Sharing life lessons learned from my father

Normally I write a little something about what it's like to be an older student on campus as an undergrad.

Today, I'd like to deviate from that.

My father David Coleman passed away 7 years ago this month. He died Sept. 14, 2003, after a very short battle with cancer. Although he's gone, there are lessons I learned from him that still remain-lessons I believe would benefit anyone, especially a college student.

1. How to cook the perfect grilled cheese sandwich. There is an art to it. When I was a little kid, I used to call it "girl cheese." No, I don't think I had any gender superiority issues.

Anyway, he taught me when making the perfect grilled cheese sandwich; the trick is not to use real butter. If you use cheap vegetable spread, it works so much better. The more chemicals, the better.

It was more than just a sandwich. Dad knew how to use food as a siren call of sorts to bring the chicks back to the nest.

It's a trick I'm now using to periodically bring my daughters home. The siren call sounds like this: "So I made these burritos and home made salsa ... " So if your mother randomly calls you with a menu plan, this is what's up.

2. Always to have lots of food on hand. In case of a catastrophe happens, you will be prepared. We may not have any of life's necessities at any given time, but by gosh, we've got canned corn. People can live on corn for years, so I've heard.

3. To know you can change your mind at any time, at any moment. When my dad died, I was taking prerequisite classes in order to become a nurse. After he died, I didn't have the heart to follow through with it.

So I changed my mind and my major to English, which just incidentally turned out to be perfect for me. Then I changed my minor three times until I settled on classical studies. Some people might call that flaky. I scoff at such people. I call it "dabbling."

4. To be smart with your money. You would never catch my Dad in the drive-thru line for Starbucks paying $5 for a cup of coffee. He believed the store brand was just fine, thank you. It also did not bother him if the coffee was older than Larry King. He'd still drink it. I'd plead with him, saying, "Dad, you work hard for a living. You deserve a fresh cup of coffee! Come on!" He'd stare at me blankly like Clinton on trial. It just didn't make sense to him.  I shudder at the memory of the old coffee fermenting in his coffee pot, but that was just his way. He didn't waste anything.

For example, he once bought this horrible raspberry-flavored ice cream on sale that tasted like puke-flavored gravel. Nobody would eat it. When someone whined, he just shrugged and said he wouldn't buy another kind until it was eaten. I think it ended up being eaten by the garbage disposal when he wasn't there.

5. To never make excuses. Ever. He believed you should own up to your faults, warts and all. Nobody is perfect, including you. Don't blame others for your shortcomings.

6. To be a good listener. He was unflappable with my confessions. Trust me. There have been a few. I could have told the man aliens had abducted me, and I swear he would have said, "Well, OK. Good thing they brought you back in one piece. Now go do your chores."

7. To value hard work. Dad really disliked people who were slackers. He taught me life gives you back what you put into it. He never gave me any illusions life would be easy.

8. To never ever give up. Even when an oncologist said things like "It's really a long shot" or "You'll have to travel for an experimental treatment," Dad would say, "Let's do it." And, inevitably, when the results didn't budge, he'd say, "What else have you got?"

9. How to laugh. Dad was the best with jokes. He taught me the hardest things in life were more palatable with a good sense of humor. Not that his jokes were that great most of the time, you understand. Because he told them with such enthusiasm and waited with such expectation, you had to laugh. It's all in the delivery.

So today, I'd like to dedicate this column to my dad, who never knew I loved to write. I didn't either until I tried something new. He was the inspiration to my first-published short story.

And tonight, in his honor, I think I'll make each member of my family the perfect grilled cheese sandwich.

Thank you, Dad.