My Father was a man who guided us and who loved us.  He  was our dad, our mentor, and our friend. A man who was not so bad for an old guy!

Lectures my father gave …

My father always has been and always will be considered a man of honour, integrity and stature.  He was also human.  He was a dad and subject to all the idiosyncrasies of that idyllic state.  In simplest terms, he ain’t perfect.  Of course growing up I just assumed he was perfect.  Aren’t all fathers?  We used to tease my Dad about his lectures.  You know all the usual ones that fathers give their children – drive from point a to point b, no ‘parking’,  look both ways before you date.  As his children we would roll our eyes and say “lecture 37” or “lecture 210”.  And we would all laugh.  But we didn’t disobey, or at least not openly.  My Father laid down the law in our family. Of course laws were meant to be broken, or at least bent a little.  I read that somewhere.

Father’s are people too!

Perhaps the first time I realized my father was human was the time I cut my finger.  It was not a bad cut, really, but it bled a lot.  By the time I made it to my father (my mother was out of the house) it looked as if I had amputated the finger, and done a really bad job of it.  It was not a pretty sight!  Dad didn’t panic, he just looked scared.  I didn’t appreciate how it looked at the time, I was used to it, I was a kid. He took my hand and placed it under the kitchen tap.  Once the blood was gone, he couldn’t find the cut.  I thought everything was status quo, but he would not let me go out and play again.  I had to wait for my mother to come home.  I was probably ten years old.

Then there was the time I wanted to go horseback riding with a friend.  I had the money and a ride.  It was just a matter of form to ask permission. My mother always said yes.  Mom wasn’t home.  Dad said no. No reason either.  It wasn’t until many years later that I understood these two episodes.  My father could not bear to face my mother if anything had happened to me.  I guess it is just a dad thing.

The dog made me do it

My father was a distinguished looking man but appearances can be deceiving. Take the yearly trial of showing a beautiful but willful dog how to use the dog door. My father had installed a ‘dog door’ in the screen door off the kitchen to make it easier for Samantha (a brindle boxer) to come in and out at her leisure.  In theory, as in practice, it was a wonderful idea. Of course, it was not used in the winter time. It would mean leaving the glass door open and that would be too cold. So every spring Samantha was once again offered the opportunity to use her door.  Here comes the good part.  I don’t know if she really did have a fear about using the door for the first time every year or she just enjoyed the image of my very distinguished father on his hands and knees crawling through that door, several times. I must admit my mother and I always made sure we were nearby. I wonder why I never took a picture?

Thanks dad, we love you.