Note: In honor of Father’s Day, I am doing all pieces this month about my dad.

My move to California was one of the best trips I’ve ever had, and that’s because it was with my dad. I packed nearly everything I own into the back of my 1994 Volvo, and early one September morning, Dad and I set out. We had some great conversation. We listened to my iPod, which is full of music from his youth. He humored me and listened respectfully to a Barack Obama speech. The first night we stayed in Santa Fe and ate at a Tex-Mex place we remembered from a family vacation years ago, on the rooftop, relaxing with beers. The second night we stayed in Flagstaff. We ate at a crowded, noisy Outback Steakhouse. We stopped to take pictures in Texas; we stopped in traffic in Los Angeles; we stopped everywhere for gas. Dad paid for everything. And finally, when we made it to Oceanside, Calif., he took my new roommate Ashley and me out for sushi. It was the turning point for me and sushi.

I liked the trip then, and I like it now, but I expect its importance will only grow with time. Not very many women get the chance — or would want — to drive across the country with their fathers. Not a lot of fathers would cheerfully pay for the whole trip. And I bet precious few dads would be so supportive of a firstborn daughter moving 1,700 miles away to a pittance-stipend, no-security, lousy-benefits, temporary volunteer job with gangster kids. But I got to, and he did and he is.

There were a lot of lessons in that trip, and I’m sure I won’t realize all of them until/unless I have children of my own. I’ll spare you the saccharine, and focus one one profundity that resonated right away:

We were in the hotel in Flagstaff, and I was turning down my bed. I mentioned the pillows were soft, and, joking, that it would be really easy to steal one and have a nice addition to my new bed in my new room. Dad knew I was kidding, but got that annoying look that means he sees an opportunity to teach a lesson.

“It would be the most expensive pillow in the world,” he said.

He was baiting me. He does this a lot. It drives Mom nuts. But he had paid for everything, including the steak I’d just eaten, and he’s my dad, so I bit.

”Most expensive? Why?”

His answer, for once, was simple: “You would be selling yourself for it.”

Dramatic, I know. The Life Lessons of my Pops are nothing if not dramatic. But this one stuck with me, and it became a cornerstone in my work with my students. When they steal, when they smoke, when they drink or cheat or do graffiti or lie, I tell them — it seems like this is free, fun actions. But you are selling yourself for it. And if they’re paying attention, I tell them the story of the pillow.

That line has affected my actions too: I’ve walked back to return incorrect change. I’ve (sometimes) held back on saying bad stuff about people. I’ve dragged myself to church on Sundays… even if Saturday night was rough. I’ve thought about the ways I don’t want to sell myself — not to be a thief, or have attention or be lazy.

I doubt I’ll ever be able to give as much as my parents have. But lessons like that, on trips like that, certainly compel me to try.

2 Responses to “The stolen pillow story”

1. Kim Says:
   June 22nd, 2009 at 5:36 pm

   Natalie,

   I love your piece about your dad! Your exquisite words have let us peek at your wonderful trip with your dad, share in the meaningful memories, and receive an inspiring lesson that is good for each one of us. Your dad is a wise man. You are one lucky kid.

   Thank you!

   Kim

2. Jen Says:
   June 24th, 2009 at 1:01 pm

   Natalie,
   I loved this piece. I am actually planning a road trip with my dad this summer, and can’t wait to experience that rare occasion of a woman and her dad driving cross country. I’ve been looking forward to spending time with him, and after reading your story, I can’t wait!
   thanks!
   Jen

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