The father of one of my best friends passed away last week after a struggle with cancer.  Since I consider his impact on me worth sharing, I’m reposting my letter to his family with their permission.

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I met Bob Lampe in August 1996.  He was dropping his son, Ryan, off at Lake Forest College’s Blackstone Hall for his freshman year of college.  As fate would have it, Ryan and I formed half of a quad that year, which made us among each other’s first contact points on our college journey.

As a single child from a broken home with little exposure to the traditional nuclear family, the Lampe’s made an immediate impression on me.  Beyond the aesthetics of a picture-perfect family, what resonated most with me was the emotion that was brought to bear that day.  Being careful not to smother their son in front of his new friends, their parental pride was nonetheless on full display and the amount of love in that room was palpable.

At the center of it all was the larger-than-life personality of Bob, who endearingly referred to himself as The Wheel.  His self-appointed nickname had something to do with being at the center of it all.  Or maybe it was meant to capture his being the structure that supported everything at the center.  Whatever its meaning, the nickname fit perfectly, and all of Ryan’s college buddies happily embraced the moniker.

As my friendship with Ryan grew over the years, so did my relationship with The Wheel.  Without much of a connection to my own father, watching the interaction between Ryan and his dad was a learning experience for me.  I remember thinking to myself on multiple occasions, “So this is how it’s supposed to be.”  I’m pretty sure The Wheel picked up on this as well.  I recall several occasions when he would call for Ryan and I’d answer the phone.  Though I can’t be certain of it, I’ve convinced myself that our chats at the beginnings of those calls sometimes lasted longer than his conversations with Ryan.  I also like to think that The Wheel wasn’t always bummed to only get me on the line when Ryan wasn’t home.  This meant the world to me, and so just as I grew to love Ryan as a brother, I grew to love his dad as my own as well.

I was never jealous of Ryan’s relationship with The Wheel.  Instead, I realize that what I saw in that relationship was not just admirable but also aspirational.  For example, I recall a night during our freshman year when Ryan’s parents were in town and they generously invited me to dinner with them.  Throughout the dinner, Ryan’s parents remained actively engaged in learning about his college life and experience, an interest that warmly extended to me as well.  At the end of the dinner, The Wheel put his credit card down to pick up the tab.  This was a small, everyday gesture that unlikely warranted a second thought from The Wheel.  However, it had a lasting impact on me.  Maybe it had something to do with being a poor college kid or my not being accustomed to being taken out for dinner.  Whatever it was, it gave me something to strive for: I wanted to be able to take my son and his college roommate to dinner someday.  And I wanted to be 100% absorbed in what they had to say about their experience.  As trivial as that may sound, its importance to me was substantial.

I also remember receiving a letter from The Wheel when I was struggling with some medical issues of my own.  In it, he attempted to draw attention away from my rather embarrassing ordeal to focus instead on his own travails (which may or may not have involved his struggle with “hemmies” when he went to the “boom-boom room to do the boom-boom”).  In addition to making me chuckle with his trademark sense of humor, The Wheel revealed himself to be a man of massive sentiment, a man whose heart perfectly suited his very large stature.

Hardworking, cantankerous, stubborn, and sincere, The Wheel was a feisty bear of a man whose musings could’ve filled a book.  In fact, I’m more than a little convinced that Ryan could’ve penned his own version of “Shit My Dad Says” that would’ve done quite well.  At the very least, I’m certain that each of his friends would’ve had the book on proud display on their bookshelves.  If ever there was a sense of humor to be described as beautifully sarcastic, it was The Wheel’s.  His delivery was always pitch perfect, and each shot delivered a wallop of wit and wisdom.

More than anything else, I’ll remember The Wheel’s undying love for Ryan.  Evidence of that was the amount of love that he extended to Ryan’s friends, in whose lives he took an active interest and concern.  I count myself lucky for being one of those friends, for this allowed me to feel, even tangentially, the love that a father has for his son.  This manifested itself most poignantly for me when a group of Ryan’s college buddies flew in for his wedding.  As everyone parted ways the morning after the celebration, The Wheel was tearing up as he hugged us all goodbye.  Perhaps still overwhelmed from the previous night’s event, one could sense the thankful pride that The Wheel felt at knowing how much love we all had for his son.  I could see it in his eyes that he returned that love in full measure.

Last year, I flew out to Seattle to spend some time with The Wheel as he was undergoing treatment for his illness.  He was in the midst of an intense round of chemotherapy, so it was a tough time for him to take visitors.  I was therefore honored that he let me follow him around for a couple of days.  We had a number of chats as I sat with him at the hospital or helped him run errands.  During one of those conversations, he revealed himself to be insecure about his mark on this world and the legacy he was leaving behind.  I suppose that staring one’s own mortality in the face can elicit such emotions of doubt.  He was particularly worried about having been the best father that he could and he sincerely hoped that his children loved him.  As we drove along in his tiny pickup that day, I told him that I didn’t know of any other friend who loved his father more than Ryan did his.  And I told him of the impact he had on me, that there was a reason one of Ryan’s college buddies was in the car with him that day.  His relationship with Ryan – and by extension with me – had taught me everything I know about what a father-son relationship should look like.  Having his son’s friends grow to love him as very much their own father should probably count as a parenting success.  We sat in silence for a good time after that, staring straight ahead while doing little to hide the fact that we were both crying.  I will take that moment with me forever.

Winston Churchill once said, “I am ready to meet my maker.  Whether my maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter.”  Like me, I believe The Wheel qualified as “position flexible” when it came to matters of spirituality and religion.  But if there is a heaven, it should hold a special place for the likes of Bob “The Wheel” Lampe.  And I’d pay good money to see him go toe-to-toe with the gatekeeper of that place.