#Yearof50. Entry 17: Dad

I remember clearly the first time I called my father “Dad”. I don’t remember what day it was, or how old I was, but I do remember the where and how. We were living in Breckenridge, Quebec then, and one day Mom asked me to go get Dad, who was in the basement. So, I ran over to the top of the basement stairs and I paused. Until that moment I had always called him “Richard”. I thought about it, and with heart beating, I called out “Dad’? I don’t know if it surprised him or what he thought, but he came when he heard me. It was a watershed moment for me. A few years later Dad would formally adopt me.

Dad was a man of few words. He was more a man of action and deeds. I have come to appreciate through many stories of his friends and family members how Dad’s actions and deeds affected them and made a difference in their lives. Dad was someone who you could depend on in your time of need; someone who was there for you and would unselfishly help out.

The words Dad did use were often in the service of a good yarn. For Dad, a tease or a prank was a sure sign of his affection. I remember being in the car with Dad and most likely either reading or daydreaming and looking down to find his dental bridge sitting on my left leg. That was Dad. He loved to tell a joke or a story about his past pranks. We heard many great stories, usually involving some poor unsuspecting friend or coworker. He seemed to especially love planting devices that would explode hoods off of cars. Whatever the reason, we always knew a good story was coming when we saw what Mom calls “the gleam” in his eyes. Dad’s chrystalline blue eyes shone as bright as the morning sky.

For me and my two sisters, our memories of Dad typically revolve around two key places: cars and Lake Kipawa. Each of us (and sometimes all of us) spent hours with Dad on the road headed somewhere north. When we were younger, trips began in the Ottawa Valley, to places like Maniwaki, Renfrew, Deep River, and then further afield to Val D’Or and Rouyn-Noranda. My sisters went even further north with Dad, to James Bay. We were schooled in traditional Country music. The soundtrack of our childhood featured George Jones, Conway Twitty, Willie Nelson, Hank Williams, Kenny Rogers, and Johny Cash. To this day it’s impossible to hear one of their songs and not think of Dad; of hours in the back seat, reading, playing games, singing, fighting, and waiting for the next rest stop. All the while, Dad would somehow navigate for hundreds of miles with endless smokes and just his left thumb on the steering wheel.

For most people cars are a way to get around. For our family , cars were a way of life. I distinctly recall hanging out with Dad when he worked at Eliott’s in Ottawa in the early 1980s. At the end of the day, the fraternity of car salesmen from the lots along Richmond Road would hang out at Napolis on the corner of Richmond and Island Park Drive. Dad would give me a pocketful of quarters so I could play PacMan and the guys would all trade stories. The guys were colourful characters and they all seemed to be larger than life. Dad’s car lot was truly a family business. All three of us kids ended up working for Dad. I cleaned cars at his lot in Ottawa, and Marsha and Angela eventually started selling cars at his lot in Aylmer. Dad’s brother Glenn sold cars, and our mom worked there as well, as the bookkeeper, keeping everything in order. Both my sisters, and a few of our cousins, also ended up driving cars back and forth from northern Quebec for Dad.

More than anything, Dad was happiest on a boat on the waters of Lake Kipawa, home to Kebaowek First Nation, part of Anishnabeg Algonquin Nation, which formed half of Dad’s ancestral heritage. Our family began its annual trips to Kipawa in August 1980, the summer my sister Angela was born. So, naturally, when Angela’s son Kaelan arrived in August 2001, he was bundled up and was motoring on the boat with his Grandad a mere two weeks later. Like his mother, Kaelan inherited dad’s love of fishing and camping in the great outdoors, and Kipawa has a very special place in Kaelan’s heart. It was Dad’s joy to have as many people as possible join him in Kipawa, and we know that our dear cousins Chad, Liam, Jonathan, Megan, Cullen, and Neil have many fond memories of summers on that beautiful lake.

We lost Dad in February 2011 and I miss him every day. I know my sisters and My mom do as well. It’s what might be called a God-shaped hole.

As a teenager, I loathed the hours sitting in a fishing boat with Dad, trawling on Lake Kipawa. Oh, how we never appreciate what we have. I would give anything to spend such time with him now.

I wish I could call him and let him know how things are going. He always liked to know about my work. We had a strained relationship for most of my life, but in his last few years I had some really lovely times with him and he opened up and we had some great talks.

He was very welcoming to Mark, which always meant a great deal to me. I ended up spending many hours with him in his final weeks. I got to spend a lot of time alone with him and saying the things I needed to say and supporting him in any way I could.

I consider it a great privilege that I was among the circle of family with Dad when he died. If I remember correctly, I think it was my sister Angela who told him it was ok to go. She was extraordinary and I learned so much from her during Dad’s last few days.

When he was gone, I remember being with Mom, my sisters Angela and Marsha, Mark, and my Uncle Glenn, and we just sat with him. We stayed with him for quite a long while. We surrounded him with our love and sent him home with all our blessings.

Miss you Dad. Love you always.