 He was proud of me when I stuck up for myself with other people;
however, with him, he probably wished I would shut my trap before he
needed to ground me again.My dad was a man who valued moments of
solitude that are rare in a family of six. There was nothing he
liked to do better than sit in a forest glade for hours, waiting for
a deer to appear. He must've hated to shoot it to supplement our
family's grocery bill. Otherwise, sitting out in the woods for hours
would've seemed like a waste of time. At least, that's what I liked
to think.
He was conflicted like that a lot. The vacations we took were
always fishing trips. He would've loved to go fishing out in a boat
on a quiet lake all by himself, but being of a practical nature,
almost to a fault, he had to concede that more fish could be caught
if all six of us were in that boat with lines in the water.
So there we were: four, loud, life-jacketed children and two
adults trying to keep up with the hook-baiting. We'd sing songs,
softly. Dad said if we sang too loud we'd "scare the fish away." I
used to wonder how we would scare them away because I never saw a
single fish that had ears. Now that I'm a parent, I know that the
soft singing was to ensure my parents' sanity.
We'd invent poems to lure the fish to our lines. Poems like:
"Fishy, fishy in the brook, won't you come and bite my hook."
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 Throughout these childish shenanigans, my dad, chain-smoking his
way through his second pack of Lucky Strikes and wearing his
favorite fishing hat, would calmly steer the boat, bait hooks and
bail out the boat when water accumulated. The bailing bucket was
also a visible, silent threat. We knew that if anyone had to go to
the bathroom while we were out, they had to use the bucket, because
my dad warned, "We're not going back until we're done fishing!"
Thanks to Dad, we are all blessed with gigantic bladders now.
We were never sure what the barometer for "done" was, though. Was
it measured in hours, in the number of fish caught, or was it
measured by the shade of red my parents' faces were before they
exploded? Now that I am a parent, I can say that perhaps "done" was
the moment just before Dad gave in to the urge to throw us all in
the lake and make us swim back to the cabin.
My father tried to teach us many rules to live by: Don't talk
back. Get good grades. Don't pass gas at the kitchen table. Eat your
vegetables. Don't smoke. Don't drink. Don't pass in a no-passing
zone. Don't cheat on your spouse. Don't divorce.
But no matter what he'd taught his kids, my father lived by his
own set of rules. He was the King of "Do As I Say, Not As I Do." For
those of us who chose to listen to him, life turned out pretty good.
For those of us who chose to emulate him, life is still a struggle.
So, I guess you could say that my father always knew what the
right thing to do was, but many times he chose not to do it. Dad
lived his life on his own terms ... and died the same way, on Sept.
9, 1985 -- before we were done needing him.
[By LAURA SNYDER]
Laura Snyder is a nationally syndicated columnist,
author and speaker. You can reach her at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more info. |
