On this day 40 years ago, my father, Franklin Simas Oliveria, was killed in an accident in which a trucker turned in front of him on a rural road in central California. He was 55, the son of Portuguese immigrants. He was a short, stocky man with a big laugh and love for people. In return, people loved him. The big Catholic Church in Manteca, Calif., was packed for his service. Mom was 51 at the time. She's now 91, living in an assisted living home here in Coeur d'Alene. She never remarried. In fact, she never dated. She said she wouldn't be able to find a man like Dad. He lived to see only one grandchild. He would be proud to know that his grandkids range from a brain surgeon and family counselor to a pastor of a large southern California church. He often told me while working in the fields of various dairies that he made a living for mom and us 6 kids with his muscles. But we would have to make our way with our brains. He didn't graduate from the eighth grade. But he was right about that. He's still missed. Here's your Hump Day Wild Card ...