YOUR FATHER’S WORDS were never just advice, they were echoes of battles he’d already fought and a guide to paths he hoped you’d walk without the scars he carried.
I used to give advice to my kids all the time, most of it unwanted. A lot of it when ‘celebrating’. I’m sorry. Those of us of Irish descent know that we like nothing better than having a few and talking smack.
Never seems to occur to younger generations that their old man may have had a number of crazy women in his life. That maybe, he had coworkers that had issues with the wife or husband. That maybe he made mistakes in his life, both personally and professionally. Or maybe that he worked in a male dominated industry, and had coworkers and friends that he’d be with day in and day out, with them telling my how they treat their women, or seeing the self destructive shit they did.
Maybe he did dumb things and that it was a miracle he was still alive.
He didn’t make that shit up, you know. He knew it, saw it, lived it.
Meh. We don’t talk of such things any more. Leastways not unless I’m asked or invited.
I know as my dad got older, he’d share more of his early life. Changed my whole perspective of the dude. Would’ve been great to have him around the last couple years.
That said, I loved being a dad. Still do.
We had no idea what to do when the first was born. None. Especially me. But we figured it out. By number three we were pros.
Passing on man-skills was probably one of the most rewarding things.
All of my kids learned how to change the oil in their cars. I don’t think they still do, but they know the basics of car maintenance, like changing a tire. They, at least, came to understand that things can be fixed, sometimes easily.
At some point with each kid was a moment of chest busting pride; an amazing performance, a fast transition into a career, a realization that they can do things on their own now.
Happy Father’s day.
Inspected By Pat 