The Dad Manual

“How’d you know that, Dad?” I asked.

To my 4-year old eyes, the world seemed like a bowl with me at the center, looking up at the rim. It was an extraordinary bowl, because, no matter where I went, I was still in the center. When I asked Dad about it, he explained about how the world was actually round. He also told me of illusions and how the eyes can play tricks on us. He didn’t answer my other question, though, so I asked again.

“How’d you know that?”

Dad remained quiet for a moment while his eyes grew distant. “The Dad Manual.”

“Is that a book?”

“A special kind of book. No one can see it, but every dad knows it.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Give it time.”

So, I did.  After more than 25 years had passed, my son, Patrick, then 5, asked me a question.

“Dad, how do they make cars?”

Where do I begin? Technological development? Design? Production of raw materials? Fabrication? What can a 5-year-old absorb in a coherent answer that’s still the truth?

“First, they get all the car parts, then they put them together.”

“Oh.” He thought a moment. “How do they make trucks, then?”

I gave him a sidelong glance. How’d he get this bee under his bonnet? “It’s…the same as making cars, but instead of using car parts, they use truck parts.”

The light came on. “Ohhh.” He cocked his head in thought. “How’d you know that?”

My father’s words echoed in my mind as if he’d just pronounced them 30 seconds ago.

“The Dad Manual.”

  “Is that a book?”

“A book like no other. You can’t read it or touch it, but, if you’re a dad, you know it.”

His face scrunched up. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Give it time.”

William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.