4 Things I Learned From My Dad

My dad’s sudden death a few years ago forced me to become a better mom, a better writer and a better businesswoman.  Here’s some of the greatest hits of his life lessons.

1. Teach Your Kids How To Work With Their Hands.

On Saturday mornings when I was little, Dad would take me to the junkyard or the lumber yard, and we’d pick out wood and create bunk beds for my dolls or steering wheel contraptions made out of rusty discarded car parts. I would have much preferred to watch The Smurfs and eat Lucky Charms, but building things together was how we bonded. During the week, he had a very traditional 9-5 job in commercial real estate, but on the weekends he really dug into his soulful bohemian creative side. He gardened, landscaped, built furniture in the basement and made me his wingwoman. Dad taught me how to play catch, change a tire and make pasta from scratch. He was not a touchy-feely Waldorfian kind of parent. There was no, “Let’s get on the floor with some wooden blocks and silk scarves and escape in our imagination.”  It was very much a get your hands dirty kind of childhood. Get your head out of the clouds, get up off your ass and make stuff.

2. Rituals Are Everything

Tradition is what I remember most about my childhood. It was boring back then but now that I’m a mom to two spirited daughters I appreciate it. Creating routine inside the home, setting boundaries and managing expectations around free time helps kids feel safe and secure. Rituals calm adrenaline and soothe the nervous system. A calm nervous system in a child sets them up for success. The home should not be a risky place. It should be boring and rote. It should be the opposite of surprise. My dad felt very strongly about honoring his Jewish roots by celebrating Shabbat every Friday night. We’d gather in the dining room with china, vintage silverware and challah. Candles, prayers, poetry — it grounded the family in a higher purpose and helped to diminish the stress of the past week. Sometimes Dad would put on one of his old Bob Dylan or Beethoven records. Every Friday night now, I carry on the Shabbat tradition with my daughters. We cook together and light candles and say prayers and sit on floor pillows and I read feminist poetry while they roll their eyes. I’m like, “Tough shit, we’re Jewish, this is a non-negotiable.” I know in a few years they’re going to be all, “Mom, I wanna go vape on St. Marks in my belly shirt and blue mascara,” and I’ll be like, “Sit your ass down.”




3. When Hiring Potential Job Applicants, Look For People Who Played A Team Sport

I never actually heeded this advice — I mean, I never played a team sport. My sport of choice was Camel Lights and Zima. My dad was a 6 foot 6 inch NCAA basketball player who also competed in the Senior Olympics in his 50s. He was also a very smart businessperson, very smart, very strategic. He used to tell me he approached a real estate deal the same way he approached a basketball game — by looking at the big picture, by leaning into his teammates, recognizing his limitations, and knowing where his opponents were at all times. He always said the first question he asked anyone who was interviewing for a job was if they played a sport in high school. “Team players know that success is all about the we,” he would say. “Not the me. “

4. Keep Growing Always

Growing up, my dad was an angry guy, but as he got older, he became very mellowed-out and self-aware. In the rare instances when he blew up, he would own his part and apologize, which is really rare and admirable — especially in an older white man who is set in his ways. I give him a lot of credit for that.  It’s important for kids to see that parents are people too, that even when they succumb to rage and self-righteous anger, they can still admit their flaws and apologize after and engage with the world from a place of kindness and calm.

Three days before my Dad’s stem cell transplant, I was putting mascara on in his hospital room to go to a Christmas party because one of my friends was going to set me up with a famous actor. My dad got furious. He was lying in a hospital bed, tired and weak, but he still managed to bellow out, “This is the last thing you need! An actor! Just another charismatic scumbag who won’t respect you for your mind!” I was like, “Cut me some slack here, I just left my husband, can’t a girl have some fun?” and I stormed out of the Bone Marrow Transplant Ward. The next day he texted and said, “I’m sorry things got out of hand last night, I was a mess from all the meds.” I texted back, “It’s okay, I was happy to see that you’ve still got some fire in you.” He wrote back, “Me and you, we’re always good, no matter what.” He died two weeks later.


Molly Rosen is the Founder of Brooklyn Writers Collective an international creative writing community rooted in radical empathy, the author of “Love, Lust + Weddings for the Wild at Heart” and currently working on a memoir called “Living The Picture” about death, divorce and motherhood in the age of Instagram. Follow her on Instagram @mollyrosenguy // @brooklynwriterscollective.