The Most Ignorant Man in the World

“When I was sixteen, my father was the most ignorant man in the world. By the time I reached twenty-one, I was surprised at how much he had learned in five years.” -- Mark Twain

I first heard that quote a few years ago from Captain Pat, a grizzly, old South Florida fishing guide that I admire the hell out of – not so much for his fishing expertise, but for his colorful storytelling abilities. Mr. Twain’s quote has stuck with me ever since as it captures the essence of the relationship between my oldest son and me.

Thinking back, there was a time that I, too, looked upon my father as a narrow-minded dullard. After all, he was the madman who stormed into my bedroom and broke my James Brown 45 because he couldn’t stand to hear that [expletive] screaming anymore. He was the guy that didn’t think it was fashionable for me to wear an American flag on the back of my Army fatigue shirt with peace sign and Mr. Natural’s “Keep on Truckin’” patches sewn on the sleeves. He didn’t like my long hair. He didn’t like my smart-ass pot-smoking friends. He didn’t seem to like anything about me, and I didn’t like anything about him.

I don’t remember when things changed for the better between us. I think it happened sometime between joining the U.S. Army and getting divorced. I remember starting to look at my father a little differently at the completion of basic training. He told me that my drill sergeant told him that he was impressed with how I handled basic training. I could see that my father was very proud. That meant the world to me. Several years later, I remember talking with him on the phone, unable to hold back the tears from the pain of splitting up with my former wife. I expected to hear “Quit your crying and suck it up!”, but what I heard was a concerned and compassionate friend on the other end of the line -- not what I expected from that inflexible, short-tempered, long-distance trucker I grew up with. I feel so fortunate to have had such a great father and friend.

I used to consider myself an enlightened parent -- smart enough not to make the same "mistakes" as my parents, but hear I sit, with the realization that the gansta rap my son listens to irritates me to no end! Those baggy jeans worn half-mast around his ass and that flat-brimmed, logo bearing, black-on-black New York Yankee baseball cap infuriate me! And I don't like his smart-ass pot smoking friends either!

It must be true what they say -- the more things change, the more they remain the same. I only hope that I get smart real soon!