Spent last weekend at Scout's soccer tournament, held in the promisingly named Libertyville, Ill. (Is everyone allowed to go naked?!)
I chewed some of the long hours between games happily talking to the father of one of Scout's teammates, who grew up in Sardinia and moved to the U.S. some years ago with his family.
He built the only velodrome in Chicago, and his young daughter drove some of the nails.
He has a Moto Guzzi motorcycle and a motor home, on the front of which he built a platform for the motorcycle. Why have we never seen a motorcycle on the front of a motor home before? "Probably, because it is illegal," the dad told me.
This summer, he was in Montana with the motorcycle and the motor home. He flew his daughter out for a week on horseback, wrangling cows and bulls across a ranch. Then they drove to the massive motorcycle rally at Sturgis, South Dakota, where he pulled the motorcycle off the platform and rode his daughter to Mount Rushmore and all around the twisty Black Hills.
I became more and more jealous as he spoke. "I think David wants to be your daughter," my wife said. And I hugged the dad and told him I would be the best daughter he ever had—a much better daughter than his own daughter!
But I really wasn't jealous of the daughter. I was jealous of the dad.
Because he is ... the most interesting dad in the world.