Alan Gatewood Wenger

Alan Gatewood Wenger 1934 - 2009

As many of you know, we received very bad news while we were in Brazil: on September 22nd, my dad, Alan Wenger, passed away while on vacation with my mom and sister in the U.S. Virgin Islands. They'd gone down for Dad's 75th birthday, and he died quite suddenly. We left Brazil as soon as possible and went to join them. Since then, we had Dad's memorial service, and we were honored to be joined by so many family members and so very many friends.

As you might expect, our travel blog has taken a back seat, but we're getting our heads above water now.

If you look back at previous blog entries, they all have one thing in common (and I'm not referring to routine overindulgence): Dad posted a comment on every one. He was our blog's #1 fan. Therefore, I think it's only fitting that I write a few words about him and how great it has been to have him as my father.

First, if you don't know him, Dad is passionate about nature. He earned an MA in Zoology and spent his life devoted to wildlife, the environment, and raising awareness of how fragile ecosystems can be. Dad's job with the State of Texas was to protect lakes and rivers and advance our understanding of those ecosystems. Mostly he studied why a lake had a massive algae bloom, or why nobody caught trout in a certain river any more...stuff like that. But, Dad also developed a way to estimate the amount of water in a lake. In the days before, a lake's volume was estimated by taking depths at various places and then estimating the volume geometrically....like the way you might calculate the volume inside your house (the roof is so high, the walls are so far apart, etc). Dad figured out that if you add a little salt to the lake (not enough to bother the fish...most lakes have a low salinity anyway, but much lower than the ocean), then the salinity of the lake will increase. And how much the salinity increases depends on the amount of water in the lake. This new process was published and then adopted by the State.

In short, Dad could tell you anything about any plant or animal: where it came from, if it's indigenous or if it was introduced, what it's related to...anything like that. We went on safari in Kenya in '97, and what an education it was for me. I realized just how little I know about nature next to him. Throughout our travels, Rayma and I would look at a flower or an animal and say: “I wonder what this critter is...? Dad would know that.” We said it over and over: “Dad would know that.”

Looking back, I first met Alan Wenger a little over 40 years ago. It was the summer of '69. I have to admit, I wasn't quite sure what to make of him at first. In any event, I was more focused on my daily routine: drinking milk, crying, and filling my diaper. But as time went on, I began to feel quite a lot of affection for the gentle giant who bounced me on his knee and made strange noises in my company. I knew fairly early on that he was someone I wanted to know better.

As time went on, I realized that he was different from other dads. Actually, it hit me when I stayed overnight with a friend once. My friend's dad wouldn't play with us. He'd just said things like “go play outside” or “give me the remote and go play outside.” I thought that was really strange because my Dad always played with my friends who came to visit. There was nothing better than having two or three of your friends grab on to his ankles and then let him drag us around the kitchen floor. Now THAT was fun. I realized that I was pretty lucky to have the dad I had.

It wasn't that he was a “kid person”....in time I came to realize that he was a “people person.” He just loved knowing people and getting to know people of all ages.

Also, Dad loved to contribute in any way he could. Sometimes that meant entertaining his son's guests. Later in life, he'd become a coach for Special Olympics. He volunteered for years at Armand Bayou Nature Center, explaining the coastal plain ecosystem to school groups and other visitors. He'd also pile us all into the station wagon and drive for hours to check in on a friend or family member in a nursing home: first, to show that person that we cared; and also to show the staff there that “someone was checking in.” If he thought he could help, he would.

But he wasn't a softy...anyone who knew him understood there was a certain machismo with Dad. He was old school. Hugs and tennis shoes were out; handshakes and the Second Amendment were in. Most of all he and I never said “I love you” to each other. How can we? We're men. We're Texans! But, he found a way to tell me...his own way. He mentioned a few times that on some of my birthdays (and I really don't know how many times he did this), he would get in the car, and drive back to our old house on the east side of Houston. Then, he'd retrace the route that he and my mother took to the hospital in central Houston where I was born. He told me that he'd originally gotten lost on the way to the hospital, but I never asked if he retraced that part of the route as well. Knowing Dad, he probably did. That's one of the ways he told me that he loved me.

Sometimes I wondered if he picked up my own ways of telling him that I loved him, too. But...Dad would know that.

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