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.

'Twas the Morning of Christmas (Or "I'm Dreaming of a Green Christmas")

Warning: Some lyrics may offend.

'Twas the morning of Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The shovels all hung by the door with foresight,
In dread that a blizzard would strike overnight.

The daughters were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of gnocchi break-danced in their heads.
With mamma in Brantford, and I back at home,
I'd just settled my brain I'd be shovelin' alone.

When out on the road there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a nutter,
Tore open the curtains and threw up the shutter.

The dawn on the breast of the 2-foot-deep snow
Gave an ominous pallor to the landscape below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a great big-ass snow plow, that was coming quite near.

With a cold, callous driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be a dick.
More rapid than eagles his giant truck came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called me by name!

"Now, David! You loser," he taunted with glee,
"You think you're so fit! Though you're past 53!
To the end of the driveway, and the top of your height,
I'll dump you a snowbank" he promised with spite.

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up 13-feet the street-ice was piled,
By the driver now grinning a pitiless smile.

I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
Grumbling in anger, at the unthinking jerk.
And proceeded to shovel for hours on end,
While bending my back in ways it don't bend.

'Til at last I was done, as my daughters awoke.
And they scowled as I told them 'bout the snow-plowing bloke.
And how I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Enjoy Christmas for now, 'cause I'll be back 'round tonight!"

A Compilation of Cute and Innocent Childhood Mis-beliefs

Let me start by answering what some of you asked me..."What prompted you to ask us on Facebook to contribute our 'cute and innocent childhood mis-beliefs'?"

My middle daughter and I were in Niagara-on-the-Lake last weekend when I mentioned to her that her older sister and I had intentionally planted a mis-belief with her when she was about 10. We thought it would be funny to tell her that "hake" is the food word for human flesh (like "pork" is the food word for pig). The idea was that years later, she'd be out on a date and see hake on the menu and casually mention this to whomever she was with (ideally, some guy I already didn't like who was on a first date with her, who would think she was an idiot and/or a liar and never see her again).

Funny thing is that when I mentioned this to her last weekend, she was surprised to learn that this wasn't true (or she was pulling my leg, which is likely).

That got us talking about these misbeliefs and how some of them carry into adulthood until you embarrassingly discover that you've been wrong all your life. So I thought I'd ask my Facebook friends for their examples.

Before I get to what you sent me, if you think it's mean that I planted the hake misbelief on purpose with my (then) little one, you'll probably think it's horrible that I always wanted to plant a much worse one: Like teeth, you also get "adult eyes" when you grow up and that you know they're coming in and will shortly push out your "baby eyes" when you get a headache. It's probably for the best that I never did tell the girls that. My middle daughter in particular, who used to yank out her teeth once she found out the Tooth Fairy paid you for them, might have tried to cash in.

So on with your contributions, anonymized and organized, answering the question... 

What's your cute and innocent childhood mis-belief?

**Spoiler Alert - you may still believe some of these things**

Food

My brothers told me that if you eat the bologna straight from the package, you'll get cancer. Putting the bologna between two slices of bread was fine. Looking back, I'm not sure which to disbelieve.

Chewing gum grows in your tummy! 

I thought we had a fire burning in our stomach like a furnace and every time you eat it was fuel for the fire. 

Technology

I thought there were people inside the TV set. 

I used to believe there was a time with no colour! Was sure everything in the "old days" was only in black and white (like old movies) and that colour must've been invented later on. 

I thought that Bill Gates invented literal windows. 

Sports

Hockey sweater numbers. The lower the number, the better the player. 

I was very disillusioned when I realized that professional hockey players were in it for the money.

Health

Early in our marriage, after suffering thru many instances of accidentally coming into contact with my icy toes, my husband asked ‘why don’t you wear socks to bed, since your toes get so cold?!’ I replied ‘you’re not supposed to cover your feet at night, so your toes can breathe.’ 

Don’t go out with wet hair - you will catch a cold. (This one is from my wife -- and I'm not sure if she was messing with me when she submitted it. I.e. I don't know that she doesn't believe it, and I don't even know that it's not true.)

If you stepped on a sidewalk crack you would break your mother’s back. (I still have a slight phobia of cracks in concrete). 

When I heard my grandmother had a stroke I thought my brother hit her with a hockey stick. 

I was just uncertain enough about whether putting hand lotion on your face would make you grow little hands there, to prevent me from trying it.

I used to think that even glancing at the sun would make you go blind. 

Sexuality

I knew sperm swam from the penis into the vagina to make babies. I also knew from home and television that married couples slept in one bed. I knew sperm looked cute like fish. I thought couples would watch sperm swim across the bed sheets from the father to the mother.

I was told by my older sibling, who believed this too, that girls had periods and boys had ejaculations. 

I believe that the song afternoon delight was about ice cream. (If you're wondering why this is categorized under "sexuality", you just discovered another childhood mis-belief!)

Around the House

I was convinced the noises I heard at night were UFOs.

I used to think that plants pee right after you water them.  

Geography

I thought when my grandmother went to Florida, she went to HerAmi. And when I was corrected, I was utterly confused - "Why would she go to YourAmi?" (the person who was speaking), "Didn't she have one of her own? And how does one get to one's Ami in Florida, anyway??" because it had a beach and seashells so it must be awesome.

And... a Few of David's Childhood Mis-Beliefs

I used to think that "Seasons in the Sun" was actually written by a death-row inmate. I'm pretty sure one of my sisters told me that.

I was led to believe by my mom that ice cream was a healthy alternative to cake for dessert. This belief persisted until I was married. Now my wife has taught me that dessert doesn't require healthy alternatives.

I was led to believe by my mom that patterned polyester was a stylish alternative to denim. My sisters disabused me of this notion when I was still wearing polyester as a teen.  

 

A bleary eyed daddy writes to his baby on her 25th birthday

Before the rest of the world wanted you and loved you and made demands on you,
There was just me and you (and a few others) who got every precious portion of your time.

Before your dreams took you 5-hours-by-plane and 3-timezones away,
There was just you and me and no distance between us.

You were sparkly and beautiful and an unceasing delight. My own personal sun beam.
I could never get enough of your face or your wildly distinct personality.

Selfless from the day you were born.
Bold and stubborn and curious and always pulling away to climb something.
Deeply caring about what others needed.
Born to be a big sister.

Before the rest of the world caught a glimpse of who you were,
I knew who you were.

I knew your dreams would take you far. I knew you'd follow them.
I knew you'd jump from a plane someday.
And that you'd conquer whatever the world threw at you.
And that you'd cry when things didn't go your way, and then they would.
And that you'd have friends - the best kind of friends - who need you in their life.
And that you'd always make people laugh and I'd always make you laugh.
And that you'd always be sparkly and beautiful.

When you first left for school, I missed you like crazy.
I had forgotten what it was to miss someone, and you reminded me.
And you were only two-hours away by car. A ride I'd make whenever you said you needed me.
And then you went further, too far away for me to come running when you need me.
But just ask and I will.

I'm not used to you being so far, and I still hope you'll live close again someday.
But I get it, you've got things to do for now. And I'm so proud that you're doing them.

Today, you're 25 and I'm not there to hug you and admire you and congratulate you in person.
But I am there, with you - like I always have been and always will be.
Proud and sad and happy and missing you.

From your dad and biggest fan, who loves you very, very, very much - happy birthday.

Quick Thoughts about My Baby Sister

Just some quick thoughts this morning - on the occasion of the birthday of my youngest sister - because I really have to get working...

1. My sister - let's call her J. - is the first Senior ever in the history of the world who runs the risk of being carded. 
2. J is the biggest Toronto sports fan ever, but only if you measure bigness in terms of the gap between normal demeanour, and the demeanour during and after losses. (The worse they do, demeanour she gets).
3. J and I grew up eating from only the four food groups (peanut butter and jam, hamburgers and hot dogs, chicken, and dessert). I grew up. (To be fair, I think she eats salad too now).
4. When J and I were little, we were the two most innocent, straight-laced, naive, optimistic young souls, who believed only in the goodness of the world. Then a woman (for whom I will use a pseudonym), Mrs. Purlander, showed up and showed us otherwise.
5. J got her driver's license in her 40's and her Masters in her 50's. Maybe she'll learn how to go through a meal without spilling her drink in her 60's?
6. J cared so much about me that when she felt she was getting too old to supervise me anymore, she decided it best to marry my Camp Counsellor so he could help.
7. Most of the times she's two years older than me, but for two-and-a-half months every year, she's three years older. It's during these precious 7 or 8 weeks that I usually like to gloat about her advanced age and my relative youth. This year - and for the next 2+ - there are many places that recognize her as a "Senior" but exclude me from that group. Looking forward to that.
8. J is my very oldest friend in the world (and by oldest, I mean longest-standing - she's only top 5 in terms of oldest oldest). She sets the bar high in terms of aging gracefully, staying young on the surface and even younger at heart, and being 100% genuinely the same person she's always been. No artifice. No "airs" (but 3 heirs). No b.s. J is J and always will be.

Happy J-day!

Love your baby brother.

David and Family at Home with Nature

As most of you know, we moved this year. 

The biggest difference between the old house and the new house is that we now have a bigger backyard surrounded by mature trees and bushes, a beautifully landscaped (by someone else) garden, and a screened-in back porch where we can enjoy the wonders of nature.

For the first time in forever, my wife and I can sit outside in the morning (sometimes) enjoying coffee/tea in the fresh air, toil together in the garden (even more sometimes), and sit in the back having a robust, outdoor meal without an onslaught of flies, bees, and mosquitoes. 

Out little oasis...or so I thought.

The problem is that with all these back-to-nature highlights come back-to-nature animals. Which isn't so much a problem in itself, except that it turns out that I married Elmer Fudd. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Foxes

A forgettable Jodie Foster movie from 1980, and a mid-spring appetizer for our summer of critters.

One morning shortly after we moved in, my wife texted me some photos of a gorgeous fox family that had made our home their home. They had a den in the back shrubbery, birthed a youngster, taught it to hunt and eventually moved on.

My wife took it all in stride, had an animal removal company over to analyze the situation, found out they were mostly harmless (and would move on) and then basically accepted them as co-inhabitants.

They were beautiful, kept a respectful distance, and except for the small risk of them eating our ex-Neighbours' dog who occasionally visited, were mostly harmless.

Wow. Nature is so cool.

Mice

The old owners had a few traps near where they kept the garbage, so we basically suspected there must be some mice about. Every now and then, one of the foxes would show up with a little mouse snack-pack in its jaws, so they were definitely earning their keep.

And after the foxes moved on, we didn't really see any...except one, living a meagre existence inside the walls of an outdoor shed (more about that shed later). And he only showed his face when the flood waters occasionally arose in the area of the shed.

But the wife wanted him gone, and so I bought a few traps (the kind that hide all the killing stuff inside), loaded them with cheese, and they've been sitting there un-sprung ever since. No sign of little Mickey, and no problem for David so far.

But then came the...

Squirrels and Chipmunks

Who can hate squirrels and chipmunks? Right? They're so cute and fluffy. They sing wonderful little ditties in high-pitched voices. They scurry and scrounge and dart this way and that. They have big round eyes and tiny little faces.

Well, they also like climbing our screens. And (according to Elmer) they want to climb the screens so they can nest inside our outside ceiling and chew on wires, take infectious little craps, make infectious little babies crawling with germs, and do all manner of ill deeds.

One day, I came home and all the screens were up (meaning no bug-free meals). Why? Because the f***ing chipmunks had been discovered ascending the screens and disappearing into the top. The animal removal guy (him again) said they'd destroy our porch 'fer sher' (he actually said it that way) if we didn't do something - and for a start, raising the screens was the something.

The 8-year-old became Elmer's alarm system, screaming an alert whenever one of these cute little critters showed their cute little face. Then Elmer would come charging from wherever she happened to be in the house, broom in hand, waving it madly at the by-then absent critter.

She spoke of buying one of those tiny spy cams and mounting it at the top of the screen to see what they were up to in the ceiling. We bought a plastic owl to scare them off (which didn't work and probably made us the laughing stock of the critter kingdom). And we spent weeks alternating between screens-up and screens-down.

For all you animal advocates out there, you'll be happy to know that Elmer never got herself a little shotgun, though I'm pretty sure I missed the chance for the best anniversary gift ever if I had bought her something of that ilk.

They're still doing it. Our screens still go up whenever we see one. And even as recently as yesterday, the middle child gloriously and mockingly ran after a cute little squirrel with a deeply disturbing bellow and lots of hand-waving (by the middle child, not the squirrel) and we all laughed about it. Except Elmer, who appreciated the support.

Raccoons

Ever heard of a raccoon latrine? Look it up...it's a thing. And we have one.

Remember my post about a late-night encounter with a threesome of raccoons on the roof of our little outdoor shed? And they guff they gave me when I asked them to go? Turns out they weren't just there hanging out one night. No, no, no. They were there pooping to their little hearts' delight.

At the time of this writing, I am quite intimately familiar with their poops. I could describe them to you in great detail, but I won't. I will just tell you that we tried several things to deter them (including the owl) and nothing worked (For example, the owl ended up on the ground, with the threat "DONT F WIT ROCKY" carved in its face by tiny claws).

We bought these spiky plastic strips (that appeared on Dragon's Den) and I crawled onto the roof and screwed them down in a zig-zaggy pattern thinking "who would want to poop while standing on a spiky plastic strip?" We got a single little "F You" poop between strips on the first night, then a symphony of poops on the next few nights -- a veritable chorus of disdain -- each poop carefully placed in the two-inch gaps between zig-saggy spiky plastic strips.

So just this weekend, I put up chicken wire, moved the spiky plastic strips to the top of the adjoining fence, and so far - one night now - no poops.

Too soon to declare victory? I THINK NOT.

Dead Bird

One showed up a few mornings ago, out on the deck in peaceful respite, lying on its side. We tried to pay the 8-year-old to don rubber gloves, pick it up and dispose of it. She accepted the assignment, then got cold feet just before executing the plan. So Daddy had to step up and save the day. I did, with astonishing calm and remarkable courage. 

Then, I went inside to eat some Swiss Chalet.

---

So far, Elmer has basically done no harm to nature but has given a few animals a good laugh. She hates raccoons and squirrels and chipmunks with a passion that I find strangely alluring. 

Me, on the other hand...I put down two mousetraps and picked up one dead bird. By my reckonin' (as the animal removal guy would say) that makes me the true hero of the summer.

But Elmer -- you keep hunting. Your time will come.