What I have learned so far

I’m on a collision course with 38. 38 years. I know it may be a bit melodramatic, but I’m feeling my mortality. I look at other men about my age and measure their achievements against my own. This is futile because it shows that I don’t know much about life yet. Measuring one’s self against another is incredibly difficult. Hard to measure happiness, easy to measure money, but if money can’t buy happiness, your baseline starts to become erratic. You can measure friendships, but that too is nebulous. Friendships are frequently in flux and measuring as such is like trying to hold a carpenter’s level to the wave’s of the ocean, which is not only futile, but DON’T DROP DADDY’S NEW LEVEL INTO THE WATER!!!!

Mostly I measure myself against others by number of teeth. (I’m down one by the way, if you think I’m being too harsh. Oooo, did you just judge me for judging others based on teeth, not knowing that I have a false bridge right at the front of my, ehem, grill? Shame on you.) That first part is just a joke. That’s not how I judge people.

I have learned things though in my limited, yet not so trivial to me, lifespan. Speaking of trivia, some of my favorite stuff that I have picked up is trivia. Did you know that I know roughly 48% of the worlds trivial knowledge? I’m going to toot my own horn here and say that 48% is pretty impressive, considering I only speak one language (I’m sorry Mr. Wilson, I tried to speak the Spanish but it wasn’t in English). In addition to the trivia, which I won’t be covering here. I actually have learned some fairly important lessons and facts that I’m willing to share here with both of you reading this.

So at 37-and-almost-a-half, I impart some of these little gems of wisdom to you:

Never eat at Skippers. Don’t do it. You’ll regret it. I know, you haven’t seen one in a while and wouldn’t it be fun to relive some fond memories you have of Skipper’s from when you were a kid? Stop! Really think about your memories of that place. If you’ve ever been there as an adult, you’ll recall the feeling of how grease fried everything is. Walking into Skipper’s is like asking to be covered in a spray tan fed from a french fry trap. I have had to burn several outfits after visiting Skipper’s and it was relatively easy after the film coating of oil that my threads had on them upon departing. I will say that my hair was always more manageable, however, this is a small consulation to how my stomach felt every single time I dined there. If I were to get a tattoo, I think it would be a reminder on my left hand that read, “Never eat at Skippers, even if starving,” and on my right hand I may get a backup tattoo that said, “Instead of eating at Skippers, eat your left hand, you use this one more.” You can thank me the next time Skipper’s is the only place in town to eat when you’re driving through on a road trip, while you’re safely across at a gas station eating Slim Jims and a pack of gummy worms. You just made the rightest wrong choice of your night.

The Swiss Army Knife by Victorinox is probably the greatest tool I own. I’ve had two, one was given to me by my mother and father when I was 12. I used it for everything and I still have it. The other was given to me by my wife as a gift for our first married Christmas. It was a special addition with a digital watch. It has a pen that I’ve signed many an important document with. The usefulness knows no bounds. I’ve put together many pieces of IKEA furniture with it (Yeah like the tools they include actually work) opened ridiculously wrapped packages and fixed countless pairs of eyeglasses with the tiny screwdriver held by the corkscrew. It single handedly saved a business function for our comapany one evening in the penthouse suite of a hotel when the 12 cases of Corona beer showed up without a bottle opener. “No problem,” said my inanimate friend, “I see those limes need cutting too, let’s use my long blade for THAT.” Sure I get a ribbing for whipping the knife out at all occassions to fix anything or if something needs opening, but the stuff gets fixed and opened and then quietly returns to it’s rightful home, in my front right pants pocket. For the record, THAT’s what you’ve been staring at.

Dogs are better than cats. Cats may be easier than dogs, but when the chips are down, a dog is going to stand by you no matter what. Yes, on occassion a dog may leave a surprise on the carpet or in your shoe, but it is usually out of passion for you. Cats? Cat’s could care less if you’re here or there. It’s the Sybil of animals. If you’re a cat owner, you have been scratched and bitten numerous times by the sweet little animal cuddled in your lap and purring right now. Case in point, every so often, you hear an “Odd News Story” about a dog in some foreign country that ate it’s owner. It makes the news because it is genuinely strange news. It just doesn’t happen. The only two reasons a dog would ever eat it’s owner is if the dog was trained to do so to survive under the implicit orders of the dogs owner upon the natural passing of said owner. OR they find out later that the dog was a bear. Now you don’t hear these news stories about cats. WHAT YOU DO HEAR are the stories of cats eating their owners after they died (maybe even killed them, I’m not putting anything past the felines, you saw what that white tiger did to that magician, and the magician saved that cat from extiction). The stories are so common that they aren’t even reported. Dozens of people every year are eaten by their cats. Dogs will lay down beside you and die of devotion.

It’s totally fine to cry in public and in front of other people. Sadness is a natural emotion and needs to come out. SHUT UP! IT IS! It’s the Yin to laughter’s Yang. If you haven’t had a good cry in a while, I recommend Steel Magnolias and Field of Dreams, the only two tear inducing devices necessary.

Being a dad is awesome. Not some casual use of an adjective “awesome,” but actually AWESOME. As in I’m in AWE of SOME of my kid’s abilities. I love being a dad. Is cloning the same as being a dad? Because…

I may give you some other bits of what I have figured out at a later date, but these should serve you well if you ever adopt any of these philosophies. I know they haven’t done me wrong and that’s the Damm truth.