As I was listening to NPR the day before Fathers’ Day—This American Life was on—I heard several people read heartfelt essays that they wrote about their dads. “I should do that,” I thought.
As I attempted to write my heartfelt essay about my dad, I found with each attempt that I wasn’t writing about my dad, I was writing about me.
My dad and I have a lot in common and I find that now he is one of my best friends. This was not always the case. But what has always been the case is that we’ve always been a lot the same, Dad and I, and I find that my life has been enriched by his influence.
Ever since I was young, Dad has made it clear to me that I can do anything and be anyone I want. Without judgment, he has encouraged me pursue what I like. Singing along to Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better from the Annie Get Yer Gun soundtrack is one of my most treasured childhood memories and a philosophy that was instilled in me as a kid.
When I was in high school, I worked at Dad’s vet clinic, for a time one summer. This was when I learned how important it is to Dad to learn by doing, to be involved. See, I thought my summer would consist of answering the phone, scheduling appointments and taking care of puppies and kitties. I didn’t know that Dad was hoping that I’d get involved in actual vet work. I hadn’t been there very long when Dad asked me to come help out in the back. He wanted me to learn by doing, to get an appreciation for the job. Which is something I’m totally down for if it involves puppies and kitties.
But that was not the case. No. What this was, see, was a guy had brought his bull in because he, the bull, was to be a donor for an artificial insemination program. And Dad and the bull’s owner were about to coax a usable sample out of the bull. And Dad wanted me to get involved and help out.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of being involved and I definitely value hands-on learning and all that, but….. well…. I didn’t really see how I could be much help and I’m sorta adverse to dealing with any procedure that involves someone else’s bodily fluids. So I smiled and nodded for a few minutes and then snuck back out to the reception desk. Someone needed to answer the phone, right?
In college, I learned that there are two types of people in the world: Those who aren’t happy now but think that they will be, just as soon as…. As soon as they reach some goal, they say, THEN they will be happy. Except that they never are because there’s always a new goal. Now, don’t get me wrong, goals are good. In fact, here’s another thing I learned from Dad: People who have goals, and write them down, are significantly more likely to achieve them than those who don’t write their goals out.
But I digress. The other kind of person is the one who either wakes up happy every day or, if they don’t wake up happy, they take the initiative to fix whatever is keeping them down. Be happy or change something, right?
Of course, it isn’t always that simple but I believe that Dad helped me to understand that it’s always possible and to take responsibility for my own happiness.
Another interesting lesson in this vein came in 1993. I was living with Dad and Elizabeth in the house that Elizabeth grew up in. And Dave, at that time, had quite a sweet tooth. And he wanted some cake. He’d never made a cake before, but he didn’t want to ask me or Elizabeth to make a cake. (Wise move.)
So he says to me, “I bet I could make a cake.”
“Of course you can, Dad,” I told him.
“I’m a doctor,” he said, “I studied for years to become a vet. A cake can’t be that hard, can it?”
“No,” I told him, “especially if you use a box mix!” J
So he made himself a cake. And it was a good cake. And he learned that cooking was fun and I learned that my dad, and everyone, regardless of age, can grow and change.
Because, you know, the Dave you see here has changed a LOT during his tenure as my dad. He used to be a Republican, you know. ;)
But anyone who decides to learn to dive at age 65, who is always espousing the “change is good” motto by moving every 5 to 10 years, who confidently changes careers after 30 years of doing something he’s really good at, is clearly curious about the world and fearless.
And while I see Dave as being defined by these traits—strongly being himself, learning by doing, being brave and fearless, embracing lifelong learning, being curious about the world and taking responsibility for his own happiness, I also see a deeper underlying value that ties all these different qualities together to really help explain who Dave is. And that quality is love.
He loves me, and all of us, this I know. And he also loves animals. His love of animals is shared by everyone in the family. He’s been a vet for my whole life but it wasn’t until I had pets of my own that I came to understand how being a vet was his true calling. I absolutely love the devotion that my spotted dog has to him and the way he treats her. All my pets love him and his gentle touch. The change I see in him when he is around a sick or injured animal is profound. His gentle demeanor and ability to calm and assure an upset dog, his ability to personify his love in such a real way—this is the underlying principle that defines my dad. Love is at the core.
May we all be as loving, responsible, curious and fearless as Dave.
I love you dad. J
