pinky, or a lesson from dad

I love my Dad –what this has to do with the pinky of the title will become apparent shortly.  It has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that his humor runs along the lines of, “Pull my finger …” (that is only an embarrassing coincidence).  My Dad, in addition to everything else that is loveable about him, taught me a profound life lesson using only his pinky.  Yes, he's that cool. I’d like to share that lesson with you today on Father’s Day.

Background is typically required in cases like this.  You, the reader, don’t know my Dad like I do.  You don’t know me, either, for that matter.  Why should you take life advice from people –or pinkies –you don’t know?  It makes no sense. So here are some of my Dad’s bona fides.  The pinky has nothing further to recommend it as a teacher, other than that it was once attached to my Dad:

·      My “Dad” is technically my stepfather.  It is to his credit that he would kick my ass if he heard me refer to him using the term stepfather.  When he married my mother, he assumed the role of Dad to me and to my younger sister.  He has never once treated us in a way that made us feel less than his own flesh and blood in the 38 years we have known him;

·      My Dad keeps his word –when he says he will do something, he consistently does it.  This is bad if you’re in trouble for something like, say, breaking curfew or making “a poor driving decision” (don’t ask).  It can be very, very good, however, if you need any kind of help at any time;

·      My Dad taught his children civic responsibility by example, serving as a volunteer fireman throughout our childhood, later serving as fire chief for the same department.  All three of his children went into public service as a result, with my brother (technically, my stepbrother –but don’t tell my Dad I said that!) currently serving in the fire service himself.

Convinced yet?  I hope so.  I’ve strategically left out the information about teaching us all to curse like the sailor he once was.  He really is a role model.

So that pinky of the title: my Dad sustained a serious injury that resulted in nerve damage that extended from his left elbow into his left hand.  Over time, his left hand curled into a claw, with his pinky being the most significantly impacted part of his claw-hand.  The pinky began as a source of pain, a constant burning reminder of what his hand once was; then, it faded into numbness.  You would think that this desensitization would be a relief, a happy ending for an unhappy collection of bones and muscles and flesh.  Not so.

My Dad was using the stove one day (a rare occurrence, but known to happen from time to time).  At this point, he was wearing his pinky taped to his ring finger since it was, for all intents, a dead digit –when he left it hanging, it had an unfortunate habit of getting caught in things like doors.  He didn’t notice that he had set that pinky on a hot burner on that day.  He didn’t feel it.  He couldn’t feel it.  He could smell it after a while, however; by then, the damage was done.  After some complications associated with the burn, his pinky had to be amputated.  He was left with nine fingers and pain again.

Where is the lesson in this amputated pinky?  Don’t cook if you can help it?  No.  My Dad –always teaching by example, usually without trying –taught me that pain is necessary, that being without feeling leads to worse consequences than pain.  Pain is a physiological response to damage, as it was with his finger.  Pain can also be protective.  My Dad could move his pinky out of the way of further injury when he felt pain.  Once the feeling had left and all was numb, that’s when the real damage occurred.

Life turns on the front burner sometimes.  Sometimes, you’ll be a pinky set on that burner unintentionally.  If you are dead inside, you will feel nothing.  You will fester and worse injury will occur, mostly to yourself but often with some collateral damage.  If you are alive, however, you will feel the pain when it comes –it is only natural that you do.  If you are alive, you can move towards safety and, later, better health.  If you are alive, you can seek ways to manage the pain.  My Dad manages his pain through a combination of means: pharmaceuticals (I know better than to judge my Dad –he’d kick my ass, and rightfully so); rest; warmth –both literal and that offered by sympathetic listeners; flexing what’s left of his hand so as to keep it as alive as it can be; distracting himself with things he enjoys; and acknowledging when he can ignore his hand and when he needs to seek additional help for increased pain.

My Dad has found humor in his situation.  As I have learned from him, there is no better way to laugh at pain and misfortune than to …well, laugh at pain and misfortune.  He has four grandchildren.  When each grandchild went through the stage of learning to count on their fingers, my Dad would invite them to count to 10 on his fingers.  Each one would get a quizzical look on his or her face when arriving at the number 6.  Each worked past the strange shape of his left claw-hand and continued on to 7, 8, 9, ... .  After 9, each grandchild’s quizzical expression would inevitably change to outright confusion.  My Dad laughed each and every time.  Laughter can also be highly effective medicine.

My Dad still has a lot of pain, and the nature of his injury is progressive; his claw-hand continues to contract more and more inward as he gets older.  Pain never goes away completely –if you’re lucky, you’re only left with scars that pulse awkwardly.  My Dad is tough, though, and he has figured out what he needs to make his pain bearable.  He’s an excellent role model, and he’ll be okay.  Pinky swear.