My father. Oh, there have been plenty of teachers in my life; some I haven’t met, others I have, some I have heeded, and a lot I have regretfully dismissed, but my father has, and will always, teach me much.

Almost everything my father has taught me has not come in the form of direct words or mandates; most of the lessons were purely through example. Perhaps the greatest of these lessons was to always be compassionate to the fellow travelers on life’s train. And that lesson developed into another regarding tolerance.

I remember a time when our family of six was struggling a bit, mom was working full time to help ease the strain, and Dad brought home a homeless man. “Scooby” had staked a claim under a plush bush in a yard attached to a local restaurant and Dad stopped and picked him up on his way home from work. “Scooby” was fed, given drink, allowed to bathe, and spent one night with us.

Not a pitiful word was spoken to the homeless man, nor was there even a hint of a sermon directed to him. All that happened was; he was given the companionship of six people, two cats, and one dog for one day in his dismal life.

This is how  Dad taught all of us. This is most definitely the same way he was taught as he grew up in an old rundown, poor family on top of that foothill to the Appalachians in Southeastern Ohio. I know in my heart of hearts, that no one groaned about their living conditions as they worked and played in and around the beaten log cabin that had withstood two hundred years of the time’s onslaught.

One lesson that my father did teach me directly came on Thanksgiving Eve in 1969. We were going to have a house full the next day and our family didn’t have enough chairs for the guests. So,  Dad found an auction house and bought a bunch of chairs that needed staining. And I am sure he waited so late because he needed the paycheck to by the chairs.

He and I stayed up until the very early hours of Thanksgiving staining those chairs and calling the local Country station requesting songs. I bet I requested Johnny Cash’s A Boy Named Sue a dozen times that night, and the DJ’s always made sure my name was aired.

I noticed that  Dad was staining the bottoms of the seats, so asked the obvious, “Why? No one will see those.”

And of course Dad came back with the age old wisdom, “You do this because YOU know. You want to go through life knowing that you have done a complete job; sometimes going that extra mile to make it right.”

I have tried to live my life on that lesson, as well as living with compassion and tolerance always present; sometimes to a fault.

Very recently, in fact it was just this past Saturday; I was out on my front porch smoking a cigarette when for some unknown reason I began thinking about that lesson and I saw a deeper teaching. It was one that my father has certainly lived.

If you are happy with your life and the way you are, don’t live it half way. Someone will come along and start looking in closets, darkened corners, and the undersides of chair seats.

Because I am playfully edgy, I love taking my skeletons to the big dance and treating them like prom queens.

My father continues to teach me to this day, and will most likely teach me well after he is gone. And hopefully he will always see in me an apt pupil.

© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

Years ago I started writing Flash Fiction for just the sheer enjoyment of writing, and now it has turned into a full blown addiction. I can't quit the horse, man! Another dirty little secret about me is my ability to write all kinds of web content. SEO content, articles, blog posts, manifests; you name it, I'll write it. Looking for some help? My gun hangs at r.alex.crabtree@gmail.com

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This entry was posted on November 1, 2010 at 2:43 pm and is filed under Memoirs. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.