06/20/20 Weekend Grif.Net - Life Lessons from my Dad
Robert Griffin
“When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years.” – Mark Twain
Here are EIGHT LIFE LESSONS I learned from my Dad through his words or by his actions that make me smile when Father’s Day rolls around each year.
MAKE EVERY SHOT COUNT. As a teen in the Depression and dirt poor, my Dad took his .22 single shot and 3 bullets and walked the railroad tracks out of the inner-city looking for rabbit, squirrel, pheasant, grouse. Shoot in the head so you don’t spoil the meat. If he got 1, he would sell it to a neighbor for 25 cents to put in the electric meter (coin-operated like a gumball machine). If he got 2, they’d have meat on their table. And if he got 3, he could trade for bucket of coal, pail of skim milk for his kid sister Evelyn, or money for rent. He taught me on a bb-gun in the basement and I could shoot the eye out of a squirrel by age 10.
NEVER QUIT LEARNING. Dad told me to stay in school and learn. Don’t just do what was expected; do more. Don’t aim to pass, aim for an “A” (and no bribe - getting an “A” was reward in itself). Don’t coast through class but focus on important lessons in all you hear and read. In college when I’d whine about hard summer jobs, he reminded me I could return to college in the fall and focus on studies, not work. (And motivate me to get a better job when I’d graduate so you don’t have to sweat so hard digging ditches every day of your life).
SERVE WITH PRIDE. Dad dropped out of school to work in the Civilian Conservation Corps. His leadership ability was recognized, and he entered the Army Air Corps long before the War. He returned a sergeant and served in a start-up company and labored hard all his life. He’d say, “Be the best worker in the place. It takes sacrifice (of temporary pleasure) but do the job right.”
PENNIES COUNT. I started a weekly paper route at 10, a daily route at 12. Dad said that I should always pay cash. Spend a little as a reward for hard work. Save for bigger items I wanted and pay for them. Set aside money each week for charity and for permanent savings. Even now I get the best deal on a car, write them a check, and then set up monthly pay-back to my savings. That way I gain interest for myself instead of paying interest to others.
WORK HARD EVERY DAY. We grew up poor, but dedication and hard work could overcome any societal disadvantage. You aren’t ‘owed’ anything but you can ‘earn’ it. Don’t allow anyone to outwork you. Struggling is a virtue. To have an easy path and everything handed to you makes you spoiled and self-centered.
KEEP YOUR EYES AT HOME. There will always be someone with a nicer house, faster car, bigger boat, or prettier gal than you. Don’t worry about that; don’t envy them. Be satisfied with what you have and be happy for others if they have more that you do. (I did learn it was okay to pity them if they drove a Ford or had an Evinrude motor for their boat, though).
RECOGNIZE GOD AROUND YOU. My father was not at all religious. On most Sundays he was in his boat or in the woods in the cathedral of God’s creation. But he was proud of me, my desire to learn the Bible, serve in the church, and go to seminary. He thought I could make more money with my college/grad school by being a teacher but would happily put on a suit to go to my church to hear me preach whenever he came to visit. He never once said he was proud of the man I’d become, but I knew he was.
FAMILY IS JOB ONE. My dad loved my mom, no other gal. He loved us kids and showed it. He went across town every week to help his mother with chores around her place. He had a few hunting buddies and fishing friends, but most were family (or adopted as family). Vacations were a week at a lake or a trip with a surplus army tent around Minnesota with us. Friday night after work wasn’t at the tavern, but rush home, put a home-made boat on the station wagon roof, kids and minnows and poles in the back seat and get to a lake for a couple hours before dark.
Memories are a good thing. My dad wasn’t perfect, for sure, but he did give me some great lessons on how to be a dad myself. And hope I passed on a couple of these lessons to my three kids so that now my fifteen grandkids can grow up to have character like he had.
[My memories of Robert Edward “Bud” Griffin, Sr, Dec 21, 1918 – Oct 25, 1999]
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Dr, Robert Edward Griffin, Jr.
"Jesus Knows Me, This I Love!"
