The best lesson my dad taught me has to do with a pair of earmuffs and a football helmet.

Most of my childhood memories of my dad were before I was ten. Before he left for California. Before he left, mom, and my siblings, and I, in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.

My dad was a lying narcissistic who loved alcohol and cocaine and his way-or-the-highway rules you didn’t cross or forget. Dad was quick to anger and quicker to correct with his belt or backhand. And a day didn’t go by without a glass of vodka with ice in one hand and a lit Marlboro cigarette in the other.

Car rides were especially not fun. Me and my siblings crammed in the back seat, minus seat belts. The car’s interior slow swirled in a thick nicotine molasses haze. And you couldn’t crack a window. Repeated requests were met with a fast-moving thwack upside our heads.

I didn’t think any of this was wrong because that’s how I thought all dads were in Brooklyn.

As an adult, I got stationed onboard the USS MERRILL (DD-976), homeported in San Diego, California. I’d visit my dad in Los Angeles on the weekends. One weekend, over a cup of coffee, I asked why he left mom and me and my brothers and sister in New York and moved to California.

His stare laid bare his burdens and regrets. “Your mom was still in high school when we married. She was raising your sister and brother, and I was stuck on back-to-back deployments, too many skirmishes, too many changes. We lived in different worlds. Your mom would write me letters about high school and home, and that was fine. Until she wrote about a red dress, she planned to wear at prom.” His gaze dropped, his body sunk in his seat, and he sucked in a mouthful of air. “The day I got and read that letter, I lost two good friends in a bad battle, blood everywhere, and doc couldn’t save them.” His words fell into a strangled stutter sigh. “How do I reply to your mom’s letter and tell her how my day went?”  His tone heavy and tense, his stare stuck on my face. “There were more fights, and when I got back to the States, you were born, then your younger brother, but I couldn’t stay with your mom anymore. Things were too different, too difficult, too dysfunctional, so we said our goodbyes, and I left for California.”

I never shared that story with my mom because she wouldn’t understand. But I knew what he meant because I lost friends, got injured, and saw things on Persian Gulf deployments I’ve never talked about.

But the lesson came many years later. My son Samuel was three, and we visited my dad. This trip forever etched in my brain because, until this trip, I was oblivious to how out of touch dad was with reality, and how I could’ve headed that way too. The second day into the trip, it’s passed Samuel’s bedtime, and he’s in Dad’s room. The TV’s volume at maximum, and Samuel sat inches from the TV. I asked Dad to lower the volume to protect Samuel’s hearing, and he said, “No, I like the volume where it’s at, put earmuffs on Sam.”

I looked at Dad and couldn’t believe what he was saying. Couldn’t believe his lack of concern for Samuel. Couldn’t believe his complete selfishness. “Earmuffs won’t do anything to protect his hearing.”

“Then we’ll get him a football helmet to put over his earmuffs.” Dad blasted back through his teeth, and his face showed me he was serious.

“Samuel, let’s go,” I picked him, his coloring book, and crayons up and moved him to the dining room. “Samuel, I have to speak to Grandpa. Can you stay in here and color, and I’ll come back, and then we’ll go to bed?”

Samuel smiled, “Yes.” He pulled out a green crayon, opened his coloring book, and colored in a picture of a dog playing with a ball.

I went back and tried to explain to Dad, but he couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t put earmuffs or a football helmet on Samuel. And in the that moment, I realized I would be a better parent, I would be present, and I would be aware of how I acted, behaved, and responded to Samuel. For that lesson, I’m truly thankful. Thanks Dad.

Award-winning, bestselling author J.W. Zarek lives on the East Coast, and Samuel pursues a career on Broadway, and to date, still hasn’t sat in front of the TV wearing earmuffs and a football helmet.