First Person is a daily personal piece submitted by readers. Have a story to tell? See our guidelines at tgam.ca/essayguide.
My father wanted to know whether he made a lasting impact with his life.Illustration by Alex Siklos
My father was often described as a big man. Some of his students would call him the Jolly Green Giant or, more often, Uncle Norm. He was tall, with broad shoulders and large hands. Despite his size, he played varsity sports and eventually coached high school basketball teams both as a physical education teacher as well as a principal. People would also say he had a large heart. If someone needed a hand, he was there, without fanfare or the expectation of recognition or a thank you.
My father was also incredibly well organized. As a high school administrator, he knew that the devil was in the details. He taught his three children: “preparation is key, plan for the worst but keep the faith.” He used that last phrase often, not because of his religious beliefs, but as a reminder to always have hope, to support something or someone although it may at times feel difficult. “It’s not what you have, it’s not who you are – it’s what you do for others,” he’d say.
Once retired, he focused his time researching his family lineage – from Ireland to Scotland to Canada. Both he and my mother grew up in the same small town in southwestern Ontario and the interconnections were numerous. He invested time and money documenting five generations of history. He was proud to have completed this sprawling family tree and was happy to disseminate copies to our extended family.
My father was confident, but later in life he needed reminding of his good works.
In his 80s and once his mobility and cognitive skills declined, our family made the difficult but necessary decision to place him into a local long-term care facility. We co-ordinated visits amongst friends and family and we all watched him decline, often to the point where he no longer knew us. But we would talk to him like he did. That was us trying to keep the faith.
During a recent visit I told him I was going away on a long trip but I would be back soon – very soon. (Code for: don’t die when I’m away please.) He asked if I had the papers. “The papers?” I asked. “Yes, the papers,” he said.
“You mean my will, my burial plans, my itinerary?”
Defiantly and remarkably, he said, “NO, the papers!”
After some time, I thought, he means the family tree. He wants to talk about his family.
I started talking about his mother, whom I’m named after; his father, the hard-working labourer; his three older brothers who served in the Second World War; and his two older sisters, one of whom he’d looked after as she aged. He was surprised to learn they had all died. I reminded him that he was still happily married to his childhood schoolmate, our mother, for over 60 years. His answer was “Really?” (I’m not sure our mother quite appreciated that answer.) I described how he had worked as a math teacher, coached basketball and became a respected principal.
“I was?” he asked.
Near the end of our visit, he looked at me curiously and asked, “Was I important?”
I didn’t know how to answer at first, then realized he was wondering if he did something hopeful, impactful and lasting.
I could tell him about the time he helped a terrified young woman whose car had spun out of control on the highway by waiting with her until her parents arrived. Or about how he read in the newspaper about an elderly man who required a drug that was only available in Europe, and how he found a way to get that drug to that man. How he won a Canadian magazine’s “carpenter of the year” through all the woodworking he did for friends and family, and to help the needy. How he volunteered to assist students who had fallen through the cracks to ensure they received their high-school diplomas. How he and my mother were leaders in advancing a hearing-impaired children’s charity. How he would do anything for his wife, children and grand-children.
“Yes Dad,” I replied with a smile, “You were important.” And that comforted him.
Anne Purdie Morash lives in Toronto.
