Bad Teacher

Bad Teacher

Usually the father I talk about on my blog is Yours Truly because, let’s face it, that guy is fascinating. But seeing as today is Father’s Day, and I’ve only been a dad for three and a half hellish and interminable years, we’re going to talk about someone far more boring: my dad.

My father is a veteran of the daddy wars, having raised three kids (if you can say that any guy whose wife gave birth to children in the ’60s and ’70s actually “raised” anyone, which we know you can’t since we’ve all seen Mad Men and good dads are an entirely 21st century construct. I’m just glad he quit smoking cigarettes before I was born).

Like most fathers, he was determined to mold me and my brothers into well-rounded, compassionate, successful, miniature versions of himself. (Because what is having children if not the ultimate example of narcissism?) And that required some teaching.

In honor of Father’s Day, I’m going to talk about some of the lessons my father brought to bear during his ongoing tenure as my dad. Lessons that, unfortunately, I failed to absorb even a little bit.

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