Given that this is Father's Day, and I'm not getting any younger, it would seem an appropriate day to jot down some memories and reflections on both my dad, and being a dad.

I only had my first 13 years of life in which to know my dad, and for that and other reasons, I don't feel like I knew him all that well. I was the last of three kids, born when my mom was 35 and I'm sure unanticipated, so the family dynamics were well in place before I made the scene.

My mom and dad had some serious issues, not sure when they started, but the wheels were well in motion when I was just little. Simply put, my dad strayed. We lived in a very small town (Elma, New York - bedroom community 20 miles outside of Buffalo) and his only confirmed dalliance just happened to be with my best friend's aunt. We lived across the street from church and all the parties involved were in membership. In fact, my dad was superintendent of the Sunday School program and his aunt was a teacher. I was too young to fully comprehend the events, but I never understood my mom's anger when my best friend's parents wanted to take me along for an outing. Guilt by association?

Given my parent's fighting, I had these very intense dreams that only my older brother could snap me out of. As what I suppose was a consequence of their predicament, my dad worked out of town and was only really at home on the weekends. He was the site superintendent for a construction company that built apartment complexes around Rochester, New York. In his earlier years, he was a contractor building homes in and around the Buffalo area. He knew everything about construction, built the home we lived in, and could handle any related task with the skill of a craftsman. He had visions of me following my siblings to RIT and following a career in master craftsmanship in woodworking. My dad spent many a weekend afternoon in the garage building things and working with power tools. Sadly, his early departure from the planet left me with only a rudimentary grasp of home improvement knowledge and almost no confidence in whatever ability I may have had. My own sons have been shortchanged by my lack of knowledge with which to share. Given their chosen profession as engineers, I'll hope they overcome the deficit.

Please don't think that my life at home was bleak...that would be far from the truth. My parents certainly had a functional relationship and we did lots of things as a family. Every Sunday after church was spent at my maternal grandmother's farm with my mom's sisters and their families, first for a big spread of lunch (beef, mashed potatoes, Grandma's cole slaw, and usually apple pie), and then whatever for the afternoon. My dad and uncle crashed for a long nap while the women chatted and cleaned up. The farm was always intersting for us kids, but if it got too interesting Grandma would put the hammer down pretty quick.

We also had an Apachee pop-up camper and later a big tent, and my parents loved to go camping. In my earlier years, we went to local spots for the weekends with another family of friends, and then in the later years, farther away but less frequent. My dad was all about the preparation, and many of his weekend projects involved camp kitchen cabinets or picnic tables that could be packed with the load in the back of his employer-provided pickup truck. He was an early riser (like I am) and was always up before dawn firing up the stove, making coffee, and prepping for a day of activity. On what ended up being our last family trip, before his terminal brain cancer diagnosis, we went to Ottawa, Ontario and camped right near one of the few crossings of the St. Lawrence Seaway. I remember one morning of that trip very vividly, when I was awakened to the sound of dad and someone else, sharing breakfast and talking. It was a very young man, seemingly backpacking and dad befriended him and fed him him before he was off to places unknown. A visit by the Mounties later that day made us realize that he was a draft dodger making his way into Canada to avoid the Viet Nam war.

Not long after that trip, dad collapsed on the job site which started the long six month illness leading to his death. Thankfully, he had been coming home daily during what ended up being his final year of life. My sister was involved in the drug scene at college in the late 60s, and even though my dad's job and apartment were literally in the shadows of RIT, she got involved in a situation that almost ended in her taking her own life. She recovered, was living at home, but dad chose to stay close and connected with the family as he and mom rallied to my sister's aid. There were times during my dad's final months when I sensed the expression of regrets from him on the way that he had conducted his life with mom, but as young as I was at the time, who knows...

We learn by example, whether it's good or bad, and I can only hope we glean the good and screen the bad as we employ those examples in our own lives. While our life has been very old school since the birth of our oldest son in 1984, and maybe a bit more conservative than my wife's wishes would desire, I hope our son's have gathered a solid foundation upon which to build their futures.