I'm sorry too!

Dear Dad,
I never got the chance to say I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that I told you my college chemistry class was harder than yours because in your day people didn't know as much as we do, therefore you didn't have as much to learn.

I'm sorry for all my B's...and the D+ I got in my freshman science class that I took my last semester of college and never went and just took the tests to see how well I could do without studying. But I was married then...so it shouldn't matter if you didn't pay for it, right?

I'm sorry for the thousands of dollars you spent on my tennis lessons and I never practiced and didn't even like the sport. And for all the times I banged my racket on the ground when I was mad and made sure you weren't watching.

I'm sorry that I never switched over to reading about Cambodia under Pol Pot's regime...or any other genocide and am still stuck on the Holocaust and Jewish history.

I'm sorry that you let me go all the way to Austria for a semester and I never listened in my art history class--it was my least favorite and I didn't learn anything about art.

I'm sorry that I never practiced the piano or clarinet and always fell asleep when you brought me to the opera--but my husband loves it and is musically talented so that should make up for something, right?

I'm sorry about the time I was really little, before our kitchen was remodeled, and you were leaning over and I came up and pinched your sides and it made you jump and hit your poor bald head on the corner of the kitchen cabinet. And you didn't even really get mad at me. At least not that you showed.

Sorry for all the time we went water ballooning and tp-ing in the summer. But it was really fun.

Sorry for all the times I cried about nothing.

Sorry for the movies I watched instead of reading or practicing things.

Sorry I reread the same books instead of branching out.

Sorry for all the classes I ditched in high school and all those times I didn't go to seminary.

But here I am with what will one day be a carload of kiddos who are your posterity whom I'm all breeding to be doctors, so I didn't turn out too badly, right?

Love, Susie

Fixing a Flat

Dad,

Today the tire on my stroller deflated while I was walking to the grocery store. I stopped and put air in it at the gas station. It deflated again while I was in the grocery store, so I knew I had a flat.

I pushed the stroller up the hill to a bike shop, about a half mile away. When I got there, the bike fix-it guy pulled the wire out of the tire and gave me a new tire. He said I could keep the old tire and patch it. I passed, and then I thought how thoroughly disappointed you would be.

You would have wanted me push the stroller home, flat tire and all. Then you'd tell me to fill some bin with water and make me move the tire in the water until I saw bubbles. Then yoiu'd have me find and use a patch kit to patch the hole.

I know how to repair a tire so well because you showed me about 5200 times "because someday you'll need to know how to fix a tire." Dad, thanks to you I know how to fix a tire, but I just choose not to do it.

Here's why:

I new tire costs $3.50 and takes 5 minutes for the bike guy to fix. A tire repair kit costs $2.25 and would entail me trying to find a bucket, search for the stupid hole and think there isn't one because I can't find the bubbles (I know I need glasses.), decide I'll just "patch" the entire tire because I am too lazy and already far too annoyed after spending a half hour on the thing. Yes, I know I could have saved $1.25 (which is Thrifty ice cream).

The point is that you did teach me well, and I can do it...if I want to.

Thanks for teaching me.

Love,

Cat

P.S. Maybe you should have taught me how to not be so lazy.

Memories of Betsy

I'll write more later. Can you all add to this?

• Long drives to Utah for every family vacation
• Not knowing if Besty would make it in one piece
• T.V. and movies as we drove, except someone got to sit up front to keep Dad company as he drove ALL NIGHT
• He'd wake up when he hit the bumpy side of the highway.
• Jam sandwiches in the "fridge" and those cherry pies at gas stations. Granola bars and the kind of cookies Dad liked
• Not stopping for the many bathroom breaks--instead he'd make us wear a diaper, or he'd flip the doors of the van open as a shield for when he pulled over and we'd pee on the side of the road
• There was a table in her. What ever happened to that?
• All kids drove her. All kids got into accidents in her.
• She didn't need a key, just don't lock the steering wheel
• $$$ to fix, but Dad couldn't let her go

I'm sorry

I'm sorry for

• being disruptive during FHE and home teacher visits. This includes throwing myself on the ground like a beached whale, talking a lot, fighting with people whose names start with C and S, not wanting to read, complaining about having to read, not coming when you asked, etc.
• saying I was spending the night at one friend's house while I was really at another friend's house, who may or may not have been a boy.
• taking off my neck brace before I officially had permission (although I'm not really sorry).
• getting into two car accidents. One of which was when you specifically told me I could only drive Betsy to and from school, and I immediately disobeyed the rule and hit an expensive car. The other was when I was wearing my neck brace (so it shouldn't really count, except that I was going to Nordstroms to spend your money).
• getting mad at you for stepping on the flowers I'd just planted and "killing them!" even though you were setting up the sprinklers.
• ever liking cats
• letting Bruno pee on the carpet
• making you take me to the bathroom in "the middle of the night" because I wet the bed for way too long.
• opening my mouth to fight way too often when I should have just followed your advice to "just say OK."
• sneaking out (but not really because it wasn't technically sneaking out if no one cared).
• never studying Spanish but telling you that it wasn't my fault because I just didn't get it.
• basically never studying anything.

This list will continue, but this is all I can think of now.

Dad's Punishment

"That was a stupid thing to do!"

Grab your arm and pinch it just in that most painful spot between the muscle and bone (a doctor's trick?) to give you a que to be quiet during church.

Hot, loud whisper in your ear to be quiet during church.

Go to your room.

Separate and I'll sit between you (again during church).

"Why would you do a stupid thing like that?"

A soft spanking because he knew you had a diaper on anyway, even when you were six...or eight.

"Now, what's the problem with this?"

"That's CRAP!"

Punishment!

In the farthest reaches of my memory, I remember dad spanking me once.

Something about being taken out of sacrament meeting and spanked.

Misbehaving, ME?

Every parent is allowed one offense in terms of unnecessary punishment--a freebie, if you will. He used it when I was three or four. Since then, he had other methods for punishment, all of which I try to remember now that I'm a parent because they were effective and loving.

My room was always a mess. I didn't appreciate that I lived right down the hall from my parents' bedroom, so my dad could always peek in, be horrified by the mess, and tell me to clean it up. Wisely, he'd give me a deadline. "I want this cleaned up by the time I come home from work!" (I learned to lock my door when I was gone and keep a toothpick hidden in the carpet so he couldn't just open it on a whim and tell me to clean it)

Although I moaned and grumbled, yea, even murmured, I understood his point. I couldn't even find my own shoes and my under-the-bed "storage" was too full to shove anything else under there. I appreciated, even through the fog that was grouchy teenager-hood, the good naturedness of my dad to give me a deadline instead of a "NOW!" in your face, battle-of-the-wills-initiating demand.

And I won't make a big issue, fifteen years later, of the dead and buried fact that it was much harder and rarer for my dad to walk purposefully to the other side of the house, up the stairs, to Cathryn's room to ask her to clean hers, or around the corner to check if Carl's room was spotless. Nor did I make mention of this to my dad at the time, who I knew would say, "Just worry about yourself!"

Ugh that phrase! Ugh that I use that with my own children today!
*******
Other punishments:
Because I was the baby of the family, a widespread fear existed that I might be...spoiled! Heaven Forbid! Spoiled! Me? No possible. Nope, I don't think so.

In the unrevisioned history of our family, dad asked me to do the dishes often once I was old enough. One time he asked me to do the dishes upon leaving, and said he wanted them done by the time he got back. I said no (a girl can only handle so much!) and he sent me to my room and left.

I went out and played until I heard the garage door opening again, whereupon I sprinted to my room.

I guess my dad came in to hear my footsteps pounding through the house (light-footed, I am not) and came straight to my room, where I innocently and breathlessly pretended to be in the middle of an intense, soap opera-esque Barbie story. He told me he knew exactly what I did, and I had to go and do the dishes now!

And I did.
**********
On Christmas Eve morning we went to Safeway (Safeway!) and got some groceries. Dad told me to bring them in. I forgot, perhaps? A few hours later dad came to me and said very seriously, "Susie? Did you bring in the groceries when I asked?"
I shook my head. Uh-oh.
"Does Santa bring presents to kids who don't do what they're told?"
I shook my head again. Tears welled in my eyes and poured over. Then I went straight to the garage and brought in all the groceries, hoping against hope that Santa would ignore this one infraction and still bring me my presents!
********
Another time he asked me to do the dishes and I cried at the injustice of it. So he helped me. (Carl and Cathryn, where were you?)
*********
At the end of one summer I painted the outside of the house (child labor laws, anyone?). It took me a few days of off and on work, and at the end I just had the highest parts of the house to do. It hurt my arms and my eyes and I was tired. So I cried. And dad painted the rest while I kept him company. And that was a highlight of my childhood--keeping dad company while he fixed toilets, the sprinklers outside (call out to me when they come on!), repainted rooms, and fixed the wooden chairs in our house with strong glue.
*********
I had to clean the "big bath." I cleaned it whiningly and my dad inspected it and found it lacking (high standards, that one). He tried to get me to scrub the toilet harder. I cried (story of my life) and so he softened his voice and just showed me. Believe it or not, my tears were all real and not manipulative.
**************
Dad knew our penchant for tp-ing. When I had sleepovers, he'd make me promise that I wouldn't go out with my friends. I'd do everything I could to reassure him I wouldn't go without promising. In the end, he'd make me promise. And because I respected and loved him so much, my promise was binding. I couldn't do other than what he'd asked of me because of that respect. And to me, that's the real lesson of parenting and punishment. It's not a battle of wills and "because I said so!" although dad liked that line, it was never forced on us, it was out of respect and love for my dad that I did what I was told. Now why doesn't my two year old have that kind of respect for me and stop hitting kids and taking off his poopy diapers?!

Swimming

When Dad's arthritis in his knees got too bad to play tennis, he decided he'd take up swimming to get exercise. The problem was that he'd never really learned to swim very well. Being my determined dad, he set out to not only learn, but to be good at it.

At first he began swimming with a snorkel and a mask because he didn't want to take the time to breath. He also wore nose plugs.

He noticed a man at the country club was a fast swimmer and wore a Speedo. Dad hired the man to teach him lessons. He also upgraded his trunks to a Speedo, although he'd wear his trunks right into the water and then take them off.

Now he had a snorkel, mask, nose plug, and Speedo.

After a lot of practice, Dad upgraded to goggles, a nose plug, and Speedos. He became a better swimmer and gained more confidence...enough confidence to forget the trunks and instead sport his Speedos right up to the pool.

I remember Dad trying to convince me to go swimming with him. He bribed my by saying, "I will only wear the Speedo in the water. Come on!" Now I wish I would have gone with him. After all, how many girls had dads in their 60s who would swim a mile a day...in a Speedo.

Afte his vision got too bad to swim, Dad took up biking. But that's a story for another post.

( Carl?)

PS--When we were on swim team, Carl purposely lost his Speedo for the entire season...in Dad's trunk. What a nice dad.

CAN YOU CHEAT ALZHEIMERS? DAD TRIED

Dad would go in for regular checkups on his alzheimer's progression. One of the tests is counting back from 100 by 7s. One day he called and asked to speak to Jon. I was a bit taken aback but handed the phone over. I heard Jon talk for a minute and then he hung up. Dad was preparing for his dr. appointment and wanted to ask my husband NOT ME how to count down from 100. He wrote the numbers down and planned on memorizing them before his appointment the next morning. I would love to see his little notebook with the numbers scrawled down.
100, 93, 86, 79,72....

Practice Practice Practice

When Tyler was a baby dad and Cathryn bought him a carseat. The carseat looks just like all other carseats except for one minor thing--whoever designed the latch thought he was designing a difficult brain riddle. The two pieces that have to fit perfectly before inserting into the buckly are cut like puzzle pieces. Thus, one would conclude that you would stick them together like a puzzle piece. The first time I spent several minutes trying to solve the puzzle before asking the engineer. Problem solved.

Fast forward several years to Arizona. Dad came out to visit and helped me put Jacob into the carseat after church. He tried to solve the riddle and I explained how counterintuitive it is, quickly snapped it and off we went. Well that wasn't good enough for dad. When we got home from church (I remember the Az sun was bright but I don't think it was blazing) dad asked me to show him how to work the carseat latch again. He then spent three hours outside trying to figure out the carseat. Every once in a while I would go out to check on him and show him again how to latch the carseat. Then I would leave him to practice more. It was bittersweet because his tenacity was there and I loved watching his practice but he did end up giving up and coming inside--maybe I finally bribed him with dinner...

Sweaters

There was the sweater and the windbreaker, and nothing in between. I dare you to remember a time when dad wore a "coat" when he didn't have skis strapped to his boots. That's right. Never.
The formula worked like this:
Cold = Sweater
Not cold = Sweater (it would be cold if the Benz's heater wasn't giving 110%)
Windy = windbreaker
Cold+windy = sweater + windbreaker

Where is there room for a coat? Every situation is already provided for. Of course the favorite sweater is the Nordstrom's after Christmas sale (of course) alpaca wool sweater in navy or tan. But he'd have to feel every one in the stack for softness before choosing. The favorite windbreaker was the red Camp Oljato windbreaker later replaced by the biking jacket.

But no sweater was ready off the shelf. Maximum warmth needed to be baked into yhe sweater. And only the XXLs could survive the treatment. Washing in the machine in hot water and then a hot dry cycle. The warmth remains forever trapped in the sweater after "the treatment".

Some may wonder "why"? I' quite certain it arose from the Boy Scout layering techniques paired with a suppressed fear of childhood UT winters as evidenced by his strange affinity to Rodney's predicament in a Christmas Story when he "can't get his arms down." To this day you'll see him shudder at the sight.

Dad's Reliable Remedies

Hurt your knee? Can you move it?

It will get better in a few days.

Why waste money on medicine? Have a canker sore?

Break an aspirin in half and place it on your canker.

Get a bump?

Hot compress for 10 minutes. Then cold compress for 10 minutes. Repeat.

Have a cold?

Take a hot shower.

Jam your finger?

Put tape on it. Any tape will do.

Your toe hurts?

You aren't cutting your toe nails the correct way. You are also cutting them too short.

Have a cough?

Don't cough on me.

Your head hurts?

Take a Tylenol.

Hurt your arm?

Refer to remedy in first answer.