Remembering Dad -- What I Learned From Him

It wasn’t always pretty. It was always real.

I was scrolling through my Facebook feed and came across someone asking the question, “What did you learn from your dad?”. I scrolled on without giving it much thought at first. Dad died in 2006, writing something for Father’s Day wasn’t on my mind.

But, my thoughts kept returning to the question. It seems it wanted answering.

Like most people, dad was a pretty complex person. It took me getting older and more mature to come to appreciate him. Our early life together was volatile. If I was to describe some of it without context, it would seem he wasn’t the gentlest of men. Yet, he was a gentle man.

Dad was a WW2 veteran. He was part of the often almost forgotten campaign in Italy. Almost a year before D-Day, the Allied troops landed in first Sicily and then Italy. The ensuing battles were hard fought and bitter.

The human costs on both sides were the highest of any campaign of WW2. It was Canada’s longest campaign of the war.

More than 93,000 Canadians took part in the Italian campaign. There were 25,000 wounded or killed. Among the wounded was dad’s brother Ken. Dad came through the war without physical wounds. War changes those who serve, often in ways they don’t even notice.

Rarely Told War Stories

Like most who had seen action, dad didn’t talk much about the war. I didn’t even know he was a veteran until I was a teenager. I happened to notice boxes containing his medals when I was putting laundry away one day.

In his later years, dad told three stories about his time overseas. He didn’t repeat them often. They were all related to his faith. They reflected his belief he got through the war in part due to a higher power not ready to take him home.

The Chaplain

One story wasn’t actually about him. He related how he had watched as their much-respected chaplain sat calmly reading by a window. They were in a house near the front. One of the guys suggested to him it would not be a good idea to stay by the window. He was making himself a target for any Germans nearby.

The chaplain looked up from his book and quietly told the soldier, “son, if the good Lord wants me, he’ll take me. Until then I am going to read.” The unwavering faith of the Chaplain had a calming effect on the troops.

The Sniper

One of the other stories involved dad. Pinned down by sniper fire on a ridge during a patrol. After the sniper was killed, dad’s buddy came running over to see how badly dad was wounded. His buddy had managed to get under cover and had watched the attack.

He’d watched as dust and dirt kicked up in the air around dad as he lay pinned down by gunfire. Dad didn’t have a scratch on him. There was however an outline around where dad lay. Drawn by the sniper’s bullets as they missed.

His Life Resumes After the War

He returned to Canada. He got a job, met my mother and in 1949, they married. In the early 1960s dad used some of his veteran benefits to buy a house in the country for their young family. It was there I spent most of my childhood with my four siblings. We were two boys and three girls. I am the middle child and eldest girl.

My Memories of Dad

My earliest memories of dad were of a man who could be quiet and kind. He was also a man who could, and often did, explode in anger.

The anger was unpredictable.

He worked hard to provide for his family. By day he worked as a driver/salesman for a firm that produced desserts. In his spare time, he did paint and body work on cars for extra cash.

Understanding the Toll of War

It would be many years later before I would be aware that dad exhibited signs of PTSD. During a conversation with my uncle, he was telling me how dad had left a few jobs over his temper.

I asked him if dad had that temper before the war. When he told me he didn’t remember him having one, it confirmed what I had already suspected.

Dad wasn’t an angry man. He was a man wounded by the experiences of combat.

A Man of Faith

We were raised in a household that regularly attended church. My parents were active in the church as Sunday School teachers. Until we reached our later teen years there was no question about our attendance. Sunday was Sunday School, followed by church.

Dad was a man of deep faith. He was not a man who preached or expected others to be swayed by him. He respected people regardless of their faith, or lack of it. I can remember him reminding me many times, there were many paths to faith and no one path was superior to another. He shared his faith through living it, not preaching it.

My Early Relationship With Him

My early relationship with him was turbulent. I had my times when I lived up to the red-hair I had been born with. If dad exploded in anger and I saw it as unjust, I would stand my ground. It would not be the first toe-to-toe we’d have. Neither of us willing to back down.

Dad, came out of the spare the rod and spoil the child school of child-rearing. He would move to break my defiance with a raised hand. That would usually be the point mother would send us both to our corners, so to speak.

He Didn’t Take Sides

I was a young adult before the resentment and anger at his volatile temperament would be set aside. A strong bond developed between us. Well, the reality was, I allowed what was already there to take root. Dad was always unwavering in his love for his wife and his kids.

In a family of five siblings, rivalries and squabbles were bound to happen. When we were younger, the parents ruled and broke the squabbles up. As we grew into adulthood it was inevitable that we’d mutter one about the other among ourselves.

Dad would listen when I’d be muttering about a sibling. He didn’t take sides. If he could point out something I’d not considered that might let me see things in a different light, he’d do that. He wasn’t blind to our strengths and weaknesses, he never made us feel bad about our weaknesses.

His Unconditional Support

He never discouraged his girls from pursuing non-traditional activities. When I went to college and took an engineering tech program he was as proud of me doing. He was also proud that my brothers chose to go into automotive mechanics. Likewise, my sister who went into nursing and my other sister who took a social worker program.

We were his kids and he supported us unconditionally.

The Legion decided to award me for my service to the branch and the community with a Life Membership. Dad was there. There was a picture taken that night of the President, dad and myself.

I didn’t notice it at the time but someone pointed it out to me later. In that picture, dad looked so proud that it could have been him getting the award. It made me feel pretty good.

The Lesson of Being Willing to Learn

If there was only one other lesson for dad to have taught me, it was that there was nothing I couldn’t learn to do. All I needed was the willingness to learn and to try. He taught that by example.

We often heard from mother about “that G-D house in Toyneville”. It was an unfinished house the parents bought not long after they married. Dad was working full time. He didn’t know anything about doing carpentry, drywalling, plumbing, electrical work. It would take 2-3 years but he learned. Finishing the house before it sold.

Over their course of his life, he would self-teach himself many things. There is furniture in my house today which built by dad. That includes my kitchen cupboards.

The Cook and Baker

Among the many things he taught himself was to cook and bake. We enjoyed many lovely dinners prepared by him in his later years. His baking skills were superb.

The matriarch of the church I attended had occasion to marvel at those skills.

I'd been talking to dad one evening. Telling him about the ladies of the church preparing for an upcoming tea fundraiser. They were seeking donations of cookies to distribute into tins they would sell at the tea.

A few days before the event he showed up at my house and placed a couple of large bags of cookies into my freezer. I watched him, curious, he knew as much as I loved his baking, it was the last thing I needed in that quantity.

He closed the lid and informed me they were for the church. The night before the ladies needed them I brought the cookies out. Placed them on the counter in the church kitchen. The next day, Ada told me about the several dozen cookies. She puzzled over where they had appeared from. I smiled and told her mystery solved. I had delivered them from my dad.

She talked about those cookies and that dad had made them for weeks. I had to ask her if their fundraiser was a success.

Be Humble

Dad, didn’t want any fanfare. He had some time and he was happy to contribute. If I had not said where they came from, he would have been happy.

Another thing dad taught me. Good deeds don’t have to be public to be good deeds.

Happy Fathers Day Dad.