So, obviously there are many many lessons my dad taught me. His legacy for me though, can be summed up in a few short examples. He was not your traditional teacher in the sense that he didn't necessarily exhibit a true teaching technique. He struggled with his patience with lessons like many of us do, especially with younger people. But his true gift was the example he shared, just by the way he lived his life.
I think my favorite memory of my upbringing concerns an area which all teenagers covet, yet many parents fear, and struggle with greatly. The drivers license and first car. While my father was a very successful dentist and had the means to buy his kids a new car when they turned 16, he refrained from this. Having seven kids, I think this was just good policy.
What was great though, was that while he didn't buy us a new car, he provided a "stable", if you will, of used cars for us to drive. Being the youngest, when my closest brother left for college, I had my pick of the litter. Here is that litter:
1. 1978 Chevy Citation
2. 1977 Datsun Pickup
3. 1971 Ford F150
4. Tractor
5. Horse
Of these, I chose the 1977 Datsun Pickup. Many of my friends from high school will remember me driving this Canary Yellow, yes, Canary Yellow, pickup for my entire high school career. It also got great gas mileage and after touting this to a friend too many times as a rationalization for driving it, he said, "Wow! This car MAKES gas!", which I still find funny today. What was great about this vehicle was that when it started rusting, dad decided to have it painted. I was very excited at the prospect. I thought a candy apple red would be nice, or a British racing green. So one chilly fall Saturday in 1981, my dad and I headed of to start the process. I assumed we were taking the truck to a body shop to have this done. Instead, we went to Target, bought a Wagner spray painter and a couple gallons of canary yellow house paint. The fear in me began to grow.
We headed back to the farm and my dad proceeded to tape off the truck so we would have a clean application. I questioned this fiercely, or as fiercely as I questioned my dad ever.(read: never out loud). Three hours later, the truck was finished. A brighter yellow finish than the original, with the texture of semi-course sandpaper. I didn't complain and actually congratulated my dad on what a great job he did.
I drove that truck for another three or so years until I left home for good. I wasn't proud to be driving it, but I was grateful to have a car to drive at all. The lesson here was that, at sixteen, a car is all about utility. Getting from A to B. This vehicle was reliable and it served me well. Would I have preferred a Corvette or a Mustang...sure. Would I be alive today had I gotten that wish...maybe not.
My dad provided me with exactly what I needed, not necessarily what I wanted. So when my son Garrison got his license, while the temptation to buy him his own car was there, I looked back on that lesson and made the right choice. He drove a 1995 Honda Odyssey minivan. Funny thing though, Garrison actually thought it was okay. He actually appreciated having something to drive at all.
So the lesson I learned was transferred to my son. Be grateful for what you have and contentment will will be compulsory. Thanks dad!
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