Dad Poet Society

I’ve been known from time to time to drawl about my daddy and the country folksy sayings that I say he used to say, but never did. He’s not the country folksy type. And if I were to fit him in a mold, and I can’t because he doesn’t fit, I mean, he’s more the Monday morning quarterback than he’ll ever be Will Rogers or Mark Twain. But just last Sunday he said something would have done either of those fellows proud.

We had been talking about how tough it is to make a perfect life.

“Son,” he said, “there’s never been a blueprint yet that didn’t have a flaw. Every time I bought a new machine, I’d haul it in the shop and whip up some new patent I was sure would make it better than it ever was before. But every time I did that, as your mother will attest,” and she did, “there’d pop up some new problem I had never thought about. Then I could just live with that, or whip another patent on—and find another flaw. Pretty soon I came to know there’ll likely never be a perfect plow. I guess I came to live with that. There really is no perfect plan. Every blueprint has a flaw. And life’s a lot like that.

“Mind you now, don’t ever stop your searching for that patent that will make the whole darn world a better place. But don’t get tied up thinking that’s your duty, and if you don’t make the world a perfect place you’ll be a failure when you come to die, because that’s just storing up more pain and disappointment than I ever want a son of mine to bear. Just do your best, and ’cause you’re good, your best will be as perfect as the blueprint will allow.”