On the way to the car, my mom asked me if I could offer a toast. I'm not accustomed to doing such things, but I said I'd give it a try. On the way there I mulled it and came up with a rough idea that I figured I'd flesh out on the fly.
As it turned out, the usually quiet restaurant was a blur of noise from orange-shirted groups taking tours of local restaurants. They rotated through by a bus that made the rounds. It was way too loud for anything but a "here's to the birthday boy" toast.
But I hate the toast to go to waste, so here we go:
I want to raise a toast to my dad tonight on his eightieth birthday.
A toast is of course a reflection of my relationship with dad, and I can't really speak for everyone here. But I want to relate two things that dad has taught me and one thing he never taught me. I am grateful for all three of these lessons.
First, you all know that dad was in the Navy in World War II. And you know that dad couldn't swim. Swimming just didn't take. The Navy, naturally, wants its sailors to swim. That whole ocean thing, you know? Unfortunately, dad had to take a swimming test in a pool with the other sailor trainees as a requirement to get out. Dad figured the best thing he could do was dive in with enough momentum to reach the other side. Bumping into the sailor ahead of him doomed that approach. But dad moved on anyway and served his time in the Navy.
Second, when I was but a lad, dad taught me how to play poker. He explained the hands, and why you discard cards to get a better hand. After the lesson, he dealt my first hand of poker. Dad discarded cards and replaced them. Then he asked me how many cards I wanted. "None," I replied. "Are you sure?" dad asked. He quickly told me why you usually need cards. I looked at my hand, remembered the rules dad told me, and assured him that my hand was fine. So dad lays out his cards. I don't remember what he had. But it didn't matter what they were because I had a straight flush. Dad was pretty surprised and told me I'd never see that hand again in my life.
Finally, I guess I'm most appreciative of what dad didn't teach me. As long as I can remember, I've never heard dad say a bad thing about anybody based on their race or religion. Oh, I've heard him say bad things about people based on their politics, no doubt. But it was always about what they believed and not who they were. Dad didn't pass down any hatreds to me. In this day and age, that counts for a lot in my book.
So I learned that life usually works out. Bumps in the road are normal, but if you just keep moving forward, you'll be fine.
I learned that I used up all my gambling luck early in life, so it would be pretty pointless to wager money on any other bets.
And I learned to treat people as people. Any faults I have in this regard are purely my own fault--and usually involve the French.
So here's to you, dad. I like to think you gave me a pretty good foundation for life. And I thank you for that. I look forward to more lessons in the years ahead.
Oh, and Go Blue!
That's the toast I would have given.
