Over the years I’ve learned one of the best ways to teach something is by example. Doing a good deed demonstrates more than talking about one. My dad taught me a lot without telling me he was teaching me. He did things, and I imitated him. I don’t recall a time when his actions contradicted his words.
He valued his family above all else. I feel the same about mine. He enjoyed and was comfortable around children. Not all men are. He greeted people with warmth and affection. He held the door open and helped people with their coats. Little things like that.
I never heard him swear, and once, when I was twenty-four, he dressed me down when I swore in front of him. If he thought something was wrong he let me know. No holds barred.
One of the actual lessons I remember is shaving. I was about five or six when I received a “play” shaving kit. It was made of plastic and had a removable plastic blade about as sharp as my shoe. You inserted the blade just like my dad’s Gillete blue blades.
I joined him in the bathroom one morning while he was shaving. I wanted to give mine a try. He was using a shaving brush and soap at the time. He swished his brush around in his shaving cup, gathered a load of foamy soap, and lathered up my face. He showed me how to puff my cheek and stretch my upper lip so my blade wouldn’t drag on my face causing a nick. He guided me through each careful stroke and had me swish my razer in the sink of water just like him. If he did nick himself, he dabbed a bit of toilet paper on the cut to stem the flow of blood.
We went through the same routine when I was fifteen and shaved my upper lip for the first time. He discouraged me from starting and warned me, “Once you start, you’ll be shaving the rest of your life.”
He also taught me how to shine my shoes. You spit just a bit in the polish to loosen it up. That’s where the term “spit shine” must have come. For a brief period, I considered shining shoes as a way to earn money. Although I never followed through, I built my own shoe-shine box for my supplies. I was about twelve when I constructed it from some scrap lumber. I used it until a couple years ago when David took it up to his cottage. He stores his beer koozies in the box now. It holds a place of high honor.
As for major decisions, Dad had me make my own. We never talked about college until I decided to apply. I knew I was on my own in both my selection of schools and course of study. I learned by working along with him, and the other men in my extended family, that I wanted to work with my brain rather than my back. Although we never discussed it, I know he was proud of the path I chose, and the example I set for my own three children, much like the guy in the cartoon.