Like Father, Like ...

Sooner or later every guy compares himself with his father. Sometimes sooner, and later. How the son fares pretty much depends on what he learned from his father, and how much he appreciates it.

Daddy never taught me how to hit a baseball or catch a football, probably reckoning that those skills and related ones were best acquired in sandlot games with neighborhood friends.

He didn’t bother to show me how to weld, work on machinery or compute production expenses and payroll, perhaps sensing that those staples of his work life were not going to figure in mine.

He did teach me to drive, and as a result I’m pretty darn good at it.

But most of the lessons weren’t formal instruction at all. He taught by example. I only had to pay attention.

He showed that it’s always best to try your best, and to be satisfied with the result. Or if you can’t be satisfied, to try again.

That honesty is not just a policy, but a way of life.

That a man’s word is indeed his bond, but that not every thought needs to be expressed.

That reading is a valuable pastime.

That the ability to laugh - including, and perhaps particularly, at yourself - can lighten a lot of life’s burdens.

That you should do the right thing, even when no one else would know otherwise.

Most important of all, he showed me the importance of treating people right, even when the evidence indicates they haven’t treated you right.

Most of the time I feel that I fall short, because the bar was set pretty high. And that, I believe, is the best way for a man to feel about himself and his father.

Happy would-be 82nd, Daddy.