Nothing is more important to a girl than having her dad, and my
early years were filled with luck as I counted my fathers, two.
My parents met in a mental institution in Ponoka, Alberta in 1964. After falling in love, with approval from my family, they decided they would like to get married.
Soon thereafter, Mom became pregnant with me. In those days, doctors in Alberta strongly encouraged abortions for their mentally ill patients, and even sterilization. Today mental hospitals throughout Alberta have come into question over this practice, but in the sixties things were different. Despite this, she decided to have me. Against many odds, I was born and had a happy childhood.
I wouldn't have had such a happy existence if my grandparents hadn't intervened. From the time I was 8 months old, we lived in an upper and lower duplex on 2nd Avenue and 15th Street, off Kensington Road in Calgary. My parents really didn't know how to care for a child so my grandparents decided to help raise me. That was the best decision they ever made.
Mom and Dad occupied the upper suite with a balcony off the kitchen at the back of the house. Grandma and Grandpa lived beneath them, on the main level, with me in the back corner. I was so lucky to have an extra set of parents.
My first memory is of getting out of bed really early in the morning and sneaking into my parent's kitchen to cook breakfast. I would close the door behind me, drag a chair up to the stove, and set out to cook Daddy breakfast. Some days, I made scrambled eggs. As time went by and I honed my skills, I made puffed wheat omelets that would have made the Galloping Gourmet proud.
Dad kindly ate whatever I made for him. "It's good, Joannie. It's real good," he would say. He picked up the "Joannie" from their best friends, Marty and Charlie, who frequently came to visit. Nobody ever gave me hell for making omelets. I was 2 or 3 years old.
When I was little, Grandpa worked at the Glenbow Museum and Grandma stayed home and kept house. My father got part-time construction work, waiting outside the sites downtown until somebody came out to call him. At Christmas, he got work at the post office, while my moms stayed home.
While I loved my mothers very much, I don't think I really appreciated how great they were until I grew up and moved out. My dads, on the other hand, were my reason for being...me, that is. I wouldn't be the person I am without their attention, time and care. I loved doing things together, everything together, and still do. They are my best friends.
When I was really little, Dad would take me to the store, but Grandpa took me to "Super S," one of the oldest drugstores in Calgary. I loved going there for Christmas wrap, and to Telstar Drugs. Telstar's prices were so reasonable that a four or five year old could afford to do all her Christmas shopping at once, there.
On Sundays, Grandpa and I ventured over to Aunt Frankie and Uncle Alf's, where my cousin Jeff and I played with the pool table or he played his accordion for me. Aunt Frankie was a wonderful cook; being Italian, all the food in her house was the best. I really looked forward to our Sunday's there; inevitably, we always ended up at Dairy Queen for banana splits afterwards.
Grandma read me bedtime stories. My favourites were Alladin and the Lamp and the story of Noah's Ark. From the story of Noah, I learned to love animals. One day while I sat in Grandma's Sunday School class (the one I kicked and screamed to avoid), she passed out plastic animals. One to each child. But I was lucky because, when we got home, she gave me the rest. I was so taken with these little animals that she eventually bought me a whole bag. I was overjoyed.
I played with those animals for hours, for days! My best playtime I spent sitting on the floor surrounded by plastic animals with my favourite brown, floral comforter dropped in a mound on the floor. I used its natural curves and crevices as caves for all my crew. That was a good time. The best.
At bedtime, when Grandma wasn't reading me stories, Grandpa would sing me to sleep with "La La's," a wonderful, special thing. It's a Spanish song which still remains nameless. But no matter where I am, or how loud the noise around me, if it's being played, I recognize it right away and it brings tears to my eyes. Whether I'm shopping at Safeway, buying jeans at Sears, or in a Mexican restaurant eating supper...when I hear that song, I want to cry. Those are great memories for me. Days I wish would never end.
In the Winter, Dad and I dug out our skates and headed to an outdoor skating rink by the Hillhurst Community Center. That was in the days when snow piled high in western Canada, before El Nino.
One time, Dad was skating so fast he couldn't stop; face first, he plowed right into a 5 foot high mound of snow that ran all around the rink. I could not stop laughing for days. It was the funniest thing I ever saw.
Other days, we took the toboggan up to "The Big Hill" at Riley Park. We climbed the mountain for hours, tobogganed down for hours, crumpling up ourselves, and laughing so much. Then, we'd go back to Grandma's for hot cocoa and peanut butter toast.
We'd hang out at the mall, at the bowling alley at the North Hill Shopping Center, at Sam's corner store on Kensington and 14th. We played Chinese Checkers, Checkers, Yahtzee, Dad played ball with me, or we just hung out on the swings at Riley Park. No matter where I wanted to go, Dad was there with me. And he still is today.
Sometimes, the phone rang in the middle of the night. Grandpa worked as a Building Superintendent managing security for 11 buildings of art at the Glenbow Museum in Calgary. If the alarm sounded, he had to go down to let the police into the building to investigate. Eventually, he'd come home to find me in his bed keeping his space nice and warm. Grandma and Grandpa always let me sleep with them. They really spoilt me.
No matter what question I asked, Grandpa always had the answer. It didn't matter if it was about math, science, literature, history, or planting and growing seeds. He had an answer.
In the Springtime, we would get up early in the morning, just after dawn, to go out to the garden. I remember saying to him, "Grandpa! Grandpa! Can we go out to dig wormies?" "Yes," he said as we went downstairs for the pitchfork and the shovel, "I guess we can Sweetheart." Out we'd go and, while the dew was still moist on the grass, dig for worms. Then, we would drive down to the greenhouse where people bought the worms. The nice man there always took us through so Grandpa could pick out flowers, vegetables, and raspberry bushes for our garden, and extras for the Ash's, an elderly couple who lived in a pink and white house two houses down.
Every year, Grandpa dug up the Ash's garden and cared for their flowers and shrubs. I loved gardening with him. He connected with living things, flowers, animals, babies and people alike. Everybody loved and admired him, and wanted to be like him. He was a fantastic example.
In Winter, we ventured to the Ice House, a big barn across the river from Bowness Park. Grandpa had to set off poison to kill the rats, as he did with the other buildings. He had it figured out that at 2 minutes per floor he had just enough time to get out safely. Waiting outside, I would sit on a box by the door and watch the winter white snow bunnies foraging for green sprigs of grass in the snow.
White in winter, brown in spring. Springtime in Alberta is beautiful. The air crisp and fresh under sunny blue skies. A beautiful sight by the river. It will last in my mind forever.
I see my cousins now, and they're all grown up. Their father, my uncle, didn't have his father around when he was growing up. They moved all over Canada because Grandpa was in the army. He was a gambler, then, and Grandma says he lost all the money. As he got older, he mellowed out. Lucky for him how Grandma put up with it. While she got up for church in the morning, he would stay at the bar. It didn't impress her much.
He worked as a Building Engineer for 25 years. He and my uncles were responsible for many of the oldest buildings and bridges in Calgary. We have roots there. But it didn't leave him much time for fatherhood, and I can see that in my uncle.
Just being in the same house does not build your confidence and feelings of self-worth. It is being a present, communicative parent, spending time teaching lessons over and over again, so that kids know what life is all about.
Many of my friends had absent or emotionally weak fathers, and they turned out absent or emotionally weak themselves. They lack the confidence you get when your Dad or Grandpa says to you, "You can do anything you set your mind to do...you can do anything you set your mind to do" or all the other words of wisdom only an emotionally mature man can pass along over and over again.
"We screw them up and they straighten them out," as Dr. Laura puts it. I couldn't agree more. It doesn't matter how kind, loving and mature a woman may be, there are still non-emotional qualities, lessons learnt from the male perspective, that only a man can pass along.
A woman gives birth to her kids, and they are emotionally, totally a part of her. That makes the man even more important in their lives, because they haven't fine-tuned all their emotional buttons. This is why providing an emotionally mature example to boys is one of the most important things a man can do. Otherwise, the boys will take to the streets trying to "look like a man" but not knowing what it means to be one, or how to treat women.
Both of my fathers treated their wives with respect. Mom and Grandma knew they would be listened to and obeyed, as it is in most normal homes. From that example, I took with me that women should be treated with respect by the men in their lives. I wish someone would tell the majority of men out there about that. Real men teach respect and keep their emotions under control. Not the other way around.
Fathers are where it's at, in my mind. If I had to choose (God forbid) between having a mother or having a father, having a dad would be it. There's no doubt in my mind that my confidence level as an adult is directly related to all the male support I had while growing up. Someone should tell a few feminists that. I bet they had weak dads.
Joanne M. Stephenson publishes the KIN International Peace Page, a web site dedicated to the Peace Revolution. Her motto is: We Pray for Peace, We Stand for Action.
| Home | Boutique | Directory | Links | Definitions | Backlash Books |
The Backlash! is a feature of New Chivalry Press
Copyright © 1993 - 1998 by New Chivalry Press
Email to the Editor -- If you don't want it published in the "Email to the Editor" column, say so. Otherwise, it may be published.