Beautiful.
Great stories, Spoons. Thank you for sharing.
Please accept my condolences for your loss, and my gratitude for telling us something about your dad here. Best wishes, Spoons.
One more story…
About ten years ago, Dad’s eyesight started to deteriorate. It was macular degeneration, and it progressed quickly. Soon, Dad was legally blind, and could no longer read his books (he was a history buff), the newspaper, or watch sports on TV.
I was visiting Dad in his house after he was declared legally blind, and it was summer. Now, if you know Toronto summers, you know they they are hot and humid and uncomfortable. Dad’s house had no air conditioning, and we were both sweating buckets. I said to him, “The hell with this, Dad, get in my car.” The car had air conditioning, and I guided him out to it. My plan was to just drive until we were both refreshed, and maybe more.
As we left, I had a thought: why not take Dad to my buddy’s farm, about an hour north of the city? It would certainly be cooler than the city, and it would give us a place to go, rather than circling the block. I called my friend, and he said, “No problem, come on up.”
We got to the farm (in the car’s air-conditioned comfort), and while it was still hot and humid, it was not nearly as bad as in the city. Dad got out of the car to the sounds of songbirds, of the cows mooing, of the horses whinnyiing. These brought a smile to his face. I took him into the barn, where he could smell the straw and the hay. And yes, the horse manure, which he only laughed at. “It’s a barn, Spoons,” he said. “It belongs here.”
I took him out to meet the horses. They knew me, as I had helped Buddy look after them for years when I could get out of the city, so they were calm with a stranger, as long as I was there. Dad loved stroking their necks and their manes. When one whinnied in his face, he only laughed.
Buddy’s barn has always had a complement of barn cats, and they do what nature demands. So, at any given time, there are kittens. I scooped up a kitten, said to Dad, “Put your hands out,” and laid a tiny kitten into his hands. “Oh, it’s a kitten!” Dad said happily, recognizing the tiny creature by feel and the sound and feel of the kitten’s purr. He stroked the kitten until it felt it had had enough, and jumped down. Dad’s smile at his experience with the kitten could have lit up a room.
Buddy took some time out of his day, and the three of us had beer on the farmhouse lawn. Nothing important was discussed, but Dad told some stories, and Buddy asked about more stories, and Dad was happy to oblige. And we all had a nice day. To the best of my knowledge, it was the last time Dad was out of the city.
Buddy was at the funeral, and reminded me of that day. “I really enjoyed that day with your Dad. I wish he could come to my farm again, just to hear more stories over a beer.”
Another great story. Thanks.
Your dad sounds like a man whose company I would enjoy. Thank you for sharing pieces of him with us spoons. May his memory bring you peace.
What a sweet story, Spoons.
Spoons, your Dad will be with you for the rest of your life. Not a day goes by where I don’t think of my old man in some form or another. He made you the man that you are today and the decisions you make going forward will reflect the values he instilled in you. You’ll dream about him and share your new stories with him. You’ll be in places in certain situations where it feels like he is there with you.
No matter how the end comes, it’s a damn sad thing. It remains the worst day of my life. He is still here; I just wish I could see the guy again, but that bond remains. In a strange sense, your relationship continues to grow.
My deepest condolences for your loss.
Awesome.
My dad… never mind.
I am trying to be the dad to my children - that your dad was to you.