Lectures

My dad used to lecture me from time to time. The experience annoyed me greatly. He may have been telling me something important and worthwhile, but I could see these lectures coming at me from a mile away and always found them unpleasant. I hate to admit it, but I regularly turned off my mind and ears to him.

I still don’t know why I resisted these lectures so much. Was it the mode of delivery, the tone of speech, the content, or the fact that I was a teenager? Whatever it was, I didn’t like these lectures, so I didn’t listen. My dad was a stubborn man, and I didn’t fall far from the tree, so the harder he lectured, the harder I closed my mind. I am so curious now what he might have been saying back then.

When Ann was entering her teenage years I still vividly remembered mine. My teenage years were wonderful and dreadfully awful at the same time. I remembered how difficult those years were. I imagined that Ann would surely face some of the same experiences and issues I faced years before.

And so I had some “lectures” that I wanted to share from time to time that I thought might be helpful. Remembering the pain in the butt I must have been to my father, I hoped that there might be something I could say or do which would create a short window of attention from Ann.

I had a great many words of preamble. My hope was that these preliminary words would make my speeches palatable. I explained how I found my father’s lectures to be tedious and how I did not listen. I apologized for the lecture but that I felt it was my job to share my thoughts as her father. I asked that Ann listen ever so briefly, or pretend to listen, as that was her job as daughter. If she did a good job pretending to listen, it would make me feel better about having done my job. I told her my words were probably useless to her, but I might accidentally say one or two useful thoughts. At the very worst I would waste only a few moments of her time.

After the lengthy apology I would deliver my few words of “wisdom”. The lecture was quite short in comparison to the preamble. Each lecture was preceded by roughly the same lengthy apology. After Ann had survived several of these lectures in good form, the preamble seemed tedious, so the next time around I simply said to Ann, “I have lecture number 2,384 ready to share. Do you remember all that garbage I typically say leading into one of these?” She’d say, “Sure Dad, what’s the topic this time?”

I often talked about my high school experiences and asked if this or that was still the same way. We talked about good teachers and bad teachers, and that you could learn from both even if the only thing was the difference between the two. We talked about how high school resembles a prison or a police state, and that life begins when you are free from high school and enter college. We talked about dating, cliques, exclusion, and much more.

I tried to stay away from anything that was actually going on in Ann’s life; that really would be an annoying lecture. It was more like “these things happened to me” and “this could happen to you if it hasn’t already”. I hoped that she wouldn’t have to learn everything first hand; you can learn from others’ experiences, from history, my history in this case.

A few days before Ann left home for West Point we were headed somewhere in the car with John. Ann turned to John and said, “Dad has these ‘lectures’ he likes to give. Some of them are pretty good. You might want to pay attention when he gives one.”

That was one of my favorite compliments.

Scout Camp Swim

This post is a piece of fluff, but I thought I’d throw it out here anyway.

One summer when John was in his early teens he went to scout camp up near Clayton, GA. It was a one week camp. It was a great opportunity to make some progress on several merit badges. I don’t know how it was possible to schedule it in; recreation league swimming and club team swimming generally sucked up every second of the summer.

Jean and I drove up to Clayton to pick John up at the end of the week. We barely recognized him. He was covered with bug bites and stunk like a Billy goat. He looked so awful I thought he might be sick, but he was so happy that I knew there couldn’t be a thing wrong with him. He proudly told us he hadn’t had a bath all week. We already knew that from a distance of ten yards.

On the drive home, with the windows down, John told us about his week. In addition to working on merit badges they had a one mile swim for those who wanted to attempt the feat. There was a badge that was awarded to those who could swim the mile. I remember when my brothers were in scouts that anyone who could obtain this badge was greatly admired.

John told us that there was a large pond at the scout camp. The mile swim was accomplished by swimming X laps across the pond. They had a couple of canoes that the adults paddled to keep up with the kids and make sure nobody drowned.

John was swimming six days a week with the swim club by this time, and was swimming several miles each day in practice. The scout leaders wouldn’t count his miles of swimming at practice as his mile swim; he had to do it in the pond at scout camp.

So when the mile swim began, John took off. He quickly swam away from the cluster of other swimmers and repeatedly lapped them across the pond. I have this amusing image in mind of the one canoe paddling idly along with the pack of kids making their way slowly across the pond. Then there is the other canoe paddling frantically trying to keep up with John to one edge of the pond, whereupon John turns on a dime and dashes for the other end of the pond while the adults frantically try to turn around their long canoe. John greatly enjoyed their misery.

Frustrating the adults? What’s not fun about that?

Back Seat

When Ann and John were in their pre-teen years we got in the habit of going to movie matinees. Matinees were good because they were cheaper than full price. Jean wasn’t a movie fan and preferred to have a couple of hours of peace and quiet in the house alone, so Ann John and I would pile into the car after lunch and bolt for one of the “new” theaters with stadium seating.

We tried to pick movies that had been out for a while so they wouldn’t be too crowded. We always got there early so we could sit in the last row and not have anyone sitting behind us making annoying noises during the movie. We also smuggled in a can of coke for each of us. It made the movie affordable, but it really was wrong. The theater makes a great deal of their profit on concessions and you are not supposed to bring anything in. It may have been wrong, but I still have a hard time generating much guilt for my crime.

On car trips, even brief ones, it was our habit to make both of the kids sit in the back seat of the car. We did this even when only one parent was in the car, like on the way to the theater. It cut down on arguments. On one of our trips to the movies pre-teen Ann and I had a discussion about the seating arrangements in the car.

Dad, why do we have to sit in the back seat?
Because, I can’t fit both of you in the front seat
But why couldn’t one of us sit in the front seat?
Because you would argue about who gets to sit in front and who has to sit in back. I don’t want to listen to the arguments.
But what if we didn’t argue?
Didn’t argue? Of course you would argue. You are a girl, John is a boy, boys and girls your age naturally don’t like each other and argue all the time. I hear it in the house all the time; brothers and sisters argue; it’s perfectly natural and unavoidable.
Dad, it looks ridiculous.
What do you mean? I don’t look ridiculous; I am simply driving the car. Driving is quite normal.
No, I mean we look ridiculous, both riding in the back seat with an empty seat up front.
Oh, well, I will grant you that. The two of you do look, well, mildly ridiculous, but at least I don’t look ridiculous and you aren’t arguing!
What if we didn’t argue?
Hah! That is a scientific impossibility. Do you know that researchers studied kids on playgrounds to discover what they liked to do most? They used stopwatches to measure how much time was spent playing football, baseball, basketball, tag, jumping rope and so on. Do you know what activity kids enjoy most? Arguing! The kids spent way more time arguing than playing any other game. So the conclusion was, since the kids spent the majority of their time arguing, that arguing must be their favorite activity. So there it is. Kids love to argue.
That’s great Dad, but what if John and I agreed who would sit up front?
You and John agree on who sits up front?
Yes.
You think you guys could agree in advance of getting in the car who sits where and not argue?
Yes.
You would never argue? You know it annoys me when you argue?
Right, we would never argue.
You know it’s never happened before. It’s never been accomplished before in human history. Wouldn’t that be something? The first kids on the planet not to argue?
We could do it, Dad. Please?
You know it’s pretty big stuff to be the first to do something? You wouldn’t get credit for it in a record book or anything. We couldn’t PROVE that you didn’t argue.
That’s okay.
Hmm. If, and I mean IF we tried this experiment, I’ll throw both your butts in the TRUNK if I see so much as a raised eyebrow, rolled eyeball, or question mark about who sits where.
Sure Dad, whatever.
Well, okay, let’s try it just this ONE time. Both of you get out of the car, have a conversation and get back in where you will, but I don’t want to hear a single disagreeable word. Both of you out of the car and let’s start this exercise over. And don’t forget to thank me!
Thanks, Dad.

(I think she rolled her eyes at that point.)

Blog Focus

When I started out to write this blog my intent was to write a bunch of stories about Ann and John during their formative years. Of course that just turns into an endless brag session, but that’s what parents are good at.

The stories about John’s athletic accomplishments are the easiest to tell because they were observed directly and have numbers associated with them, like place finishes and times. Ann has some athletic accomplishments too, but her best stories are either academic in nature or are about overcoming the many hardships of West Point. Ann has a host of obscenely high grades, test scores, and awards, plus the most atypical college experience that can be imagined.

Ann and John probably know the stories about their childhood pretty well by now. Jean and I enjoy telling the stories over and over again. That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t put them in print and save them for their children. Ann and John will tell the stories their way someday. Putting them in writing here makes sure the stories get told at least one time in my way; “in my way” means that I don’t let the facts get in the way of a good story.

When I started the blog Ann was wondering why I was doing this and asked if I was healthy. Yes, I am fine; I am not dying, as far as I know. I also know that all too many friends and acquaintances are falling ill and passing away. Just as a run around the mountain begins with a single step, this blog had to start with a single word. It isn’t going to write itself. If I don’t start today, when will it ever get done?

I’ve noticed that a lot of my stories end up being about me. I’ve been feeling guilty about that, but I think I am going to go ahead and give in to the inclination as it suits me from now on. The kids know their own stories perfectly well. They might not know mine.