Alan Dolan Memorial

I have memories of my Dad reaching back to when I was two—but I think my earliest one might be from even before that, because it’s not a picture in my mind. It’s a sound. And a feeling. The sound of his guitar, and the warmth of absolute safety.

Dad’s parenting in the 80s didn’t quite match the version you saw on TV. He had firm boundaries, yes—but also vulnerability, affection, and an instinct for listening to the worries that only make sense when you’re little.

Later, he listened with patience and genuine interest to every storm my teenage self faced. His advice shaped how I made every big decision in life. And even weeks before he got sick, there he was—on the phone with me, weighing the options, helping me choose the right path forward. Did I soak in enough of that wisdom? Did any of us? Because I didn’t just have a remarkable father—I had a confidant I could always turn to for clarity when the world tilted.

I am deeply grateful for the 44 years I had with him. And in the last 12 of those years, I got to watch him transform into “Grandad” for my kids. I saw the way he tuned himself to each child, finding their smiles even on the hardest days. And on those afternoons when the house was chaos—crying baby, wailing toddler—he would sit down, pick up his guitar, and start to play. Raffi tunes. Beatles songs. Familiar chords that dissolved the noise until tiny hands tapped the rhythm or rested quietly, just listening.

And then there were the evenings—kids finally asleep—when we’d roll out the board games, dig into the chocolate stash, and brew big pots of tea. Those nights were about the simple, steady joy of being together. We laughed often, sometimes Dad would laugh till he cried, and it was infectious. 

On his visits down to California the past few years, we started to have song nights with friends over and we’d sing through the Rise Up Singing pages. Circle Game, Tennessee Waltz, Tomorrow, Case of You… often around a crackling fireplace and always after a feast of great food. He inspired me to start our annual caroling party and carry some of that sing-along legacy into our lives.