He would have been 103 today.

I don’t want to let my father’s birthday pass without mention.  He’s been gone now for more than thirteen years.

A story, not particularly significant or edifying, but one of very many:

One summer, when I was probably just entering into my teenage years, my Dad invited me to go along with him the next day.  He had a “job walk” up in the Sierra Nevada mountains.  What that meant was that a potential client — I think that, in this case, it was Southern California Edison, the electric utility — was inviting a group of contractors to inspect a site where work was to be done.  Afterwards, they would all draw up and submit competitive bids.

It was a long drive, and he wanted company.  I went along.  I love the Sierras anyway, so this was really pleasant, and it was great to spend time one on one with my Dad.

We arrived at the destination first, even before the officials who were to take us around the job site.  None of the other contractors had yet appeared, either.  Perfect.  It was beautiful.  There were pine trees and a cascading river.  We had it to ourselves.

After a while, though, the others still hadn’t arrived.

We waited and waited.  We grew puzzled.  Finally, Dad opened his appointment book and discovered, to his horror, that the job walk was scheduled for the same day . . . in a week.

Instantly, he turned to me and said, “Dan, how much is it worth to you not to tell your mother?”

He was a gentle, kindly, good-natured man, and a wonderful father whom I loved and still love.

I miss him very much.