My Father The Safety Officer

   I recently saw a Facebook post where a friend was lamenting that she had become her mother.  It seemed like a strange thing to worry about.  She said that she had just chased her kids outside for the day – on the second day of summer.
 

   With the kids banished from the game room, maybe she started feeling guilty or maybe she sat down and relaxed for the first time in four days. It’s also possible that she had this flashback of her mother saying the exact same words many years ago.

   I had a flashback last weekend when I found myself under the hood of my son’s Nissan Pathfinder. He was heading out for drive to Kaufman County and I was worried about the car’s vitals. With the odometer topping 110,000 miles I have a right to be concerned.

   Unfortunately my son doesn’t share my concern so I checked the oil and the coolant and the washer fluid and the battery connections.  My last words after glancing at the tires were “be careful.” I have become my father.

   He had good cause to worry about my cool but totally unreliable ’57 Chevy in the mid 70’s.  

   “Did you check the oil and do you have an extra quart in the trunk?” he would ask. Then he’d say “be careful and call me when you get there,” as I drove away.  I don’t want to confuse our younger readers but he also asked “do you have a dime for a phone call.”

   Television fathers like Ward Cleaver always seemed to have the right anecdote or advice for the occasion. My father was more practical and less philosophical. His job at New Jersey Bell Telephone also made him very safety conscious.

   My father, the resident safety officer, reminded me to never flip a lawnmower over without disconnecting the spark plug. He cautioned me to always fill auto tires from the side in case they explode and to never flip the boiler switch with the ominous red switch plate that said “do not touch” on it.

   I thought of him last week during the severe lightning storms. I was watching television and made sure not to sit directly in front of the TV out of fear that a bolt would travel through the set and zap me.

   I learned to walk away from the edge of the house in winter to avoid falling icicles and

   Not following dad’s advice could be costly. I nearly started a forest fire when I ignored his advice to never spray lighter fluid on a burning fire. For some dumb reason I stuck a screwdriver in an electric socket once and got hit by an Oldsmobile when I pulled my bike between two parked cars.

   He never said “I told you so” but the fact that I remember those events so well suggests that I learned my lessons well.

   Protecting kids from the dangers of the world is nothing new for fathers.  As the early settlers of Allen left their homes in Tennessee I can imagine that their dad asked “did you check the oxen?”

   On this year’s Father’s Day take a moment to reflect on the advice your father gave you. It just might surprise you how much like him you’ve become and is that such a bad thing.