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NORTH POLE — My dad used to sometimes drive with his windshield wipers on. When it was sunny and the closest rain was something like 600 miles away, he would have the wipers on high, frantically thumping from side to side. I think he did it because he knew it drove me nuts.

Dad always had a fairly new pickup, but the only time any of his trucks were clean was when they were driven off the showroom floor. One of the first things he did when he got one was to pound a spike in the middle of the dashboard and grind the end to a point. That’s where he stabbed any invoices he collected around town.

When he took me to school, I asked him to drop me off at the corner. He never would, choosing instead to screech to a stop in front of the biggest group assembled on the sidewalk. Since he always owned lumber mills, you never got out of Dad’s pickup without sawdust falling to the ground around your feet. Our last name was Wood, so I guess the sawdust was fitting.

Every morning, he sat with his morning cup of instant Sanka, a piece of paper and a pencil. I never thought to ask him what the drawings or numbers meant, but now I realize that his head was continually buzzing with new ideas. He was constantly plotting, planning and creating.

His everyday attire never varied: boots, jeans and blue chambray shirts that were as soft as his heart. I have one in a drawer and it still smells like him — sawdust, machine oil and Old Spice.

He couldn’t tell a joke to save his life; he’d always forget the punch line, get it messed up or was laughing so hard you couldn’t understand the joke at all. His bumbling was much funnier than any joke.

He taught us to ski, hunt, fish, and to drive everything from a car to a forklift. Like most men of his era he could do everything — carpentry, plumbing, architecture and design, electrical work … it was from him that we learned that nothing is impossible. Where there is a will, there is a way.

I have a photo of him somewhere, wearing a welding helmet and starting the barbecue. He wasn’t much for cooking, except for toast, but on this summer evening he was going to grill something. For an hour he tried to light the briquettes. Finally he swore mightily and marched off to his shop. He came out a few minutes later, wearing the helmet and dragging a huge welder. He fired that thing up and burned the bottom right out of the barbecue.

But he could be helpful. My sister, Judy, remembers coming home from work one long tiring Friday to find him vacuuming the living room. He proudly showed her around the spotless house. Then he led her to the deck where there was an enormous mound of clothing, toys, shoes, and dirty dishes. He told her to “have the kids clean this mess up.” The rest of her weekend was a nightmare.

He was a wonderful grandfather. Just like he did for us, he did for our kids. He taught and hugged and wiped tears and bandaged bloodied knees.

My sisters and I are the ones who got the very best of him, this man we loved so dearly. When I was 13, he and I went on a weeklong trip to Canada where he was starting a new lumber company. It was one of the most precious times of my life.

Life with Dad was adventurous. He and Mom worked at giving us meaningful memories and giving us good lives. At the time, we didn’t understand how very blessed we were.

He was strong and efficient and offered security and comfort and peace. Judy remembered one ice fishing trip. “We were walking from where we parked the truck to the lake. We had to walk along the railroad tracks for a time and a train came. We were really close to the tracks and alongside a hill and he sheltered me between the train and the hill. I can still remember how protected I felt even though the train was roaring past and the wind from it almost knocked me over. I was safe.”

He’s gone now. He died a decade ago. He was 82 years old and his big sawmills had given way to a small one-man operation making small-dimension lumber and lath. Up until the day he died he was going to his mill and working.

Dad was a happy and contented man; a man who was at peace with himself and the world. He was intelligent and savvy about world affairs and lived a full life. He was an inventor, a great writer, and had an artistic side that surprised us sometimes. Most of all, he loved us and left us a remarkable legacy in the lessons of life.

Happy Father’s Day to all you dads out there. God has given you such a blessing and such a responsibility. Raising a child has to be the most remarkable opportunity life has to offer.

Just for kids

The free Thursday program at the library at 2 p.m. this week is “Mural Madness,” and kids just need to bring their imaginations. The library will provide the materials to create a great summer mural. Information: 488-6102.

Justin’s speech

Damian Schoonmaker is the pastor at Alaska New Life Outreach Center (Assembly of God Church) in North Pole. If you see him and he’s standing a little taller these days it’s because he’s so proud of his younger brother, Justin.

According to a third brother, Adrian — who e-mailed me with this story — Justin Schoonmaker, married with two youngsters, just graduated the prestigious College of William and Mary, the second-oldest college in the country. He was selected to share the stage with Tom Brokaw and Sandra Day O’Connor to deliver the student speech in front of a crowd of about 12,000 people.

Justin’s speech is quite remarkable and has captured the interest of newscasters, reporters and others around the country.

Candidates for student speaker go through rigorous competition. “Students compete in a series of auditions in which audiences of college administrators, fellow seniors, and matriculating graduate students evaluate both content and delivery,” Justin said, adding that administrators determine the finalists and a student panel makes the final decision.

Justin’s uplifting speech on how we react to failure is incredibly fitting for this period of time in our nation. Here, in part, is what he said:

“I can think of nothing more practical, nothing more effective for fostering success, than determining prior to failure ... how we will react to failure. Because too often it causes people to abandon dreams. To give up. To lose heart. The floodwaters of rejection simply extinguish the fires of hope and ambition. And over the years, too many dreams have been relegated to humanity’s now massive heap of unfinished business.

“I wonder if the difference between those who accomplish great things in life and those who dwell in the shadows of mediocrity is their response to failure. Because we can choose to be thwarted. Or, we can choose to overcome.”

Justin’s speech can be heard at YouTube (plug “Justin Schoonmaker in the search line), or you can read the transcript on www.wm.edu.

Beautification opportunity

The North Pole Beautification Committee will meet with residents at 10 a.m. this morning at Santa’s Senior Center then head out to pick up litter. Their dedication to keeping North Pole clean and tidy is wonderful.

Managing medication

A nurse from the Alaska Division of Senior and Disability Services will give a free presentation on medication management at the Senior Center on June 24 at 10:30 a.m. The public is invited.

Marketing workshop

The NP Chamber is offering a workshop with Chris Harper, Fairbanks Convention & Visitor Bureau Internet Coordinator, from 2-4 p.m. June 25 at the NPFD classroom. Harper will discuss online marketing, free services, new technology and search engines. Bring a laptop if you have one. Cost is $10 for Chamber members and $15 for non-members. Call Betsy at 488-2129/388-4901 to register and pay. Register online at www.northpolechamber.us/events.html and fax or mail it in by June 23.

Quote of the week

“When I was a kid, I said to my father one afternoon, ‘Daddy, will you take me to the zoo?’ He answered, ‘If the zoo wants you, let them come and get you.’” (Jerry Lewis)