Wisdom, Corner-Pocket

If I had to describe my childhood, I would say it was a conventional period surrounded by unconventional people. Granted, my family are hardly some eccentric group of blood relatives that would give one pause for concern, but we were hardly ordinary. However, what we lacked in convention (and a degree of impulse control (but that’s another story for another time)), we made up for with genuine sentiment and love for one another. We’re loving and caring, even if we tend to prefer unusual and often extreme methods of conveying said love.

 When I think of my dad, a lot of words come to mind to describe him. Above all, however, is wise. The man is wisdom personified. In fact, his definition of wisdom pretty much describes him to the letter. He would always define it as “knowledge that you get from life”. If that’s not an apt definition, then I defy all ye who are reading this now to provide me with a better one. We didn’t have a lot of bonding moments. Although I wish I would pinpoint a reason as to why, the truth is, it just wasn’t in the cards. But, we had our moments.

 Among his many interests was pool. The man was an avid player. Given an opportunity, he would play with anyone for anything. Money, respect, fun. No, he wasn’t some glorified pool hustler. He was just a man who enjoyed the game. As a child, I once asked him why he loved it. The only answer he gave me was simply “because it teaches me things”.

 Eventually, I grew up a little bit and like all dumb teenage boys, I developed a preference towards hanging out with my friends rather than my dad. But, after a particularly difficult summer, our dynamic changed. One day, he walked into my room and told me to get dressed. We arrived at a venue of sorts where he seemed to be well-known and well-liked. Upon arriving there, he booked us a pool table and arrogantly challenged me to a game. Now, to say that he beat me would be an understatement. So, allow me to use a soccer/football metaphor. Imagine if....Manchester United (the only team I know of) were to square off against some small, ill-funded league team from Senegal? I’m sure my soccer nuts can appreciate the metaphor. And for those of you who didn’t get it.....*sigh, pops kicked my ass.

 Now, being the sore loser that I was I simply refused to talk to him. But then, he  challenged me to another game, using his own brand of reverse psychology to goad me into it. So, our 2^nd game. He moves to break (the tight triangle formation of balls on one end, with the white or cue ball on the other end), but before he does, he turns, tells me to break instead, but adds “Should you just hit the ball hard and hope for a ball to drop? No, it would be a waste of effort. Look at the triangle, aim for the side. Find the weakness”. So, I followed his directions and sure enough, I dropped 3 balls. It was almost addictive. He taught me, indirectly, that unrestrained force solves nothing. By searching for your opening, can you find the break you need.

 And so it went on like this. We would continue to play for years to come, not only constantly challenging each other and having a damn good time doing it too, but also me learning from this great man of mine. Though him and these pool games, he taught me meticulous planning, foresight, to constantly challenge myself, precision and follow-through. These are lessons that I’ve tried to hold on to, to remember and apply.

 But perhaps the greatest, albeit most difficult lesson he taught me was the one that he constantly repeated to me every time I missed what should have been a perfect shot. That sometimes, you can line the ball up perfectly, hit it at just the right angle, use the precise amount of force, provide the correct amount of follow-through and still miss. He would constantly tell me “sometimes you can have it right but still get it wrong”. I never truly knew what the lesson was. Perhaps he was trying to teach me that in life, there are no guarantees. Perhaps he was trying to teach me that sometimes all the effort in the world doesn’t amount to a pile of rocks. Who knows? Pops had an irritating way of wanting me to learn things for myself.

 So, I bet some of you are wondering what the point of all this was? Why regale a bunch of strangers with some feel good story about a man and his father, who provided unconventional life lessons through questionable means? Maybe I had a point? Maybe I had a message? Maybe I just miss my dad? Who knows. But, should any of you find me in a pool hall, I might tell you.....provided you can actually beat me.