I come from a family of closers, people who make money: Mom, Dad, older brother – closers. I used to joke I never understood how Dad ever landed Mom, but I knew all along it was simple. They were both quality people. He offered to share a great life with her as she too offered him. They shared the same values, the same dreams of family. They closed each other. I always admired that and wanted to replicate it someday. I have. But that’s not the story here.

As for Matt, he’d kick my ass all the time as any older brother would, yet do it with love, and our competitive edge stayed supportive of one another. Also, being the younger brother I developed a better sense of humor than that stiff did. LOL. He’s going to hit me for that.

Matt was always a role model to me. My parents instilled in him a work ethic that only made sense to admire. In school, I never quite caught his same flow, but I’d watch him on the field – soccer and football. I’d see his dedication, his spirit, his fight, his success. When Matt got into the University of Colorado to play football, I wanted something similar. I wanted the praise, the power, the pride.

But my mouth stood in my way. As you’ll read later, one of my flaws was clowning. I had yet to learn the art of listening. In plain, I couldn’t shut the hell up or stop busting balls or focus. This affected my football practice, which reflected in my performance. When I felt my football career was threatened, I knew I had to buckle down. I put my energy into the sport, but I still needed to gain that physical edge.

Seeing that football could lead me to college in the very same position as Matt, my mind was made up. But to do so, I needed work. I needed to improve. I needed to go to a football field-goal kicking camp to go beyond what Matt and my coach had taught me.

Being a smooth talker, while not always being smooth, came naturally to me, as it does for many Boston folks. Unfortunately, not as much as being a wise-ass. I’d play my parents one against the other for a new pair of cleats, or work on kids at the lunch table for baseball cards and comic books, their extra pack of cookies, what have you, but when I tried to sell my dad on my going to football camp during a time when the rest of the family was on summer vacation, he suddenly wasn’t up to par with the dream I often supported. That’s when I found myself in my first true negotiation, the first one that really mattered to me anyway.

Dad’s no sucker. He’d recently busted me for sneaking a few beers with some friends; he knew he had me by the balls and he wasn’t now about to go to bat for me against mom on this one. Especially since, if they were to still go on the trip, I would have to stay home alone, un-parented. After the Sam Adams lager incident, this seemed an impossible negotiation. Still, I gave it a go.

“Sorry, Josh,” he said after I had failed another pop quiz, “Can’t help you. Own your actions.” I remember that word, “action.” So action was what I took, pleading my case, desperate.

“Dad, you gotta let me go to football camp. How am I gonna get good enough to go Division I, like Matt? I need to be ready for senior year. Please, you can’t do me dirty me like that. You can’t cost me my life.”

“You cost yourself.” I had, but I wasn’t done. I begged, telling him how bright my future would be, how he was ruining a career of glory. The man didn’t care. He had heard this cry countless times from me in all forms. Matt too. As a great father, he knew how to stand his ground. I could see it wasn’t my future he had in mind or so I thought. So, I made the argument about finances.

“Dad, please. Think about it. If I don’t go on the trip, you’ll save money.”

“Nice one, Josh, but your mother and I are doing alright in the money department for now. Besides, you’ve proven you can’t be trusted to be left home alone.”

“Matt will stay with me. He doesn’t care about the trip.” Dad shook his head.

“It’s called a family trip for a reason, son.”

I huffed and I puffed, all out of arguments. That’s when it hit me. I had violated the fundamental rule of all sales: Make sure the potential buyer knows what’s in it for them. My football career did not include him, and the “save money” angle wasn’t a current concern worth more than having us all together on vacation.

I had listened to him, how he said that he and mom “were alright in the money department.” It set me thinking about another “department” of marriage. You see, my father was a workaholic gynecologist and a sex expert specializing in midlife sexuality, plus an author on both matters. You can check out his book Making Love the Way We Used To or Better (by Dr. Alan Altman), if you’d like. Mom was an extremely busy business owner, and I knew they barely passed by each other all week long, constantly falling asleep without one or the other home. It was a bold move, but I was older now, and we were talking man-to-man. I knew at once what was needed, the words blurting from my gut.

“If Matt and I don’t go on the trip, then it’s a couples getaway,” I said. “A weekend of romance. Wouldn’t it be nice to get away from the kids for a while, have a little time one-on-one? We’re both men here, Dad. In your line of work, you know I’m right.” I winked at him. He was taken aback, paused a moment, couldn’t help but smile. He started to speak, halted, turned just a bit red and stared me down.

I had hit his sweet spot. The thing he wanted more than anything was some personal time with his wife, away from the office, away from the kids. I could give it to him. He could give it to himself. Easily. Happily. He took a breath, absorbed the thought. He looked past me, exhaled a sigh. “Goodnight, Josh.” Dad kissed me on the forehead, still with a smirk on his face, and he went upstairs, but the seed was planted.

The next morning at breakfast before work and school, my parents conceded. Mom did the talking, a series of threats on trust and my social freedom. Matt would stay home and watch me. I shot Dad a grin, but he just played it cool, took another bite of his eggs. He must have pitched the idea to Mom as his own. The day was epic for me.

Closing Dad was my first big negotiation win, everything hung on selling him into agreement enough to talk to mom. The “what’s in it for me” rule was burned into my brain from that moment on. If you want to close, make sure your clients know what’s in it for them. That huge lesson helped me become “Hollywood.”

By the way, Mom and Dad had a great trip, Matt wasn’t stuck on a boring vacation, and I added 6 yards onto my kicking game, breaking a 50-yarder. Syracuse was in play. Everyone won.