My own father has been dead for a long time, he was 52 when I was born, and lived to be 83. It surprises me how often some bit of wisdom he imparted pops up in my conversation over four decades later.
Among other things, he taught me how to build a fire, swing an axe, and aim a rifle or pistol, how to use a knife safely, how to trap a gopher and how to drive. And all of these are probably less important than his understanding of what constituted a good life.
For sure I inherited my father's love of words. A childhood memory is of my Dad getting a "far away" thoughtful look, rising and walking over to look up a word in our well-thumbed dictionary.
I still do that to this day. You'd be surprised how often, while writing posts for this blog, I use the "look up" utility to be sure I'm using some esoteric term or slang correctly. Mostly I'm right, but occasionally I instead pick a near-synonym that's a better fit.
I know I was a disappointment to my father, he'd have loved for me to be a multi-sport athlete, especially his favorite baseball. I'm sure he hoped he could go watch me play high school varsity sports.
Instead he got a bookish kid (several books a week) with late-blooming coordination and not much interest in being a spectator. Still, he was proud of my academic achievements and, I'm told, bragged about me to others but never sent much praise my way. Life is like that.
Probably my favorite quote from my father concerns living with women. He opined: "Ladies are nice, but their thermostats don't work very well." He meant women often experience the environment as too cold, occasionally as too warm, and rarely as just right.
Recently I read research which suggests there is a physiological basis for this reaction, that it isn't just women being hard to please. Dad was right.
Thanks for everything, Dad.
