Father's Day

Today is the day millions of kids everywhere show their love for their dads with neck ties and tools. My dad is almost 80 years old. He doesn't need these things. In fact, I don't recall the last time I saw him wear a tie. But he does wear suspenders 365 days a year... yes, even with shorts!

I can tell, you'd love to meet LeRoy, wouldn't you? Well here he is at a glance, my father ...

F is for friendly. LeRoy is a social butterfly. Just about everywhere we go, he knows somebody. If he doesn't, he strikes up a conversation with strangers. He and my mom have made some great friends that way on casino bus trips and bus trips and ... well, that's pretty much where they socialize these days.

A is for answers. My dad has an answer for everything. If he doesn't know, he makes it up! "Why is that road closed?" "Well, it's probably because of this... or I'm sure it's because of that..." There's always a good answer. The worst thing is, I apparently inherited this gift of logic. I don't realize I am doing it until Jim says, "Thanks, LeRoy!"

T is for trucking. When I was little, my daddy drove truck. My favorite childhood memory with my dad is a road trip he let my twin sister and I take with him. Raylene and I got to take turns sitting in the front seat or back in the "sleeper." We loved the CB chatter and the truck stops. It was like the K-Tel "Keep On Trucking" album come to life. I always fancied I'd be a truck driver someday. Dad's CB handle was Lone Spruce and I'd be something like Little Pine or Pine Cone or Sap ...

H is for hands. Many would say with 7 daughters and 1 son that LeRoy was a saint. Admittedly, he probably had his hands full. But when it came to mowing grass, weeding the garden or hauling wood, he had many helping hands! We called ourselves slaves.

E is for enunciate. It's probably due to his Scandinavian heritage and living in the Northwoods, but Dad has trouble enunciating certain sounds. It's not as bad as Ole and Sven, but he can't get that "th" sound. North sounds like "Nort" and with sounds like "wit." All of us kids can recall the days when Dad would yell up stairs to get us to quiet down at bedtime. He was saying "Get to bed wit ya's." Instead, it sounded like "Get to bed, witches!" If he really was saying the latter, could you blame him?

R is for red. With his farmer's tan and sunburned face, Raylene and I declared in kindergarten that "our dad belongs to the Red Race." OK, this was long before the political correctness set in, obviously. But it was a "cute moment" at the time that my dad, and the rest of the family, hasn't forgotten.

Put them altogether, they spell FATHER. That's my dad.

They say anyone can be a father but it takes somebody special to be a dad. Happy Father's Day to all you DADs out there!