Many of my adventures over the years have included my three sons. Lest you think I’m running for a father-of-the-year award, let me confess the selfish nature of our time together. Yes, selfish because, first, our activities involved doing the things I loved to do; camping, flying airplanes, riding motorcycles, and running. And, secondly, I was in charge, I made the rules, and I was the boss! You don’t have that kind of authority when on an outing with friends.

One of the control gimmicks I used with my sons was a whistle I hung from the rearview mirror of the car. I explained to the boys I expected a certain amount of roughhousing in the back seat during our travels. I could tolerate some degree of horseplay, shoving, and arguing; however, when it became too much, I’d blow the whistle and then expected quieting down and obedience. Invariably, at some point during our outings, the boys would begin to get loud, which led to boisterousness, but before I could take action, the noise would stop, and I’d hear, “Are you about to blow the whistle, Dad?”

“No, not yet, but you’re getting close.” Amazingly, I never once had to blow that whistle.

Another gimmick that seemed to work was report cards. I let the boys know before our trips that they would be receiving report cards with grades for helpfulness, behavior, punctuality, neatness, and cooperation. Some years later, after my middle son, Chris, had entered high school, I noticed he still had those report cards displayed on his bedroom wall. When I asked about them, he said, “Heck yes, those are the best grades I ever received.”

One of our annual trips was a week in Wisconsin, the first few days spent at the annual Experimental Aircraft Association airshow in Oshkosh, and the remaining days camping in a Wisconsin state park. Some of those outings involved flying to Oshkosh in our airplane and camping under the wing, while in other years, we towed our pop-up camper. The annual trips first started when Eric, the oldest, was just eight, and Chris six. Brian, a two-year-old, was considered too young to go. His exclusion from those early outings was understandable I thought. The year Brian became five, while I was planning the week with Eric and Chris, Brian asked, with tears in his eyes, “Can’t I go? I don’t suck my thumb anymore.” “You bet, Brian, this is your year!”

The boys and I had uniforms. I had designed a logo, composed of a star and the letter K, which when pronounced said “STARK.” I used to build radio-controlled model airplanes and decorated the models with that symbol. I had the logo made into patches sewn onto ball caps and shirts. I don’t know what people thought seeing our foursome walking the grounds at the airshow — a singing group maybe — but it did help me find the boys in the crowd.

L to R: Chris, Eric, Brian (1975),

Nineteen eighty-five was the year I flew across the United States with Eric. We took the back seat out of our airplane and filled it with bicycles and camping gear. Our numerous stops included the Grand Canyon, Santa Catalina Island, and Death Valley. That was also the year I ran across Florida with Chris covering 164 miles in four days. It wasn’t a conscious plan to do both the same year; they just happened coincidentally.

Brian was thirteen at the time. Brian and I used to fish together when he was growing up, and it always astounded me how patient he was sitting in the boat waiting for fish to bite. After a long day with nothing caught, I might say, “What do you think, Brian? Time to call it quits?” And he would reply, “Just five more minutes, Dad.” Amazing.

One summer afternoon in 1985, while in my office gazing out the window, I decided it was a good day to play hooky. I called Brian, home after school at that hour, and told him to round up the fishing gear. “Let’s go catch some fish.” A friend had a farm pond full of large bass and crappie. We spent a delightful afternoon hooking into some beauties. Rowing back to the pier, Brian asked, “Is that it, Dad?”

“Errr, what do you mean?”

“Is that it? You and Eric fly across the country, and you spend a week running across Florida with Chris. And me you take fishing. Is that it?”

“Errr…No. Not really. I’ve been working on a plan but wanted it to be a surprise. I’m not quite ready to tell you about it yet but will soon.” A couple days later I told Brian that he and I would fly down to Gatlinburg for several days of fun at Dollywood, Pigeon Forge, and Smoky Mountains National Park.

Never let it be said your children don’t keep score on who’s getting special attention.