You might have learned everything you needed to know in kin- dergarten but I learned it all from my dad. Seriously, once you learn how to play fair, live with honor and never, ever back down, what else is there? Sure, fart jokes are important and every guy has to learn his way around a grill but you can pick those up along the way.
I wanted to take a break from the kinda, sorta sports talk you normally have to slog through for a Father's Day piece. You know what they say, "My blog, my rules." Okay, nobody actually says that, but they should! Besides, the Pirates are 826 games out of first place. It's not like you're missing any breaking baseball news. These guys reached rock bottom and keep digging.
I've been a lot of places and done some very cool things but the best job I ever had was being a dad. Just coming home to see my sons' faces light up as I got out of the car made my life complete. This, of course, was before they became teens and hated me. They got over it and, now, I get to be a Pap to my grandkids, an even cooler job. I didn't think you could get cooler than the coolest, but there you go. From those wild, full body hugs only a little kid can give to the weekly walks to the cornerstore with my first son for my newspaper and his piece of candy, this was a job I could really get into.
I learned how to be a dad from a guy who was pretty good at it himself. My dad was invincible. He knew everything and everybody. He told us of how he had regular conversations with Steelers and Pirates, TV stars and Pittsburgh bigwigs. This was heady stuff for a kid who already worshipped the guy. As I got older, my brothers, sister and I started to think my dad was actually full of crap. Nobody could be the hero of every single situation, not even him.
We were driving through some town in Ohio. I was probably around twelve. My sister, brother and I were working out the lines of demarcation in the back seat of the station wagon when my dad rolled down the window and called, "Hey, Bill! How are you doing?" We looked at each other and sniggered, like he was trying to impress us with some new BS story. The guy on the street turned around, looked and said, "Hey, Jack, good to see you!" Whoa. I mean, really. Whoa.
Whoa, again. How wild is it to have a dad who knows absolutely everyone? We were just passing through some random town and he was chatting with buds on the street! I was suitably impressed for years. It wasn't until much later, when real cynicism set in, that I started to wonder if Dad set it up. My dad could be pretty sneaky. I still wonder if he slipped a twenty to a friend and said, "I want to impress my kids. Drive over to this little town and be standing on the corner at 3:15. I'll drive by and call to you."
So I learned to be a dad from the best. I learned that you do whatever it takes to be the great dad. Decades later, driving through Ohio again, but this time with my middle son in the back seat. We just got back on the road after our 47th potty break. Traffic was a mess around Cincinatti, due to construction and we were crawling. I realized I did not close the back door securely but there was no shoulder through the construction zone, so I asked my son to open and close it for me. When he did, his prized, personalized license plate from California fell out. The hysterics were immediate but I still could not pull off the road or stop. I tried the dad thing and told him to grow up. Yeah, that worked. Next, I told him I would get him a new one when I took another trip to CA. Still no luck. I finally found a tiny highway alcove almost a mile up the road. You have not lived till you have to trek back a mile, through a highway construction zone, with a bawling little boy, trying to find a crappy blue piece of tin. We finally found the license plate and trudged back to the van, with the accompanying horns and cat calls. We got back and only lost an hour or so. I strapped my son back into his seat, happy now that he had his treasure. As I pulled back into traffic, he wanted to thank me for being such a great dad. To this day, I am sure of it. But, when he opened his mouth, he said, "Dad. I need to pee!"
Sadly, kids grow up. I always wanted to shellack them at six or seven and keep them that age. Wishing was in vain, though, because I just couldn't figure out how to make air holes for the process. Before you know it, they are grown and you have these huge, hairy things shambling around the house like your own personal mastodons. Once my youngest son, my baby boy, opened the fridge and took out a large Tupperware container with a complete family dinner. He got a fork and started eating out of the container, so I said, "Hey! Just take what you're going to eat!" He said, "Dad, I did." I think the rest of us ate macaroni the next night.
I was lost when Dad, Phase One, ended and our youngest went off to college. The grandkids initiated Phase Two and we are happily making up songs about bananas, telling gross booger jokes, filling the house with pink and purple for Tinkerbell festivals and reading stories with Grover voices. So I get all this AND a day in my honor? Well, doesn't that just rock!
I am sure this was not the yuckfest you came here to read. Deal with it. For Father's Day, I want to thank the man who made me what I am and the three young men who tolerated my attempts at dadhood. I really do want to thank them, I am sure of it, but I need to pee. Take that, Mike!
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