Self-Centered Special Person of the Day

Last week I read an article on ADHD in which the writer said (loosely paraphrased): “Individuals with ADHD might have a tendency to be all about themselves. We can describe them as self-focused. ”

At that moment, I retorted aloud to God and all the walls in my office: “Might?  A tendency?  Are you kidding me?”  

It is insulting, the way she minimized it. Those who know or love a person with ADHD will tell you that it is not merely a tendency or a possibility.

It is reality, a sure deal, a given.

I’ve been telling Husband for decades that he is only tuned-in when the conversation is all about him. Hmmm- he doesn’t even argue the point with me.

As a matter of fact, he will often say it, “Yeah, I know; it’s all about me.”

Not that I really hold on to a grudge, but listen to what happened 35 years ago during a meal at our favorite restaurant. We had both worked all day, and then picked up Oldest Daughter from the babysitter. It had been a trying day at school, and I wanted to vent about it. About half-way through what I planned to say, I could see Husband’s eye glaze over. He said, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t want to hear about it.”  

OK!, So that was the end of that conversation and many others. I vowed not to share about my day with him ever again, and I kept that vow for several years.

I declare he didn’t even notice.

I could tell literally dozens of stories from the reason why he finally got around to staining and repairing my dining chairs (his sister was moving in with us) to why he recalls for the umpteenth time that his father didn’t really love him.

Husband’s psychiatrist would likely tell me that his behavior patterns are evidence of his personality. Other people may claim it is a matter of self-monitoring as opposed to self-focus. Nonsense; we’re talking self-absorption.

But I want you to totally understand, this is not the same as selfishness. In this case, self-centered does not mean selfish. Husband can be quite considerate, which he has demonstrated many times throughout our marriage.

I shared such a thought with Tony, my hairdresser, just today. He was telling me about a family where the father walked away due to a son’s disabilities and mental illness.

“Yep,” I agreed, “We often hear about Dads who take a walk because they cannot handle the pressures of sick or disabled kids. Our Crown Prince was a sickly baby, and I don’t know how I could have managed without my husband’s support and collaboration.

“Matter of fact, I nominated him for Special Person of the Day for that reason, and he won.”

Tony had not heard of Special Person of the Day, a radio contest sponsored by a local station here in Wichita over 30 years ago.

“I sent a letter to the station explaining how ill our baby had been and how Husband helped me carry the emotional and physical load of care. It is not easy to care for both a toddler and a chronically sick baby at the same time. Husband was my Rock and buttress throughout each ordeal and trauma.

“The program manager phoned Husband at work and read the letter across the radio. I could tell Husband was totally shocked. Along with being named Special Person of the Day, he won tickets to a restaurant and movie, a cup and other nick-nacks that honored him. I think they delivered the prizes to his office.”

Tony laughed, “It sounds as if you won both of you a date night.”

“Yea, I guess, but I won more than that. I won a forever memory that counteracts those moments when I want to scream at my husband’s total immersion into himself and his feelings.”

Because as I said, it is more than a tendency or a possibility. It is a given.

The Book Report

When we were dating, Husband told me he completely read only one fiction book when he was in high school.

To me, an avid reader, that seemed so dubious, but the more I got to know him, the more l realized he was telling the truth.

Now I know that as many as 50% of persons with ADHD have learning disabilities. Keep in mind learning disabilities are not cognitive impairments; they are associated with learners with above-average intelligence, and they have to do with the brain’s ability to store and retrieve information.

Current research refers to his type of learning disability as a reading disability, and it says that for successful reading to take place, the brain systems used for spoken language and decoding the symbols must work properly. Reading disability reflects a problem within those systems.

Husband put it this way: “Reading for me was going three words forward and five words backward. When I got to the end of a sentence, I had to go back again and see what it said. When I got to the end of a paragraph, I’d have to read it again for content. I used a lot of underlines and parentheses.”

I knew he could write well because he often corrected my typing errors and some of my mistakes in grammar mechanics. “So how did you do so well in high school?”  He did have a high “B” average.

“I took classes where I didn’t have to read so much. I listened well because I have auditory strengths.  And ( pause, pause), I faked it a bunch. I never did read a book for the book reports we had to give.”

“How did you get by with it? I would have been caught.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t caught. I think teachers knew the reports were shams. As a matter of fact, Sarah, my 11^th grade English teacher as much as said so.”

“You called her Sarah?”

“Yes, I was the type of kid who could get by with that, too. Ms. Harvey realized my potential and encouraged me.”

“So back to the book reports, how did you do them?”

“I learned to read a bit from the front of the book, some from the middle, and the conclusion. If a teacher asked me additional questions, I would have enough to fake the answers.”

I thought it sounded a bit risky and told him so. Underneath, I admired his strategy.

“It wasn’t successful in my ninth grade class. We were assigned to read a book and give an oral report. I asked this guy named Tim ‘Do you have a book you’ve ever read that you are not using for this report? Is there one you can tell me about?’ He told me about Treasure Island.”

“What went wrong?” I asked.

“The day for the oral reports, Mills, the teacher, said he was going to start in the middle of the alphabet, which meant me. So the first person Mills called on was me.”

Husband went on to explain he gave a poor rendition of the book. The teacher kept asking him questions, and he couldn’t remember what Tim had told him.

In front of the class, the teacher said he didn’t believe Husband had read the book. “I don’t believe you read it.  Since you can’t answer my questions, I am going to give you an F.”

I felt so badly for him when he told me that part of the story.

“Tim sat the first seat in the middle row. He just sat there and laughed at me all the way through the agony.”

I tried positive comments. “Well, at least you got your misery out of the way. And think of what you learned from the situation. You became a faker with strategy.”

He cut his eyes toward me with a unexpected expression on his face. “I wish I had known about Cliff Notes that year.”

Ally Oop McNay

Nestled in the Old Riverside Zoo, the alligator pit created a hot spot of interest when Husband and I grew up in Wichita.

Even after the zoo moved to its newest location, we would visit the pit and talk about our memories as children.

One evening shortly before we became engaged, Husband took me to the old zoo for a stroll and to play on the statues there. It doesn’t matter that we were in our early 20’s; so what if the figures were designed for younger children? This zoo belonged to us and our childhood experiences.

Husband took me by the hand and in solemn procession led me to the empty pit.

“This is where we brought Henry Egghead Ally Oop McNay,” he said in near reverence.

“This is where you brought who-o-o-?” I asked with suspicion. I never was quite certain in those days when I was being set-up for one of his jokes.

“This is where we brought our alligator. When he got too big for the bathtub, Mom phoned the zoo and asked if they would take him.”

I am certain Husband kept looking at the pit to focus on the mental pictures running through his mind.

“And which of you named that poor ‘gator such a fancy name?”   I thought maybe all four kids got together with that name.

“Dad,” he replied.

“Your Dad?” I asked incredulously. His dad did not seem the type to me at that time. Of course, now I know it sounds just like him.

“Yes, Dad.” He paused several times as he pulled the memories from the back of his mind. All the time he kept staring at the pit.

“I remember the comic Ally Oop about the Caveman, but where did the other names come from?”  I laughed to think of the alligator being named for a cartoon that began sometime in the 1930’s.

“They were characters in the cartoon strip. It was all part of the comic strip. It was something popular at the time. Dad liked it.”

“Where did you get the ‘gator?” The memory of the story was a bit fuzzy to me.

“Dad mailed him to me in 1959 for my birthday. He was in Florida on business for Boeing, and he sent me a present for my ninth birthday.  Ally Oop was only six or seven inches long. It was the days before  federal regulations put an end to that type of mail.”

“What did you think of it?”

“I liked it for a few days, but then I lost interest. It needed care and oversight, so I became bored with it. Mom was the one who liked things like that, and she was the one who took care of it.”

“That sounds like her. Did your Dad really think you would be into things like a ‘gator?”

“Who knows,” Husband shrugged and turned from the pit. “I did like it for a while until the son-of-a bitch bit me. He put a small hole in my forefinger.”

“Which one, the ‘gator or your Dad?” We laughed together on that one.

Husband looked serious. “Even at that age I felt Dad did not accept me or even like me. I think I was surprised that he sent me something, even it did seem weird.”

“I doubt he thought he was being weird. I bet he thought he was doing something that would really interest your natural curiosity.”

Husband paused again, “Yeah. Well. Whatever. We would come each spring to watch the caretakers take Ally Oop and the other alligators out of their winter home in that building over there and transfer them to the pit. It was a big deal.”

As I reflect on that memory, I’m glad I had likely seen the family alligator in the days before Husband and I met. It made a special connection for me.

I also contemplate about a small boy with ADHD who possessed abundant interest in things of nature and in many other directions. I believe the gift was a logical idea and choice from his Dad. I know Husband no longer cares one way or another, but the memory from that extraordinary household is fun to share.

Managing Money, a First Lesson

I deeply admire Husband’s mathematical talents and abilities. He remembers more than seven digits at once, understands calculations beyond Algebra II, and can add and subtract lists of numbers in his head.

He inherited this ability from his Dad. Father-in-law was a mathematician and engineer. He understood the language of numbers and was good in numeracy.

So, I wonder, why didn’t Husband understand financial literacy when we first married? For that matter, why didn’t I? We understood the concept of money, and I totally got it that bills should be paid on time.

We both understood the concept of spending, but I think saving to spend later was not a concept Husband totally comprehend. Why be concerned about investing when there is no extra money?

Saving money and paying bills can be totally abstract concepts. They require self-discipline and control. Like many persons with ADHD, Husband responded more to the concrete things before him. On occasions when he did have a plan, the desire to buy the item of the moment superseded the need to save for something larger, such as a house.

Coupled with his tendency toward stinginess in actually parting with his own money, and the convenience of credit cards, his approach to financial management was hit and miss at best.

Paying bills was not always his best use of his math skills. Approximately 18 months into the marriage, I discovered he used the old “tear and throw method” to bills.  He would tear and throw away the ones he did not feel like paying that month.

One afternoon, I took trash to the outside bin. Immediately I ran back inside.

“Where is the number for our trash service?” my voice tense with anger.

“Why do you ask? Husband answer casually, without much concern.

“Trash is stacked against the side of the garage. They have not been picking it up. It looks terrible out there.” I reached for the phone and number.

Before I could begin to dial, Husband took the phone receiver. “I don’t think you should do that.”

“Why not, we pay for a service,” I continued in my firmest executive tone.

“No-o-o,” he drawled. “We haven’t.”

“We haven’t what?” I demanded.

“I haven’t paid that trash bill for three months, and they sent me a notice that no more service until I do.”

“Then get on the phone yourself, right now, and phone them. Put it on one of your credit cards. I expect service to be reinstated as soon as possible.”

I am certain when the credit card bill came, I paid it myself.

That was another point. Even before we married I found out the wisdom in keeping my own checking account. Planning ahead to spend was not part of Husband’s financial habits.

Six weeks before we married, he handed me a card for my birthday. It was still unsigned and in a sack because he had stopped to purchase it before coming to get me.

“Oh, wait a minute, he said. With a flair of producing a pen, he hurriedly opened the card and signed his name.

Then he said, “Wait, I forgot something else.” With that he opened his checkbook and wrote me a check for a present.

“I think you can buy yourself some fabric or something you might want to use for our wedding.”

He obviously felt relief that he had remember to give his soon-to-be bride a birthday present.

“Well, thank you,” I stammered.  I distinctly remember feeling devalued to one more chore on his list.

Now I know that his spending habits were a matter of impulsivity and lack of appropriate training. Like many persons with ADHD, my young husband was a man of the moment when it came to handling money.

Driving Lessons

Most couples talk about experiences related to their teen years, especially when they are young adults and the teen years are not that far behind them.

However, Husband and I often talk about our teen years even though it has been more than 40 years since we were adolescents.

Teen years really impacted us both in how much our parents did or did not have any real power of us. Mine did over me; his did not over him. Together we experienced many hidden fears and anxieties during the years from ages 15-20.

Both of us continue to carry hurts and insecurities developed during those years. Sometimes I think we are both real messes do to the teen experiences.

Today we talked about the risks involved with adolescence, at-risk behavior for teens with ADHD, and the relation of risk to driving.

“Mom and Dad did not allow me to drive much,” I complained for the humpteenth time in our marriage.

“I know,” he said. “You couldn’t drive their car unless you were going on an errand for them.”

“You had a car and the ability to drive,” I said. “But I remember you said you almost failed driver’s education. I find that strange.”

Driving a massive and powerful machine can be precarious for the teen with ADHD. Research shows that teens with ADHD demonstrate numerous problems in operating a car such as with speeding tickets, chancy decisions, and other citations that can lead to license suspensions.

“Were you afraid to drive?” I asked him.

“I really was afraid. I felt like a failure because I had to beg the instructor for my license, so I could go to the prom that week. That was the only reason I passed the test.”

That is not surprising. Driving requires being able to think in numerous directions at once. It likely puts great strain on the executive functions of the brain.  Many teens with ADHD are at-risk for impaired driving skills that result in crashes and other accidents.

“You’ve not been the cause of an accident that I know of,” I told Husband. “Why were you afraid?”

“It was the power of the car and the responsibility that went along with driving it. For one thing, driving was something other people did, not me. I couldn’t see myself doing it.  For another, at the time I suppose to be learning to drive, the vehicles were huge and rather scary. We’re talking a massive 1966 Plymouth. Also, I think I needed lessons designed specifically for me; instead of being part of a group, I needed tutorial lessons that met my individual needs. The issue was that I was in a class of 25 others, and most of them had experience driving.  My driving experience was with Mom. She was going to be the one who drove.  ‘ Get in the car, sit down, shut up, and hang on’ was her way of doing things.”

Since I know how Mother-in-law drove, I snickered at his comment.

He went on. “She did not let me drive home from the driving test. I had failed the test two times, and essentially the third; that night was the prom.  When we got home, she handed me the keys to her big 1956 Buick station wagon and told me to drive around the block by myself. She said to go slowly. That drive around the block made everything fall into place, and I realized I was quite able to drive a car – as long as I was aware of the situations around me. As I was more able to go out on my own, my confidence grew as I saw how strangely other people drove.

“Here’s the humorous part of this. I drove the 1959 Buick to the prom, which was also a huge car, and most of the way home from the prom, I forgot to turn on the lights.  It was about 9:30 or so, and I kept wondering why everybody was blinking lights at me.”

Ownership and Empowerment

I usually get out of bed with a positive attitude for the day ahead. Even if that attitude is positively convinced the day will be a wash-out, I am totally confident of getting through it somehow.

Usually Husband awakes highly dubious of how the day will unfold for him.

I am talking about total opposites.

The other day, after several minutes attempt to get him awake and out of bed, I turned on my heel and left the room muttering all the way to the kitchen.

Later, I returned with his coffee and found him sitting in his chair in our bedroom.

“Good morning,” I chirped. “I’m glad to see you up and going.”

OK, so I exaggerated a bit as he sat there in his robe with hair disheveled, two days’ beard growth, looking suspiciously at me.

“Is it?” he managed to growl. I knew he was taking aim at my statement about the morning being a good one.

“I think so,” while telling myself to back away from the challenge. “Hear the birds singing?  Corrie Tenboom said birds chirp in the morning because they sing praises to God.”

“Hmm. Who is Corrie Tenboom? Oh, wait, I know. She was that Dutch woman who hid Jewish people from the Nazis during World War II.”

“What are you thinking about?” I could see how long and tired his face looked.

“I feel sad this morning. I don’t know why.” He knew that by saying this, he had my full attention.

“Sad? Is there something in particular that makes you sad?”

“ No,” as he shook his head. “I don’t know what it is. I had busy dreams and thought about being in elementary school again.”

“Yep,”   I thought.  “Reflection about elementary school and high school would make me quite sad.”

He continued, “You were talking yesterday about children with ADHD who struggle in school with motivation and organization. You said something about them needing to feel a sense of ownership in their studies and empowered to complete their tasks.

“Well, I never felt either of those things. Ownership and empowerment did not exist for me when I was a child. Neither did support.”

“You made good grades,” I reminded him.

“I struggled,” he said as he almost spat the words at me. “I had difficulty getting started and staying on task. It was hard to remember what I needed to do. It made me tired and discouraged. I was afraid of Mom and Dad, so I did the best I could.”

“What did you dream?”

“I kept running through the halls of Funston School chasing the cats from room to room. I got exhausted. How is that for weird?”

“It only sounds busy to me. Cats make sense; you had dozens growing up.”

“Well, I was the weirdo growing up. Those in the family never forgot it. They took advantage of allowing me to never forget it, either.  I cried a lot.”

“I am sorry you were hurt so badly. I like how you turned out, and many other people tell me how much they like you.”

His hair was still messy, and the beard still prickly, but a small light of hope shone in the corner of his eye. It was almost minuscule, but it was enough.

He brushed his hand through his hair and stood. “I am going to shower. Where do you want to go for breakfast?  I don’t feel like cooking.”

Raising Expectations

My husband has often heard me explain that raising academic expectations contributes to a student’s raised levels of appropriate behavior. Once it was the other way around; we thought if students behaved better, their grades would go up.

The other day husband said: “I saw an article that says the same thing you do. If schools raise their academic expectations or students have better academic success, even those with behavior problems will demonstrate better behavior.”

“I know; isn‘t that interesting? I often tell my students who are teachers to help those kids with ADHD to find academic success and some of those impulsive or oppositional behaviors will decrease or even cease.”

“Well,” he replied, “I was a kid who wiggled and said impulsive things, but my behavior in school was rather good overall, in spite of ADHD. Of course in those days we didn’t know that word, and the symptoms had not been connected to me.”

“You know, it fascinates me that physicians as far back as the 1700s described attention deficits, especially in boys, but in the 20^th century it became linked to an awful term ‘minimal brain dysfunction.’ When I read the descriptions provided by those physicians nearly 300 hundred years ago, I was shocked with the similarity of the symptoms we point to as ADHD.” I said.

“What does that have to do with the way I am and was? What does it matter to what we didn’t know about me?”

“Only that it puzzles me as to why the connection was not made to you as a kid.”

“I got good grades, and I behaved in school. Of course, I felt out of place much of the time. It took much effort to keep my mind on my work. Connection was not the issue.”

“Are you saying that because you made good grades and had strong academic skill your behavior in school followed?”

“I’m saying the expectations at home motivated me to make good grades. Mom and dad expected it, and mom was at our elementary school every day as a volunteer. All our teachers knew her; she and they were on first-name basis.”

“So having your mother at the school served to keep you focused on your work? I always thought you were a good student because you have such a wide-range interest in science, nature, and even math. I know reading was not your favorite.”

“No, because once I read to the end of a paragraph, I forget what the first part was about. I’ve told you I never read a book completely through all throughout high school. I could really fake those book reports.”

“So, in elementary school, you got your work done because your mom knew the teachers, and she was in the building most of the time?”

“I made good grades and behaved because the threat from home in general motivated me. If I got in trouble at school, then I would get into double trouble at home. Neither mom or dad tolerated misbehavior. Mom being in the building was another story.”

I wasn’t certain I caught his meaning.

“They knew mom well, and they probably thought that I was a lot like her. Here’s an example: at her wedding shower, my second-grade teacher was afraid to open the gift from Betty. She just knew it would embarrass her in public. ‘We should put this one aside and open it later.’ She was right. Mom bought her condoms and other birth control items, and thought it was hilarious that she did.”

Obnoxious

“You know what, Mom?”

Oldest Daughter has used that opening since the day she was three years old, and she wanted to tell me that God is a woman.

So when she began the conversation with it, I knew to listen intently. She was about to make one of her profound observations. When she took a sip of her Diet Dr. Pepper before proceeding, I knew it was going to be a serious conversation.

“This guy is our city networking group is obnoxious in the way I think some ADD people are obnoxious.  If one person says something or explains something, this guy has to make a comment.”

“Does he seem impulsive with his remarks?”

“Impulsive?” she said with her best incredulous tone, “The words fly out of his mouth, constantly.”

“I once heard a professional describe mania in that same way. Maybe he is a person with bipolar disorder.”

“No,” she said emphatically. “He is a dumbass who always has a comment for everything.”

“That bad, huh?”  I laughed. “So, what types of comments does he make?”

“He cannot leave any conversation alone. The speaker today was talking about her carpet-cleaning business. He kept interrupting her with vulgar insinuations about the types of stains people get on their carpets.”

“When I talked about ADHD coaching a few weeks ago, he took a couple of cheap shots at me.

“And here’s the thing: whenever he thinks he says something cute or cool, he looks around at everyone with this silly smirk on his face.”

She knew the remark about cheap comments would get my attention. I inquired about them, but she pointedly ignored me. I felt she might also ignore me if I defended adults with ADHD.

Finally I asked, “How old does he appear to be?”

“Early to mid forties.”

“Oh! So this is not a man in his twenties or early thirties who is acting like an adolescent.”  I mulled.

But I continued, “I am imaging about 6 foot tall with dark hair, slim built, wearing pullover Polo shirts and khaki pants. You know, business dress every day of the week.”

“You got the shirt and pants right. This guy is about 5 -9, pudgy all over, with greasy, dirty brown hair. He drives a Pontiac convertible about 10 years old that looks like it has seen better days. I call it a beater.”

“You are not painting a pretty picture here,” I answered.

“No, indeed,” she went on, “And to top that off, he always sits in front of me at all our meetings. I mean he is typical of the person who opens his mouth without thinking, and he singles me out to irritate. He drives me nuts.

”I’ve wondered ; how does this set with his customers? I heard he can be quite rude and offensive to them.  He needs to grow up.”

I asked her, “I know that immature and childish behavior is not uncommon among certain ADD adults. It’s rather difficult for other adults to know what to make of it. What kind of work does he do?”

“He owns an insurance business, and I would call him a salesman, the shoddy, pushy kind. Another thing that bothers me is that it is said he does quite well with it.”

“Meaning he makes good money in his business? Ironic.  He must not offend everyone.”  I commented.

“Here’s what I think,” she countered. “They buy a policy to shut him up and get him out of their houses or off their phones.”

I couldn’t let the conversation end on that note of frustration. “If he truly is a person with ADHD, I should remind you that he needs others to respond with a degree of compassion. This is already a difficult social situation for him and others who in his social circle. I challenge you to create skillful reactions when you are around him.”

Those readers who know Oldest Daughter can imagine how she rolled her eyes at me.

Meeting His Goal

Recently I talked with Oldest Daughter about Husband being a good father.

“He once told me he’d like for us to have nine children,” I recalled.

“What did you say to that?” she tested me.

“I said I wasn’t certain I even wanted kids, but if I did have a baby, it would be just one.  If there were more, he would look really strange pregnant.”

“You must have given in; you had three of us,” she chimed.

“After I saw how wonderful you were, I wanted more. Besides, he was such an excellent father to you, I thought we should have others.”

“What’s this got to do with his ADHD? After all, you like to focus on that part of his personality.”

“Right,” I said. “Actually it has to do with the fact that persons with ADHD have their personal strengths and unique personalities.”

“Well, he is unique all right,” she quipped.

“And in the case of all three of you offspring, the apple does not fall very far from the tree,” I giggled back.

“So what did he do as a father that was so worthy of your bragging on him?”

“Where can I begin or even end? The night you were born, he went to the receiving nursery to get you, then he came to the recovery section ( which is something hospitals did in those days) with you in his arms. He held you away from me saying that I had held you for nine months, now it was his turn.
“Do you remember me telling you what he said when he first saw you?”

“Yes. He called you by your maiden name, which I think was tacky, and said, ‘Ms. Simers, it looks just like me.’ I don’t think my pictures looked just like him.”

“Well, you did resemble him a great deal, and when your brother was born, we thought he did, too.

“Since Crown Prince was extremely sickly from birth, your dad stepped in with his care in ways I could never have accomplished.

“The baby was about two months old when he had his first asthma attack. As we rushed him to the hospital I noticed a helicopter following us overhead. Your dad had phoned the police just before we left the house to tell them we were making an emergency run, and they escorted us because of it.”

“I remembered he carried us around a bunch when we were small.”

“He carried you, fed you, walked the floor with each of you when you were sick.

“Most of all he was always on the alert to teach each of you. For instance, he introduced yourself to plant life when you were seven or eight months old, taught you to roller skate when you were four, and how to ride a bike about that same time.

“He read you Bible stories and taught your three-year-old Sunday School class.”

“ Yeah, I can’t joke about it. That he did. But do you remember when brother call him a name in the store?”

“Indeed, I will never forget it,” I laughed. “Your dad leaned over and whispered in brother’s ear. Since Crown Prince was small for his age, other people thought he was about 18 months old. They didn’t expect this developed voice to boom through the store: ‘I’m not a fart. You’re a fart. You’re a big, fat fart.’ Your dad about fainted right there.”

“And you open a refrigerator door and stuck your head in as far as you could and laughed. I could see your shoulders shake,” reminded Oldest Daughter.

As she often does, she opened her cell phone and called her brother,

“Hey, listen to this. Mom and I are talking about the time you called dad a big, fat fart in the store.” She paused. “Yes we do have others things to do, but mom’s on this kick about how great a Dad he has been to us. Well, yes, I do agree with her.”

I continued, “I remember how he took the new Baby Sis aside in the delivery room to introduce himself. ‘Hi,there, I’m your daddy.’ She still often calls him daddy.”

“He took her around Santa Fe, New Mexico and showed her and us the skeletons and other museum sights. That was such a neat trip. Of course, I think he enjoyed hearing her say ‘skelkinkon’ instead of skeleton,”  laughed Oldest Daughter.

“And even thought their forms of ADHD often clash, he is the first to smirk at her incessant humor and comments. He is one of her biggest fans.”  I said.

“Those are a mere few of the memories I have of him as a father to my three small children. I could go on through your growing years, but you would only get bored with it.

“But to answer your original question, his goal was to be a good dad to his kids, and he successfully met that goal. It is one of his personal strengths.”