The lesson my dad didn't teach me in 3rd grade

[mangosteen]

Context: One of the things I remember as a child (definitely when I was 8 years old, possibly younger) is that my father would ask me to get a piece of scrap paper so that he could show me something. What would follow would be some ad-hoc lesson about algebra, electronic circuits, or possibly matrix math. I didn't always get it on the first try, but it was fascinating just the same. He's still very much around, and we still go through these exercises when we're both in the same place, and he wants to talk through an engineering problem with me.

Here's one lesson he never taught me, and I kind of wish he did.

---

I'd probably be reading a book in the family room, and my dad would walk in, likely in a dark suit, stuffing a yarmulka back into his pocket. He'd ask me what I was reading, ask me a couple of questions about it, and ask me to put down the book for a second and get a piece of paper.

"Remember that talk we had about what a 'bell curve' is, and you were wondering about when you'd use it? So, now I have something really interesting to show you."

"In about thirty years, you're going to notice something, and I trust you'll remember, so I don't mind telling you right now."

He'd materialize a mechanical pencil, and start sketching out a bell curve with sigmas at the appropriate points. "As it turns out, one of the things that can be graphed on a bell curve is how long people are going to live. You, me, everyone. You've got a long long way to go, so does your mom, and so do I."

"So here's the thing. In about thirty years, people your age will be *just* enough closer to center of the curve [over *here*] that some people who are at the edge [over *here*] will no longer be around. That's not all that many people, but if you know a lot of them, like me and your mom do, there will be a few people you know."

"I know I must seem very old to you, but I'm not, and when those few of your friends are the age I am now, they will all seem very young to have died so early, and it will all look very strange, but it's just math."

"I want you to write something down for me. It's just five words, and I want you to remember it. Write it in other languages, write it backwards, tap-dance to it, do whatever you need to do to remember this. You're not going to understand it right now, but it's very important, okay? Okay."

"'No One Is Promised Tomorrow.' Just write it down."

So, in my too-neat-by-half handwriting, I'd write it down. Probably a couple of times to make sure it looked nice.

"Good good. Now c'mon. Get your shoes on and grab that stack of books. I promised your mom I'd take you to the library."

Comments

[zzbottom.livejournal.com]

There are lessons that can be taught to learn, and lessons that must be experienced to learn. I don't know about you, but this falls under the latter heading for me.

[theloriest.livejournal.com]

*hugs you*

This is one of the reasons I call my parents every day. And a reason I am so affectionate and like to tell my friends how much I love them.

[tigira.livejournal.com]

It's why I call my mother as much as I do, too. When my father died, I didn't call him the day before because I was too tired. I was too tired because I was pregnant with F.

And the last time I saw him, he hugged me quickly and sent me into the airport because someone was smoking nearby, and between his COPD and my pregnancy and allergies, he didn't want me to hang around. Yet, even then, I knew it was the last time I'd see my daddy.

[perspicuity.livejournal.com]

i think reading so much sici/fantasy early is what got me prepped with this thinking in mind.

everyone i know is going to die. i am going to die.

for any given group, all things you typically associate with people is going to likely happen to one degree or another. jobs. joblessness. dating. marriages. births. divorces. deaths. moving. accidents. sickness.

some of these are happy making. some are not.

fortunately zombies is not on the list.

#

[ladymondegreen.livejournal.com]

I know exactly what you mean.

I am currently combing recordings of an unarchived for the voice of someone who rarely sang, but talked a lot to all of us, and left us yesterday.

On the one hand, I grew up with death as a close companion, on the other hand, it would have been nice to really get it from a mathematical standpoint.

[awfief.livejournal.com]

*hugs* this is somewhat chilling, but not untrue regardless. Thank you for writing it. It's very true, and sad that we're now in that place, cresting over the bell curve.

[srl.livejournal.com]

Thank you for sharing this.

[crazybone.livejournal.com]

In the words of Stan Lee "'nuff said".

[wotw]

You are a hell of a good writer.

[spacehawk.livejournal.com]

This. Yes. Thank you. *hugs*

[marrus.livejournal.com]

This was beautiful to read - thank you. I wish y'all lived closer...

[debsquared.livejournal.com]

Is there someone you're thinking of, who didn't get a tomorrow? Big hugs for you, and thank you for the story.

[lifecollage.livejournal.com]

Most recently, Badger - a woman in the SF/F and filk communities in the Northeast. But it seems that there's been a number of folks below the age of 65 who've died recently.

[debsquared.livejournal.com]

Hugs for you, too.

[nex0s.livejournal.com]

My first grandparent died when I was 6, followed by deaths of family members (cousins, grandparents, etc) at 9, 11, 16 and 19. At 16 I gave my first eulogy. At 23 I had to call my college roomate to tell her our friend was dead. At 28 another eulogy. At 36 I buried my father. I am 38 now.

It is hard for me sometimes to feel compassion for those that didn't get the message that no one is promised tomorrow. Or when people I know who are my age, have never lost anyone - not even a pet - and are shocked when death comes at last.

I'm sorry for your loss, though, and hope that the lesson isn't too hard to bear.

N.

[mangosteen]

Thank you.

I've lost several people over the years; friends, relatives, some of natural causes, some not. The fact that the pace speeds up from here on out is the lesson that has been slow in coming.

[whitebird.livejournal.com]

You are, sir, as always, highly eloquent.

And I'm sorry for the loss to you and your community of Badger. I don't think I ever met her.

[muffyjo]

That reminds me of a similar quote on ameanwhile d"ifferent vector. Mark twain once s aid, "Don't go around saying the world owes you a living. The world owes you nothing. It was here first."

Meanwhile, that was very eloquently put. It sounds like you've lost someone and it's hitting you up front and center. I am sorry to hear that if it's the case.

*sends warm hugs*

[beowabbit]

That was very well put. Thanks.

[drwex]

There's a reason I have a T shirt that says "You get what everyone gets: a lifetime."

[jeffpaulsen.livejournal.com]

The lesson that your peers will die at an ever increasing rate, predictable by actuarial science, my Dad mentions that every time one of his golfing buddies passes on. The death of a friend is tragic, the death of a peer is a reminder of my own mortality, and the fact that math is going to stack these one on top of the next, accelerating through the decades, that's just brutal. You have my sympathy.

I'd had a fair number of friends die when I was a kid, but generally they were terminally ill for some time before. The first real shocking death of a peer was a suicide when I was 19 or 20. When I mentioned this to my dad a couple days after, still pretty shocked and crushed and messed up, he said, "If this is the worst thing that ever happens to you, that would be a charmed and easy life." I found that comforting, and still draw a lot of strength from it (which is exactly why he said it). I pass it along to you now hoping you'll get some benefit from it also.

If there were such a thing as competitive Stoicism, my Dad would be in the same league as Marcus Aurelius.

[fj.livejournal.com]

I joke with my Dad when he tells me he went to another memorial service: "I see your new hobby is really taking off."

[jasra]

Thank you for sharing this.

[weegoddess.livejournal.com]

::quiet reflection::

This was a wonderful post to read. Sad, but beautiful. I lately find that my thoughts run towards, 'things will change and not always in a way we like. We need to enjoy the way things are now. And try to enjoy them later too.' I see J's Oma who is in her mid-90's and is all alone: mostly blind, mostly deaf. She's buried 3 husbands and a son. Everyone in her generation is gone. And she's just waiting to die. Is this what living a long time means?

My parents never taught me to enjoy every day. But I'm still trying to learn it.

[beowabbit]

Thank you. And I’m so glad he’s still very much around!

[beowabbit]

Er, I see I commented on this when you originally posted it. That’s a problem with queueing up a zillion tabs to read later. But thanks for writing it originally and thanks for posting a link to it again.