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Since Sunday is Father's Day, this is a good time to correct a family problem. Although my parents live in Longmont, my dad's name is the same as mine. On occasion he has been accosted by right-thinking people who want to berate the Ed Quillen who wrote something that offended them.
This must be embarrassing for my father, who's not at all like me. He's a responsible, respectable citizen with a steady job. He's a good Republican and a good Baptist, a teetotaler who does not patronize saloons and other low haunts. His hair is short and neatly trimmed, and he's never grown a beard.
Even so, there are people who cannot tell one Ed Quillen from the other. If my dad has to be confronted by them, then it's only fair that he and they get a chance to argue about his opinions, instead of mine. He has plenty of opinions to argue about.
When I was in college, a new slumlord acquired the
apartment house we were living in. He announced an
immediate rent increase. When I and the other tenants
protested, the owner said he planned some improvements,
financed by the increased rentals, so it's for your own
good.
I mentioned this to my dad. Whenever somebody
tells you he's doing something for your own good, make sure
you've got your hand over your wallet. It isn't your good
he's worried about.
Once I went to the post office with him. In the box was
a notice of a certified letter. Instead of going to the
counter and signing for the letter, he threw it into the
trash. I wondered why. Nobody that's your friend ever
sends a certified letter.
He was teaching me to drive. A dog ran out in front of
us; swerving to miss the dog, I narrowly missed a head-on
collision and ended up stuck in a ditch. Whenever it's a
choice between hitting a dog and swerving out of your lane,
hit the dog. Otherwise, you run a good chance of getting
killed, and I've never met a dog worth dying for.
He had other advice for the road. When you're
driving, keep both hands on the wheel. When you're paying
attention to a girl, she deserves both hands. Don't try to
devote one had to the car and the other to the girl, or
you'll deserve all the trouble you get into that
way.
I quit a boring, dead-end job in 1973. A month later, I
was frustrated, angry and broke, because I hadn't been able
to find a new job -- even another boring, dead-end one. He
counseled me. All your life, you'll either be working or
looking for work. Damned if I know which is worse.
After they moved to Longmont, a zoning law came into
effect that limited the number of unlicensed cars one might
keep in one's yard. This intrusion into his rights as a
property owner had an awful effect on him. He couldn't
afford new cars that didn't need repairs all the time, so
he always kept two or three old Chevys around to provide
enough parts to keep one junker on the road. Laws like
this are discrimination, pure and simple. Why don't they
quit monkeying around and just come right out and say that
they're trying to make it illegal to be poor in
Colorado.
He is a passionate opponent of all forms of gun control,
and I asked him once to explain why. It isn't the saying
that if guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns.
It's that if guns are outlawed, only cops will have guns.
The only reason you can feel somewhat safe inside your own
house is private gun ownership. A cop isn't going to kick
in your door if he thinks you might be waiting inside with
a shotgun. Private gun ownership makes the law respect the
law.
When I was just a baby, he worked 10 hours a day in a
laundry washroom. It was exhausting toil, but after work
every day, he built the house I grew up in. It was made of
logs, and he made every cut with a sweat-powered timber
saw; he couldn't afford a chain saw. I asked recently where
he found all that energy. I don't know. It's just
something you can do when you're in your 20s. After you
turn 30, you're just a maintenance problem.
And I hope he goes on being a maintenance problem for a good, long time.
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