life lessons from a compassionate dictator

my dad ran a solid dictatorship.

"now, i ain't got nothing against your mother. she's a good woman. but you have to raise a kid. you have to have rules and order. discipline. shit like that. or else they turn out like you."

my willfull, smart alecky attitude had to go. as did my slovenly dress and personal appearance. ditto, my lack of work ethic.

dad developed a 'chore rotation.' i couldn't go play at dana's until all chores were properly conducted. my workmanship checked for shoddiness.

the ping pong table, in the garage heaped with fresh bundles of pot. a separate table held plastic baggies, twist ties, and a scale. i quickly learned how to sort stem and seed, to weigh and bag in proper amounts. it wasn't bad work and dad always provided lots of loud doors music for company.

dad would stop in to check on me, muse about 'on the job training.'

sometimes my smart mouth got me into trouble. i'd wind up mucking out the horses stalls. once, for calling my dad a 'stupid shithead' i earned the job of washing and cleaning the labels off of a thousand beer bottles. dad was also a budding beer brewing magnate.

i'm still mostly willfull and slovenly. but i never leave the house without making my bed, brushing my teeth, and at least taking a half hearted swipe at the cat box.

thanks dad.