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My mother taught me a great deal, primarily lessons of the negative ilk. You know, ways not to behave, reasons to place yourself above others, fear and loathing and 101 different ways to hurt yourself and others. Don’t get me completely wrong, she taught me some wonderful stuff, too, such as how to select fruits and vegetables at the grocery, how every herb and spice in the cabinet (and there were LOTS) could be used, and to take time to stop and really see the beauty of the world. Still, it was my dad who saved me from annihilation and taught me to survive. He had his ugly parenting moments, too, but there’s no question that he was definitely the lesser of two weevils.

My first memory of dad is holding tight to his neck as he dove to the bottom of the pool with me. I was MAYbe 2 at the time. Mom said I’d come up sputtering and shrieking with joy, saying “Daddy do’d ag’n! Do’d ag’n!” Some people emerge from the womb running, I came out swimming. But it was dad who taught me to swim, dive, climb rocks and how to never get lost, no matter where I found myself. He taught me about the stars and the speed of light, about moss on the north side of trees, and how to find or collect water, no matter the environment. He taught me the pure pleasures of nature, from the smooth, cool sensation of a snake on my arm to the quiet pleasure of a sunset over water or dawn in the high desert. At the beach, in the mountains and deserts, dad and I were always first out of the car and scrambling around the rocks and trees and cliffs and cactus together, with my mother telegraphing her frustration with being left behind with the smoke signals from her ubiquitous cigarette. Poor mom.

Dad taught me a change a tire, to shoot a gun (he was a National Champion in the 20s with the .22 long-barrel pistol and 30.6 rifle), to cut and polish rocks and gems, he took me to work where I walked across a “dish” - the kind you see in science shows that pick up signals from space, and had me tag along on his hunting trips until it became very clear that my sensitivity to animals being hurt made hunting torture for me. Not to mention facing down his fellow hunters with my outrage at what they were doing to the animals (I started doing THAT at age 8, on a kangaroo hunt in Australia). He taught me to ride a bike, running alongside until I was pedaling on my own, and how to drive…well, okay, he TRIED to teach me to drive. Two such strong-willed people probably shouldn’t attempt such a thing in the first place.

We carved a 20 ft cedar totem pole, built a kite capable of carrying a person (it promptly flew away), built a fiberglass motorboat, and devised and carried out many other wild schemes. He could do ANYthing with his hands and sharp mind…and he somehow managed to pass on those skills to me, miracle of miracles.

Dad was a terrible sport. Playing any game with him, from cards to pool, was an opportunity for him to WIN, and then to “rub it in” (his term). If he lost, there was always some reason beyond poor play or simple bad luck.

Dad taught me to question everything. EVERYTHING. Of course that got me into serious trouble over years, not least when I questioned him. Still, it served me well, too. He was a solid atheist, and delighted in inviting any bible-thumpers who came to our door in so he could argue theology with them. More than one poor missionary went weaving down the walk after hours of my dad and his logical perspective.

His influence resulted in a daughter who was a rough and tumble, competitive twerp. A tom-boy who could win all the marbles, out shoot most guys, succeed in a mostly-male industry, and to have more male friends than female.

My parents always had cocktail parties, where everyone dressed up, drank “martoonis,” talked small talk, laughed, and danced. I have one important memory of a New Year’s Eve party, when, just after the stroke of midnight, dad’s opened my bedroom door, silhouetted against the hall light, and sat on the edge of my bed to wish me a “Happy New Year.” I was crying because I didn’t want a new year, and he told me, “A new year is a time of fresh hope, a time when you can start all over again.” And then he bundled me into his arms and softly sang me to sleep again.

Dad was my best friend, my pal, my buddy. I was his Shorty, Pickle, Mouse, and The Tawny One, and he was daddy, dad, poppo, father, and finally, as his mind slipped away and he required a more direct approach to his identity, Ken.

There’s so much more he did for me, but again I have droned on too long. Everyone takes away lessons from their parents. The single most important lesson I learned from my dad, and one that I apply each and every day of my life is “Make the world a better place for having been here.” Dad continued making the world a better place for us all even after he died. His body was given to the scientific community, where his strong arms and shoulders and legs were harvested for research. The thing that would have really tickled my father, though, was the fact that his cremation was paid for entirely by the organisation that used his body to further our scientific knowledge. Yup, the disposal of his remains cost me a whopping $12…for three copies of the death certificate. Ha!

So folks, lets get out there and make the world a little better place. Plant a tree, give out hugs and smiles, let someone cut in line, take a bag with you on walks or to the beach (as I do) and pick up trash as you go along. My dad and I thank you.

Last 5 posts by Lorien

• Last Gasp - February 29th, 2008
• Thought for the day - February 18th, 2008
• Happy Cats - February 17th, 2008
• Bedroom Buddha - February 15th, 2008
• Walking in the Wild Woods - February 11th, 2008