When I saw the topic for this contest, my heart did a little drop. I never met my mother’s parents. They were both gone before I was born. My father’s parents are another story. I met my grandmother and saw her all of three times, briefly. The last time, I was around twelve. She has a tragic story, one I’ve only heard a few fragmented pieces of.
My grandfather was no father, let alone grandfather. He hated children. I was around him enough to know to keep my distance, at least several feet, well out of reach. Just in case. No sage advice from him, just my observations that told me how much of a problem alcohol could be and to be mindful of that for myself. I’ve always longed to have a grandparent, to have that kind of meaningful relationship. I’ve heard so many stories from friends. That’s my grandparent story. I’d rather skip it completely.
Instead, I’m going to talk about another older person who has been a major inspiration for my entire life, my father. I appreciate it that this is also an option for the contest, since grandparents have not been an experience I’ve really had.
BEE STILL
He taught me not to go rushing about like a fool, smashing headlong into all kinds of difficulties that could be avoided. This reminds me of when he took me hunting for the first time and told me I sound like a moose crashing through the brush.
My father said, “Walk softly and choose where you step. Be aware of the conditions around you, they change.”
My father was a woodsman, hunter, trapper, and fisherman, among many other things. He was a multi-talented person and gifted with his hands when came to doing just about anything. If he didn’t know how to do something, he taught himself. I followed him around everywhere when I was growing up, watching everything he did, and asking endless questions. I wanted to try doing whatever he was working on. He almost always allowed me. I’d keep asking until he gave in, even when he didn’t want to, such as when I wanted to try out his welder when I was twenty-one. That one was especially hard for him.
CEDAR WEB DROPS
It was magical to me, all the things he could make, create, and do. He never stopped. He’d pick up new interests and run with them all the time. I remember being shocked (should not have been) at one point when I visited, to find out he had taken up playing the violin. He was in his late sixties at the time. All this creative jazzyness and handiness I get directly from him.
He encouraged this. He even forgave me for making off with a few of his hand tools when I headed to university my first year. I remember coming home from break, only to have him ask me, “Where are my blue-handled pliers and the other two tools you took?” I thought he wouldn’t miss them. He had a garage, basement, and more full of all kinds of tools. I should have known better. My father missed almost nothing. The worst of that was, he’d know whatever it was. You’d think he hadn’t noticed/didn’t know, relax your guard, and then he’d pounce on you at the opportune moment.
Note made, pay attention, observe, say nothing, give nothing away, wait for the right moment, it always presents itself.
CROW EYE
He wasn’t a patient person with people, but he had unbelievable patience with me. I see that when I look back. I’m naturally gifted at testing people’s patience. I also had his lack of patience. I noticed that when I was young. Even if I hadn’t, others were happy to remind me of that fact frequently.
Note made, grow some patience and make it a forest, don’t be like Dad.
LEAF POINT
My father had this ability to be downright ridiculous. He was always playful with me like that while I was growing up and it would descend into absolute silliness. None of this ever ended. The jokes and games just changed as I aged. One of the last jokes he played that I fell for, was when he told both my mother and I that we weren’t allowed to pick rocks to take home. He said, “See that sign over there? It says you can’t pick the rocks here, you’ll be fined $250 for it.” He was pointing to a sign not far away, only slightly “readable”.
Both of us were getting worried. She’s starting to fuss about it (as she does). I happened to glance over at him and I see a slight little quirk at the edge of his mouth. He’s trying to keep from bursting out laughing. Busted. I called him on it. He wouldn’t back down right away. I thought, this is ridiculous, he’s got away with this sort of thing again, while he’s laughing at my mother and I. Without his influence, there’s no way I would have developed a crazy, wild, sense of humour that has no limits.
MAPLE FROST
My father’s gone now. He had a minor medical issue combined with a lack of proper medical assessment prior to treatment. A few years go by. Late 2006, he becomes sick, four months of that, while doctors try to “figure it out”. During that, they pumped him full of so many intravenous drugs that he almost died in the process. Early 2007, they had it “figured out”. He had to have major surgery to repair something that should never have happened in the first place, if it weren’t for a series of medical errors. Three and half years later, I noticed he had some cognitive impairment. Eventually he was diagnosed with vascular dementia. It was downhill from there until he was gone in 2018.
My father taught me a multitude of things in many ways. Often he did so without speaking any words at all. We had another way of communicating. We were very close. We still are. He lives on in my heart and we will never be separated.
Death is change, not an end point.
TIDAL FLOW
All photos taken by Nine with a Pentax digital 35mm camera.
