Lessons From Dad

My dad was a great guy.  The oldest boy of 10 kids, he entered adulthood with a knack for babies, and a perspective for reflecting on life’s bigger lessons that was the result of a childhood of needing to share, wait his turn, and work with limited resources.  Here are four keepers from Dad.

Timing in life is everything  It was a Friday afternoon and Dad was in 11th grade English class, doing what 17 year-olds do best on Friday afternoons—waiting for the bell to ring.  Having had enough of his antics, the teacher, a nun (and remember, this is a 1940s, Don’t-Screw-With-Me-or-Satan-Will-Have-You nun), said “Richard, as punishment, you need to come to class Monday prepared to recite The Rouge Bouquet by Joyce Kilmer from memory.” (For the moment, let’s put aside the fact that an English teacher is assigning the reading of a poem as punishment.) 

Since his father was a lover of poetry, Dad was in a position to respond, with an earnest tone, “Oh, I already know that one, Sister.  Would you like me to recite it now?”

Sister Jonathan Edwards responded by expelling my dad from school.  He was later reinstated, thanks to some smooth talking from his father—and the realization you have economic incentive not to toss one of 10 kids out of your school.

Diplomacy suggests Dad should have kept his mouth shut and waited until Monday to say his peace, and his piece.  The lesson I learned?  Timing in life is everything, but so is an honest heart.  Sometimes the two will struggle.

Big tasks take 5 minutes  My mom came in from grocery shopping, soaked to the bone from an unexpected rainstorm.  “I spent five minutes trying to close the car trunk” she said to Dad.  “It still won’t close easily.”

As if responding to a fire bell, Dad bolted into the garage.  By the time it takes to read this sentence, he was back in the house.  “It’s all fixed” he said to my mother, who said nothing.  At least to him.  For the rest of the day.

Another lesson in timing?  Maybe, but also a reminder that those “big things” we put off generally don’t take more than five minutes, as long as we don’t mentally make a big deal out of them. 

Unintended home maintenance lessons.  Dad did a ton of home repairs and upgrades, and he was good at it. You can imagine my surprise when, after completion of one job, he said “Yeah, the hard part of home repair is that you don’t really know how to do something until the job’s done, and then you don’t have to do it again for 25 years.”

Dad may have been trying to teach me humility, but I got a different lesson, since I didn’t inherit Dad’s talent for getting 90 percent of a job right on the first try.  For me, home repair has meant teaching an extra college class for additional pay, so I could hire someone to do the job right in a couple of hours, keeping my weekends incredibly free.  Dad, if word of this gets to you, I’m sorry—but thanks.

And on life in general.  I was, and still can be, an intense person.  Dad handled this with dispatch one day.  “Son, there are two ways to shorten your life.  One way is to try and make all the green lights.  The other is to think about what you should have done.”

People are surprised to learn I don’t miss my dad.  You can’t miss what’s never left you.