Where Dad grew up:
Chipman, NB. The youngest of four children.
His favourite hockey team:
Toronto. Dad also was the goalie for his high school hockey team.
My favourite picture...go ahead, make his day...
One of my earliest memories of me and my Dad:
Up until the age of 5, we lived in Woodstock, NB and every Saturday morning I would go with him to the community stables where he boarded his horse. After sufficiently getting underfoot I would leave Dad to his work and wander down the row of barn stalls to do my weekly visits.
My first stop would always be see Dalmus, a gentle giant of a man who to a little kid seemed to be at least 100 years old. Climbing up on to the wobbly stool beside him, he would play me a tune on his harmonica, “Old Suzanna, now don’t you cry for me…” Yup, we had great chats Dalmus and I did.
Saying our "goodbyes and see you next weeks" I'd hop off my perch and move along to the far end of the row to find the Greer girls, the daughters of Dad’s dear friend, Bob. They would always hoist me up into the saddle and take me for a ride around the grounds. Jane would later keep me busy assigning me to “brush” duty.
This particular Saturday morning was no different, for the most part. And despite remembering it vividly, I will recount the rest of the story from Dad’s perspective:
"I look up and around the end of the row of barns comes Jane walking her horse with Tammy trailing along side.
My first stop would always be see Dalmus, a gentle giant of a man who to a little kid seemed to be at least 100 years old. Climbing up on to the wobbly stool beside him, he would play me a tune on his harmonica, “Old Suzanna, now don’t you cry for me…” Yup, we had great chats Dalmus and I did.
Saying our "goodbyes and see you next weeks" I'd hop off my perch and move along to the far end of the row to find the Greer girls, the daughters of Dad’s dear friend, Bob. They would always hoist me up into the saddle and take me for a ride around the grounds. Jane would later keep me busy assigning me to “brush” duty.
This particular Saturday morning was no different, for the most part. And despite remembering it vividly, I will recount the rest of the story from Dad’s perspective:
"I look up and around the end of the row of barns comes Jane walking her horse with Tammy trailing along side.
A few minutes later, they circle around again only this time Tammy was walking the horse as Jane walked along side.
The third time around, Tammy was walking the horse but this time there was no Jane anywhere in sight! There was this little four year old walking a huge horse like it was no problem at all. Heart in my throat, I dropped everything and ran over to take over the reigns, literally."
To this day, I can remember the expression on Dad’s face, but for the life of me, I just couldn’t figure out why he looked so panicked. What Daddy? I have it under control.
His nickname:
His nickname:
Rodger Dodger. (And everyone knows that if you ever need help, just call Rodger Dodger.)
A proud daughter moment:
During Dad's company retirement party, the company President stood at the front of the ballroom and called the retirees up one by one to congratulate them. When Dad arrived to the stage, the President broke from the script and turned Dad around to face the audience. Standing behind him with hand on his shoulder, the President proceeded to tell everyone how much Dad had meant to him.
Apparently when the President was just starting out with the company many moons ago, he was met with a rather collective cold shoulder. He went on to say that Dad was the guy that took him under his wing and always made the time to teach him the ropes. It obviously meant a lot to him as he said he never forgot Dad's kindness. The round of applause that arose from the crowd made it apparent that the President wasn't the only person Dad had looked out for over his 35 year career with the company.
What I respect about him the most:
There are so many things but I would have to say his work ethic. Dad worked for the telephone company for over 30 years, and I rarely remember him ever taking a sick day. He also spent much of his career travelling an hour to and from work but was never late…even in snow storms.
His work ethic is also demonstrated in how respectful he is of the homestead land. He would rather spend hours picking bugs off plants and hand weeding his gardens and blueberry fields than relying on pesticides.
He personifies the quote "the greatest fertilizer is the farmer's shadow."
A few things I've learned from him:
- A love for horses. To this day, the best smell to me is a horse barn.
- How to use power tools - like a sliding compound mitre saw, air compressors and brad nailers.
- If you’re going to do something, do it right.
- If you tell someone you’ll do something, keep your word.
- Not to be afraid of hard work. Getting your hands dirty is the best way to learn.
A cherished gift:
When we lived on Woodbridge Street, Dad had a little workshop in the garage. One particular Fall while I was in university, I noticed that he had been spending an extra amount of time there. That Christmas I learned why. Dad had spent the last few months making me a beautiful hope chest made of pine, lined with cedar. I came to later learn that it was the second one he had made…the first didn’t live up to his standards so he started over.
The hope chest has been one of my most prized possessions for 25 years and each time I’ve moved, it has been carefully wrapped in blankets to ensure it makes the transition safely, the most recent of which being my move to Fort McMurray.
During last year’s wildfire there was no time to get anything from the house other than our cats and a few personal items. I was heartsick at the thought of never seeing my it again.
A gift I wish I could give him:
Peace of mind. Dad is a worry wart like me and his favourite quote is "if it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all." I wish I could convince him that there's no cloud following him. I think it's about perspective; someone could look up and see the cloud but comment on how blue the sky is around it.
That said, it is a well documented fact that if he goes camping or fishing, it will rain. Every time.
I hope he knows…
- How proud I am when people say “Oh, you're Roger’s daughter.”
- Even though it never gets said, both my brother and I know how much he and mom had to give up as young parents. To raise their family, they had to let go of their dreams so we could have ours.
- To this day, I hope my decisions in life meet his approval. I’m sure it will always be that way.
What I love about him the most:
That he's our Daddy!
HAPPY FATHERS DAY!!! xo
And with one last pause
the farmer gazes out across the field.
Grateful for all that it has offered,
he reflects on the hands that helped him turn it.
Still stained with dirt and rough with work
his own hands show testament to the months of solstice.
Smiling, he lingers over a humble sense of pride,
one that need not be spoken.
The sun sits low in the late October sky
assuring him that for now his work is done.
With relief in his bones and reluctance in his heart,
the farmer turns away, content.
Sleep tight sweet soil, rest well red field,
for you have truly earned it.
Sleep tight gentle farmer, rest well,
for you have truly earned it too.
-ts
