In the Ensuing Panic

In the sixties, when I was born, most men wanted a son first to carry on the family name. My father just wanted a child. The fact that his first-born was a girl didn’t faze him at all. He was delighted. He was every bit as delighted when my two sisters followed me in the next four years. It was not until six years afterwards that a boy was born.

My father taught me that I could do anything that I determined to do. He never met my suggestions, no matter how wild, with scorn. Instead, he provided me with the tools and taught me the skills necessary and then let me go. Now, when someone tells me that something can’t be done, I tell them to get out of the way.

When I was ten, I decided that the tall cylinders my mother’s hose came in would make great pencil holders if I could just melt the top to make a hole. My father got a small blowtorch and taught me how to use it. When I had the hang of it, he left me outside with instructions not to point it at my sisters or the house. At the time, I was so proud that I could handle something dangerous all by myself. Now, of course, I know that my dad was nearby watching just in case. The pencil holders were a great hit as Christmas presents for grandparents, aunts and uncles. This was my first experience in learning that homemade gifts are the best.

Today, my sisters and I all work in education. We help others reach their goals, even if they seem difficult or impossible. People who have never met my father are benefiting from what he taught us. My brother is a lawyer. We tell him that three sisters were excellent trainers in arguing.

Thanks for everything, Dad! I love you!

TSG