My dad doesn’t know this, but he helped me out of a sticky situation recently.
My friend T and I were taking in one of the many festivals in the Twin Cities; this one was an art festival in the hipster paradise of Northeast Minneapolis. As we passed necklaces made out of wrenches and food truck after food truck, T sighed.
“I need a pep talk,” she said.
I panicked. As a friend, I kind of suck in the advice giving department. Listening, sure, but I’m not one of those people who can come up with that perfect nugget of wisdom. I get so hung up on saying the right thing that what usually comes out is projectile word vomit.
T continued. “I can’t decide if I should start looking for a better job.” She detailed the reasons she was thinking about leaving her current job, and it sounded pretty clear to me that she needed to get out of there. See, I can think the advice. I just can’t verbalize it.
She looked at me for my opinion. I opened my mouth and what came to me immediately was the first pep talk my dad ever gave me.
“When I was potty training,” I said, “my dad had a cheer to make me use the potty.”
I cleared my throat.
“Ra ra roo! Daci go poo poo!”
A few passing hipsters shot me dirty looks, but when this becomes mainstream potty training advice they’ll insist they knew about it first. T looked at me like I was crazy.
I gave her a frustrated look. Why didn’t she understand where I was going with this? I continued with my advice:
“So what I think is… ra ra rob! Apply for that job!”
I don’t think T applied for the job.
But the next week, when I was trying to decide whether or not to wear my bat mitzvah dress to a bar, I knew she had been listening.
Because you know what? It’s good advice, and applicable to nearly everything.
Happy Father’s Day to a dad who has my back on everything; pooping and beyond!