10 Life Rules I Learned from My Dad

Why this?

Since most of you didn't have the opportunity to grow up around my father, I think it only fair that I impart to you some of the wisdom that was passed to me by him. I also think that if you know any of my sisters, nieces or nephews, you'll recognize the traces of these traits in them and maybe understand them a little better. Finally, I think this could be mildly amusing...

Save your anger for when it matters

If you know my dad, try to think of a time you saw him angry. Except for a few of you, I've known him longer and I can count on one hand the number of times I saw him angry (and still have enough fingers left to spoil a family photo). The few times I experienced his wrath, I noticed and I remember.   If revenge is a dish best served cold, for my dad anger is a dish best served not at all (like fish, or eggs, or tofu - to his thinking). 

Be the good guy

Of course, someone has to get angry. How else to keep the kids in line? Lesson number two is really about marrying someone willing to be the bad guy,  so you can be the full time good guy. (That's not to say anything disparaging about my mom, but like I said someone has to get angry). If any of us ever wanted a "yes" (or at least a "go ask your mom") we knew who to turn to. Same with quick cash.

Set the bar high

You would think that being the A+ student I was, there would have been a moment in my childhood where I was praised for bringing home a near-perfect mark. But there's the rub: near perfect isn't the same as perfect. Why praise when you can instead say these pithy words: "What happened to the other 3%?" Why am I a perfectionist? Gee, I don't know.

Be irreverent, especially at the most serious of times

Whether making a wedding speech (or a vow renewal speech for that matter), or taking a family portrait, or dealing with respected seniors, or ... probably ... meeting the Queen of England, find an opening for irreverence. Mention the ex-spouse, flip the bird, poke fun, tell a bad joke, insert the word "gonads". When you don't get angry at things, you have to find other ways to be noticed. 

Take everyone seriously

Being irreverent is not the same as being dismissive of others. If you've met him and spent any time with him, the one thing you will certainly know about my dad is that he takes you seriously.  He takes people seriously. Whether you are a 6-year-old grandchild, a junior work associate, or a complete stranger - if you engage my dad in conversation you have is full attention and respect. I think that's because he also firmly believes in the next lesson...

Know that people are good

This wasn't something I had to observe or detect from my dad -- this is a lesson I've heard him deliver over and over, explicitly and clearly: The vast majority of people are good. So vast that whenever you meet anyone, you might as well assume they're good and their intentions are good. He loves people and he taught me to love people and always assume the best about them.

Welcome everyone into your home

Growing up, Friday night dinners were seldom family-only affairs. In fact, they were more like a weekly sitcom, with a different guest star in every episode (featuring recurring jokes, just like any good sitcom, like the flying napkin and the uncomfortable-question-to-the-guest moment, like "What are your intentions with my daughter?") Likewise, if someone was in need, they could find an open door and open arms at my parents' place. (Of course, it may have helped that he didn't have any responsibilities beyond inviting them in, but that's mere speculation.)

Never show weakness or admit defeat

I'm not sure what the value or importance is in this lesson, but who am I to judge? If you lose at Risk, it's not because of some strategic flaw in your game or being outplayed, it's because of your luck with dice. If you lose at ping pong, it's because your back is out. If you make a bet about your son smoking by the time he's 17, and on the occasion of his 17th birthday he reminds you of the bet, smile condescendingly and say you don't make bets. If he later blogs about this as a gentle reminder that he still owes you $100 plus 35 years of interest, smile condescendingly and say "what bet?" (If you know one of his children or grandchildren, by the way, you probably know that this particular trait runs strong in the family.)

Get sentimental at the weirdest moments

I think this lesson is one that fewer people have witnessed personally. There were times, growing up, when we'd all be gathered together for some occasion when out of the blue the irreverent, stubborn high-standards guy would suddenly get all mushy and talk of deep love for, and pride in his kids. My 3 sisters are all cryers, so it's possible he did this for effect, but I choose instead to believe that it was in these moments that all the other priorities in his life were superseded by this last thing...

Love unconditionally and without judgement

I have never been judged by my father. Not once. He doesn't do that. He never withholds his love or respect. He offers advice when asked, and keeps silent when not asked. He supports. He trusts. He roots for you. He believes in you. He puts you first (except if there's a plate of gummy bears around). If and when I struggle with the other items in this list, this one thing is what opens the door to the others.

He's a good guy, my dad.

(A note about my mom: she's the real hero of this piece. Dad couldn't get away with many of the items in this list if he wasn't partnered with exactly the right person. But Mom...this isn't about you. So stop trying to hog the spotlight for once.)

Waiting at the Bottom of the Hill

I wait at the bottom of the hill, a bit cold, a bit hungry and for now, alone.
The eight-year-old is up there somewhere with her instructor and class, on her way back to me.
I can't see her, but class is over and I'm where I'm supposed to be to meet her.

I wish I had learned what she's learning, but I wasn't interested or brave at eight.
I also wasn't interested or brave enough for swimming or skating.
I was good at math and I liked to read.

A group crests the hill and I spot her black coat, pink pants and pink balaclava.
I watch as she slowly winds her way down, marvelling at her progress.
But that's a snowboard, not skis, and definitely not her.

As we drove to class a few hours ago, we talked about nothing.
Which is what we always talk about, with substance and passion.
She had had too much breakfast and wanted to barf, but wanted more to ski.

Another group appears, these ones too big and too fast to include her.
But just in case, I scan for black and pink.
This time, there's no decoy to momentarily fool me, and I go back to waiting.

Last year I tried to ski with her and tore a tendon.
It wasn't a fall or crash that did the damage, just trying to stand up the wrong way.
So she's on her own to learn and enjoy a sport that I will only watch.

Now I think I see her; right speed, right colours, right skis.
I remove my gloves and pull the phone from my pocket to film her triumphant descent.
It's not her and I just filmed some other kid and got cold for nothing.

Being a Dad means waiting at the bottom of the hill.
Not seeing, but trusting that the elsewhere child is okay and will come back.
Loving so deeply that the heart flips with a promising glimpse.
(Like when the older ones pull into the driveway or walk out of the airport luggage return.)

My eyes catch sight of her and I wonder how anyone else could have fooled me before.
She's pizza-ing and french-frying down to me and I feel like a dog at the window watching his people come to the door.
Now she sees me and slides straight into my arms.
I will always happily wait for this.