My Dad has been gone for eight years; it was my first motherless Father's Day. This might seem a little strange, but that's grief for you. It's full of surprises. I thought about my Mom and the man she chose as her husband and father of her children. Theirs was not an easy relationship. Mom had a charmed upbringing and Dad was a complicated man. Maybe it all started when he was just a boy.
He was the middle child of seven with four sisters and two brothers. He wasn't the best student; more familiar with the strap than he was with academics but he was an avid reader. He would settle in the hay loft with a good book for hours. That's probably why he was so well-versed with his Mother's use of the bull whip. Eventually, the camel's last straw made him take the axe to that instrument of dread and give it a proper burial. I can't say I blame him. He didn't have things easy.
They were dirt poor and his Dad liked the drink. My Grandmother was a strong Norwegian woman who was not the victim of spousal abuse, she was the perpetrator. From what I gathered, my Grandfather was a mild-mannered fellow and the two of them were like oil and water. Eventually, they parted company. Grandma longed for the mountains of British Columbia so much like her Nordic homeland. Grandpa took up residence in a hotel in Medicine Hat where he was employed with the City. This was a defining moment in my Dad's life.
He was just fourteen when he watched the dust settle in tire tracks as his sisters, brothers and Mother drove off, leaving him on his own with enough raw potatoes to last two weeks. His elder brother Harry was old enough to drive. His youngest brother Norman was too young to leave behind. His sisters were helpmates to their Mother. My Dad was expendable. I can't imagine how he felt; lonely and discarded I suppose. A survivor by nature, he soon tired of the menu, made his way to town and got himself a job.
Dad did everything, from honey-wagon duty, to running horses between seller and buyer. He wasn't afraid of hard work and learned quickly. He had a brief stint in the Army but was honorably discharged due to a recurring stomach ailment. He and my Mom fell in love while working at the Crystal Dairy. I plugged my ears when she told me how they steamed things up in the ice cream room. But like Wills and Kate they took a break. Mom just wasn't sure he was the one. Dad knew what he wanted and had my maternal Grandmother as his ally. On September 26, 1945 they were married in St Barnabas Anglican Church. Mom looked beautiful; Dad handsome. But it wasn't picture perfect.
Like his father before him Dad also found the drink. Coins jingling in his pocket turned to liquid. Dreams faded away. They never moved into the home they built. Dad said Mom wanted to move home with her folks; Mom said Dad sold the house out from under her. Whatever the truth was, they moved into her childhood home with her parents shortly before my brother was born in December 1946. They lost a baby girl before my sister arrived safely in November 1951. When my Mom's Mother died in 1955 my Dad was hospitalized for an extended period and had to undergo shock treatments for depression. Then I came along in May 1958, heralded by my Dad singing, "I've Got the Whole World in My Hands...". Through it all the world kept spinning on its axis and my Mom put one foot in front of the other. But it wasn't without cost.
She became embittered; Dad, overbearing and solitary. When he died in 2003, Mom never cried. She acknowledged that he had been a good provider but it took a while to forgive him for the past. All that is separate from me. I remember being loved by both my parents. Dad was my protector and go-to-guy. Mom was my confidante and ally. I like to think they shared a friendship, maybe even an understanding on some level. What child wouldn't hope that of their parents.
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| Mom & Dad 1998 |
And the rest is pixie dust...
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