poor, pathetic person, who should might as well just give up…come on!

Every time I would see them…family dinners and gatherings, it was the same “poor pathetic you” mentality. Empowering it was not.

Then, as a capper…they spread lies that I was obviously on drugs or alcohol because I began passing on attending family dinners. Rather, I chose to spend that time with my friends…imagine that…I was 16. 

But alas…I wasn’t hitting hard stuff. Don’t get me wrong…today I love a good Muscadine…mmm…good stuff, but back then I didn’t have anything to do with any of it. In truth, I didn’t relish spending time with that side of the family because of this “poor pathetic” brand they had pasted on me. 

Then, I realized something: Suddenly, the person facing a challenge to overcome…the person who needed a voice…who needed help in a ‘fight’…was me.

No one was going to bury me…label me as weak or pathetic. Mom wouldn’t have stood for that, nor would I.

I was facing a tough challenge and I was going to rise above it.

With that, I found my voice. I found direction. I found the satisfaction of staring down a challenge and winning without as much as a milli-blink.

And…

I was going to do the same for others.

Yeah…I realized that I might always see certain family members holding that “poor pathetic kid” collar, but I sure as hell wasn’t wearing it.

After all, I was kind of used to being branded in ways that were pretty inaccurate…and this little lesson taught me a lot about judging people from ill-informed labels.

Let me take you back to a perkier point in my childhood…when I was a little dude. I spent the first six years of my life living in “town”. Same two great, loving parents and an often annoying, but equally awesome big sister, in a small town in rural Indiana called Salem.

It was a town I grew up loving…the teen years brought hatred toward it and my adult years have brought love and appreciation again…but I digress…

We lived in a dilapidated old shack, while our new home was being built. My “room” was basically a grand hallway, but it was cool and I didn’t know any better. I was six, right!

It was the best summer of my life. Living in “town” meant no pets, but when we moved to the country. That meant cats like Sasha and Tabby; dogs like Cappy and Friskie and even a rabbit named Sugar.

Actually, there might have been others. For instance, the place had snakes in the basement…a “no go” zone for me…and bugs…everywhere. Big bugs.

The bugs I’d find constantly in the bathroom. They could’ve carried me off. Maybe it was because I was a little dude myself, but my big fear at that point was being kidnapped by these suckers. So, I would ward the bugs off by targeting them when I would be…well…ya know…relieving myself.

I got pretty good at nailing the suckers…quite good in fact, and it eventually became an instinct. See a bug. Nail a bug. Unfortunately, one day I saw and subsequently nailed a bug instinctively when my Mom happened to be standing behind me cleaning the bathroom sink.

She was not pleased.

“WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE YOU DOING!?!!!”

Damage control set in.

I knew…that if she knew…my failed attempt at the john was actually a highly successful strike on a big bug, I would be in HUGE trouble.

So, I turned around and with the most innocent, sheepish look this blond-haired, green-eyed little 6-year old could muster, said, “Bad aim, I guess???”

“BAD AIM! I’D SAY BAD AIM…IF YOU HAD TO GO IN THE TUB, YOU’D HIT THE CEILING.”

Of course, ‘hitting the ceiling’ was something Mom was doing in that moment, while saying that she’d been blaming my Dad for all those messes.

Soon after, her tone softened and she shared the humorous story with anyone and everyone who would listen. With that, I was branded…unjustly…as the boy with bad aim.

Now, keep in mind, that was incredibly far from the truth. I had developed impeccable aim, thank you very much, but I was…and would forever be dubbed as…the boy with bad aim.

With that knowledge in tow, I realized that labels aren’t always fair or accurate. Maybe that is what got me so interested in branding to begin with, right? To create a true reflection of a company’s meaning…one that resonates and really speaks to the connection between a consumer and a business.

But I digress…again.

The point is that these two life lessons helped shape me. After Mom’s death, I was once again wearing an unfair label and facing a personal challenge.

I did face and overcome that challenge. I graduated from Salem High School in 1988—recovering from academic set-backs from the many distractions of my early high school years; and went on to the University of Tennessee. I graduated in four years and paid for the last three years myself…often working three jobs in the process.

My career officially started in the radio industry but I wanted more. I loved the marketing process but wanted my hands in the whole pie…not just one aspect.

So, I started my agency…slowly at first and then full-time in 1998. My focus turned to the branding scope of marketing before anyone else in the market.

Advertising was advertising…just one piece of the puzzle. Branding encompassed so many other aspects of the consumer-company journey. I loved it.

I could go in…get to know a business—from the people to the numbers…and identify an area to build a brand. I could truly help a fellow business owner who was facing their own challenges…help them overcome their own issues and fight for them in that familiar way. Give them a meaningful voice in their category.

The goal was simple.

The goal was to hear six simple words: “You’ve really made a difference here!”

I love hearing that. It’s why I do what I do.

It’s why I work with friends and not a pain-in-the-ass—because friends will share with you when you’ve made a difference for them…for their families…for their employees. When you’ve been part of a team effort that has taken a company from obscurity to one of the top known brands in the market, it’s really special. 

It feels great!

They’re making money. They’re getting to spend more time with their family…on vacations…or just removed from the stress of waging a marketing battle in a competitive industry. Their people are enjoying stronger job security. Everyone wins.

Take a law firm, for example. I’m thinking of one certain firm that had been around for a while. It had a great staff, who truly cared about the results they were getting for their personal injury clients. These were clients that didn’t have a strong voice of their own—not when going up against big insurance companies, at least not until this firm got involved. Is that sounding familiar?

It sure did with me.

In ways, this firm was facing the same challenge. They were in a competitive category, but didn’t have a strong voice. When we started working together, it didn’t take long to figure out the direction we needed their brand to go. It needed a little strength…a lot of distinction…and plenty of relevance to compete and become an even more profitable brand.

It was a team effort.

They kept doing what they did.

We did what we do and voila…the first year meant a 15 percent increase in new files opened. By the fourth year, we had seen a 61 percent increase from that original mark. Everyone wins and I got to hear those wonderful words, “You’ve really made a difference here!”

I can’t hear it enough.

I want to hear it more.

If your business is facing some challenges—maybe tough competition…maybe a lack of focus with your brand…whatever the challenge is, I’ll help you find the right brand voice and get you on your way to accomplishing your goals.

More time with the family? More money? More security? Whatever those objectives may be…I want to hear, “You’ve really made a difference!”, but before I can here that, I need to hear, “Make it happen, True!”

END OF PART I