Capital Gaines: Smart Things I Learned Doing Stupid Stuff Read online

  © 2017 Chip Gaines

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  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by W Publishing, an imprint of Thomas Nelson.

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  Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com. The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

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  Credits:

  Page 55 (left photo): John and Maura Stoffer

  Page 78 (ad): Courtesy of WACOAN®, Waco’s Magazine™

  Epub Edition September 2017 ISBN 9780785216339

  ISBN 978-0-7852-1633-9 (eBook)

  ISBN 978-0-7852-1630-8 (HC)

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017950989

  Printed in the United States of America

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  This book is a love letter . . .

  To Jo, of course. You are the best part of me, the best part of this crazy life we are living.

  To Drake, Ella, Duke, and Emmie. You are my greatest achievement. I look at you four and the whole world feels cracked open: beautiful and innocent and true.

  To my parents and sister and Jo’s parents and sisters. We would not be us apart from you. You have shaped us in so many ways.

  To my best friends, each one of you, in every season of my life. Those days were my training ground for all that was to come: the good, the bad, and the just plain dumb.

  To Magnolia, my favorite team I’ve ever been on. There’s hope in each of you. The work you do makes me confident that tomorrow will be even better than today. And you know what? We’re just getting started.

  CONTENTS

  Foreword by Joanna Gaines

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  PART 1: A TIME TO LEARN CHAPTER 1 Failure to Launch

  CHAPTER 2 The Boys of Summer

  CHAPTER 3 Lost in Translation

  CHAPTER 4 Leave and Cleave

  CHAPTER 5 Wrecked

  INTERMISSION: Scarface: A Mini-mercial

  PART 2: A TIME TO GROW CHAPTER 6 Fear-less

  CHAPTER 7 Baby Steps

  CHAPTER 8 Growing Pains

  CHAPTER 9 The Long Game

  CHAPTER 10 Wacko, Texas

  CHAPTER 11 Scrappy Is as Scrappy Does

  PART 3: A TIME TO BUILD CHAPTER 12 Never Quit Your Day Dream

  CHAPTER 13 Season Finale

  CHAPTER 14 Team of Rivals

  CHAPTER 15 The Runway

  CHAPTER 16 Go Get ’Em

  Write It Down Here Right Now

  From the Desk of Chip Gaines

  Notes

  About the Author

  FOREWORD BY JOANNA GAINES

  As you may have already heard, choosing the cover photo of this book was quite the process. At first, I was like everyone else when I told Chip he needed to pick a “safer” option. I told him no one would get the raw and candid one, and it may be a bit confusing for the actual cover. But the more I heard Chip talk about why he loved this picture so much, the more I started to see his point of view.

  For one thing, you can clearly see the wishbone-shaped scar on his forehead. He got that scar after doing something pretty stupid, but the life lesson not only marked him but changed him forever. This experience seems to perfectly embody the subtitle of this book. He also loved the idea that this picture was shot on the farm, on the way to a photoshoot—hat on backward, no touch-ups, no fancy camera lights, just a man on his ATV, riding through a pasture.

  This reminds me so much of when Chip talks about how life isn’t about arriving at the farm; instead it’s what happens on the way to the farm. For us, the farm is our dream. Most people have an ideal life that they imagine for their future. Something that they work toward and dream of. This is what the farm represents to us.

  And yet the point Chip makes is that life didn’t start here. We didn’t get happier, we didn’t become the people we were always meant to be, once we got to the farm. All those things were worked out during the journey that led us there—that was the essential part. That was where the endless choices existed, the ones that determined who we were going to be and what kind of story we were going to tell with our lives. You can arrive at your dream a lot of different ways, but you also arrive there as a different version of yourself based on whatever pathway you choose.

  I love this book for a lot of reasons, but mostly because it’s about what happened on the way. Chip is a good man. I could not be more proud to be his wife, antics and all. But he didn’t land on the farm and suddenly become the hardworking man of character he is. He, like all of us, was forged in the daily choosing.

  This book inspires me once again to live even more intentionally on the way. None of us has arrived; we are all just figuring this thing out as we go. But being by Chip’s side, I can’t help but want to live braver, to dream bigger, and to hold family even closer.

  My hope is that when you read this book, you are reminded to not let your mistakes or shortcomings define you. In fact, I hope you see that these are the actual opportunities for you to choose to be the person you always hoped to be.

  To enjoying the journey!

  —JOANNA

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I’ve never been one to give luck much credit, but you’ve got your hands on this book for one reason or another, so let’s just assume this has happened for a reason. That said, for this period of time that we’re together, I’d like to be your coach and have you on my team! I’ll always Shoot you straight. To start, your time as a spectator has officially ended - I’m putting you in the race. I want us to work this thing out together. Side by side. I’m going to run this leg of the race with you, but get ready because in the end, I’m going to hand you the baton.

  Sincerely,

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to these creative minds.

  Without your help this book would just be a dream.

  Jeff Jones | Cover Photo

  Billy Jack Brawner III | Art Di
rector

  Kelsie Monsen | Cover Art and Graphic Design

  Mark Dagostino | Content Direction

  Emily Paben, Alissa Neely, and Kaylee Clark | My Book Club, My Rodeo Clowns

  Joanna | For icing my drinks and sharpening my pencils

  There is a time for everything,

  and a season for every activity under the heavens:

  a time to be born and a time to die,

  a time to plant and a time to uproot,

  a time to kill and a time to heal,

  a time to tear down and a time to build,

  a time to weep and a time to laugh,

  a time to mourn and a time to dance,

  a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

  a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,

  a time to search and a time to give up,

  a time to keep and a time to throw away,

  a time to tear and a time to mend,

  a time to be silent and a time to speak,

  a time to love and a time to hate,

  a time for war and a time for peace.

  ECCLESIASTES 3:1–8

  PART 1

  A TIME TO LEARN

  CHAPTER 1

  FAILURE TO LAUNCH

  I was a normal kid as far as I knew. I didn’t feel any different from the kids in my first-grade class. I rode the bus just like everyone else, traded baseball cards during recess, and never let my mom send me to school with a sack lunch on pizza day.

  Despite the striking similarities between my classmates and me, one simple fact set us apart: I had yet to learn my ABCs. In case you accidentally glossed over that first paragraph, I was in the first grade. I wasn’t three or four. I was seven and a half years old. Yet here I was, struggling to read basic sentences.

  The first-grade teachers at my elementary school split their classes into four different reading groups. At first, I didn’t think anything of it. They were just different teams with cool bird mascots. There were the Eagles, the Falcons, the Blue Jays, and of course the mighty Penguins—the group I was a proud member of. I was the only Penguin in Mrs. Redding’s class, although there were definitely a few others scattered throughout the first grade. I’m not sure exactly how she decided who went into which group, but I do know that when it was time to read, the Penguins were ushered out of our individual classrooms and into the gym. And just so you’re getting the full picture here: it was a great big gymnasium holding about fifteen kids, some of whom had been diagnosed with actual learning disabilities.

  And me.

  I knew it wasn’t “normal” that I couldn’t read yet, but it never occurred to me that it was something to be embarrassed about. It’s possible that the other kids in my class made fun of me as soon as I skipped off to the gym, but if they did, I never knew it. In fact, the thought of that happening never really crossed my mind. My positive outlook has blinded me to plenty of things over the years. Maybe it also protected me at times from the things that I didn’t need to see.

  Have you ever heard the phrase looking at the world through rose-colored glasses? Well, if there ever were a poster child for this, it would have been me. And even now, I am just fine seeing the world through these lenses. This typically leads me to see the best in people rather than the worst.

  I’ve always had the ability to play things to the positive. Here’s how that mind-set played out back in first grade. Kids can be cruel. So looking back, there’s a decent chance that at least one of the kids in my class was calling me names while I was off learning to recite my ABCs. But rather than think about these possibilities, I was excited that I was invited to the gym in the first place. Honored even. Look, any chance I got to go to the gymnasium was a win in my book. I loved getting to see the other Penguins. We really only got good time together on Thursday afternoons from one until two forty-five. I’d walk in there and be like, “Whaaat? Where have you guys been? Wait, do you get to hang out in the gym all week? How did you score that? Luckies!”

  Looking back, I’m not sure if the act of labeling our group as Penguins was random or not, but the symbolism isn’t lost on me. All the other bird species in my first-grade reading class could fly—except penguins. Penguins are flightless birds. But that doesn’t mean they’re “less than.” They’re actually incredible birds. They do exactly what they’re made to do. So while I was happy as a lark to be a Penguin, I sure hope my gym mates never let that label define them. I hope they realized that despite the fact that penguins can’t fly, they can do something those other birds can’t do.

  Penguins can swim.

  Some of the greatest success stories of all time come from people who were misunderstood or even miscategorized. Maybe their strengths weren’t noticed or valued. Perhaps they got a slow start or went about things in an unusual manner. They somehow didn’t fit into the world’s narrow definition of what constitutes achievement or success. Here are just a few of them.

  * * *

  FAMOUS FAILURES (PENGUIN EDITION)

  •Walt Disney. He was told that he didn’t have enough imagination and therefore was fired from his newspaper job at the Kansas City Star. Can you believe that? Walt. Freakin’. Disney.

  •Albert Einstein. The person who allegedly didn’t speak until he was four years old and didn’t read until he was seven (sound familiar?) basically invented science.

  •Oprah Winfrey. She was supposedly fired from her job as a reporter because she couldn’t separate her emotions from her work. And wouldn’t you know it? That same inability to separate work and emotion was one of the qualities that made us all fall in love with her. That attribute made her stand out among a world of journalists.

  •Michael Jordan—the man, the myth, the legend. He was cut from his high school basketball team and still went on to become arguably the greatest basketball player of all time. You know he believed he could fly.

  * * *

  I really could share stories like those all day long. They’re my favorite kinds of biographies to read and the types of tales I can’t help but recount to anyone who will listen. The journey of some underdog slugging and fighting all the way to the top against all odds is infinitely more inspiring to me than the story of a golden child who was born with all the right stuff.

  So maybe Mrs. Redding and the other first-grade teachers were on to something. Maybe they intentionally categorized my gym buddies and me as Penguins because they saw something unique in us. Or maybe this is just the way my mind works. I’ve got a glass-half-full outlook on life. I tend to believe I can truly do or be anything. There are no limits to the things I believe I can accomplish. So yeah, I have a low tolerance for people who tend to disqualify themselves from ever amounting to much before they even try or for people who are constantly their own worst critic.

  I realize you didn’t sign up for a motivational speaking course, but I’m going to take some liberties here and suggest that if there are external voices telling you that you’re nothing special or that you’ll never amount to anything, you should probably choose some different people to surround yourself with. And if that unkind voice is your own, I’d like to encourage you to start challenging those thoughts.

  You were uniquely created for a purpose. I have no clue what that purpose is for you specifically, but I am perfectly confident that you do, in fact, have one. And you would be wise to stop being your own biggest obstacle. Your purpose is just like mine. It’s big, and it’s important, and there’s no one else anywhere on the planet who can fulfill it.

  So quit jacking around and go get after it.

  CHAPTER 2

  THE BOYS OF SUMMER

  I have spent 50 percent of my life throwing a baseball. And not just throwing, but also hitting, taking infield and outfield, and working on the fundamentals of the game. My cleats, my glove, my hat, and that number-16 jersey are the only uniform I’ve ever known. At one point in my life I genuinely thought sunflower seeds were a major food group.

  I didn’t car
e what I wore to class in high school or even college. I could’ve shown up half-dressed and probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But the way I cared for every part of that red, white, and blue baseball uniform was a different story—it epitomized my love for the game.

  I spent a good chunk of time trying to get my baseball hat to fit just right. To help shape the bill, I would bend it incessantly and wrap multiple rubber bands around it. Then I would run it through the dishwasher a couple of times to make it more pliable. This was a good starting point, but I had to mess with that bill constantly to get it perfect. And that was just the hat.

  Before a game, I would spend time scrubbing the grass stains out of my pants to make sure they were bright white. I figured that the cleaner my uniform was going into the game, the more evident my hard work would be afterward. It was like a scorecard to me; the state of my pants by the ninth inning was a direct reflection of how hard I’d played that day. If they were truly filthy, bloody even, I knew I had left everything out there on the field.

  And my glove was a whole other story. It was like an extension of myself. Something about it was just magic to me. When I put it on, I felt invincible, like the whole world was at my feet. When I was a kid, my dad had a sporting-goods store, and you can imagine the type of playground it was for sports enthusiasts like Dad and me. I’m telling you, I grew up in that little store. Come spring, my favorite tradition was going to pick out my new glove. I remember trying on every last glove in the shop, and Dad and I would weigh out the pros and cons of each particular one.

  Actually landing on which glove to go with was just the beginning, though. The fun part was breaking it in. I’d get home and immediately rub oil into the palm to soften up the leather. I’d start hitting it, fist-to-the-mitt style, trying to get it right. This could go on for hours. The final trick was to roll it up like you would a newspaper, put a ball inside of it, and then tuck it away under the mattress for the night. The anticipation of waking up the next morning to go try out the new glove for the first time made it almost impossible to sleep. Literally, as soon as the sun even thought about rising, I was out in the front yard breaking in my glove with Dad. We’d toss a ball back and forth, trying to decide how many more nights I’d need to sleep with it under my mattress before it was game ready.

 
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