What I Know (So Far)
Are you tired of the same old boring dad advice?
Well, get ready to unleash the power of practical, motivational, and inspiring Dad-Wisdom with What I Know (So Far) by Anthony Rondeau! This heartwarming collection of perspectives, opinions, and 
observations from a seasoned dad will have you laughing, crying, and nodding your head in agreement.
In this book, Rondeau shares his life lessons and relatable Dad-Wisdom that he’s imparted to his own children over the years. Whether you’re a young adult seeking astute guidance, a new parent thinking about the future, or just looking for a smart and lighthearted read about life, love, self-acceptance, and being a good human being, this book has something for everyone.
Through his reflections on life, love, and other relationships, Rondeau offers practical advice on how to live a well-lived and meaningful life. He challenges readers to understand the world around them, to discover their own personal motivations, to stand up for their beliefs, and to be proud of themselves.
So, if you want to confirm that some of your own dad’s advice was indeed heard, or to learn from a seasoned dad with a passion for life, his children, and meaningful relationships, What I Know (So Far) is a must-read for anyone looking for a lighthearted and insightful guide to living a happy and fulfilling life.
Get your copy now and start unleashing the power of Dad-Wisdom!
Purchase What I Know (So Far)
Book Excerpt
- CONFRONTING MORTALITY, This is the beginning of the chapter. It can be found in Section 4, “MY BEST ADVICE.” Pages 207-209
Please note – Throughout the book, I have added sidebars in the form of a “Dad Note.” Sometimes they’re silly, snarky, and/or insightful. Hopefully they explain a rationalization or at least provide some entertainment value more emphatically than my usual dumb dad jokes.
CONFRONTING MORTALITY
(Dad Note: This note was added after the chapter had been completed. “Completed” means it had been written, self-edited, and dad-approved by me. It was ready for submission to a grammar-wielding literary samurai (i.e., an editor) to be reviewed, chopped, and changed into literate sushi. Since you are (un)fortunate to read the unfiltered version, I had to add this “Dad Note” because it pointedly, sadly, and unfortunately confronts the issue of mortality directly: Today we had to put down our beloved dog, Cinder. Grammatically, you sensed no pause or pain between the words “beloved dog” and “Cinder” except for a required comma. Believe me, the punctuation may look like a blip on a page, but it took me more than ten despondent minutes to compose myself to compose those three words. I’m still crying. While I didn’t mean to begin on such a somber note or reignite the traumatic ache of losing Cinder, I wanted you to understand that—if there’s anything useful to learn in this chapter—I will be practicing what I preach.)
If I never told you, I asked your mother to marry me in a pseudo-seedy bar. To be fair and to moderate your my-dad-is-a-cheap-bastard gutter thoughts about me, the place was also a restaurant. Literally, it was a ten-minute car ride only a few miles from home. Figuratively, it was thousands of miles from the places she was accustomed to and a big step down from any place your mother had ever been. Literally, it was a sketchy, basement dive bar—and restaurant—in a poorly lit back alley in Providence, Rhode Island. Figuratively, Mom had to lower her usual standards to literally descend an even more poorly lit short flight of stairs to get into the joint. Truth be told, the locale wasn’t so bad even if the stairs outnumbered the online review stars. There was dancing, cheap beer, and no one made fun of us (at least I don’t think they did) for wearing Lilly Pulitzer and Ralph Lauren clothing. It was best described as a fully-licensed, garden-level downtown restaurant and bar establishment. In fact, it was described as “a fully-licensed, garden-level downtown restaurant and bar establishment” by the real estate agent who had the property listed before the site was ultimately condemned by the city. Regarding the actual proposal of marriage, I didn’t get down on either of my bad knees to propose. Not because they were so damaged, but because there was too much debris and sawdust to navigate a clean landing spot for my khakis. We were seated on barstools. I held her hand, gazed into her beautiful blue eyes, and made my marriage pitch. It was exactly this: I held up the ring close to her with one hand and rested the hand that had been holding hers on her leg. (Dad Note: It’s a sales technique to charm, disarm, and invade personal space. Feel free to use it at your own discretion.) I said, “You have made me the happiest man by being with me. Will you continue to make me happy forever by marrying me?” It was poetic, sweet, and almost made her forget the smell of stale beer and the exhaust fumes from cars passing by the dingy cracked windows. She immediately replied, “Yes! Of course I will marry you, you handsome, intelligent, and humorous man! YOU are my best friend!” (Dad Note: Upon reflection, those may not have been her exact words.) Actually, her response wasn’t immediate—and it’s not because she was weighing better options. It’s because I pressed my luck and made my proposal conditional before she could reply. I added, “I want to marry you provided that a) you never force me to join a social or country club, b) you always look good in a pair of jeans, and c) we have a son and name him Nick.” She paused and displayed a he-might-be-crazy-and-not-worth-the-trouble hesitancy. During her contemplative silence, I sweetly professed I had fallen in love-at-first-sight love with her when I first saw her gorgeous smile and heard her irresistible laugh. The pause lingered like a hydrogen-filled dirigible, and she held the match. I sweetened the deal with one final item to remove all doubt of my undying affection: I promised your mother I would live forever and always be with her. I didn’t just promise it, I guaranteed it. I assured her of my immortality. Finally, she returned my gaze with sympathetic eyes. It was either the look of astonishing love or the uncertain thousand-mile stare or perhaps the effects of a third beer. Her mouth was slightly ajar. I couldn’t precisely tell if she was going to kiss me or tell me to take a hike. And her balled fingers began to unclench, like she was going to hug me or smack me. As a shoot-the-works-and-bet-the-farm final inducement, I made a final pledge. “Because I am immortal, I vow to love and appreciate you ceaselessly.” I rested my case. I was confident she’d never receive a warranty in a marriage proposal like I had just offered. The enticement worked. Her caution dissipated and she replied enthusiastically, “Yes! Of course I will marry you, you handsome, intelligent and humorous man. You are my best friend!” (Dad Note: Again, possibly not her exact words.) I was very confident she would ultimately say yes. Back then she adored me and always wanted to be with me. Now, not nearly as much or as often, but that’s another story for a different chapter. Further, I was slightly amazed she agreed to my demands without protest and shockingly didn’t contest my immortality claim. Also, and possibly from shock, she outlined no requirements for me. I thought to myself, Hmm, well done, Anthony. I learned something about myself on that life-changing/altering/ improving day. As good-looking, smart, and funny as I am, I am an even better salesperson and negotiator.
- UNCONDITIONAL LOVE, This is the beginning of the chapter. The chapter is found in Section 2, “LOVE AND OTHER RELATIONSHIPS.” Pages 61-62
Please note – In the book, this chapter is preceded by a chapter called “LOVE.”
UNCONDITIONAL LOVE
It might seem peculiar and redundant to follow a chapter titled “Love” with one titled “Unconditional Love.” As I read my children’s collective thoughts, I sense them thinking, thinking for the millionth time, “Peculiar and redundant? Dad, you are the living definition of ‘peculiar and redundant.’ Why didn’t you add the following paragraphs into the preceding chapter? OMG! You’re such an idiot. Sometimes I can’t believe we’re related!”
Firstly, I know you would never verbalize those thoughts, or at least be considerate enough to mutter them under your breath so I couldn’t hear you. You’re smart to keep your thoughts to yourselves. There’s no reason to insult a person from whom you might inherit a 1965 Ford Mustang convertible, an esteemed collection of sports memorabilia, or an incomplete assortment of shot glasses from around the world. It’s like my grandmother always told me: “Anthony, they can’t arrest you for what you’re thinking.” Parrying your insulting jibes and casting aside those idiocy aspersions for the millionth time as well, I would agree with you that unconditional love is a form of love. In the interest of harmony and family unity, let me rephrase my accord: I WOULD HAVE agreed with you when I was young, dumb, and less jaded, like you are. (Dad Note: That is, I WOULD HAVE BEEN INCLINED to agree with you, when I was younger and dumber like you are, that my idea of unconditional love should have been included in the previous chapter on love. When I was younger and dumber, like you, I may have also agreed that unconditional love is possible and is a configuration of real love. My statement from my at-that-time [then limited] knowledge would have enhanced my interpretation of what love is, what love is not, and quite possibly improved the profile of what it means to be loved. I rarely agree with you that I am an idiot. I may very well be one, but I certainly don’t need your stomp of approval to validate my lack of intelligence—I’ve got that covered all by myself.) On the surface, unconditional love for another person, animal, or thing appears to be a subcategory of the notion of love. Unconditional love is a status of the deepest commitment and condition of the highest obligation. To promise to love unconditionally is the boldest pledge. Pretty lucid and impressive statement for your (an) old man, right? Not so idiot-ish, huh? Like some/most of my lucid and impressive thoughts, as well as some/ most of my less coherent, unimpressive ideas, my statement concerning unconditional love occurred to me late at night. It was the contemplative session just after cookies in the kitchen and just before settling in to watch Raiders of the Lost Ark on the television in the basement. Unlike when I “invented” a gadget to hold and press my pants on a clothes hanger, I was pretty pleased with myself. However, my prideful glee turned sourer than expired milk. Even before Indiana Jones dodged the giant rolling ball, I decided unconditional love may exist in theory, but it cannot be produced. There are striking design flaws in the guarantee. The vow to love unconditionally is not only too great a burden for one person to have for another person, but it also has no practical application—I am convinced of that. Further, I am also convinced that graham crackers are a great snack, that Raiders is one of my top ten favorite movies, and that every relationship happens and/or endures with qualifications, restrictions, and stipulations.
About the Author, Anthony Rondeau
Anthony Rondeau is a forever dad, husband, uncle, son, brother, cousin, friend, Big Brother, first-time author, and enduring observer of life. Though it is possible to uncover he is married and has four kids, it would be impossible to know they are the center of his world.
He readily admits he is not the sharpest bulb in the knife shed: “Modestly, my cleverness surpasses my intelligence because I am unafraid to be passionate, I am undaunted by mistakes I will certainly continue to make, and I am brave enough to relentlessly ask questions until I understand. I constantly challenge my children to understand the crowd before they follow it, to discover personal motivations, to stand up for their beliefs, and to be as proud of themselves as I am of them.”
