The Storyteller Himself, On His Birthday
I come from a family of storytellers. For us, few things are more satisfying than captivating an audience (large or small) with a good story. Beginning, rising action, climactic moment, and hopefully a punch line that makes people laugh.
Because I also come a from a family of jokesters. Boy, do Cates and Prescotts (my mom's family) love to laugh. We love to laugh so much that we often can't get through our own stories and jokes without laughing first at ourselves.
Jokes and good stories. For most of my family's life, I don't think we went one day without at least one joke or attempt to tell a good story.
Today is my dad's birthday. He was born on November 2, 1958.
My significant other, Ben, wrote a few meditation prompts for me to sit with on this day, to help me grieve well and experience a taste of my dad's presence again, what of him still remains with me on this earth even though he doesn't.
The third question was: "Write down the three most important lessons your dad passed on to you, either in word or deed."
One of the lessons I landed on was that my dad taught me the art of telling a good story. He taught me the importance of understanding our lives as narratives. And he taught me to be able to tell the story of my life to myself and other people.
To this day, my brother and I both love telling a good story. To each other, to our partners and friends, to the world. It's what we try to do in any situation in which we find ourselves. I believe we got that from our dad.
I have a folder saved on my computer. It's titled "By Timothy Cate." It's a series of short stories he wrote about his life. He wrote them in the fall of 2019 and shared them on Facebook.
To be completely honest, it was part of a marketing plan. He knew that people often choose realtors that they know and trust. He was offering bits of himself on social media to connect, genuinely connect, but also to sow seeds for future business fruit. I think he would have succeeded, if he hadn't fallen ill.
After I realized one of the lessons dad taught me was how to tell a good story, I opened the folder and read through his writing. The ones about me are my favorites, of course. This one especially. It's about the time that, well, I won't ruin it for you. I'll let you read it yourself.
Without further ado, here is a story from the storyteller himself, on his birthday.
Words That Broke Her Heart by Timothy Cate
“No Heather, Rusty won’t be there when we get home.”
I was speaking the words I knew would break her heart.
“Why, daddy? Why not?” she asked as the tears began to flow.
“Well, Heather, when you told me last night that you’d rather spend the night with Lianne than be home when the SPCA brought Rusty to our house, I realized that you didn’t want him as badly as you had said and that he wasn’t all that important to you. And I couldn’t allow him to come and be a part of our family if that were the case.”
When Heather was 12 she wanted a dog so badly that she wrote a short essay for Linda and me to try and make her case. She wrote:
Why Dogs Are So Important To Me
I think dogs are the best animals in the world because 1. They are “man’s best friend.” 2. They are your first warning sound. 3. Once they get to know you they will protect you. They are also cute and cuddly! I need a dog because all of my good friends live far away and my dog would be someone to play with. I would walk my dog, feed him, scoop the poop, and do everything necessary. I am responsible enough to have a dog and if you don’t believe me you can find a job for me or help me find a job and I’ll do it!
In May of that year, Linda and I decided that we would adopt a dog for Heather. A German Shepherd – Rottweiler mix named Rusty was awaiting a family at a nearby SPCA. He weighed about 110 pounds and had a beautiful rust colored coat. Heather instantly fell in love.
Rusty however did not look us in the eye and never seemed to connect with us or return Heather’s affection, even though she was sure he was the best dog ever. He had been adopted and returned to the shelter twice — not a good sign and one that we were ignoring.
I told Juan my friend at work that I was getting Heather a dog. At that time his family had at least 3 dogs.
He said, “Whoa Tim! You don’t get a dog for a child, you get a dog for the family. Kids will tell you everything you want to hear about how they will take care of it etc., but you will end up being the caretaker. It will be end up being your dog so don’t ever think that you’re getting it for a child.”
I filed that advice away in my mind.
After having dinner with our friends the Clark’s the night before Rusty was to be delivered, Lianne, their daughter and one of the “good friends who live far away” in Heather’s essay, invited her to spend the night. Heather asked me if she could stay over. Suddenly I realized that this was going to be a really important conversation.
“Well the SPCA is bringing Rusty first thing in the morning and if you spend the night, you won’t be there to greet him when he arrives” I said.
Heather said that she hadn’t seen Lianne in a long time and would be able to greet Rusty as soon as she got home. I asked her if she was sure that was what she really wanted and she assured me it was.
Sirens, bells and whistles were going off in my head as if I was watching an old time July 4th parade! And thankfully Juan’s wisdom popped back into mind. Immediately I knew that it was completely wrong to adopt this dog. Heather wasn’t ready and all the motivation was wrong. I called the SPCA first thing in the morning and told them we couldn’t adopt Rusty and please do not deliver him today — everything is on hold.
Driving down to pick Heather up was a relatively short 45 minute ride for me, but for both of us it was a long ride home to a house with no dog. Heather went to her room and sat on the floor with a tissue box beside her blowing her nose, sobbing, “I made the wrong decision. I made the wrong decision.”
I tried to comfort her saying that it wasn’t a right or wrong decision, it was just one that made me realize that the rationale, motivation and timing were not right.
This was one of the hardest things I ever had to do with a child up to that point. It was gut wrenching, but it wouldn’t have ended well and it wasn’t fair to the dog or the rest of the family. Sometimes you have to make hard decisions and deal with the consequences. It was a tough day and emotions were running high, but it was the right thing to do.
Heather eventually got over her disappointment at not getting Rusty – kids are far more resilient than we think. Linda and I got over having to disappoint her. I have no idea whatever happened to Rusty. I do know that as Heather would learn over time there is some truth in the lines from the old Rolling Stones hit:
You can’t always get what you want,
But if you try sometime you find,
You get what you need
I wish he could have finished Part 2 of the Dog Story. He got the timeline slightly wrong — I believe I was 10 at the time of the Rusty incident, because the spring of my 12th year is when he surprised me by bringing home the sweetest pup that ever lived, Rosie Toes.
And you know what? Juan was right. Rosie was my dad's dog. They loved each other dearly and she was most loyal to him, no matter how many times I walked or fed her or scooped her poop. She spent every day of her life in his office with him, and 5 o'clock playtimes everyday with him and Sean.
So, there's one example of my dad's good storytelling! He has so many more stories, written or otherwise. I hope God lets people tell stories in heaven; if he does, my dad surely is "up there" entertaining the whole host of witnesses.
Happy Birthday to the best storyteller I know.
P.S. To my friends who know that I am trying to figure out if I'm an Enneagram One or Four, I know what you're thinking after reading that story and my reaction to losing out on Rusty. "Definitely a 1 — that's why she was upset about making the wrong choice." And my response to those people who think I'm a One? I still don't know and I'm still figuring it out :)