Warning: this is a really long post full of my memories of my dad. I realise this isn't the sort of thing I normally write and most of you probably won't be interested in reading this. I hope you won't mind that I wrote it. These memories have been bouncing around in my head for much too long now. I needed to write them down. It's good practice anyways - I've been trying to enhance my writing skills through practice. I read this book a while back for school that was basically just a collection of the author's memories of his dad. Even though you may not have known my dad, I hope you can relate to the realisation that we need to acknowledge the people who have impacted our lives. Perhaps you can relate to that feeling that memories are as beautiful and ungraspable as the sun through a stained glass window.
I have three memories from the year I was two, but they are all very unclear. It is possible that they are actually formed from stories I heard later about that year. If these do count as my first memories, then my earliest memory of my Dad is from the time I broke my collar bone by falling only a foot out of my bed. Strangely enough, I don't remember the pain, visiting the doctor, or the sling. I only have one random memory of the whole ordeal: the day after my dad came home with a big board, he took it downstairs and cut a notch at either end to create a guard rail for my bed.
My second memory of my dad also has to do with guard rails. When I was three years old we spent a weekend at Niagra Falls and Marine Land. When we were at the falls my sister kept saying she could see something. I can't remember what it was. Maybe it was a boat or a barrel.I was getting so frustrated because I couldn't see it. I climbed up on the wall and was leaning over the short little fence in an attempt to get a better look. My dad started freaking, grabbed the back of my shirt, and told me to get off the wall. He was always there to keep me safe.
My dad always went above and beyond. He woke up at 5 in the morning every day and walked to work no matter what the weather. He would come home at 5 o' clock in the evening, eat dinner, call his mother on the telephone and have a nap until just before bedtime when I would wake him up for "family" time and a quick snack.
He was a hard working man. He deserved those naps, but he always made time to call his mom and hang out with his kids and his wife. When I used to get sick in the middle of the night my mom (who is my superhero) would wake up and clean my bed up for me. Mom stayed home and cooked and cleaned and homeschooled my sister and I, if she wanted to she could just have us all sleep in the next day but dad had to wake up at 5 o'clock like any other day. He could have just rolled over and let mom deal with it, but he never did. He would come and sit with me while mom cleaned everything up so that I never had to be alone when I was sick.
I remember one day I woke up on a weekday to see my dad standing there. I was so confused, what was dad doing at home on a weekday? And why did his face seem so sad? He told me as gently as he could that our dog had died. He had taken the day off work to go to my grandma's farm with us and dig a grave for the dog. Who puts that much effort into their family?
My dad always came alive on weekends and holidays. He woke up early even on the weekends and I would too. Mum and my sister wanted to sleep in so dad and I were morning buddies. We would drive on our bikes to look for good yard sales to check out with the rest of the family, or we would go out for breakfast together, or to the market to get bacon and apple cider, or maybe to Tim Horton's to get everyone coffee and donuts. On Christmas Eve or the night before we went to the cottage I could never sleep so he would come and hang out with me so that I didn't wake up my mom because she had to drive. We would sit and talk about how exciting the next day would be until I finally fell asleep.
I've always been socially awkward. I didn't have a lot of friends, but I always had my dad. When I was lonely we'd hang out, maybe get a coke or play catch or kick a soccer ball around. When I got a paper route in a sketchy neighbourhood he would go with me to collect money from the scarier folks on the route and we would make up really silly songs about what we were doing and sing them at the top of our lungs as we walked down the street even though neither of us could carry a tune to save our life.We did everything together, but our favourite thing to do together was fish. Actually, it was dad who loved to fish. I just loved having a chance to talk to him. I always had so many things to say and he was the best listener I have ever known.
I had a really hard time adjusting to public school in high school. I used to come home crying. I got picked on a lot at first, until I had time to make friends and get used to things. My dad always believed in me I remember he used to tell me that if people didn't like me he felt sorry because they were missing out, and I was embarrassed because he was being a dad, but at the same time I could tell he meant it. I thought I was the lamest person in the world. I had this really odd insecurity about my bedroom. I'd seen the bedrooms of other girls' my age. They had blue walls and pictures of twilight, the Jonas Brothers, and/ or Zack Effron. I figured that was normal. My room had pictures I'd painted, old fashioned photographs and paintings I'd bought at yard sales, a collection of little nut crackers, and a board my dad had helped me put nails in when I was younger which held all of my key chain collection. On my dresser their was a drum, a bunch of sea shells, and a bird's nest. I remember when dad came into say goodnight (we had an epic secret handshake) he would look at everything in my room and comment on how cool it was. That always made me really happy.
When I was in high school I went through a sort of agnostic phase. I had a lot of questions about God. I didn't want anyone to pray for me. Dad was always an exception though. I knew he'd be praying for me anyways and I never really minded when he did it out loud. Once when I was 11 I had sat in on a prayer meeting my parents had in our house and I had been so fascinated by my dad's face because he looked like he was actually talking to someone. I remember once, when I was 15 about half a year before he died, someone asked my dad what kind of animal I was like and he said "Well I was going to say monkey but actually I think eagle. I know you have a lot of questions, but I think God will lift you up over those like an eagle on a wind current." That's a random memory but it meant a lot from dad. He wasn't very patient except when he was untangling the tangles I made when fishing. When it came to asking him questions we'd usually get so frustrated with each other that he would yell "Oh, just go ask you're mother" and I would and she'd have an amazing answer for everything. But that one time, about six months before he died, he admitted that my questions were ok, and I've never forgotten that.
My biggest regret is being your average fifteen year old distracted with boys and friendship dramas and school when I could have been trying to savour every last conversation with my dad. I always wonder what it would have been like to talk to him now that I'm actually an adult. I'm ashamed because I was mad at him the last time we ever spoke. I went to the hospital to visit him and he never once asked me about the day before when I had been a witness in court. It had been a very traumatic event for me. Dad was supposed to take a day off work to go with me, because my mom was taking my sister to an open house at her new school, but because dad was in the hospital I had gone with an aunt. My aunt had been there before us to visit with my dad and she had told him all about it, but he hadn't heard about my mom and sister's day yet so that's all he wanted to ask about, and like your average stupid fifteen year old that made me grumpy. So when he started saying "you know, I thought I was going to die" I got really mad. "Dad! You're supposed to be positive in the hospital! You're not supposed to talk like that! You weren't going to die, you didn't die, and you're not going to!" "I am not scared to die, I just don't want to leave my girls behind." Other than the usual "I love you and goodbye" that was the last thing he ever said to me.
I still miss him.
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