Happy Fathers Day!
The original hipsters: my mom, me, and my dad. (C) 1987
I have a great father. I grew up in a home that encouraged creativity, debate, and curiosity. I’m sure it was in part influenced by my dad’s background in teaching, though I think it takes a certain type of person to want to teach in the first place.
He is a great guy. If I need to ramble about something I saw on the news to someone, he’s usually the person I call. My email is full of links to things that he’s found that he thinks I would be interested in, and while sometimes I laugh and say “oh here’s another one”, I still read every one of them, because I appreciate that he thought of me. Even though I’m on the other side of the country, we still talk nearly every day, and it’s not because my family guilt’s me into it, it’s because I genuinely like them.
I remember all those times we went to my favourite vegetarian restaurant in Edmonton (at the time, it was the only one) for my birthday. I remember having serious discussions on ethics and politics from a young age, inspiring me to think for myself and remain critical of opinions even if they aligned with my own.
I remember the early Saturday morning bread donation pick up when I volunteered with Food Not Bombs, and he volunteered with me. I remember even more so, the times I was too tired from working or just too lazy to wake up on Saturday morning, and he still picked up the donation and delivered it to the kitchen FNB cooked out of.
I remember making those late night calls of “can you pick me up?” and too often he did. I remember being driven to work; I remember being driven home from work at ungodly times of the morning. I remember meeting up after he finished work and I finished school to our favourite little hole in the wall Chinese food place. I remember the repeated drives back and forth from the airport, the greyhound station, the bus stop, the other side of town, etc.
I remember the demands of soccer, going swimming, going to the gym, going skating, and going on long bike rides in the river valley. And then the trademark after gym meal of whatever was in the fridge, thrown in a frying pan and fried up on the stove. Thanks for inspiring genuine creativity in the kitchen; the throw it together, and see what happens method has worked really well for me.
I remember the thousands of dollars withdrawn from the bank of Mom and Dad. School fees, lunch fees, allowances, impulse buys, pool admission, clothes I did need, clothes I didn’t need, specialized equipment for whatever sport I started playing this time, printing costs, splitting large purchases even when they didn’t have to. The care packages I still get every few months, with random vegan stuff, and clothes, and snacks.
I love my family. I love my Mom and Dad. Thank you both for everything and Happy Father’s Day. I wish I could be there to take you all out to dinner.
What a touching post! I love my dad too–and it sounds like he is quite a bit like yours.
Also, you look SO much like your mom!
Wow, your dad volunteered at FNBs? Love it! Thanks for sharing this. I love hearing good dad stories.
Gabrielle: I think you described a bit about your dad to me once, and I couldn't help but think… that sounds like mine too! 🙂
Bitt: Yeah he did. He helped with a lot of food pick ups, it was really cool of him! I lucked out.
And he looks like Noam Chomsky!