Batman, disabled dancers and more

I consider my Dad to be an expert, or at the very least, extremely knowledgeable, in numerous subjects. For example, I call him the "Human Calculator". The name speaks for itself, but until you see him mentally calculate compounding interest on a Roth IRA account based on an average success rate of the stock market over the last 70 years in the same amount of time it takes you to remember what a Roth IRA even is, you have no idea. Additionally, he is well versed in old cars, motorcycles and holds a 2nd degree black belt in Taekwondo. He also has a vast knowledge of weapons and weapon history. It really doesn't matter what kind of weapon you may have a question about, as long as it is hand held and makes a loud noise, chances are he owns one, has shot one or knows the history of it. It was because of his library like knowledge of weapons that I called him earlier today with a question.
The question itself was fairly simple and the conversation was quick. Nothing really remarkable about it as Dad and I have had similar conversations in the past, but what I considered later struck me oddly. I use my Dad as a resource for knowledge and advice. I trust him. He has what I would consider a great deal of credibility. That fact got me thinking about what MY children might be able to call me about when they grow up. What "expertise" will I hold in their eyes? How “credible” will I be?
I never really have considered myself overly knowledgeable about any subject, let alone numerous subjects. It never occurred to me before today what information my children would rely on me for. This is, of course, beyond the regular lessons that a father is expected to teach their young ones like the value of hard work, integrity and what it means to give your word. I am not speaking about those lessons, I am talking about the smaller, perhaps more interesting things that make up an individuals particular “specialties” or talents. You know, the good stuff that Dads are supposed to know.
At this point in my life, I am pretty knowledgeable when it comes to music history, Batman comic books, photography, some art history and I used to know how to make explosives out of pool cleaning materials and tin foil. A quick glance at that kind of knowledge and I don’t see anything worth passing on to future generations.
Up until now, I suppose I never really thought about my kids seeing me as a credible source. I did, however, expect that my advice might be worth something to them, but an expert? Hardly.
I suppose I simply figured they would tell stories about me to their children and their children's children. Stories of how Grandpa Edwards once swam where the equator meets the dateline, or how he was a published photographer or perhaps they would prefer to tell more embarrassing stories such as how, after walking in to the den and glancing at the T.V., he mistakenly announced to a room full of people that the dancers currently being featured on the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade “sucked”, only to be told by Grandma Edwards, in a near whisper, that the particular group of performers being shown were actually physically disabled. In hindsight, I suppose that’s why I thought they were uncoordinated.
I didn’t mean to be a jerk about it, it was an honest mistake, but fairly typical of the open mouth insert foot policy that rules a majority of my “social mistakes”.
So what will my kids call me for? I don't widdle wood; I can't fix a car engine, I don't know the best way to grow a vegetable, and apparently I am a pretty insensitive guy. In short, I better get a hobby if I expect to keep up with the standard my father has already set. A hobby that I can do in my spare time and can speak about with some credibility. Something, no matter how superfluous, that my kids will think to say, "Hey! Dad knows about that." Whatever I decide on, I'm sure that my kids will at least let me believe I'm an expert, at least I hope they grant me that.
Until next time, enjoy the pure random.