Don’t Punish the Dog for Being a Dog

My father was a perfectionist. He took meticulous care of his appearance and approached everything he did with precision, whether fixing a broken pipe or managing his business. He was a man of few words, but when he spoke, it was something worth hearing, and always more profound than the actual words themselves.

Looking back now, I realize my father had a growth mindset, though I only fully understood this much later, after he had passed away. My father was actually teaching me very important principles that were clouded by my insecurities and fear of letting him down, further complicated by my belief that I was a problem child and black sheep of the family.  I didn’t understand what he was teaching me until I was studying for this assignment. 

One of my father’s favorite sayings was, “If you can’t find time to do it right the first time, how are you going to find time to do it over.”  As I matured, this saying grew from being a little monkey on back that whispered in my ear into a giant gorilla that roared, “don’t try it because if it isn’t perfect, you won’t get a second chance.”  One of the last things I told him, as he lay in the nursing home unable to speak due to the brain cancer that was taking his life was this: "Your perfectionism made my life really hard sometimes, and I’ve resented you for that. But it also made me a really great hairdresser!"

I realize now that what he was actually saying was that I need to do the best that I can in everything I do because I will never have the chance to be THAT best version of myself ever again.  The moment will be lost, and I can never retrieve it.  It’s okay not to be the best, but life is much harder when I don’t DO my best because I might be too scared to try again.  That, and it’s the only thing that I truly have control over, myself and my efforts.

Another profound lesson came while we were training our dog with an underground electric fence. During a break inside, while waiting for the girls to get home from school, the dog suddenly panicked, jumping around uncontrollably, snapping at some unseen force that was assaulting him. I realized too late that we had left the shock collar on and the controller outside. As I struggled to remove it, the dog bit me several times in its frenzy just as the girls happily skipped through the front door, asking what the little box outside was for because it didn’t do anything when they turned the dial.  Through the chaos of being angry with my children as well as the dog, my father calmly advised, “Don’t punish the dog for being a dog.” In that moment, I understood his deeper meaning: accept and love yourself as you are, without self-condemnation, and extend that grace to others as well.

I keep a simple photo of my dad, printed on regular paper and folded into a square. It has adorned every desk of every office I've worked in, and now it hangs above my home office desk on my vision board. It bears the words, “You’ll get it Punky, you’ll get it.”  Yes, I will. It's a constant reminder to give my best effort in each moment, always striving to learn and grow.

I forget these lesson often, but his words of wisdom have become mantras for me as I continually try to remember that I am okay just the way I am and try to do at least one thing a day that will make me more of the “dog” that I want to become.  My father has always been my mentor, and he taught me about grit, self-determination, love, and acceptance. If I become half the “dog” that he was, my life will be a success. I know he watches over me with pride, embracing the imperfect “dog” that I am, and you know what? - so do I!

Thanks, Dad, I love you too.