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He had some flaws, but Dad had spark Sunday Jun 15, 2008 at 2:00 AM Every child, born innocent, deserves to be raised by perfect parents. By sanne specht Every child, born innocent, deserves to be raised by perfect parents. Some may come close. But no one truly gets to live that dream. It can be hard to accept if we didn't draw the perfect "Father Knows Best" dad in the parental lottery. But the legacy of parenting is generally, by nature and nurture, a flawed one. I think the best bottom line we can really expect is that our parents do better by us than was done by them. I was lucky that way. My dad had a mercurial temperament and a drinking problem. Actually, he was an alcoholic. But "heavy drinker" was that era's label for a man who managed to show up for work on a daily basis, keep food on the table and a car in the garage. Back then, before alcoholism was recognized as a disease, an alcoholic was "a Skid Row bum." Sadly, my father never addressed his disease. And it affected all of his relationships dramatically. But that is not to say he didn't have wonderful qualities, or teach me great life lessons, or pass on good characteristics. They say a woman's father sets the tone of her self esteem. How he treated her as a little girl can define how she sees herself as a woman in this world. My father believed his youngest daughter could be anything. Do anything. For a man who was raised by a soft-spoken widow and a brutish older brother, Dad had zero gender bias. I think that's pretty amazing. It was my father who taught me to keep my eye on the ball — literally and figuratively. When I rebelled against wearing dopey dresses because they got in the way of school-yard play, he supported me — all the way to the principal's office and beyond to the school board. Before I left Linda Vista Elementary School, girls were allowed to wear pants. My girlfriends were fearfully ga-ga over my handsome father. Boyfriends? Not so much. Suitors were scoped out with a scowl. It was a sturdy lad who'd brave Dad's steel-eyed glare, let alone endure the pre-date Inquisition. It used to make me furious when he'd behave like such a hard ass. Some guys quailed and ran. But I'm still friends with several old beaus. And I now know that if the guys weren't able to go toe-to-toe with him, they weren't gonna last long with me anyway. Like Dad, I tend to turn off the faint of heart. I can't speak for my two older siblings. But I know I was a pretty trying kid. Lots of questioning. Loads of attitude. And, while I rarely started fights, I never, ever backed down from one once the gauntlet was tossed. Both my parents described their youngest child as "challenging." And this frequent blessing/curse was bestowed upon me: "Sandra Lynne! You are just like your father!" Hmm. Mom was the stabilizing force in our home. Dad was the risk taker. Mom wanted to stay on the block she was born. Dad always wanted to move to the beach, to a ranch, to the desert. Anywhere the wind blew clean and fresh. Mom won. My parents divorced after 40 years of marriage. Dad finally went to live in the desert. My husband and I bought his half of the family home. In part because it was a great investment in a nice neighborhood. But mostly because it meant Mom wouldn't be uprooted. My sympathies were squarely with her. They usually were. But I couldn't help feeling a tiny bit glad for Dad. He was going to start his life anew. Somewhere different. When my husband died in 1999, I knew I couldn't keep the family home afloat on an artist's salary. So I sold the place. Mom and I moved to Oregon to be with family. In the midst of unbelievable grief and sorrow, a little spark of adventure also glowed within. The spark embraces risks. And it comes from Charles Richard Smith. Thanks, Dad. Reach reporter Sanne Specht at 776-4497 or e-mail [email protected].