Advice from my Parents

My daughter Madelaine recently emailed me, asking what advice my parents gave me as a child that I might like to pass along.

That is a doozy of a question. As I have ricocheted around this gibbering globe for the past 65 years I can't remember a single time when something my mother or father said was of any help. Not a thing. 

It's not that they raised me strictly by pantomime; they both had a lot to say to me and about me. In fact, I would say they often became emotional and vociferous over my youthful iniquities and taradiddles.

My mother often reminded me that nose pickers risked leaky brains.

My dad advised me not to make ashtrays out of cardboard.

They both told me that Jerry Lewis was not a comedian, but a carcinogenic -- the longer I watched him, the more likely I was to sprout tentacles and slither off to a toxic waste to live out my days as a friendless mutant.

They both lied through their teeth when they told me that Red China would be invading soon, and that I would then have to eat tuna casserole or be stood against a wall for the next firing squad that happened along. 

My dad told me that alcohol would kill me if I drank it before the age of twenty-one; but after that it was the best thing there was for adults to have while watching TV or playing cards.

So you see, their so-called advice was nothing more than a bunch of claptrap and superstition. Among the things I wish they had told me was:

Pay your taxes on time.

Don't leave your wife and kids behind if you ever have to travel a lot. No matter what it costs, take 'em along.

Don't buy flowers for a woman who works in a florist shop.

Never seek revenge -- eventually, life will even up the score for you.

Learn to like crow -- you're going to eat a lot of it before you die.

When life hands you a lemon, smell it first to see if it's rotten.

There's always a free lunch, if you don't mind sticking your snout in any old trough. 

If you can't afford to be honest, be quiet.

Never flush the toilet until you've checked to make sure you've still got your wallet.

Never eat out alone.

The only thing worth watching on TV is baseball.

Get comfortable with poverty; it's always at the back door.

Friendly dogs bite the hardest.

Never turn down dessert.

Love someone better than you.

You can make most people happy by leaving them alone.

Had these things been the guideposts handed down to me from my parents I might have become an affluent and powerful CEO or world-renowned scientist, or even a railroad engineer. But all I ever heard was "An apple a day keeps the doctor away" or "Money don't grow on trees." No wonder I ran out the door to join the circus -- living with cliches is about as bad as living with bedbugs. 

But this whole story of parental advice leads inevitably to an uncomfortable question -- What advice did I myself give to my own kids that they have remembered and cherished?

At a guess, I'd say that probably the only thing I ever told them that has stuck with them through thick and thin is:  When you pee the bed, turn your mattress over. 

I'll have to ask 'em about it the next time we all get together -- probably Thanksgiving.