What I Learned From My Father
The most profound lessons we learn in life are usually the most simple. They sound trite to us in youth, easily pushed aside, until we take time to reflect on the simplicity of truth. My father lost his third round with cancer over thirty years ago, but I can still hear his voice in memory. He is still there for me when I need him to be. He was a minister, teacher and leader. He had an inner strength that I only learned to truly appreciate long after he was gone. He was certainly not perfect, but men like him are all too rare.
He grew up on a farm, next to oldest of thirteen children. It was the Depression, but I think the basic way of life would still have mandated what he learned there and passed on to me. Nearly all of his lessons were by example, not lectures.
If it’s broke – fix it – yourself.
Don’t EVER throw anything away that may still have some use. (Country people were far more true conservationists than any modern ‘greenie’ you will ever see. They still understood the real meaning of the term was wise use of all resources because resources were limited, including time and money.)
You make it, grow it, build it – or you do without. There were few exceptions to this.
Work hard, but occasionally play hard as well.
Any time someone gives or loans you money, you give over a certain amount of control of your life to that person, or institution. (It took me a long time to realize some of the broader implications of that lesson. I can guarantee you government knows this!)
When raising children, have few rules, but do not deviate from those rules. Consistency is crucial.
Don’t make a rule you are unwilling to follow yourself.
Never administer discipline when you’re angry. Besides, the wait for the proverbial ax to fall was often the worst part.
He taught kids with learning disabilities, as well as being a pastor. He touched more lives, in a positive way, than will ever be known. He passed the basic principals along to all the kids he taught through example. In an inner city school, where crime was rampant, he garnered the respect of kids who respected little. There was once an incident of a pair of twins (1st graders) rolling a drunk on the way to school, stealing the man’s boots and $20. That’s the kind of place it was.
When he first accepted a position in a northern public school in 1968, he hadn’t been told that corporal punishment was against the rules. At 6′ 2″ and the only male teacher, you would think most kids would be at least a little cautious, but they had learned discipline there was a joke. In the first week, a 5th grader got in his face and said, “You can’t make me do nuthin!” Big mistake.
Dad promptly picked him up by the shirt, swept his feet out from under him, laid him on the floor, put his big, #13 foot on his chest and said, “Son, if you ever talk to me that way again, I’ll stomp you till there’s nothing left but a grease spot.” I know, very bad conduct to all appearances. He was colorful in expression, but I’m certain he did not mean it literally. The principal managed to do some fast talking to keep him on staff and then informed dad what the rules were. *Note – the child was not even bruised, just scared silly.*
I relate this story because ten years later, all one of the older women teachers had to say to a rowdy class was “Should I call Mr. Blair?” and they instantly became model students. Even though he had never laid a hand on another student after that one incident, the news spread from class to class, one year to the next – you don’t mess with Mr. Blair.
The other side of that coin is the fact that he went out of his way to do really neat things with his kids. He frequently spent his own money on materials for special projects, like leather working, making real butter (he got the cooks to make some special rolls to go with it), and anything else he could think of to teach them that they were capable young people who could DO things. When he was in the hospital, the walls looked papered in cards, with more stacked on the window sill, many from past students. In short they loved him, as much for his discipline as for his teaching.
That is one of the most important things I learned. To be as caring in discipline as you are in teaching. Life requires both in balance with each other. He would never have been able to do all those things with his kids, if he had not first gained their respectful attention with discipline.
I regret that his grandchildren never got to know him growing up. He went from us way too young. I miss him still.
