By RACHEL HARRIS

The man who taught me how to ride a bike, even though he let go when I specifically instructed him not to, the one who explained my calculus homework, even though those equations never looked the same to me as they did to him, and the guy who first introduced me to MacGyver shows – my father.

One of his many skills is that he naturally retains endless bits of trivial information. When we were kids, he got a real kick out of giving the backseaters-my sister and I – a less than interesting lesson while we squirmed in agony in the back of the car. There’s no road trip like one with my dad.

He appreciates humor and is often the only one in the house who will laugh (out loud) with me during a good episode of Friends.

My mother really enjoys his jokes – the ones he tells in the car when there is nothing else to do. Only she never laughs. She just lowers her head and gives him that “oh, please” look. (I’m not sure why it all happens in the car. I suppose Dad’s character really comes out while the wheels are turning.) The lesson: You are only as funny as your audience thinks you are!

One thing I never found funny as a kid was those few occasions when he threatened to physically throw outside whatever items we left downstairs. Apparently, we were not picking up in a timely matter. The worst part is, there was a handful of times I actually had to walk outside and pick up my books and clothes from the backyard. I guess he did it to prove a point. It worked.

My dad always wanted us to learn things for ourselves. One of most frustrating memories is when I used to ask him for the correct spelling of a word. To this he would reply “look it up in the dictionary.” That may sound like a good idea, but to 10-year-old person who cannot spell that particular word, it is often difficult to locate something in a book, categorized by spelling.

Despite all the cracks at my dad, he truly is a wonderful guy. He’s a mathematical wizard, an incredible carpenter, a successful engineer, and a hardworking, honest man. There are, of course, the occasional naggings, but as far as I know, it’s in the job description.

He has encouraged me to reach academic heights and been there to clap for all the awards. He’s been to every dance recital for 15 years, an accomplishment (and sacrifice) all in itself.

My dad can fix anything, build anything, and answer anything. He seems to know it all, which leads me to wonder if there is a secret father handbook he is hiding.

There is something to be said for even attempting to understand an adolescent daughter. He’s even doing a wonderful job as financial advisor to his very own college student.

He loves Home Depot, making cappuccino, and rebuilding antique cars. He collects tools and owns every saw imaginable, I believe. He is a former navy man and is truly dedicated to his family.

For all the convertible rides, walks on the beach and swimming lessons, I thank you Daddy. Happy Father’s Day.

RACHEL HARRIS is a summer intern reporter for L’Observateur. She may be contacted at (985) 652-9545.