Rule #216: Don’t Use BCC

This may seem like an unusual rule to share with my children, but it’s a combination of a pet peeve, an ethical guideline, and a social standard. The way I see it, the use—or abuse—of blind carbon copy (BCC) is a reflection of character. It defines us socially, much like showing up to an interview without a suit or using the “f-word” indiscriminately. And not in a good way.

A brief history may help. The carbon copy began in 1806 when Ralph Wedgewood came up with a method to create a copy of a typed document. It went largely unnoticed until Lebbeus H. Rogers saw its potential while working with the Associated Press, turning it into a staple of offices across America until the late 1970s.

The lesson here is twofold: first, understand what a carbon copy is; second, recognize that the application of an idea is often more valuable than the idea itself. Much of life and business success comes from building on the ideas of others.

Back to BCC. I’m fairly certain it was a lawyer who added the “B” for “blind” carbon copy—because who else would invent a way to send correspondence intended as confidential to a third party, quietly implying, “Don’t let the recipient know I’m sending this to you”? While many lawyers are outstanding people, some are the sleazy types—and I suspect the first BCC came from one of those.

Exclusion exists in life—clubs, universities, and religions all sort and separate people—but exclusion becomes harmful when it’s cruel or deceptive. The BCC is like telling your roommate you’re going to the library, then sneaking off to a party without telling them. It communicates not only exclusion, but a lack of respect and trust.

You will encounter lies of fact and lies of omission in life. Both cause hurt, but lies of omission—like the BCC—often inflict deeper damage. The recipient expects trust in correspondence, and breaking that trust can have long-lasting consequences. I’ve seen business relationships permanently damaged over BCC misuse. While trust can be repaired, it takes significant effort and commitment.

Just because something exists, doesn’t mean it’s right. Society often rationalizes harmful behavior because it’s accessible or convenient—like driving up to a bar in Louisiana to get a Red Bull and vodka through a drive-thru. The existence of BCC doesn’t make its use ethical, healthy, or respectful.

Consider BCC as a practical lesson and a moral reminder: treat others as you wish to be treated. When faced with a decision, ask, “Is this healthy for me and for others?” Right and wrong can be murky, but the answer to that question is usually clear.

Takeaway: Avoid using BCC—it’s a matter of trust, respect, and integrity; transparency builds relationships, while secrecy erodes them.

Love, Dad

Rule #24: Eat Dinner as a Family

My father traveled a great deal when I was young, but when he was in town, we always ate dinner as a family. I don’t recall many of the meals themselves, but I can fondly remember hundreds of the conversations. Sometimes my parents would quiz me on world capitals or some other trivia, which often deteriorated rapidly into a game of “Stump the Dad.” My father never lacked an answer and usually delivered it with such certainty that you’d believe the capital of Switzerland was Zurich—until you could find an encyclopedia to prove him wrong. And even after presenting definitive proof, he would argue we were using a 1968 edition of the Britannica and it had changed in early 1969. He said it so convincingly that, even now, I’m not entirely certain.

I don’t think he would be as effective today, with everyone armed with an internet rifle at hand, but I am certain his arguments would still be sound, and his bluff would fool most people much of the time. These exchanges at the dinner table remain with me more vividly than any trip, event, or milestone—they were truly fun.

I believe these discussions helped me develop a strong sense of identity and worth. I knew I had a voice, and my parents helped me find it. (Yes, I admit it—this skill also helped me in dating and business. Convincing people that Zurich was the capital of Switzerland? Totally within my skill set.) Without this art of conversation, Bobbi might have become bored with me and never married me. The dinner table was training in the lost art of dialogue—or B.S., as some might call it.

There is something magical about the conversations at the dinner table. They tell everyone that you have thoughts of your own, and the friendly forum of a family reinforces your sense of worth. Sharing accomplishments, discoveries, and even struggles turns mere existence into active engagement with life.

I know my habit of going around the table and asking, “What one thing exciting happened to you today?” sometimes annoyed you. I did it to show that your life mattered—that your presence was recognized and valued. Many people go through life thinking their daily actions don’t really matter. In the Hill household, at least, we knew that something you did each day mattered to someone.

Even when you weren’t interested in sharing, we still talked about small things: what you studied in science or what you ate at lunch. It didn’t matter what—it mattered that you had a voice.

As you grow older and start your own families and traditions, I ask you to consider this one. Our lives were hectic, and we could only manage a complete family dinner four or five times a week. I don’t regret waiting for someone from sports, work, or school. What I do regret are the missed opportunities to gather together. Of all the things we’ve done as a family, nothing has been as meaningful or impactful as sharing meals. It is a tradition worth preserving.

Even on cruises or family vacations, the dinners we shared were the most important moments—they made the trips special.

As a culture, we are drifting toward less personal communication. (See Rule #144: Don’t break up by text.) It’s too easy to hide behind a TV, iPhone, or iPad, reducing conversation to a string of witty, lightning-fast texts. Family dinners offer the opposite: a place to be heard.

Often our political debates raged across polar opposites of the spectrum. Yet the forum of discussion allowed us to understand that we could see things differently but still love and respect each other. I know Matthew will never love W, and I will never value Obama, but family dinners taught us that respectful dialogue strengthens relationships.

Follow this rule. Make family dinner a place to speak, to listen, and to be fully present.

By the way—Bern is the capital of Switzerland. (Look it up.)

Takeaway: Family dinners are more than meals—they’re a forum to be heard, to listen, and to build bonds that last a lifetime.

Love, Dad

Rule #18: Learn to Make Pancakes

I know what you’re thinking: Dad’s lost it, putting learning to make pancakes in the top 20 rules. But hear me out.

There are only a few foods that are truly social, and pancakes are one of them. They’re simple to make, yet somehow special because they don’t just come out of a box.

I have never offered to make pancakes with someone and received a negative reaction. It’s like asking kids, “Who wants to go to Disney World?” or a teenager, “Who wants to drive the car?” Even if they decline, the offer alone makes people happy.

Part of the magic is that pancakes are comfort food. Warm, sweet with syrup, and filling, they tell the eater that the world can be a safe and happy place. And the homemade feel of pancakes sends a non-verbal message: “I care enough to make something special for you.”

I remember being nine years old at my Aunt Skeets’ house in Virginia, watching my cousin Cathy help my aunt make pancakes. She let me pour my own pancakes—any size I wanted, from silver dollar to full plate. That memory is more than 40 years old, yet it remains a fresh, happy memory in my heart.

When you spend the first night with your true love in your apartment, there’s no better way to show you care than having a warm skillet, a bowl of pancake batter, and a bottle of syrup ready. It’s hard for anyone to feel unloved after that, even without saying it out loud. And your reputation grows—she goes back to her friends and says, “And then he made me pancakes.” (See Rule #22: “All Men Are Pigs.”)

As a husband, I’ve found that pancakes can bridge any distance caused by busy schedules, kids’ activities, work demands, or life’s general chaos. They’ve saved my butt on more than a few mornings. Whenever family stress builds, I use the magic words: “Breakfast for dinner.” Participation is encouraged—measuring, stirring, pouring, or flipping—so even the most disconnected teenager can take a turn as a short-order cook.

I prefer Bisquick mix over other brands, not only because it tastes better but because it requires adding melted butter and eggs. These simple steps make the pancakes feel homemade, sending the subtle message that the recipients are worth the extra effort. The process slows down life, teaching patience as you wait for the bubbles and the faint brown edge before flipping.

This rule may seem small, yet it’s ranked high (#18) for a reason. Few things are as powerful for starting a conversation, building a bridge, or simply saying “I remember you, I love you” than a humble pancake.

In life, the greatest truths aren’t hidden—they’re right in front of us, like a short stack of pancakes covered with butter and syrup. We just need to notice them. Yum.

Bisquick Pancakes Recipe:

• 2 cups Original Bisquick® mix

• 1 cup milk

• 2 eggs

Heat griddle or skillet over medium-high heat (or electric griddle to 375°F); grease with cooking spray, vegetable oil, or shortening. (Surface is ready when a few drops of water sprinkled on it dance and disappear.)

Stir all ingredients until blended. Pour slightly less than 1/4 cupfuls onto hot griddle. Cook until edges are dry, then turn; cook until golden. (For thinner pancakes, use 1 1/2 cups milk—but in a Hill household, thin pancakes are never preferred.)

Takeaway: Making pancakes is more than cooking—it’s a simple, powerful way to connect, show love, and create lasting memories.

Love, Dad

Rule #17: Learn to Live Cheap

As your father, I think one of the greatest disservices I’ve done for your futures is not teaching you how to live cheap.

When I think of “cheap,” I think first of my parents, who understood the concept well.

Both grew up poor. My dad was raised by an aunt and uncle while your great-grandmother spent seven years recovering from tuberculosis. My mom was also raised by relatives after losing her mother and being abandoned by her father as an infant. They grew up in a world where luxuries were few and far between.

Your grandfather put himself through Drexel on $90 a month from the GI Bill, working nights as a bail bondsman. He lived in old storefronts, tiny rooms, and boarding houses—graduating with no scholarships, no grants, and no debt. He did “cheap” on a whole new level.

He later worked as an engineer and still lives in the same 1,100-square-foot house he bought in 1960 for $10,000. And yet throughout my childhood, I never wanted for anything. I had a good education, clothes, food, and a sense of stability. By the standards of my youth, I felt wealthy and lucky.

But the rules were clear. My allowance of $1 a week ended when I turned 16 and could work. Walking through Sears in 1968, I would never have dreamed of asking for a toy or a shirt. There was an unspoken acceptance of limits, and a deep satisfaction with what we already had.

When I graduated college in 1981, the economy was bleak. With my dad’s help, I landed an underwriting job at $13,500 a year and thought I’d struck gold. It wasn’t much, but I worked nights stocking shelves at the newly opened Toys “R” Us and as a desk clerk at Frog Hollow Tennis Club to save enough to live on my own and eventually get married.

I remember grocery shopping at Montgomeryville Mart—a low-end farmers market attached to a strip club (aptly named Mickey’s Mouse)—because that’s where you could buy off-brand, nearly expired food cheap. Stretching money to last the month was an art form.

And I remember the thrill of qualifying for my first Sears card with a $300 limit. That little piece of plastic bought me my first Christmas tree, stand, and gifts. At the time, owning an American Express seemed impossible. In simple terms, I learned to live cheap.

Fortunately, I found a career I excelled in. Promotions and raises came, and by the time you were born we were moderately affluent. You always had what you needed, and most of what you wanted. But in the process, I failed to give you the pride, confidence, and resilience that comes from living cheaply.

Don’t get me wrong—I never believed in handing you a new car at 16. But you did end up with cars, thanks to help from me, your mom, your grandfather, and your aunt. You’ve all had far more than my father could have imagined for his grandchildren.

The problem is not that you’re spoiled—I don’t believe you are. The problem is preparation. Affluence has dulled an essential survival skill: the ability to live cheap.

There’s a certain cocky confidence that comes from knowing you can start with almost nothing and rebuild. That confidence stays with you through divorce, illness, stock market crashes, or business failures. You know you can survive, and that makes you strong.

Personally, I’ve made millions and lost millions. I’ve had enough to last a lifetime, and then barely enough to last a month. Through those cycles, I had my parents’ example to guide me. Life’s successes are never guaranteed. Rebuilding is part of the game.

Many of my peers crumble under setbacks. Many in the generation after mine look for guarantees—lawsuits, government bailouts, parental rescues. I think it stems from two things parents did wrong: teaching kids to expect life to always be fair, and failing to teach them how to survive on less.

The Greatest Generation—those who endured the Depression and fought World War II—had nothing material but knew how to hold onto freedom and opportunity. My generation, the Baby Boomers, challenged tradition and chased affluence. We raised children with self-esteem, but without survival skills. We told everyone they were winners, but didn’t prepare anyone to come back from a loss.

The truth is, you will face financial ruin two or three times in your life, maybe more. Each time you stare into that cliff of bankruptcy, you’ll need to march back with confidence. You’ll face job losses, economic upheavals, and personal crises. Failure is not an exception—it’s part of life. It shouldn’t be feared, just endured.

So learn to live cheap. Save money. Delay gratification. Distinguish what you want from what you need.

Used furniture, macaroni and cheese, and basic cable are God’s gifts to remind you that you’re in control. There is pride in knowing you can be stripped down to nothing and still survive.

The smirk of confidence you need in life comes not from winning, but from knowing you can rebuild.

Takeaway: Learning to live cheap is not about living without—it’s about gaining the freedom and resilience to rebuild no matter what life takes away.

Love, Dad

Rule #121: Buy and Read Books

Today Borders Books filed for bankruptcy. They may restructure their debt and come out of it, or they may just die like so many other bookstores have.

Writing a blog entry to encourage my children to read and own books might seem odd. After all, this very medium—blogs, ebooks, and digital platforms—has been blamed for the death of print. But I argue that electronic media, while valuable, is a different experience entirely from reading the printed word.

When fictional ghost hunter Dr. Egon Spengler said in 1984, “Print is dead,” he might have been warning us of the age of ebooks, iPads, and the blogosphere. All the statistics confirm it: in recent years, printed material has sharply declined while electronic content has exploded.

In Jurassic Park (1993), mathematician Dr. Ian Malcolm described the problem of misused science:

“I’ll tell you the problem with the scientific power you’re using here: it didn’t require any discipline to attain it. You read what others had done and you took the next step. You didn’t earn the knowledge for yourselves, so you don’t take any responsibility for it. You stood on the shoulders of geniuses… packaged it, and slapped it on a plastic lunchbox.”

The danger of electronic publishing is similar: it is too easy and too accessible. You have a thought—boom—two minutes later it’s published. Little discipline, little reflection.

The world hasn’t seen this kind of seismic shift in communication since Johannes Gutenberg rolled off the first printed pages from his movable type press in the 1440s. I imagine there was a balding 50-year-old monk somewhere complaining that the loss of handwritten manuscripts would cheapen the word. I’m fairly certain his name was Bob.

But since I wasn’t that Bob in 1440, I couldn’t argue for preserving illuminated manuscripts. What I can do is argue for the preserving and continuance of books today.

There is something magical—even artistic—about bringing thoughts through the long process that leads to a published book. When words are bound between covers, it feels like a frame around a piece of art. Paintings can be scanned and displayed in digital perfection, but the brushstrokes on canvas make it feel real, human, personal. Books carry that same man-made weight.

And that personal quality makes books some of the best gifts to give and receive. There’s a unique joy in walking through a Borders (if they survive) and hunting for the perfect book for someone. That process connects you more deeply to the recipient. Some of the most remarkable gifts I’ve seen in my life were books—including the early edition of The Wizard of Oz Matthew gave Bobbi last Christmas. I’m not sure if he was hinting that she was Glinda the Good Witch or Elphaba the Wicked Witch, but either way the gift said she was loved. Thoughtful books remain one of the most affordable and meaningful ways to connect with others.

Of course, the true purpose of a book is to be read. Over the years, I’ve interviewed thousands of people, and no question has been more revealing than: “What are you reading now?” and “What’s your favorite book?” Those answers told me more about a person’s mind and character than transcripts or résumés ever did. Without exception, the people who read more were more valuable employees.

And here’s something else I’ve noticed: it doesn’t really matter what you read, as long as you read a lot. I’ve known people who devoured nothing but vampire romance novels for a year, and others who binged on self-help books. Both grew from the experience. Readers take what they need. Still, my advice is to read a variety of books by a variety of authors. Like a healthy diet, variety matters—because if all you consume is chicken nuggets and Coke, it will eventually catch up to you.

Kids, as I’ve said from the start, this blog has always been about leaving you with whatever wisdom—or at least the random thoughts—I’ve accumulated in my life. In that spirit, I’d be proud if each of you made book-giving a family tradition.

But of course, a new Harley isn’t a bad gift either.

Takeaway: Owning and reading books is more than a pastime—it’s a gift of knowledge, empathy, and connection that lasts a lifetime.

Love, Dad

Rule #112: Not Everyone Gets a Trophy

In a recent blog and comment exchange with Matthew, I was reminded of an issue you will face as adults: whether to take a stand against the “everyone gets a trophy” culture.

The debate that sparked this was over which actor played the best James Bond. I made my case for Sean Connery—obvious reasons: character fit, screen presence, acting chops. Matthew countered that each Bond brought something unique and should be appreciated for their own take on the character. Fair point, but I reminded him: this was about picking the best Bond, not handing out participation trophies.

I blame Jimmy Carter.

Aside from his “I struck a deal with North Korea” presidency, his era in the mid-1970s also gave us something nearly as disastrous: the rise of the “everyone’s a winner” philosophy. Parents of Generation Y (that’s you—born between 1978 and 1990) decided that sparing kids from hurt feelings mattered more than competition. It started small on soccer fields across America: first equal playing time rules, then not keeping score, and eventually—trophies for everyone.

Now, I get that self-esteem matters. People need encouragement and pride in their accomplishments. But lowering the bar so everyone can step over it? That doesn’t build strength; it erodes standards. Look no further than our schools: falling test scores, while spending more per student. We’ve created a system where if a kid answers 4 × 4 with 17, they get partial credit for using a pencil correctly. That’s not education—it’s grading effort instead of achievement.

Penn Jillette, the Las Vegas entertainer, calls this the “self-esteem movement”: if we just believe we’re better, we’ll become better.

It reminds me of the movie The Music Man. Professor Harold Hill (no relation, sadly—so don’t expect royalties in your inheritance) teaches kids to play instruments using the “think method.” The result? A painfully off-key band that the parents convince themselves sounds wonderful. Say something loud and long enough, people start mistaking it for truth.

Now, don’t get me wrong—sometimes participation is worthy of praise. A child with a disability completing a run deserves recognition. A person finishing a marathon after months of training deserves celebration. But those exceptions don’t justify lowering expectations for everyone. The truth is most of us are capable of more than just showing up.

I’m proud of each of you for the character you’ve shown and the accomplishments you’ve achieved. Some of those things are truly “trophy worthy.” But not everything is—and that’s okay.

As a businessman, husband, and father, I’ve failed far more often than I’ve succeeded. Looking back, maybe a dozen moments in my life are worth real recognition by others. That rarity makes them meaningful. If every sales call or new hire came with applause and a trophy, the few true successes wouldn’t stand out—they’d be cheapened.

So here’s my advice: praise and support your children. Be present at their games, concerts, and recitals. Tell them to push harder and dream bigger. But don’t tell them greatness comes from merely showing up. Teach them that it’s found in effort, persistence, and accomplishments that genuinely matter.

And above all—tell them not to grow up like Jimmy Carter.

Love, Dad

RULE #22: Never Bring a Knife to a Gun Fight

As everyone in our family knows, this is one of my favorite expressions. It’s actually a variation of a quote from the 1987 movie The Untouchables:

“You wanna know how to get Capone? They pull a knife, you pull a gun. He sends one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue. That’s the Chicago way!”

While Officer Malone (played by the great Sean Connery) may have meant it literally, I’ve come to use it in a much broader way.

In the movie, Malone is trying to wake up a young and idealistic Eliot Ness to the reality that winning—especially when the odds are stacked against you—requires changing the game, not just playing harder. You need to shift the balance. That’s what this rule is really about.

A Sidebar on James Bond (Because It’s Worth It)

Let’s take a quick but important detour: Sean Connery is the only legitimate James Bond. No one before or since has embodied Bond’s unique blend of cocky self-confidence and charm.

If you want to understand what real confidence looks like—particularly the kind that draws people in—watch Goldfinger (1964). It has very little to do with looks or bravado. It’s about that calm, unshakable presence. Women, in my modest opinion, are drawn to that kind of swagger—not arrogance, but quiet certainty.

Connery’s Bond walks into any room like he knows exactly where he’s going and exactly what he wants. That’s not something you can fake. And that’s the same kind of mindset Rule #22 is asking of you.

Back to the Fight

At its core, Rule #22 is about preparation and awareness.

You will face countless challenges in life—from finding a job, to raising kids, to buying a home. And in every one of those situations, your success will depend on whether you brought the right tools to the fight.

Over the years, I’ve interviewed hundreds of candidates for jobs. Some have shown up unshaven, underdressed (no, Matthew, your funny slogan t-shirt is not business attire), or completely clueless about the company. These poor souls brought a knife to a gun fight—and they left with the metaphorical gunshot wound of rejection.

But every now and then, someone walks in who’s done their homework. They know the company. They’ve dressed the part. They speak with purpose and professionalism. Those are the gunfighters.

And they don’t just get the job—they change the room they walk into.

Preparation Is Power

This rule is your reminder: never walk into a date, a job interview, a meeting, or a major life decision without first assessing the situation, preparing for it, and then executing with confidence.

Joe Paterno, the patron saint of college football, once said:

“The will to win is important, but the will to prepare is vital.”

I believe that so deeply I had it written on the wall of my company’s training room. I originally wanted to use Rule #22, but figured JoePa’s quote would require less explanation—and would offend fewer NRA opponents.

Final Word

The heart of this rule is simple: Don’t just show up with a rah-rah, “I’m a winner!” mindset. That’s not enough. Instead, walk in with the Sean Connery swagger that comes from knowing you’ve got a fully loaded Walther PPK in your pocket.

Because in life, confidence without preparation is just noise.
But confidence with preparation? That’s a weapon.

Love,
Dad

RULE # 37: THE TWO CAT RULE

If you write a blog eventually, there will come a moment when you offend people. I’m starting with this rule to take the suspense out of waiting for that moment. Contained within this rule are comments that will offend some cat owners, some women, and some other people. But if I’m going to lose readers, I might as well do it early in the process so I can stay focused on my intended audience: my children.

This rule is focused on helping my sons, but I think Abby and Rachel might learn something from it too—when the time is right.

This isn’t about being a “cat person” or a “dog person,” because you kids know our entire family are dog people (and should remain so for many generations; and yes, I intend to haunt the first great?grandchild who isn’t). It’s not that I have disdain for cats—it’s just that they have an inherent creepiness likely caused by their staunch independence.

I also think my feelings about cats stem from my love of the jokes around them. One of my personal favorites (PG?13 version) is:

“A little girl cried: ‘Daddy, Daddy—Fluffy is dead!’
‘That’s okay, dear. Fluffy has gone to Heaven to be with God.’
‘But what would God want with a dead cat?’”

But I digress. This rule isn’t about cats. It’s about the importance of selecting a good mate.

Most of the happiest people I know have a life partner whom they love, share things with, and who helps them build relationships with friends and family rather than alienate people. The saddest people I know feel trapped in toxic relationships where their partner doesn’t share the world with them, making them withdraw from everything.

When it’s right, it’s golden. When it’s wrong, it’s crap.

Choosing who you date is the key to success, because in the dating process you are often choosing your eventual mate—unless you go the mail?order path, which I do not recommend.

During the dating process, no matter how hard you try to deny baser impulses, you will often be driven by appearance and sexual attraction more than any other factor. You can intellectualize it and say it’s about “intelligence” or “personality,” but in the end raw chemistry often wins. Unfortunately, that drive can sometimes send you into crazy?town.

Erotic passions, impulsiveness, and “free?spirit” attitudes of many potential partners make them seem like fun people full of life. But many times, these “fun” people are the automobile wrecks on the expressway that make us slow down and stare as we go by. What attracts men isn’t always what’s best; sometimes it’s what’s coolest. And when you’re in the prime dating years (around 19?28), you don’t yet have the life perspective to distinguish “adventurous and fun” from “dangerous and reckless.”

Part of the problem is, all men are pigs. (Yes, you heard that.) I love you sons, but like all men, you are pigs. Some men can control those pig?like qualities, and with maturity learn to channel them into respectful admiration of women. But in those prime dating years, you’ll often be driven by those less controlled urges, and you’ll want to enjoy life in a pig?like way.

Though pigs are considered among the most intelligent animals on earth, they still eat garbage and will mate with any sow that wanders into the pen. Their selection skills are horrific.

Sons, you need a universal measure—a gauge to tell whether the road ahead is leading you toward paradise or crazy?town. You need to be able to evaluate the actions of the person you’re dating and clearly say, “This girl is whacked—and I’m out of here.”

That brings us back to the cats.

Many normal, stable women decide to have a cat for companionship—often a kitten they had since childhood. Occasionally, those women decide Fluffy needs a friend… And we are still clearly outside Crazy?ville at this point.

But the moment two cats become three, then four, then five… crazy has arrived.

Yes, there are intelligent, high?functioning, non?crazy women with more than two cats, but in my experience the probability of non?crazy drops the more cats there are. Here’s my estimate by number of cats:

As I said, there are exceptions—women with four cats who are perfectly normal—but this isn’t about finding a diamond in the sand. It’s about using probabilities to help find a great life partner.

Here’s my rule: compare everything you see in the person you’re dating to the “crazy meter” set by the 2?cat rule.

Of course, if you walk into her apartment and find three cats, plus she feeds five feral cats outside (yes, feral cats that she leaves food out for count too), you should run—not walk—away.

The challenge is to compare other behaviors and life choices against this standard. For example, if you date a woman and discover she has ten piercings and a tattoo of a satanic symbol on her thigh, ask yourself: is that crazier than owning two cats? To help you with this example, I’ll give you the answer: yes.

This rule is about selection, about control, and about finding an ideal life partner.

Choose wisely, sons. There will be few decisions as important in your lives.

Love, Dad

The 2 Cat Rule

Life Lessons, One Rule at a Time

Dedication

To my children—
This book is for you.
Every word, every lesson, every story.
It is my way of reminding you, in case you ever forget,
that my love for you is the defining experience of my life.

Introduction

In 2010, I turned 50 years old. Over the past year, I’ve learned two very important lessons:

1. I will not live forever.

2. Knees—and other major body parts—are only guaranteed for the first 50 years.

It’s sort of like my first car, a 1971 Buick Riviera. When it hit 100,000 miles, it didn’t instantly die, but it did start slowly falling apart. For domesticated males, the 100,000-mile mark might be 50 years. After that, we either become well-cared-for classics—or rust buckets.

I plan to be the former. But I also understand that replacement parts will be harder to find—and much more expensive—as the years go by.

Let me be clear at the outset: I fully intend to live forever.
That said, my intentions have often turned out very differently from reality.

At 30, I expected to be retired and traveling the world by 50. The reality? It’s different than I imagined—but actually better. In many ways, this book is my insurance policy against the fantasy of immortality, a way to preserve and pass on the lessons life gives me.

Who This Book Is For

This book is written for my children.

I have six of them—ages 8 to 23 at the time of this writing. Some entries will be directed to a particular child (named or unnamed), some to the boys, some to the girls, and others to all of them. These Rules are written for them first.

If others enjoy—or are offended by—what they read, that’s just an unintended consequence of my main mission: sharing my life’s lessons with my kids.

About the Rules

This book is a collection of “Rules” I’ve learned about life. I’ve named it The 2 Cat Rule after Rule #37—a personal favorite.

I don’t know how many Rules there will be. I’m numbering them from 1 to 1000, but I reserve the right to add sub-parts (e.g., Rule #42c) when I want to expand on a prior Rule—or just squeeze one in between #52 and #53.

I’m not presenting the Rules in numerical order because, frankly, I rarely think in order of priority. My thoughts come as random musings on life’s lessons as they’re revealed to me—or, more accurately, as I remember to write them down.

And yes, there will be curiosity about Rule #1. Let me manage expectations now: I don’t intend to reveal Rule #1 until after my death (should the immortality plan fail). I know what it is, and I’ve written it. Hopefully it will shine through the other Rules, but for now I’ll only say this: it is the guiding principle of my life—one that needs the full context of my journey to understand.

A Word of Warning

I am one of the worst spellers and editors in the world. I’ve been known to spell the same word two or three different ways in a single project. This one will be no different. You’ll get my point.

If my creative approach to English annoys you, I encourage you to submit your suggested edits—in triplicate—to Dad@2catrule.com.

I intend to ignore them. But if it brings you joy, feel free to send them anyway.

Final Thoughts

I have been truly blessed with children who make me proud every day. I could not be more grateful—not only for having such great kids, but also for having a loving partner in Bobbi to share them with. God has been very good to me.

Before I share the first Rule, I want you to understand one thing very clearly:
My love for each of you—individually and as a family—is my defining life experience.
It is the thing that makes me want to live forever.

I hope you laugh and learn from my thoughts and Rules. But most of all, I want you to understand just how much you are loved.

And with that in mind…

Love, Dad