My dad is celebrating his 58th birthday on Monday and Father's Day is next Sunday. I'm broke so I've been trying to figure out what I could get him. I decided to dedicate this post to him and detail some things I've learned from the second best dad in the world (I'm the first best dad in the world and I have a t-shirt to prove it).
My dad has taught me integrity. I remember when I was about 7, we went to Disneyland as a family. I saw a sign outside the front gate that said Children 4 and Under are Free. It was Nick's 5th birthday that day. I told my dad that he could save $35 if he just told them Nick's birthday was tomorrow. I mean, really... it's only one day. My dad said that would be dishonest and he refused to lie. I've remembered that experience after all these years. I'd like to think I never had to be retaught that lesson, except... when I was 17 my dad noticed I had stolen some towels from a hotel I'd stayed at while appling for the Marine Corps.
My dad didn't say much of anything, but I found out later he had taken the towels back to the hotel and apologized for my behavior. How embarrassing (that I stole when I was 17... not that he returned them).
My dad has taught me respect. When I was in Young Men's (about 12) in church our leader Loron Marler divided us into teams and told us to come up with a team name for an activity. My best friend J.B. Hinrichs and I decided on the genius name of Sretab-Rutsam. Loron asked repeatedly what it meant and we made something up about a band we listened to or something.
We thought it was hilarious until the next Sunday when we saw our team names printed in the Sacrament Program with the team members names under them. My dad figured it out pretty quickly and then escorted me to Loron after church so I could apologize.
My dad taught me fairness. When I was five I accompanied my parents to a Ward Softball game at the park. There was a playground that I spent all my time on. I thought it was entertaining to stand next to the Merry-Go-Round and throw handfuls of sand up in the air so it landed in the face and hair of everyone enjoying the nausea of spinning in circles for hours on end. A seven year old jumped off the Merry-Go-Round and threw a handful of sand right into my mouth and eyes. I ran to my dad who then carried me back to the playground so I could point out the kid who did it. I pointed to him and my dad ripped him a new hole. After my dad had finished screaming, the kid stuttered, "But he was throwing it as us first."
My dad looked at me and I smiled and shrugged my shoulders or something. My dad apologized to the kid and told me I was lucky to only have grainy eyeballs for two days.
My dad always made me feel better for some reason. When I was 11 I broke my right arm from jumping out of a swing set doing the whole "One for the money" routine. My dad met us at the doctors office right as the doctor explained he'd have to "set" my arm. Well I had broken my left arm 3 years earlier and I was still having nightmares about having the arm "set". While I was laying there with my mom on one side and my dad on the other, I asked him if he would put his hand over my mouth when my arm was set so the patients in the waiting room wouldn't hear me screaming. I remember seeing tears in my dads eyes as he put his hand as tight as he could over my mouth while the doctor pulled on my arm to align the bones. My dad did as I had asked, but I could tell how much he was hurting inside knowing his favorite son was suffering.
My dad showed me that even really old guys could still have fun. He had low inhibitions when it came to playing with his kids. I borrowed my friends video camera when I was about 13. The only cool trick I knew how to do was to make people "disappear"... you know, shut off the camera and hold really really still while they run out of the frame, then turn the camera back on. What? Where did they go? My dad "disappeared" so many times I can't even count... including the time he "disappeared" in mid-air while jumping on the trampoline.
My dad taught me that it's okay to laugh at someone, as long as you don't take it too far. We lived in Arizona until I was five. We pretty much always ran around without our shirts on. A lot of nights, my dad would go outside and catch one of those big, black, ugly crickets and sneak them inside.
Once he was inside the house, he'd shake them up for a while in his hand until they were good and dazed. Then he'd let them go on our stomachs. We would try to cry, but we'd be so scared we couldn't move. My dad would sit back and laugh his head off along with my mom and any of the siblings who weren't directly involved in the torture.
My dad taught me how to control my anger by having pets. Even though my parents have two dogs currently, my dad hated having pets while I was growing up. He was constantly complaining about something they had done. We tried to have a dog a couple of times, but it only lasted about a month each time. My dad was able to tolerate cats, for the most part, but I remember two specific instances when my dad would have literally killed our cat with his bare hands if they weren't so effing agile.
The first time is when my dad was barbecuing in the back yard. He had a few patties already cooked and sitting on a plate on the patio table. Our cat, Lester, jumped on the table, snaked a patty and took off running. My dad gave chase and caught up to Lester right as they were getting to our Lilac bush. Just as Lester disappeared under the bush, my dad kicked as hard as he possibly could, hoping to catch Lester in butt. Unfortunately, my dad didn't know there was a cinder block just under the bush... and my dad was barefoot. I remember him rolling on the grass holding his foot for about 5 minutes, but I never heard a swear word come out of his mouth.
I'm sure he was saying them, but he was saying them quiet enough that we didn't hear anything.
The second time was when my dad was walking around the house one morning complaining about how our house smelled like cat crap. He was looking behind all the furniture knowing he'd find a big pile of cat poo somewhere. Eventually he made it to my room that I shared with my older brother, Ryan. We had dark blue, deeeeeeep shag carpet in our room (which was totally cool back in the early 80's). The shag was so deep the vacuum was unable to pick up most of the filth on the ground.
Sure enough, my dad found a huge pile of cat crap right in the smack dab center of the room. It was a pretty runny poo and it was obvious the crap had seeped deep into the shag. My dad mumbled something and then disappeared out the downstairs door. Ryan and I were trying to decide if we should try to clean it up, when my dad reappeared with a box cutter he'd retrieved from the garage. He got on all fours and proceeded to cut about a 10" square hole out of the carpet with the cat poo being in the center. I remember we could see the concrete floor for about 3 years until we replaced the carpet in that room... and whenever I'd see the hole, I'd always smile at the thought of my dad and his frustration.
My dad taught me about the birds and the bees. My mom and dad told me the basics when I was about 11. However, the students at Degrassi Junior High didn't know how little I knew so they had all sorts of conversations in front of me about things I wasn't sure about. I remember my mom was making bread in the kitchen one afternoon and I asked her what a condom was. She asked where I'd heard about a condom.
I told her that they were talking about it on Degrassi Jr. High. She motioned to the backyard and said, "You should go ask your dad about that one." So I walked outside while my dad was doing something to the sprinklers. I asked him what a condom was and he explained what they were and what they were used for in very clear terms. He never paused what he was doing with the sprinklers, which really helped with the comfort level. The conversation would have been a lot more awkward if he had stopped working, taken me into the bedroom, sat me on my bed and explained everything while making eye contact. He explained it casually and invited me to ask any follow up questions... which I did. It was a very informative conversation that I'll never forget.
My dad also taught me about the value of work and the importance of providing for your family. My dad worked quite a bit while we were growing up and my mom stayed at home for most of my upbringing. With five kids it was obvious my family struggled financially, though I didn't know it at the time. Most of our dinners consisted of some sort of potato dish. Either homemade hash browns with ketchup, fried potato chunks, or baked potato slices with butter on top.
My mom would usually boil a dozen eggs every morning for us to eat for breakfast or we'd have a bowl of "raw oatmeal" which is surprisingly delicious. Whenever my dad was in charge, he'd break out the Ralston. My dad couldn't get enough of the Ralston. I might have liked it if it was called something besides Ralston. The name "Ralston" still makes me shiver. I'm pretty sure it was kinda like Cream of Wheat... only made out of corn, but I'm not positive. I remember waking up one Saturday morning all excited to watch Smurfs and I noticed my dad was sitting by the back door surrounded by piles of newspapers. He was folding them. I asked what on earth he was doing and he told me he had started doing a paper route for some extra money. I don't know how long he had secretly been doing it, but I've always looked back on that moment with great admiration for my dad. He was probably trying to get some extra money for Christmas or something. What a great guy.
My dad taught me to be creative. With seven people in our family, Family Home Evening was usually an adventure. Almost every Monday night for several years we'd have a lesson and then play Hide and Go Seek In the Dark. Most people have played some sort of variation of this game. Our version was one person would hide in a pitch black house while everyone else counted. Then we'd all split up to look for whoever was hiding. When you found the person who was hiding, you had to silently join them and hide until everyone had found them. Well, whenever my dad was "it" we were always excited. He could make the game dangerous and boring at the same time. The first thing he'd do while we were counting to 100 is rearrange as much of the furniture as he could without making any noise.
When he heard us get to about 90, he'd tiptoe upstairs to his bedroom, lay on his bed and go to sleep. We'd all eventually find him, but we were always upset that he'd taken a nap like an old man instead of playing the game for real. But then, he'd get us back by finding someplace ridiculously hard to hide. One time it was on top of the fridge. Another time it was on top of a towel closet in my parents bathroom (there's a photo somewhere on this page of him climbing down when nobody could find him and we all gave up). To top it all off, you'll notice in the photo that my dad is wearing all black. He changed while we were counting so it made it even harder to find him. Thanks Dad. I can't wait to play this with my family.
I know this post has been pretty long, but I assure you, I have a list of other experiences to write about but I don't have time. Maybe I'll save them for next year. Like when my dad came with me to buy my first crappy car. Or when he sent me a ziplock bag with 60 vitamins in it when I had 2 months left on my mission. He called it my Vitamin Countdown. Or when my mom told me to wake my dad up when I got home from a date instead of her... but he'd never remember in the morning that I'd woken him up and had a 5 minute conversation about my date.
Or the best one ever was on Halloween when my dad stripped down and put on his long winter coat that went to his knees and a Beetleguise mask. He went out the back door and knocked on the front door when there weren't any trick or treaters around. When my mom came to the door, my dad flashed her. My mom was so shocked, she didn't recognize the coat or mask or... well, you know.
I love my dad so much. He never missed an opportunity to tell me he loved me or that he was proud of me. He always made me feel like I could do better and never like I wasn't doing good enough. I can tell he's proud of me today because he can see that I'm enjoying being a father as much as he did when he was raising me. I can still call my dad with questions about my car, my yard, how to barbecue, or even the birds and the bees... and he always has the answer I'm looking for. I'm sure he always will.
Happy Birthday and Father's Day, Brandt. You're the awesomest!
For some reason, I was the only one of my siblings who had a blog until recently (my older brother Ryan just started one a couple of weeks ago). I'm surprised my other two brothers and my sister don't have one. They're all hilarious and I'd love to read their humorous takes on their respective Life Events. 
Last Halloween Ryan dressed up as a priest and my younger brother dressed up as a boyscout. You can see from the photo that the boyscout shirt was an extra small, but that's all the D.I. had available. So near the end of the party we all start making off color jokes about how Ryan keeps on checking Kyle out and kind of eyeing Kyle's protruding stomach. Before we know what's going on, Ryan and Kyle start posing for as many crude, yet strangely humorous, photos that we can come up with. This one was my idea. Yup. The priest is gagging the boyscout with his own Neckerchief while pinching his nipple.
I know that I've had several posts lately that make some sort of mention of fecal matter, and I apologize if you are offended at the topic... but I can't help myself. I'm at work right now and I just came from the employee bathroom. There are only two stalls available for employees and I was in the preferred, king size, handicapped stall, minding my own business, doing my printable Sudoku puzzle. 
From what I've heard, it is fairly common for girls stalls to have cans of air freshener. But not the boys room. I've never seen a can of air freshener in a stall in a boys bathroom before. Never. But I started glancing around my handicapped kingdom to see if I had a can of air freshener, as well. I didn't see one. Then this guy broke "bathroom code" Rule #1. He spoke to me. "You know it's bad when you have to bring your own can of air freshener in order to survive." I gave him an audible chuckle and immediately began wrapping up my own visit. I really didn't want to have a verbal exchange with this guy... especially in this environment. 
Once he was inside the house, he'd shake them up for a while in his hand until they were good and dazed. Then he'd let them go on our stomachs. We would try to cry, but we'd be so scared we couldn't move. My dad would sit back and laugh his head off along with my mom and any of the siblings who weren't directly involved in the torture.
The first time is when my dad was barbecuing in the back yard. He had a few patties already cooked and sitting on a plate on the patio table. Our cat, Lester, jumped on the table, snaked a patty and took off running. My dad gave chase and caught up to Lester right as they were getting to our Lilac bush. Just as Lester disappeared under the bush, my dad kicked as hard as he possibly could, hoping to catch Lester in butt. Unfortunately, my dad didn't know there was a cinder block just under the bush... and my dad was barefoot. I remember him rolling on the grass holding his foot for about 5 minutes, but I never heard a swear word come out of his mouth. 
Sure enough, my dad found a huge pile of cat crap right in the smack dab center of the room. It was a pretty runny poo and it was obvious the crap had seeped deep into the shag. My dad mumbled something and then disappeared out the downstairs door. Ryan and I were trying to decide if we should try to clean it up, when my dad reappeared with a box cutter he'd retrieved from the garage. He got on all fours and proceeded to cut about a 10" square hole out of the carpet with the cat poo being in the center. I remember we could see the concrete floor for about 3 years until we replaced the carpet in that room... and whenever I'd see the hole, I'd always smile at the thought of my dad and his frustration.
My mom would usually boil a dozen eggs every morning for us to eat for breakfast or we'd have a bowl of "raw oatmeal" which is surprisingly delicious. Whenever my dad was in charge, he'd break out the Ralston. My dad couldn't get enough of the Ralston. I might have liked it if it was called something besides Ralston. The name "Ralston" still makes me shiver. I'm pretty sure it was kinda like Cream of Wheat... only made out of corn, but I'm not positive. I remember waking up one Saturday morning all excited to watch Smurfs and I noticed my dad was sitting by the back door surrounded by piles of newspapers. He was folding them. I asked what on earth he was doing and he told me he had started doing a paper route for some extra money. I don't know how long he had secretly been doing it, but I've always looked back on that moment with great admiration for my dad. He was probably trying to get some extra money for Christmas or something. What a great guy.
Or the best one ever was on Halloween when my dad stripped down and put on his long winter coat that went to his knees and a Beetleguise mask. He went out the back door and knocked on the front door when there weren't any trick or treaters around. When my mom came to the door, my dad flashed her. My mom was so shocked, she didn't recognize the coat or mask or... well, you know.
I don't know what it is about poo that my family finds so funny. Usually it's talking about it that we find hilarious. Remember when you were little and you'd replace as many word in sentence with "poo" and "pee" just to get your siblings to laugh (or to get your parents to tell you to stop)? Don't even try to act like you didn't do it... you at least had a brother that did it and I know you laughed.
By the way, I've also included a couple of poopy photos I thought you might enjoy. The first one is when Betsy was changing Bostons diaper and he decided to spray diarrhea all up Betsy's pants and shirt. If you blow the photo up, you may even see a chunk on her face.
