LOL…I bet you never forgot to put the trash out again! We older guys had fathers who taught us how to be men and most of us taught our sons the same way. But I look at some of these kids today in their 20’s and have to wonder where was their father when they were growing up? Lazy, no ambition, no manners, just boys who are supposed to be adults.

If I got home on time he usually let me sleep in the next day and didn’t push me too hard. That particular night I got home about ten minutes after curfew and the shit hit the fan, literally. Dad rousted me out of bed at 4 am and after the normal chores were done, feeding, milking, checking on the livestock (I’m sure you know the drill) the real work began. I cleaned out horse stalls. I cleaned out hog pens. I cleaned out the chicken house. Cleaned out the milk shed. I shoveled a lot of shit that day and never forgot it. And I was never late getting home from a dance again I don’t care how good looking the girl I was chasing was!

Great story, Bill. And I completely understand why you couldn’t get off the phone. A boy’s gotta have his priorities.

My father – also Bill Harper – was one of those unique people who knew what he wanted to be from the day he was born. Being a disc jockey was just part of his DNA. So much so that at 15 he created his own radio station in the attic of his parent’s house in St. Louis, MO.

One afternoon, two FCC agents knocked on the door, having triangulated his illegal broadcasting operation over several weeks, and angrily confiscated his crystal – reading him the riot act in the process and threatening him within an inch of his life if he dared to broadcast again without a license. Most kids would have been scared out of their whits and I’m sure the agents expected their arrival to have a swift and immediate impact, but after half an hour of arguing one of the agents finally took off his hat and said, “Kid, just go get a job at a real radio station.” Two things were cemented in my father that day – first, that determination in critical in achieving your goals, and second, that he had become a real radio man.

I give you this pre-story so you have a sense of the man we’re dealing with.

Fast forward to 1985. I’m a sophomore in high school. It’s exam week and I’m supposed to be studying, but I’m not. I’m on the phone with Marcy Nichols. I’m on the phone with Marcy because I think she’s the greatest thing since sliced bread. I’m on the phone with Marcy because she just broke up with Eddie Horwitz. I’m on the phone with Marcy because this is my Big Chance. Nothing’s going to derail this call.

My father enters my room and, with a look of surprise says, “It’s exam week, get off the phone. You should to be studying. By the way, tomorrow is trash day.” Marcy is on a roll, telling me what a jerk-face Eddie has been. This is better than Who Shot J.R. I look up at dad, cover the phone and say, “Just a minute, dad. I’m on the phone.”

I should have known better and just let it go there.

15 minutes later my father appears at my door again. I am, of course, still on the phone. He looks down and says, “I told you to get off the phone and that it’s trash day. Get it done.” But now, Marcy is crying. How can I leave her at a time like this? I foolishly/boldly say to my father, “Dad, Marcy’s crying. I’ll be off in a minute.” My father gives me a look but says nothing, and leaves the room. Could this be a victory? Did we connect man to man? Marcy asks if I’m still there – would I be anywhere else? All else is forgotten.

Now, it’s important to understand the room setting for the next part to make sense. My bed was against the same wall as the door to my room, and I was sitting on the floor, looking out the window as we talked. Meaning, I had my back to the door. What I saw next confused me at first. Another 15 minutes had passed when my father entered the room. I saw his reflection in the mirror and knew my time was up. I was quickly crafting my exit statement to Marcy in my head when I saw dad lift something over his head – and suddenly… I was covered in trash. My father silently upended the entire can over my head. I don’t just mean one from the kitchen, either – this was the big, green, plastic yard can. He had collected trash from the entire house. My room was suddenly a landfill. Mount Trashmore. Dad then calmly set the can down and said, “Whenever you’re ready”, then left the room.

20 minutes later, I had collected everything and came out of my room fully expecting a lecture. To my amazement, I saw that he was fast asleep. Having made his point, he and my mom had gone to bed to let me sort it out for myself. I stood there with that trashcan in my hands for a long, long time in that hallway. Watching my father sleep, I imagined returning the favor and declaring my manhood. I stood just a few feet from the bed. All I had to do was turn the can upside down and the deed would be done.

At his eulogy, I told the story about my father with nothing but love and respect in my heart for the man who taught me so much. His methods weren’t always traditional, but they certainly hit the mark. I find myself using this same technique with my own kids. And while I haven’t had to upend a trashcan on anyone yet, I can see the potential. Who knows what stories they will tell on me one day. I smile just thinking about it.

As I young man I once said to my dad who, as was his way, spent time in the car spinning the dial to hear friends and to stay current on his industry, “Ugh. I hate commercials.” He laughed and said, “Yeah? Those commercials put food on your table.” The irony that I would choose advertising as my career was never lost on me.

And in case you’re wondering – no, I didn’t. I grew up a lot in the hallway that night. I’m pretty sure that’s the day my brain officially came online.