My dad, we love him.

I'm on vacation this week. My two daughters and I are traveling to Pennsylvania, my home state, to see my parents, both of whom I am fortunate to say are still alive and, more or less, doing well.

You won't read about my family in this column, because other people -- including people in the Kennebec Journal and Morning Sentinel newsrooms -- are more interesting than we are.

But I thought I'd make an exception today, and introduce you to a man who might surprise you. And because I am in some ways an extension of him, perhaps I might surprise you too.

My dad is a rock-ribbed, although pro-choice, conservative at age 83. He watches the Bill O'Reilly show faithfully. He is known to say that he voted for Barry Goldwater in 1964 for president (I was 3 years old so I have no clue what this means) but wishes he hadn't, "because Goldwater wasn't conservative enough." People who remember that election tend to laugh.

My dad is a World War II veteran and that makes him a hero to my daughters and me. He was a bombardier and radar operator on B-17 airplanes flying over Germany in 1944-45. He flew 27 bombing missions, during a time when there were few fighter threats from the German Luftwaffe.

However, the Germans had deadly accurate flak guns during those years. My dad's planes were hit three times during his tour and once he and his crew endured a crash landing, with three out of four airplane engines out, and no landing gear, on an air strip in Belgium less than a mile beyond enemy lines. Every crew member miraculously walked away. (My dad didn't talk about this until 20 or so years ago, when my sisters and I prodded it from him.)

My dad is a member of the National Rifle Association and an avid outdoorsman. He should have been a park ranger and one of his regrets in life, I think, is that he didn't pursue that dream.

Growing up, I have hundreds of memories fishing and trapping with my dad -- we never did hunt together that much, for some reason -- and I cannot tell you how much they mean to me.

I love fishing to this day, although Maine lakes and boats are a semi-mystery to me because we spent countless days hiking mile after mile of rock-lined streams to land brook, brown and rainbow trout.

My dad loves cars, and knows a lot about them. He can see the headlights of a 1972 Dodge Dart coming at him in the pitch black and know what car it is.

He thinks I drive a hard bargain when I buy a new car. One of my "assignments" this week will be to help him buy a station wagon in Pennsylvania that, quite possibly, could be the last car he ever owns. Wish me luck.

My dad largely deferred to my mom on raising my two sisters and me. We'd never say my dad was inattentive, because he almost always had dinner with us at 5 p.m., and I am a pretty active and "outdoorsy" guy in large part due to my dad's influence. Our dad knew what we were up to.

But when it came to making decisions about our family, our house, our vacations, even what kind of colleges we might attend, my mom held the upper hand. My dad was fine with that.

Now that I'm 46 and have two children of my own, I realize the best part of being my parents' son is they had a strong moral compass: The first time you lied to them as a young kid, well, you learned a lesson.

My dad has a distrust for higher taxes, people from countries that oppose American values, and the media establishment. His son has done fairly well in journalism for the past 26 years and defends what reporters and editors do. But I don't think I've moved the meter very far with my father, despite many attempts.

By the time you read this, we'll be together -- two fathers of different generations, alike in many ways, but different, too.

Eric Conrad is executive editor of the Kennebec Journal and the Morning Sentinel. He can be reached at econrad@centralmaine.com.