A Brilliant Teacher - Who Taught Foolishly

Daddy was a brilliant man. Probably one of the brightest I have ever personally known. However, his conscious efforts at instruction were far from inspirational. I think the problem was that things came so easily to him he had a difficult time understanding when those he sought to teach were having a difficult time.

He tried to teach me to play piano. The problem was, Daddy couldn't read music. He played 'by ear', sounding out the notes and using his experience to chord properly. How does one teach someone to play by ear? There were no finger exercise, or note reading, or anything like that. He just showed me what he did and expected me to repeat it. H*ll, I didn't even recognize most of the music he played. It was old country western and folk songs which were not played on any radio station I listened to. He gave up on me learning music. I'm sure he thought I was hopeless.

I still recall the day I was home sick from school and he told me he was leaving and would be back at a certain time. I asked him how I would know and he realized I didn't know how to read a clock. (This predated digital, folks.) So Daddy sat me down at the table and drew about a half dozen clock faces on a sheet of paper. Then he proceeded to tell me how to tell time.

You ever try to learn something when you're sick? It's hard to concentrate. Not only that, but Daddy was impatient to be leaving and so was rushing his 'lesson'. Finally, he gave up and stormed away. I remember he got drunk that night. When I returned to school I mentioned to my teacher what had happened and she sat down with me over lunch and taught me how to read a clock. I waited up for Daddy to come home. Thought he would be so happy that I learned how to tell time. It didn't go over well that I had learned from my teacher and not from him. Poor Daddy.

Daddy did teach me how to handle guns. That he taught well. And I learned it. Do ANYTHING with a gun that was not supposed to be done - and you get slapped. Hard. That might seem harsh, but the consequences for being stupid with a gun are permanent. The worst beating I ever saw Daddy give anyone was to Judayl, who thought to be funny by pointing a shotgun at me. She was hoping to scare me away, but I just looked at her and smiled. "I'm telling Daddy." It was all I needed to say. She turned white. No. I learned about guns. With the exception of the ground, NEVER point a gun at something you are not intending to shoot. They are not toys. Treat them like they will kill you: because if you don't they just might.

What was probably the funniest lesson Daddy ever tried to teach me was driving. I was sixteen. I had taken the classroom training. (Back in those days it was part of school.) I had passed my written exam and could now drive with a licensed driver. Mother started teaching me in the big Chevy, but Daddy wanted me to learn how to drive a manual transmission. That meant the pickup. The old pickup. The very old pickup. With the crappy transmission.

Shifting between most gears in the old pickup wasn't too bad. But second to third was a nuisance. It required a double-clutch. I didn't always remember. Daddy had me drive around the big block. This meant a mile to the north, three miles to the west, a mile to the south, and three miles to the east. We lived on the corner.

We hadn't even made it halfway when things went - awry. I was trying to be especially careful because the ditches here were about ten feet deep. Swamp lined both sides of the road and I was nervous about not staying on pavement. Daddy chose this place to have me experiment with downshifting and upshifting. I forgot about the double shift. I was also riding the clutch. He told me to watch my feet. I thought he was speaking metaphorically, for I knew I was supposed to watch the road. Then he started yelling and pointed at my feet. "Look where you have them!" So I bent over and looked.

Unfortunately, in the process of looking I also managed to turn the wheel. The next thing I hear is, "What are you doing? Look where you're going! Stop! Stop! Stop!" So I stopped.

We were almost off the road.

I don't remember the next five miles. I do remember Mother yelling at me a few days later and telling me Daddy had told her I was so incompetent he would never take me driving again. I doubt he used the word "incompetent" (Mother just liked to embellish in order to make us feel especially bad), but Daddy never rode in a car I drove again. Ever. Of course, he only lived another year-and-a-half.

Daddy was a brilliant man. But heaven help the person he tried to teach anything to.