I was at a funeral last week and all the children (grown children, btw) stood up to talk about their Dad. He could do anything and fix anything. He loved being outdoors and loved being on the lake. He knew how to tell one tree from another and how to build a bathroom. They called him the original Google. A remarkable man by any standard.
What struck me most about the stories the kids told was just how much knowledge he managed to pass on to his children during his lifetime. In a way, I was wishing that I had a handy Dad who had taught me how to fix just about anything rather than how to figure out the angle of declination of the sun.
That was my dad, a lover of puzzles and posers. A mathematician at heart. He even brought my Grade 12 math teacher home for supper one time. My dad didn’t hit it off with a lot of people but, just my luck, he and my math teacher shared a common love. I was mortified. However, I was good at math and chemistry, thanks to Dad.
I also learned how to crack butternuts, build a fire, make a whistle out of a green branch, shoot a rifle and clean a fish. Not exactly life skills (ok, cleaning fish could be a life skill) but that’s not what matters. The fact that he felt it was important to pass on that knowledge is what matters. He also taught me how to whistle with my fingers. Now that’s a skill that comes in hand when you’re calling the dog.
He was always throwing what he called “posers” at us. On car rides when we were little, there were always at least a couple of “the fox, the goose and the grain” type puzzles to solve. Or how do you spell ukulele or Mississippi. I didn’t know it at the time but I was a problem solver by the time I got to Grade 3.
My mother taught me how to sew. She also taught me how to make a bed properly. We had to make our beds every day and change the sheets every week. She inspected the hospital corners. She also taught me how to make chocolates and how to knit. And how to make a graham cracker pie.
My mother could do just about anything too. She was very good at making things. I inherited that drive to make things. In fact, I call myself a “maker of things.” My daughter is a “maker” too, as was my son.
A friend of mine felt it was important to teach her daughters how to use tools. When her girls were little they had their own mini workbench with real tools. They were encouraged to create things using their tools, wood and screws. They loved it and as adults in an “Ikea” world, are grateful and confident.
Her parents taught her and her siblings to be self sufficient, teaching them gardening, fire building, setting up a camp, practical skills that “made us problem solvers.” Her mother read to them, fostering a life long love of books and re-enforcing a “read it out loud” learning style that she still uses now.
I don’t think there is anything more valuable to pass on to a child or grandchild than the courage and ability to be a problem solver and self sufficient.
Old fashioned skills and craftsmanship will die out if we don’t teach the next generations what we know, even if what we know is not in huge demand in today’s world.
As a maker of things, I firmly believe that knitting a sweater or making a quilt are important skills. Knowing how to cook and prepare good food is important. I will admit to being shocked when someone tells me they don’t cook or they don’t bake. What?!? NO! How do you survive? They do quite nicely, thank you very much.
It is clear that what is an important skill to me is not so important to everyone else.
I am at the age where I think maybe I should pass on what I know to others. I am getting too old to do all the things I used to do. The chocolate thing was the first to go. I taught my sisters, my daughter and my niece-in-law how to make them and how to hand dip. Then someone asked me if I would teach a workshop. I really had to think about that. Was I ready to let that go? It was really my thing but was I ready to put it out in the wide, wide world. “Well Deb, what is to be gained by hogging that knowledge all to yourself?” Absolutely nothing. So off I went to teach chocolate and candy making and I had a blast and met a lovely group of women who I now consider friends.
Another thing I think is important is nurturing talent, interest and ability.
My grandson played in the music festival. He loves playing the piano. For a long time he had shown an aptitude and interest in music, so last Christmas my daughter bit the bullet and bought a piano and put him in music lessons. He practices without complaining (something I never did). He also won a first place award at the music festival.
The music festival has a Duet category. As I was watching parents and children playing duets it struck me that I was watching something quite special. Parents, moms and dads both, nurturing a love of music, sharing that with their children and encouraging them to push themselves and put themselves out there. A simple thing really but so important in the grand scheme of a life.
I’d like to point out that I am not the musically inclined person in my family. I have a sister who is, but it was my children’s paternal grandmother who passed on the musical gene to them. My daughter inherited that gene (yes, she took piano lessons) and now her son has.
My oldest grandson is athletic. My granddaughters are too. My husband spent many hours chipping golf balls in the back yard with my grandson. Countless rounds of golf at 7:30 in the morning and lots of stick handling moves in the middle of the living room – yikes! I know that my step-son and daughter-in-law spend most of the winter at the arena. Weekends are sacrificed for tournaments. The girls are good at it, so Mom and Dad give them every chance.
My daughter doesn’t know it yet, but she is going to learn how to make bread. We are going to re-design her flower beds. She has a busy life but I may not have many years left so I am going to share whether she likes it or not.
Many times in the years since my parents and grandmother died, I have wished that I had asked the question or gotten the low down on how to do something or asked the question why.
Like the “Original Mr. Google,” passing on your knowledge is your legacy.
