Devoted Dads

The best dads have at least one thing in common.

They’re always there.

They’re around so much, the kids don’t even have to think about them or memorize their cellular phone numbers.

A good Dad is like a good dog. You hunt with him, not for him.

As a family matures, of course, a dad can’t always be there in the same way.

He can’t match the kid’s pace on a bicycle anymore. He doesn’t have to cast the kid’s fishing line. He can’t handle the heat of the kid’s fast ball.

The kid doesn’t need to find M&Ms on the trail to maintain interest in a hike.

Inevitably, dads will be called upon to perform roles larger than they can fill.

I once had the unenviable dad duty of shuttling my daughter, Hillary, directly from the soccer game to the ballet recital.

We had to transform from ponytail and shorts to bun and leotard in 10 minutes.

I gave it my best shot, but failed miserably with the bobby pins. I’d rather bait hooks with my lips than try this again, I thought.

After considerable effort and enough bobby pins to set off the airport metal detector from several miles away, I had a reasonable facsimile of a bun piled on Hillary’s head.

Good enough, I thought, until Hillary pointed out somewhat emphatically that the bun looked like a loaf of bread.

I was digging in the back of the van for the one thing that’s saved the day on many an outing, when a soccer mom came to the rescue.

“You can’t use duct tape on your daughter’s hair,” she scolded.

Hey, at least I was there.

The jury’s still out on how I will stack up as a dad. Jewelers spend years honing theirs skills before anyone will trust them with their most precious stones. Dad’s don’t get imitation kids for their apprenticeship.

I’m still figuring things out, and my kids are half grown.

We can learn a lot about being a dad by looking at the models around us.

My father, for instance, recently sent a letter to my 9-year-old daughter answering her questions about his life for her school project.

After 88 years that included service in the Big War, a career and the good fortune to live virtually all his life a few minutes from a premium trout stream in Montana, he has a pretty good perspective.

When asked who were the important people in his life, he said without question it was his parents, his wife and his kids.

Simple as that.

A couple of months ago, I wrote a story about local angler Don Ostlund, who regularly shares his angling know-how in The Spokesman-Review.

During the interviews, Ostlund told me his late father sometimes drank to excess. A phrase in the story mentioning that weakness made Ostlund’s heart sink.

“It sounded like he didn’t care about me, and nothing could be further from the truth,” he said. “Dad took me fishing and hunting, and I’ll always be thankful for that.”

Ostlund is in his 60s, and he still has the twinkle of a kid in his eyes when he tells of fishing with his dad.

“How to rub lures on fish to get their scent …, how to use a knife …, it’s amazing how much we pick up from our dads,” Ostlund said. “It’s also amazing how much you miss them when they’re gone.”

Sixteen years ago, Wes Van Horn of Coeur d’Alene launched on a relatively simple bicycle tour that was complicated in some ways by his brave choice in partners.

His son, Shawn, was only 10 years old at the time.

At that age, biking the distance from Coeur d’Alene to Yellowstone National Park is roughly comparable to a trip from Earth to Mars.

The kid learned a lot on that trip, and the dad quickly points out that he learned things about himself and the world around him, too.

Only a few decades beyond childhood himself, Wes didn’t ride past the fireworks stand they saw the first day out near Interstate 90.

Pedaling, walking, resting, eating like boys - and firing off an occasional round of fireworks - Shawn and Wes Van Horn bicycled their way across Montana.

“Everyone we met seemed to want to visit,” Wes said. “‘Where did we come from?’ they’d ask.

“Where were we headed? How fast were we traveling? Why were we doing it? How did we make it up the hills?

“They all seemed to look wistfully at our bikes, gear, tan and obvious good health. Children and parents alike would smile and wave as they passed us in their cars.

“It seemed like everyone would like to do this bike trip thing - if only they had more time.”

The trip that required a couple of weeks of effort is still going strong 16 years later.

Shawn is a radiation therapist at Holy Family Hospital who treats cancer patients during the week, and backpacks on the weekends.

After an annual summer campout with his friends, Shawn usually stops by the folks’ house.

One look at the matted hair, grimy clothes and lingering odor of campfire smoke tells Wes what the kid has been doing.

Said Wes, “Each time Shawn says, ‘You should have been there, Dad, you would have loved it.”’

Perhaps it’s a blessing that Shawn still lives in the area he explored during most of his childhood.

Many adult trips take him past outdoor memories forged with Mom and Dad.

Often when Shawn returns from some great adventure he will mention that he saw where they had done this or that on the bike trip or one of the many other family outings.

“It might be a special spot we stopped, ate, talked or played,” Wes said.

“Shawn remembers this or that little thing about those days so long ago. A place so steep we had to push our bikes. A place we swam or coasted down with hands and arms stretched out to catch the wind.”

Over and over, without really trying, Shawn reminds his dad how great that bicycle trip was.

And how good it is to be there.