My dad didn't spend a lot of time in my life; he was always too busy. But he passed on enough, I think.

Splinter? You want me to take it out, or can you? [After the first big, painful production with dad, we always just took care of splinters on our own.]

Fishing? Hiking alone in the mountains? Building fires? Here's a pocket knife your grandfather gave me, just don't tell your mother.

Bleeding? Rub clean dirt in it, the bleeding will stop, wash up with soap and water after a while. If it gets infected let me know. Infected? That's good, your immune system is getting stronger. Let me know if you get fever or have stranger than usual dreams. Fever or really strange dreams? Good that shows your body is really fighting something and getting stronger. Let me look in your eyes, take your pulse, check your throat, and check that fever. Here better come see me at breakfast and dinner to take these pills, or, You're fine, go play.

My dad is a Harvard Med grad and retired vascular surgeon. Between garage surgery to spay and neuter the pets, and visits when he took me to the hospital labs and pathology departments I learned at least two things: my dad did his best to show me his love, and I never wanted to be a doctor because that took my dad away too much.

I hope enough kids find a way to spend time goofing off outside, getting cuts and bruises and splinters making the same mistakes we did. I worry that zero-tolerance for mistakes and pain inhibits kids from developing judgment and confidence. And, too many lawsuits.