Today, the first Father’s Day since my father’s funeral, I was thinking about the things he’s taught me.
Ten: Take care of your shoes.
With ten kids, shoe leather represented a significant investment for my parents. My father had a shoe shine box, and made sure we all knew how to polish our (and his!) shoes. I can still remember the heady fumes of Kiwi brand shoe polish with its little open/shut key on the side, and how astonished my college roomies were when they saw me applying ox-blood red (the ultimate in classy shine) to the one pair of boots I had for all four years.
Nine: Look it up.
Never use one little word when a big one (or two) will do. If we didn’t know the answer, that’s what the Funk & Wagnalls New World Encyclopedia that we bought one volume at a time from trading stamps at the grocery store was for. (We just had to hope the answer wasn’t in volume St-Te because we somehow got two of the preceding volumes instead.) By the end of an average family dinner, multiple volumes would be open on the table.
Eight: “Vacation” is a matter of semantics.
Sure, some of his colleagues took their families on ski vacations and trips to Europe. My father crammed kids into the Vomit-Comet and took us to the drive-in for mini rootbeer floats. Every few years there would be a road trip from California to visit the relatives back east. We’d pull into a KOA campground each night, amazing nearby campers with the speed at which we set up tents. What they didn’t realize was that nobody got to go to the bathroom until that was done. Thanks to those road trips, my siblings and I have great memories and strong bladder control.
Seven: You say “cheap” like it’s a bad thing.
The winner is the one who finds the gas station where Regular is 2-cents cheaper. Even if you had to spend that much to drive there. This was so ingrained that I was shocked when a date handed me a dollar and begged me to please go to the nearest gas station, just because I’d been cruising on fumes looking for the best deal. I took the dollar and dumped the date.
Six: Car maintenance.
His daughters had to be able to change a tire, check our oil and water, use (and always carry) battery cables, drive a manual transmission, and hang out in the garage with him while my father fixed everything else on our cars. TV-Dads would come into their TV-daughters’ bedrooms (the ones with the princess light-up phones, frilly curtains, and matching canopy beds that they didn’t have to share with two other sisters) and give poignant, valuable life lessons. We handed our father the wrench, and sat in the front seat to push the brake/gas pedal/ clutch as requested. So far, none of us has ended up an axe murderer.
Five: There is always plenty of food and room for family.
If you rang our doorbell at dinner time and you were a cousin, knew a cousin, or correctly guessed the partial name of a cousin, you were brought in, another plate was jammed into the dozen already set up, and you got the first serving of pot roast. Meanwhile, kids were evicted from the “guest” room and you were urged to stay the night. At least.
Four: If you don’t vote, you don’t get to complain.
The “News Hour” was a sacred ritual, ammunition and fodder for the sixty-plus year Republican vs Democrat debate in which he and my mother never missed the opportunity to cancel each other’s vote.
Three: Go to college.
People used to ask how he got all ten kids to go to college. The answer was simple: we all thought that our only choices were go to college or go to Notre Dame. Some people have deer heads or fish as trophies, but my father’s proudest trophies from his victories over forty-plus years of tuition payments were displayed in his case containing mugs from each of our colleges.
Two: Stop and help.
If I was driving home late at night and I saw a couple of cars pulled over, one with the hood up, I could almost guarantee that the second car would be my father’s. It never occurred to him to wait for someone to ask for help. On one of our road trips, our trailer was demolished when we were caught in the side winds of a passing tornado. All of us and what belongings we could salvage were crammed into the car, piled literally up to the roof. We’d been driving across the desert for hours and hadn’t seen a single car in any direction when we passed a car pulled off the road. Of course my father stopped and offered to help. When he couldn’t get their car started, he offered the young couple a ride. They looked at our car in disbelief and told him they would wait for the next car. To the end of his life, my father worried about what ever became of them.
And the number one thing I learned from my father was what to leave behind.
Like most parents, my father worried about leaving an estate for his children. But his devotion to our education ensured that we’d have the tools to build wonderful lives for ourselves. And his legacy of how to be the best possible person, parent, and friend did far more to guarantee a good life for his children than the material possessions he left behind.
Danielle Lenee Davis said:
This brought up so many fond memories for me. I recall cross-country trips and going to the drive-in as a family. It was all about being together. In the case of the drive-in, maybe it was also about not having a babysitter for five kids. 🙂
Thanks for sharing, Barb.
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barbtaub said:
Sounds like you lived my life!
My father LOVED to tell complete strangers about his kids, even more than he liked saving money. A&W Drive-in used to have this promotion where kids got a free little rootbeer float if they were with an adult who ordered a regular one. So he was delighted to put in orders like: “One regular and nine mini-floats.”
Cross-country trips were great too, especially when he just couldn’t cram everyone into one vehicle. In those pre-cellphone days, our trips consisted of one car going down a freeway, and spotting the other one above on an overpass, heading in a different direction.
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Danielle Lenee Davis said:
HA HA! He sounds like he was a very involved father.
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Mary said:
Your dad sounds awesome!
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barbtaub said:
Thanks, Mary! He wasn’t rich or famous, but he was an amazing guy.
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quiall said:
I see my father in this list. I miss him. Thank you for the trip down memory lane.
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barbtaub said:
I’m sorry your father is gone, but didn’t those guys leave us some damn fine memories!
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quiall said:
absolutely!
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The Regular Guy NYC said:
Sounds like your dad was a very smart and wise man.
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barbtaub said:
Thanks! He set a high bar in many areas. These did not, however, include his cooking or his driving…
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Aussa Lorens said:
This was the perfect balance of amusing and moving. Sounds like you had a great Dad 🙂 Also– Ten kids, wowza.
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barbtaub said:
As the oldest girl, I was embarrassed by my parent’s continued procreation. Once I asked my mother if she’d ever heard about birth control. “Of course,” she replied. “We’ve been married twenty years. Why do you think we don’t have twenty children?” She THEN proceeded to give me a list of the non-kid production years, such as the two year gap between #3 and #4. (“That was the year we bought the house.”) And she went on with explanations of the other gaps even though I had my hands over my ears and was backing away chanting the multiplication tables as loudly as I could. It’s kind of amazing that I ever produced spawn myself.
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Bastet said:
What a great post to read first thing in the morning…I’m still giggling and smiling…and I haven’t even read all the replies and comments yet. Thanks for sharing and making my day!
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barbtaub said:
Glad you liked it!
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Bastet said:
🙂 Me too.
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Elyse said:
This was a terrific tribute. What a great guy he must have been!
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barbtaub said:
Thanks, Elyse! With the exception of his driving (which provided some of my most deeply-fervent religious experiences), he was pretty awesome.
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era.b said:
That trophy case is a treasure and an adorable idea. Love it. What a proud dad! Great post.
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barbtaub said:
Well, it was adorable in the beginning. But we didn’t quite think it through… As his thirty-plus grandkids started graduating and contributing their own mugs, the room started to look like a particularly academic-obsessive kitch shop. And he just loved every bit of it, although I felt sorry for unwary strangers who had to listen to the story of each and every mug’s brilliant donor.
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era.b said:
Haha, I forgot about the grandkids! Can’t blame him for being so proud. Makes for a great family tradition and quite an interesting story 🙂
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Kassandra Lamb said:
I’m playing blog catch up today, Barb. Love this post!
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claywatkins said:
nice post…..my father has been gone for five father’s days now and it is always a reflective and sad time for me.. we didn’t have a good relationship – it’s complicated, but he taught me many things as well. I love how you enumerated them – have a great week and I’ve been here before, but saw you like and commented (while I was commenting here).. Susie’s parties are legendary.. take care and enjoy the first official day of summer. make it count.
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barbtaub said:
Thanks for stopping by. I’m gald you’ve made peace with your father’s memory. Fabulous summer back to you!
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Rebekah said:
Beautiful. I love this post. It makes me want to be a better person. Your father and family sound great.
By the way..Susie sent me…please check out my book…It is nothing comparied to this post of yours! But here it is… http://tenyearsingermany.wordpress.com
Have a nice day.
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barbtaub said:
Thanks for stopping by. I hope you’re enjoying Susie’s party and that you managed to dance in that first day of summer!
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Rebekah said:
Ah, I love to dance, but am very limited right now, pregnant for the forth time with a few complications. But I am surely dancing on the inside.
Have a nice day.
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barbtaub said:
Gotta watch out for those number fours! But on the plus side, mine is now 21 and my coauthor. It really does get even better.
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susielindau said:
Barb this gave me shivers! I loved your retrospective. Your father would be proud. His work is done!
Thanks for bringing it to the party! Have fun, grab a hurricane and don’t forget to dance!
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barbtaub said:
Fantastic party Susie, as always. I’ve just been cruising the High Street here looking for passionfruit juice. Score! Now it’s off to my (possibly once-a-year) sunny garden to sip my hurricane. Hope you danced in a fantastic first day of summer!
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susielindau said:
Enjoy your hurricane! Actually, we went skiing yesterday and then hit a bacon festival! 🙂
Thanks for coming to the party!
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Austin said:
Susie sent me again! Funny stuff. It’s funny, but I was just telling one of my readers this morning about how my Evil Step Mother always told me to look it up when I had a question…
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barbtaub said:
Of course the Evil SM knows what she’s talking about. (She probably looked it up.) Continuing the tradition, we have our smartphones out for a GFC during most meals. But without all the encyclopedia volumes littering the table, it’s just not the same.
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Austin said:
We used to have a set of encyclopedias in a glass bookcase. Wonder whatever happened to those…
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Ally Bean said:
I enjoyed reading this. So thought-filled and sincere. I lived in a “look it up” home, too. And the “go to college” idea wasn’t a suggestion, it was a command. Thanks for sharing this.
Susie sent me, but I suppose you figured that out already. 🙂
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barbtaub said:
Thanks for stopping by. I have to admit that I’ve opened to the college-isn’t-everyone’s-path school of thought. But I still have a feeling my father is humming the Notre Dame Fight Song in the background.
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Dianne Fallon said:
Wonderful tribute to your father, Barb. Although I come from a family of three, I grew up in the era of large families, and knew many — a time when for most families, including mine, “vacation” usually meant a week off from work so that the father could stay home to paint the house and relax a bit. Your post is a great reminder of the sacrifices parents made to put their families first in all things, and they didn’t even think of what they were doing as a sacrifice, but just life. It seems like everyone took more pleasure in the everyday of life, like stepping outside to listen to a ballgame on the radio instead of staying in to watch it on TV.
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barbtaub said:
It was a great time to be a kid. Not so sure it was as good to be a parent! But I loved your comment. It made me realize that I NEVER saw my father watch baseball on TV. It was always the radio in the garage, his little transistor radio, the one in the car… Of course, you better believe that any televised Notre Dame games were sacred religious events though…
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Cassandra said:
What a lovely post. Sounds like your dad taught you a lot of important stuff. Good lessons for all of us.
Susie sent me.
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barbtaub said:
Well, he also taught me how to spit, be a bad carpenter, and how not to paint a house. Not quite as epic…
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gypsytrain said:
Even in the Vomit Comet, the drive in sounds fun right about now.
Thanks for sharing, Susie sent me!
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barbtaub said:
Ah, but the VC was awesome! It had red pleather seats and when it came time to repaint, my father chose mint green or, as my mother put it, “Christmas gone way wrong”. Designed to hold eight, it could and often did hold all twelve of us. Chevy just doesn’t make them like that any more…
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Kitt Crescendo said:
Glad you stopped by Susie’s party! Those all sounded like pretty good lessons to me.
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Jill Foer Hirsch said:
Love this! I feel like I know all the things that are most important to you!
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Paul said:
I’m not sure how I found this post without Susie. Who’s Susie? Great post Barb. Brought back a raft of memories. The A&W Root Beer and papa burger on road strips – with the tray hanging form the window. My Dad did encourage me to study and he was always fascinated by anyone whom he found studying or reading – something that never happened in the house he grew up in. He was a good man as well and built our house, would go for a drive with us every weekend, and worked 6 days a week. When I was young we didn’t have a car and he would travel by bus 1 1/2 hrs each way all six days to and from work.
Thank you so much for the memoies Barb.
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barbtaub said:
Thanks Paul. Your father sounds wonderful and I can tell how much you miss him.
But we all really need a Susie! Susie Lindau takes us all on her Wild Ride and then throws parties to introduce guests to each other’s websites. Check her out at http://susielindau.com/
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Real. Life. Parenting. said:
I just love this. Truly. I love the shout out to the Vomit Comet. I still think about that post and how much it made me laugh!!
You father sounds like an amazing man … exactly the kind of guy who raises smart, thoughtful, loving adults like you.
❤
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barbtaub said:
Okay, I wanted to say something as witty and as funny as your writing deserves and all that stuff… but you caught me! [sitting here sobbing quietly…] Thanks so much for your comment. It absolutely made my day!
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