Don’t Tell Mom

My Dad’s sense of adventure was a blessing and a curse.

The Curse –

On a car trip he would wonder where a paved road led, and when it became gravel would follow that, and when it became two ruts in the dirt he would follow that, until the car was almost stuck in the mud and had to be backed out the way it came in. Rarely did such a trip end in a place where the car could actually be turned around.

In the same manner he liked to take our boat up small bays to see if the bay led to a stream. If there was a stream he had to find out how far we could get up the stream which in turn led to our getting stuck in a shallow muddy spot. Running aground always meant someone had to go overboard to lighten the boat and push it off the shallow spot. All too often that person was me. One time we did not have our swimsuits and I had to strip down to my underwear. It was not the way to endear yourself to a teenage boy. It’s funny now, barely, but nowhere close to funny back then.

While driving in the Rocky Mountains he never watched the road. Dad was always pointing out the windows exclaiming “Look at that!”, while the car drifted into oncoming cars, or off the road and down the mountainside. He would hug the side of the road to give us a better view of the ravine. These driving vacations were white-knuckle experiences for the entire family.


The Blessing –

Dad was not a touchy-feely kind of guy, but in retrospect he did communicate. He expressed his trust and confidence in me and acknowledged my growing maturity through various escapades.

One time we rappelled down the cliffs between Lake MacBride and Coralville reservoir. Dad had an old rope from our garage that was frankly rather frayed. He tied it to a tree at the top of the cliff and said “let’s go”. I was young and invincible, so over the side I went and bounded down the cliff in the manner I’d seen in TV shows. It was great fun, but also dangerous, which I barely realized. There was no belay rope. My hands were bare and at risk from rope burns. The only thing saving me from death was my grip on the rope, and it wasn’t much of a rope.

There were laws determining when children could drive, but Dad was the judge of when I could start getting practice. I remember him tossing the keys to me at age 12 and saying “Back the car out of the garage and warm it up.” I didn’t talk back; I did what I was told. When I was 14 he pulled over and stopped the car on a rural gravel road. “Why don’t you drive for a while?” he said. I drove the car. I was proud that he had the confidence in me to do these things ahead of the appointed time.

When I got my driver’s license, Dad suggested I take the car, the boat, and a couple buddies over to the Mississippi river and spend a couple days camping on whatever island we might find in the middle of the river. That was either a great deal of trust, or a great deal of nuts. Another time he sent us with the car and boat to the Cedar River for a trip up-river to camp wherever seemed reasonable for the weekend.


Conclusion –

These escapades are great memories for me, and I wanted Ann and John to have their own collection of memories. Jean and I talked about this early on. We grew up without a host of safety devices and turned out fine. If my kids could only do the “safe” things, that’s hardly living. I wanted the kids to have a real childhood that didn’t always have helmets and knee pads. So we agreed that I would, from time to time, push the boundaries and let the kids do things that they were barely ready for.

So we played rough, went out in deep water, rode waves that were too big, swam in strong ocean currents, climbed a mountain at night, ran through the woods in the dark, and literally howled at the moon. Normal was boring, and abnormal was fun, so we actively pursued the abnormal. I told Ann and John that I trusted them. I also showed Ann and John that I trusted them.

Sometimes I’d especially press the boundaries of safety; sometimes my judgment could have been better, and so as not to worry Jean unnecessarily (for the kids are still alive after all), I would whisper to the kids, “Don’t tell mom!” The conspiratorial nature of the phrase seemed to enhance the escapade in the eyes of the kids, so I used it more and more. I used it after safe adventures and the risky ones too. It really didn’t matter either way; the kids always told on me. They delighted in telling Mom of their latest adventure with Dad at the earliest opportunity.

This is the genesis of the phrase, “Don’t tell Mom!” , that you will see from time to time in this blog as I tell the stories of Ann and John’s childhood.


One Last Thing –

Jean and I feel that the confidence we showed in Ann and John through their many activities and experiences over the years generated tremendous self-confidence, and led Ann to graduate from the United States Military Academy at West Point with Honors, and led John to graduate from the University of Virginia as an eight-time NCAA All–American swimmer.