JIM HENDRICKS: It’s like The Old Fellow says …

There are memories we hold on to from the times of our youth. Some days, we hold them a little tighter.

This is one of those days.

It’s been a while — 20 years — since I’ve gone into a Father’s Day without thinking how, just one more time, I’d like to thank Daddy for all he did for me, even in what he affectionately referred to as my “hard-headed” years.

Those, by the way, usually start with the contracting of the illness known as “The Teens,” for which no vaccine or even temporary treatment has proven successful. It’s one of those conditions you simply have to cope with while it runs its course, which usually goes right up until you start paying your own bills.

I may have had an early onset condition of The Teens in that, as a kid, I had a bad case of knowing everything, which apparently became obvious to the casual observer. It usually flared up about the time I was being told something instructive and felt an irresistible need to share with the source of the instruction why he or she was, in two words, absolutely wrong.

In a number of those conversations, a frequent response from Daddy (and, to be fair, Mama. And to truly be fair, a few other adult relatives) was, “Oh, I reckon you know everything.”

“No,” I said once to Daddy, “I don’t know everything. I just know a lot.”

I probably retorted that more than I said it. When you are beset with a bad case of The Teens, you instinctively know how to emphasize words like “everything” for maximum effect. What you don’t know, instinctively or otherwise, is what a jackass it makes you look like when you’re a floppy-haired, wet-behind-the-ears kid being a smart-mouth to someone, like your father, who has a fair inkling of exactly how little you actually do know.

We discussed it at some length that day.

Admittedly, I’ve used that line — usually in the form of what passes, for me at least, as humor — from time to time with other folks over the years, including my wife, who didn’t think much of it either, now that I think about it.

During my bout with The Teens, however, I never mentioned it again to my Dad — or another adult, for that matter — after he explained, in painstaking detail, how he didn’t want me acting like a jackass unnecessarily, as he felt it reflected poorly upon him and Mama.

I’m still a little unclear as to what circumstances would have made acting like a jackass necessary, but apparently they never developed in respect to that particular issue.

That was, essentially, how he operated. He explained things. Sometimes in detail, other times more succinctly. And then there was “The Old Fellow.”

The Old Fellow had more opinions about things than a kid with a bad breakout of The Teens. From as early as I can remember, The Old Fellow, with his singular wit and wisdom, came up often in conversation, especially when I was asking a question.

I would want to know, for instance, why I had to rake leaves instead of go ride my bike.

“It’s like The Old Fellow says,” Daddy would say, “you can’t just play all the time.”

The Old Fellow was a fount of that kind of wisdom. He knew, among other things, that being told something twice was better than not knowing it once; that a lot more had been said and done in God’s name than on God’s actual behalf; that you get ahead with hard work; that people respect you more if they realize you respect them, and that if even you don’t care enough about yourself to stay out of trouble, you should do it just so you don’t break your Mama’s heart.

“Just who is The Old Fellow? I don’t think he’s even real,” I said one time, an early indication that I had already been incurably infected by the vicious germs that would one day lead to a full-blown case of The Teens.

“You’ll know him when you grow up,” he said with a chuckle.

At some point, a young adult me realized something startling. My old-fashioned Daddy, who just didn’t understand how life really was, suddenly had gotten exponentially smarter. And, true to Daddy’s word, I did know who The Old Fellow was and where his wisdom came from. Often, and on days like today especially, I wish I could hear those words one more time.

But like The Old Fellow says, “With folks you love, don’t pass up a chance to let them know it today. You might not get another chance tomorrow.”

No, The Old Fellow didn’t know everything.

But he sure did know a lot.

Email Jim Hendricks at [email protected]. Follow @ABH_JHendricks on Twitter.