A friend posted last year asking what everyone’s favorite thing their father taught them was. I couldn’t pick just one. He is deeply embedded in who I am, and what I know.
He taught me:
To question and defy authority.
That laws are written by people and they’re usually idiots... so take them as suggestions.
How to fall and get back on.
How to use every power tool under the sun.
How to change my oil and tire.
How to shingle, roof and lay floor.
How to shoe a horse.
How to sit damn near any spook, twist, buck or rear a horse could throw at me.
That I was just as capable, if not more so than any boy.
That there’s no such thing as “can’t”
How to parallel park a dual wheel, extended cab pickup truck on Main Street Hyannis in the summer (if you know you know)
How to drink whiskey the RIGHT way (straight).
How to swear like a sailor.
Never to throw the first punch, but to make sure that when I hit back they hit the floor.
Not to cry like a little bitch every time I get hurt, cuz the fun stuff is always a little dangerous and if you don’t get a bruise or a scar it wasn’t worth writing home about.
What unconditional love was (both my parents taught me this unfailingly every single day of my life until they passed)
Not to be afraid of needles.
How to get the nail in in one swing, but also to take it slow on some projects... because some things need more care than others.
Both how to give it out, and how to take it.
Not to be too sensitive.
Endless sarcasm and some truly raunchy jokes.
How to cook no matter what was left in the kitchen.
To be a good host.
To feed everyone.
How to rig weird combinations of parts into something functional for the job at hand.
How to mend a fence, both literally and figuratively.
Many lessons on forgiveness.
And probably a million and one other little things I use nearly every day that just don’t stick out in my memory.
And last but most certainly not least; he taught me how to die with dignity. I have witnessed a lot of deaths, both long and short. It’s usually easy to die dignified when it comes for you quick, but death followed my father around like a shadow the entire time I knew him. He was never NOT sick, but he lived unapologetically. He lived the life he wanted to, and he fought like hell to be here as long as he was. When it was time to go, he had his last whiskey and said goodbye. There was no blubbering or begging. No wallowing. No slow descent into an unrecognizable shell of his former self. He left the same man I had always known.
May I be so lucky to have such an ending to my own saga.
I hope I’m making you proud dad. Happy Father’s Day ❤️
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