The Measure of a Man

When was the first time you realized that your father wasn’t perfect? It is a pivotal moment in the life of a boy.
The tragic fall of your first superhero; like finding out that Santa Claus doesn’t exist, hard work doesn’t bring you success, money doesn’t make you happy, eating fat doens't make you fat but diet soda will, and if they look too good to be real then they probably aren't.
Confusing in realizing that if he’s not perfect, then all of the things he has taught you up until this point are likely defective as well. What if my entire, admittedly flawed, five-year-old child understanding of how the world works is wrong? Perhaps I can eat dessert first and it won’t ruin my appetite, maybe I actually can fly if I wear a cape, and I bet you Jesus doesn't care if I wear clean gitch to church.
Empowering in the knowledge that you now are going to be required to think for yourself. If you are no longer able to rely on your father to make all of the correct decisions regarding the direction your life will take, well then somebody is going to have to step up and take control. One step closer to becoming a man.
This empowerment part also breeds another visceral emotion, scared shitless. Who am I to be making all of these important decisions? I just recently learned how to tie my own shoes and sufficiently wipe my own butt and now I have to figure out what I want to do with my life. That is a lot of pressure for a five year old.
From what I understand from discussion with my peers, this monumental event typically occurs much later in life, but I have always been a quick learner so for me it happened the summer before I turned six. We were eating out at a fancy restaurant in the big city when the big aha threw my life into disarray. After being treated to the wonder that is the all you can eat salad bar with child’s chopped steak at the Bonanza in Saskatoon to top off a thoroughly riveting three hour marathon of ecclesiastical pontification that only the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day-Saints (the Mormons) could produce, I silently ate my all you can eat ice cream and witnessed the conversation that changed my life forever.
“Here’s your bill sir, thanks for dining at Bonanza.”
“Hey Barb, are we suppose to tip in this joint?” my father asks my mother with a dubious look on his face.
“This isn’t Melfort, this is Saskatoon. Of course we tip.” my mother replies with a disappointed shake of her head.
“Well, it’s not like they did much serving. I got my own salad, my own drink and my own dessert. I don’t think they really earned a tip.” Dad shoots back.
“Bud just leave a tip. What kind of example are you setting for the kids?”
“How much?” serious pained expression on the face here.
“Ten percent.”
“You’ve got to be kidding” absolute shock.
“We don’t get out much Bud, don’t ruin it.” pleading.
“Fine” he replies with lowered shoulders and obvious defeat. Dad picks up the bill and sees me straining to look at it over my third bowl of chocolate vanilla swirl with cherries and sprinkles. He knows I am into numbers and humours me by showing me the total. Twenty dollars and five cents. He drops a twenty on the table and adds a nickel. Then he squints and looks off into the distance before shaking his head and reaching back into his wallet for some more bills. He peeks sideways at my Mom who is not paying attention and slips the tip under the bill with an embarrassed look on his face. I am the only one at the table that sees him do this and he isn’t aware that I am watching him because he was looking at my Mom.
“Alright kids lets go” he says rising from the table in a hurry. But now I’m curious. Why the rush and what was that embarrassed look all about. I can’t help myself. While everybody is gathering their stuff, I lift up the bill and look at the tip he left. I almost throw up in my bowl.
See, most everything my sister who is two years older than me learns at school, I learn as well. And since she has just recently learned what 50 percent and 10 percent mean well so have I. And I know that the trick for ten percent is to just move the decimal one spot to the left. That’s how I know that Dad has left two dollars under the bill. But, when I look I now understand what that embarrassed look was all about, because Dad has left not two one dollar bills but only one. My Father is a complete and utter blithering idiot. He can’t do grade two math in his head.
I walked out of the Bonanza with tears in my eyes and didn’t say a single word on the two hour drive back to Melfort.
Superman was Dead.