a fount of kindness

Today is Father's Day.

Children will be sitting down today to tell tales -- some sentimental, some tall, some that may have even happened as related. But they will all have a common theme. Their Dad was someone special. And it will all be true, if not exactly factual.

Every Dad is special -- because, like mothers, we only get one of each. At least, I did.

By the time I arrived Dad and Mom had been married just over two years, having lost my older brother Craig Allen as an infant. My brother Darrel would join our happy clan two years later.

Dad loved his family, but I suspect he loved work almost as much. And that work almost always revolved around trucks. Logging trucks. Car-hauling trucks. Semis. Being on the road seemed to make him happier than anything else.

The photograph is a rare one. You saw its twin in early May in celebrating life. That is Dad with his two rug rats. I suspect we were two and four.

It is rare because the background looks like the Oregon coast around Bandon. We were not a vacation family. In fact, I can remember only two major vacations -- a trip to Detroit to buy a new car, and a loop of the whole Oregon coast. The trip in the photograph was probably a day trip from Myrtle Point where Dad's tire shop was about to become the victim of arson.

Dad was a dreamer. He thought the next big thing was just around the next corner. He would make good money, then invest it badly. But he never regretted any of the decisions because there was always a brighter day coming up. It never occurred to him that optimism might require a bit of realism.

Probably because he was from a generation where men were supposed to be tough and gruff, he wore a thick outer shell that hid a very soft soul. "Hid" is the wrong word because he exercised that kindness daily. He would give almost anything to someone in need -- even when he gave more than he could afford.

One of my favorite memories of him was at each Thanksgiving. Mom never knew how many place settings to place on the table because Dad would inevitably bring people home for dinner -- people he had only met that day -- because they had no place or no family with whom they could share one of his favorite holidays. For us, it was a great opportunity to meet new people.

But what I remember most is his humor and his boyishness -- rather like those TV dads that never quite grow up. The Phil Dunphies of the world. Dad could turn anything into a joke -- and he usually did. He never took himself seriously, and he could not understand why anyone would do that.

Once we "became interesting" (as he once put it), he would spend his rare free time with us. He recognized my "lone wolf" personality and gave me plenty of space to pursue my goals giving me one piece of advice I have never forgotten -- "Don't do anything unless you want to do it. And if you don't want to, don't."

Darrel loved motorcycle racing. Dad threw himself into supporting Darrel, eventually buying a motor home to tour the circuit with him. I think he thought of the motor home as essentially being a truck.

Dad died in 1996. It is hard to believe that is almost a quarter-century ago.

I hear some children say that they think of their Dad every day. I don't think I do. But I hope some of his humor, his family commitment, optimism, and especially his grace lives on in me.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. You will always keep on truckin'.