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My Dad
by Ted Slater on 06/21/2009 at 8:03 AM

I must've been 10 or so. I'd just come back from summer camp, enthused about the greatest sport of all time: tetherball.

So my dad bought a long pole, got an iron cap for it, found some rope, picked up a tetherball in town somewhere, rummaged up an old tire, mixed some concrete ... and made it possible for me to play tetherball any time I wanted.

Maybe a year later my dad must've noticed a high-tech inquisitiveness about me. So he got some plywood and made a workbench in the basement, bought a small soldering iron from Radio Shack and showed me how to use it, and then ordered me a Heathkit shortwave radio. I remember the long hours I'd carefully affix diodes and transistors and capacitors and resistors and wires and rubber feet and knobs to the circuit board and chassis. I remember the smell of the solder, the care I put into making sure I didn't melt any electronics, and the stations I brought in once it was all assembled.

Over the years, my dad showed me how to plant corn using fish guts as fertilizer, how to rinse garden carrots off in the lake before eating them, how to tack into the wind in our little sunfish, how to cross-country ski, how to weld copper pipes and elbows, how to shoot a .22 and an arrow, how to clean a northern pike, how to use a slide rule, how to mix epoxy, how to paint a wall, how to use his stethoscope, how to look through an endoscope at the inside of someone's stomach.

Now I've got kids of my own. Now I understand the attentiveness, sacrifice, inconvenience and expense of good parenting.

Thanks, Dad. May I be as good a father to my daughters as you've been to me.

Comments

Feed You can follow this conversation by subscribing to the comment feed for this post.


1

Not too long ago, I was working on something in the house (don't remember exactly what). One of my sons was watching me, and he thought that whatever I was doing was rather neat. Truth be told, I don't remember it being that difficult or interesting.

"Where did you learn to do that, Dad?" he asked.

"Grandpa taught me," I answered.

He became very quiet for a minute, got a grin on his face as if he was about to be let in on a cool secret, and asked, "Will you teach me how to do that?"

I never knew it was possible to feel like a son and a father at the same time.



2

My dad taught his daughters many helpful things, but one thing that stands out in my memory are his conversations with my brother, mainly when he was between the ages of 12 and 15. My brother, thanks to his inquisitive mind and Dad's answers, knew more about physics at age 13 than I ever will.

My Dad taught me how to put up and take down tents & tarpaulins; how to use a computer; how to fly a kite; how to shoot a .38; how to tie knots (only one or two; not something I took an enormous interest in); how to down-hill ski (we also took lessons- there were 4 kids and only one dad, and limited time as we have to travel to see snow); how to paint a wall; how to drive (my husband is teaching me too... still learning!); how to ride a bike (well, several people helped in that process!); how to spot certain stars, planets and constellations (including how to find south from the stars); how to identify snakes; how to build sandcastles; I owe the fact I passed Senior High Chemistry to my dad - he taught me how to figure out hydrocarbons (a HUGE chunk of the chemistry syllabus); he is also one of the reasons I passed Senior Maths B; he taught me how to pray... the list goes on!

I've lived out of home for a year now and I am still learning things from my father.



3

There is almost nothing in this world that chokes me up more than seeing a boy and his father doing something together. It's such a simple beautiful thing, and it doesn't happen enough anymore.



4

My father taught me many things, but died when I was young and thus did not have the chance to pass on a lot. I still miss him.

I've tried to teach everything I can to my children, but by far the most important thing is how to love God and treat people.



5

My dad has given much practical help and is quite generous hearted toward his kids (and I don't mean just isolated acts but the whole spirit).

Most conversations I've had with him have not been incredibly deep...

But this week something neat happened. I talked to him on the phone, and there was some depth and humility on his part in the conversation. And I think he gave a little related marriage advice that connected with what he was saying.

This conversation means something to me.

Decades in the future (if I live that long), when I think about my dad, sure I'll remember that he often helped his kids in practical ways. That might be one of the things I remember most, even though I probably will forget (and probably am not aware) of lots of individual instances
of how he's helped me.

But, I wonder if I'll kind-of remember that conversation we had this week... I didn't record it. I likely won't remember all details about it. But... it was something special.

I could see a humility and repentance in him in that conversation. And I just may remember that...


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Newer Post | Older Post


My Dad
by Ted Slater on 06/21/2009 at 8:03 AM

I must've been 10 or so. I'd just come back from summer camp, enthused about the greatest sport of all time: tetherball.

So my dad bought a long pole, got an iron cap for it, found some rope, picked up a tetherball in town somewhere, rummaged up an old tire, mixed some concrete ... and made it possible for me to play tetherball any time I wanted.

Maybe a year later my dad must've noticed a high-tech inquisitiveness about me. So he got some plywood and made a workbench in the basement, bought a small soldering iron from Radio Shack and showed me how to use it, and then ordered me a Heathkit shortwave radio. I remember the long hours I'd carefully affix diodes and transistors and capacitors and resistors and wires and rubber feet and knobs to the circuit board and chassis. I remember the smell of the solder, the care I put into making sure I didn't melt any electronics, and the stations I brought in once it was all assembled.

Over the years, my dad showed me how to plant corn using fish guts as fertilizer, how to rinse garden carrots off in the lake before eating them, how to tack into the wind in our little sunfish, how to cross-country ski, how to weld copper pipes and elbows, how to shoot a .22 and an arrow, how to clean a northern pike, how to use a slide rule, how to mix epoxy, how to paint a wall, how to use his stethoscope, how to look through an endoscope at the inside of someone's stomach.

Now I've got kids of my own. Now I understand the attentiveness, sacrifice, inconvenience and expense of good parenting.

Thanks, Dad. May I be as good a father to my daughters as you've been to me.

Comments

Feed You can follow this conversation by subscribing to the comment feed for this post.


1

Not too long ago, I was working on something in the house (don't remember exactly what). One of my sons was watching me, and he thought that whatever I was doing was rather neat. Truth be told, I don't remember it being that difficult or interesting.

"Where did you learn to do that, Dad?" he asked.

"Grandpa taught me," I answered.

He became very quiet for a minute, got a grin on his face as if he was about to be let in on a cool secret, and asked, "Will you teach me how to do that?"

I never knew it was possible to feel like a son and a father at the same time.



2

My dad taught his daughters many helpful things, but one thing that stands out in my memory are his conversations with my brother, mainly when he was between the ages of 12 and 15. My brother, thanks to his inquisitive mind and Dad's answers, knew more about physics at age 13 than I ever will.

My Dad taught me how to put up and take down tents & tarpaulins; how to use a computer; how to fly a kite; how to shoot a .38; how to tie knots (only one or two; not something I took an enormous interest in); how to down-hill ski (we also took lessons- there were 4 kids and only one dad, and limited time as we have to travel to see snow); how to paint a wall; how to drive (my husband is teaching me too... still learning!); how to ride a bike (well, several people helped in that process!); how to spot certain stars, planets and constellations (including how to find south from the stars); how to identify snakes; how to build sandcastles; I owe the fact I passed Senior High Chemistry to my dad - he taught me how to figure out hydrocarbons (a HUGE chunk of the chemistry syllabus); he is also one of the reasons I passed Senior Maths B; he taught me how to pray... the list goes on!

I've lived out of home for a year now and I am still learning things from my father.



3

There is almost nothing in this world that chokes me up more than seeing a boy and his father doing something together. It's such a simple beautiful thing, and it doesn't happen enough anymore.



4

My father taught me many things, but died when I was young and thus did not have the chance to pass on a lot. I still miss him.

I've tried to teach everything I can to my children, but by far the most important thing is how to love God and treat people.



5

My dad has given much practical help and is quite generous hearted toward his kids (and I don't mean just isolated acts but the whole spirit).

Most conversations I've had with him have not been incredibly deep...

But this week something neat happened. I talked to him on the phone, and there was some depth and humility on his part in the conversation. And I think he gave a little related marriage advice that connected with what he was saying.

This conversation means something to me.

Decades in the future (if I live that long), when I think about my dad, sure I'll remember that he often helped his kids in practical ways. That might be one of the things I remember most, even though I probably will forget (and probably am not aware) of lots of individual instances
of how he's helped me.

But, I wonder if I'll kind-of remember that conversation we had this week... I didn't record it. I likely won't remember all details about it. But... it was something special.

I could see a humility and repentance in him in that conversation. And I just may remember that...



If you'd like to leave a comment, click here. I couldn't get the commenting feature to work correctly here, but it is available on that less user-friendly mobile version of the blog. Yeah, it's kludgy. Sorry. ~Ted.