For here are the lessons he taught, some of which I admit I resisted:
- How to play chess, or rather to lose with face, at six
- How to understand a solenoid in an alternator
- How to ride a bike
- How not to make dad do all the work on a tandem bike
- Who Pinkfloyd was when I saw it graffiti-painted under that bridge near Foster Park (oh, and how to 'rebel' without rebeling by listening to them without really wanting to be them)
- How and why to do algebra, trig and geometry
- How read sin on a sound wave
- How to appreciate the value of calculus,
- Not to let a weird man make me feel uncomfortable,
- What teen boys are "thinking" and to avoid giving the wrong impression
- That reading the funnies is important
- How to crack lame punnies
- The importance of carrying on family traditions, whether it be in pun form, prayer form, standing on the front porch and seeing off your kids and grandkids or praying prodigiously as well as serving God wherever, however, whenever He asks
- How to sharpen one's wit and be a life-long learner
- To google what you don't know if your Dad cannot do as the sign says "Ask Dad. He knows"
To be fair, my mom had a hand in some of these and I could go on and on and on. More will be forthcoming. Right now I'm bleary-eyed from reading, from staring at screen, from the late hour and most of all, thinking about my dad.
PS. Also, he taught me what a real hammer and a real power drill can do! Miraculous.
PS. Also, he taught me what a real hammer and a real power drill can do! Miraculous.
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