my dad

Eric has been writing on this blog every day for the past week, and doing a great job at it.  Tonight, though, he said he needs a break.
So I guess I'll take a turn tonight so we can carry on the every-day-in-November tradition.

I made a goal this year to write birthday tributes on my blog about the some of the people I love the most.  And last week it was my dad's birthday, so it's about time I write about him.

My dad was 44 years old when I was born.  I was the last of four children, and truth be told, I don't know that he was crazy about having another kid.  Maybe some kids would resent that fact, but it doesn't bother me.  I remember noticing often as a child that my dad was older than a lot of my friends' dads.  I remember when he'd go to parent-teacher conferences, he'd joke about how he was the only dad old enough to be a grandpa.  He never hid the fact that he could be my grandpa.  But ya' know...that fact didn't bother me either.  I truly was nothing but proud of the fact that Doug Luke was my dad.  He is such a good dad and such a good guy that I couldn't think anything less. 

Everywhere I went, even until this day, I come across people that know my dad.  He is a well-loved man in our community.  His work as a high school counselor at Bountiful High school and as a teacher at Layton High made him a well-loved man among students and teachers alike.  I believe that what made him so popular was that he centered the goals of his career around the concept of compassion.  He took it upon himself to really help students and to be their advocates, especially towards those with less than advantageous lives at home.

I believe that it is by no accident that my dad made compassion such a central focus of his work.  His dad died when he was three years old, forcing his mom to move to Salt Lake City.  He grew up there, on the campus of the University of Utah, and was raised by his widowed mother.  My dad doesn't speak much of his childhood, but when I lost Michael, my dad told me a story I'll never forget.  He told me that he would often go and cry in his closet as a child because he didn't have a dad.  He knew he was different and he knew he needed a dad.  My dad is not the kind to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but when he told me that story, you could feel the hurt and ache in his voice.  It was a trial that laid a foundation of understanding and love towards his fellow man, especially towards those who are less advantaged. 

If you know my dad, you'll know that he is an avid reader.  On any typical day, you can find several books lying around his house or office, half-opened, bookmarked with a pen or his glasses.  He often talks about how reading has expanded his world.  He recently went on a ten-day Alaska trip in which he started and finished five complete books.  That fact comes as no surprise to those who know him.  One of the fondest memories I have of him is when I'd find him leaning back on one of our barstools with his feet pulled up on the counter in front of him.  He'd have his reading glasses on, a Pepsi in his hand, and a good book on his lap.  That's my dad. 
And another note about his reading--He has rows and rows of books on his shelves about LDS church history and books about the Mormon faith.  He hasn't been too much of a church-going man, but he has certainly spent time learning about our faith's history, and he speaks about it with great knowledge and faith. 

About four or five years ago, my dad retired after 39 years of a great career.  It has been interesting watching him transition into the age of retirement.  I have thoroughly enjoyed seeing his knack for compassion be spread towards his grandchildren and children alike.  I have greatly benefited from having him around more, especially throughout the last few pretty tough years.

I could recount so many meaningful memories made with my dad throughout these recent years, let alone the countless fond memories I have with him throughout all the other stages of my life.  But the task of recounting some of those memories will have to wait until the next edition of this post.  Until then, here's to my dad and his 74th year!