Thursday, 2/7

Well, today's another birthday in the Koski family. My dad turns yet another year older, which, if I remember correctly, places him in roughly the same age category as the dirt he’s walking on down in Florida. Now, I think I’ve told every goofy story I can about him and still be on speaking terms, so just let me throw this one out--

I owe my dad $1,000. And I’ve owed him a thousand dollars since I was 9 or 10.

When you’re 9 or 10, you’re at that age when you begin to realize that you’ve actually learned a few things in your short life. When you’re 9 or 10, you’re at that age when you believe those things that you’ve learned mean that you know everything. And when you’re 9 or 10, you often use those misplaced abilities to get yourself in trouble.

And THAT’S why I owe my dad $1,000.

One day when I was 9 or 10, we had driven out to Palmer to visit my aunt. As we were getting ready to drive back to Marquette, I noticed that our car’s gas gauge was dipping down around “empty”. Being 9 or 10, I was convinced that we would run out of gas on the way home, and for the life of me couldn’t understand why my dad wouldn’t stop and fill up. Being 9 or 10, it didn’t occur to me that my dad--who spent had spent his adult life up to that point fixing & rebuilding cars--might know a little bit more about cars & gas mileage than did I. Nope. I was convinced that we would run out of gas just as soon as we pulled out of Palmer.

In fact, I was SO convinced that I bet my dad $1,000 that we wouldn’t make it home.

Oops. My bad.

When we made it home, I realized that, just perhaps, my dad may have known a few things that I, at 9 or 10, had not yet discovered. But since one of the things I did know at that age was that you always do what you say you’re gonna do, I realized that I was gonna have to pay my dad $1,000. Now, being 9 or 10 and not having a grand stuck somewhere in a piggy bank, I wrote my dad an IOU for that $1,000. After all, I had bet him that we were gonna run out of gas, and I lost.

I had totally forgotten about the bet until a couple of years ago, when my dad pulled something out of his wallet to show me. That something, of course, was the IOU I wrote him when I was 9 or 10. For over 40 years he had been carrying it around with him. He never (or, at least hasn’t yet) made me repay it, and never once reminded me that, just perhaps, he may know more than I do.

Now, I don’t have any kids, but if I did, I know what kind of dad I’d be. I’d be the kind of dad who makes goofy bets with my kids, and the kind of dad who then carries around an IOU for over four decades years after winning said goofy bet. After all, I have a sneaking suspicion that that goofy bet and that goofy IOU are worth more than a thousand dollars, even after compound interest. And THAT’S the kind of dad I’d want to be.

Have a great birthday, dad. And make sure you share some of your cake with the dirt that's approximately the same age!

8-)

Love,

(jim@wmqt.com)