Normally I write a little something about what it's like to be an older student on campus as an undergrad.
Today, I'd like to deviate from that.
...
It's almost the anniversary of the death of my father, David Coleman. He died September 14, 2003 after a very short battle with cancer. Although he's gone, there are lessons I have learned from him that still remain, and lessons that I think would be beneficial for anyone, especially a college student.
1. How to cook the perfect grilled cheese sandwich. There is an art to it. When I was a pre-schooler I always mispronounced grilled cheese. I called it "girl cheese".
Anyway, he taught me that when making the perfect grilled cheese sandwich, the trick is not to use real butter. If you use vegetable spread it works so much better. Something about its fake chemicals works to make the browning of the bread perfect. The less real butter and the more chemicals the better.
It was more than just the sandwich. Dad knew how to use food as a siren call of sorts to bring the chicks back to the nest. It's a trick I'm using now to bring my daughters home periodically from college. The siren call sounds like "So I made these burritos and homemade salsa..."
2. Always have lots of food on hand. In case of a catastrophe you will be prepared. This I have learned. We may not have any of life's necessitates at any given time, but by gosh, we've got canned corn. People can live on corn for years, I've heard. On second thought, I don't think I have actually heard any such thing. Which leads me to the next thing Dad taught me:
3. You can change your mind. At any time. At any moment. When my Dad died, I was taking pre-requisites to become a nurse. After he died, I didn't have the heart to follow through with it. So, I changed my mind (and my major) to English. Which just, incidentally, turned out to be perfect for me. Then I changed my minor three times until I settled on classical studies. Some people might call that flaky. I call it dabbling.
Although Dad was very stable and unchanging, (he worked at the same factory for over 20 years), he never flinched when I had some hair-brained idea, even if he thought the idea was a bit "out there". Unless, of course, the hair-brained idea involved his wallet. Which brings me to:
5. Be smart with your money. This, I will admit, has been a slower lesson to take. There would be no way, for instance, that my dad would spend $5 on a cup of Starbucks coffee. Folgers is just fine, thank you. And it didn't bother him if the coffee was older than Larry King. He'd still drink it. He never wasted anything.
One time he bought this horrible raspberry ripple ice cream (on sale) that tasted like puke flavored gravel. Nobody would eat it. When someone (me) complained, he just shrugged and said he wouldn't buy another kind until it was eaten. I think it ended up being "eaten" by the garbage disposal when he wasn't there.
When food went bad, he'd always throw it in the back yard for the "wildlife". Which was funny because he lived in town. Once he threw most of a package of stale tortillas next to the tree in the FRONT yard. The tortillias, never getting eaten by the expected Bengal tigers or African elephants, sat there for months, looking like moldy Frisbees. I think they are still there, like some kind of redneck Taj Mahal. It really embarrassed my sister, who didn't know about the tortillas, and who had a new boyfriend come over. Still laughing about that one.
6. No excuses. Ever. Own up to your faults, warts and all. Nobody is perfect, including you. Don't blame others for your shortcomings.
7. How to listen. My father was unflappable with my confessions. Trust me: there have been a few. I could have told the man that I had been abducted by aliens and I swear he would have said, "Ok. Well, good thing they brought you back safe! Now do your chores. “Which reminds me of his feelings on:
8. The value of hard work. He really disliked people that were slackers. He taught me that life gives you what you put into it. He never gave me any illusions that life would be easy.
9. Never, ever give up. Even when an oncologist used phrases like "It's really a long shot" or "You'll have to travel for an experimental treatment" Dad would say, "Let's do it." And, inevitably, when the results didn't budge, he'd say, "What else have you got?" And lastly:
10. How to laugh. Dad was the best with jokes. He taught me that the hardest things in life were more palatable with a good sense of humor. Not that his jokes were that great most of the time, you understand. But he told them with such enthusiasm and waited with such expectation you had to laugh. It's all about delivery.
So today, I'd like to dedicate this column to my dad, who never knew I loved to write, because I didn't either until I tried something new, and who was the inspiration to my very first short story that was published.
And tonight, in his honor, I think I'll make the family the perfect grilled cheese sandwich.
Thanks, Dad.
