My father-in-law, who lived in his big old house in Ben Avon for almost six decades and right around the corner from us since we moved to Pittsburgh 23 years ago, passed away last week. I wrote about George Trent a number of times in this column, especially when he coddled our dogs, watched over our kids and often when he tried, despite all indications that it was a hopeless task, to teach me how to be the head of a house.