My dad is an interesting guy. I could go on for hours about what a decent human being he is, how he always took care of me and my brother when we were growing up, or how he taught me virtues like responsibility and honesty.

But I’m not going to talk about those things, because although they’re great, but they’re also pretty boring. Instead, I’m going to talk about some of the pointless, silly, and very dad-esque things that my dad taught me, which I hope to pass on to my children when they’re old enough.

Here’s one. Did you know that you can spell the word “fish” G-H-O-T-I? It’s true!

  • gh as in “enough”
  • o as in “women”
  • ti as in “motion”

That’s pretty silly. I might argue that the true spelling ought to be G-H-O-T-I-O, according to that formula, but now we’re just getting ridiculous.

Along the same lines, dad would spell “bird” as B-1-R-D and “seagull” as C-G-U-11. In my hazy recollection this has something to do with his being a Navy pilot, although I can’t imagine why Navy pilots would be interested in spelling birds with numerals. They should really be worried more about not flying into them.

My dad taught me to never split infinitives, and that prepositions are bad things to end sentences with. The rules themselves aren’t pointless, but the delivery is pretty silly.

By the same token, he taught me the difference between “who” and “whom,” and how to conjugate English verbs in the subjunctive. Both of which, sadly, are becoming more and more pointless with every passing year. Would that they weren’t.

Whenever we’d ask my dad how long something would take, he’d answer “How Long is a Chinaman.” I don’t really know what that means, but I thought I’d throw it in anyway. Maybe one of you can explain it. Note that this was a long time ago, when saying “Chinaman” wasn’t generally thought of as offensive.

Along those same lines, when my dad was really pissed off at us, he’d say, “If you don’t stop that, it’s going to be ‘Katie bar the door.’” Again, I have no idea what that means, but I know that I never cared to find out.

My dad taught me how to make a little waterspout by holding part of your fist underwater and squeezing in just the right way. That one, I’ve discovered, impresses the hell out of little kids.

My dad taught me that hay is for horses. Again and again and again and again.

He taught me how to fish with a rod and reel, which wouldn’t be pointless for most people but is to me because I hate fishing. See also: soldering.

If we’re being perfectly honest, the list should include a number of rather off-color jokes, but we won’t get into those because most of the ones I remember would be considered extraordinarily offensive in this day and age.

My dad taught us how to make a caculator read GOOSEEGG when turned upside-down (although it was my brother’s friend Mike who showed us how to make it say BOOBIES, which we much preferred).

So yes, my father did indeed teach me some really cool things (how to fire a gun, how to ride a motorcyle), and some really worthwhile things (physics, calculus, computer programming, grammar) and some really important things (honor, ethics, decency.) But in the end, there’s just one thing that really matters. And that’s the little waterspout you make with your fist. Because man, that is pretty fucking cool.