Father’s Day 2007
This was a pretty symbolic year, as far as Father’s Days go… Last week we made an unscheduled trip back to Maine. My wife’s Dad is in hospice, and seriously ill. Now, my wife and her father have been pretty much estranged for most of her life, so I was surprised when she told me that she needed to go. Off we went to Maine – we haven’t been “home” for nine years. Karole got to visit her Dad a lot, and she’s glad that she went. They didn’t talk much, but I think during these visits, what wasn’t said was as important as what was. My hunch is they are both for the better now.
Add to that, I got to visit with my family too, who traveled down from New Brunswick for a couple of days. I haven’t seen Dad for about 5 years, and I haven’t seen Gramp for 9. Of course, it was great to visit my Mom and Grandmother, as well as my brother and his family. It was especially neat to see dad and Gramp, though, the week before Father’s Day.
Being lazy today, here is an excerpt from a column I wrote, a couple of years ago:
My passion for hunting and fishing is a direct result of excursions with my Dad and Grandfather, when I was young. Granted, Gramp was never a hunter, but an avid fisherman. Dad enjoyed fishing also, and I think it was fair to say that he did hunt, although I can’t remember him enjoying it as much as he did fishing. It’s funny, the things that stay trapped in your memory banks. When I recall fishing trips with my Dad and Grandfather, I always seem to remember the same “scenes”. I remember fishing along the Clearwater Stream. In those memories are the smell of Gramp’s menthol cigarettes, and Dad’s cigars. Somehow, I always enjoyed the smell of their smoke, mixed with the fresh air. I don’t think that one is allowed to fondly remember tobacco smoke, these days… I remember the Shiktehawk Stream, nestled between the watershed of the mighty St. John River, and that of the Miramichi River. I remember being old enough to wade by myself, and how absolutely frigid the water was. I remember Gramp and Dad being ahead of me, around a bend, and being terrified because I was “by myself”. I remember Gramp and Dad teaching me how to flyfish, when I got older. A skill that, although a little rusty these days – I never lost. I recall a “big” trip, where we went to Mount Carleton – the highest in New Brunswick, and fished Nictau Lake. On that trip, I drank black coffee from a thermos, ate corned beef sandwiches with hot mustard, and fished from a boat extensively – a first for me. We even visited the Ranger’s cabin at night, which was close to our campsite. Some of these sights, smells, and sounds are still with me like they just happened yesterday. I want to thank my Dad and Gramp for what they gave me – memories, their time, and camaraderie. All of which helped lay the foundation for the day when I would have a child. My memories of time with them help remind me to make time for my daughter – so that she can have memories someday too. Memories of her first fish, seeing her first bear or moose, or memories of the first time she wasn’t scared of being in the woods. Happy Father’s Day, not just to all fathers and Grandfathers, but especially to my Dad and Grandfather also. I hope that all of our memories haven’t yet been made, and there’s still a few trout and corned beef sandwiches out there, with our names on them.. If you are a Dad or Granddad, make some time for your kids. It will affect them for the rest of their lives.
