My Dad and Mom (Patricia Vickers), started seeing each other when they were both 17. They met at church. Dad was a popular teenage singer - a "young Johnny Carson" - who with his older brother Bryan sang in people's homes and churches. Typical to those with teenage angst they were on-again-off-again until they were engaged and eventually married at 22. I was born in '79 when mom and dad were both 24. By the time Dad was 31, he had four kids, and had struggled to get work to feed the growing family and finish his education.
I have many good memories of Dad when I was little, and many sad and difficult memories as well. I have the blessing and curse of a vivid memory, and can remember my early days, when I was still in diapers toddling. My Dad never talked much of the darkness in his childhood, but he'd hint at it. I can take a very good guess at what he went through and struggled with based on my experiences with him. My childhood and teenage years with Dad had two very clear, strong strands: the Dad of light who was playful, patient, a good teacher, loving, endlessly compassionate, and kind... and the Dad of darkness who would rage uncontrollably, and who was physically violent. Dad struggled with the latter strand and would ultimately completely overcome it in his life. (click here to view one of the Psalms he'd sing when I was little)
My Dad's story is one of redemption. Many people become twisted by these two opposites, but Dad worked so hard and became purely a good, light-giving person. When I was a child my best memories are from when he'd take me with him and we'd spend time one-on-one. He'd make me feel valued and loved. I remember being two, and he'd bring me with him to the Kitwanga High School, where he'd encourage me to play while he did prep work and marked student papers. I had run of the halls and would zoom around on my ride-on "bus." He'd beam at me ever time I popped into his classroom. One of my favourite years with him is when he was on strike, and he'd take me with him everywhere. I only have good memories of these times, when he'd teach me how to hammer nails, how to pull them out, how to find good copper pipe to salvage, how house wiring works (and he even let me twist on the marrettes), how boats work, and how to build a perfectly balanced model airplane. He was happiest while creating, building, and teaching.
I went through a stretch where I was angry with Dad. We never talked about the violence before he died, but Dad would take every opportunity to tell me how much he loved me, how proud he was of me, and what a good Dad I am. I could feel his heart reaching out to me every time I saw and talked to him. I never told him while he was alive that I forgave him, and he never said he was sorry. Looking back I have nothing but respect and love for my father, who as a young dad had to go through and endure some of the most difficult circumstances. In the last couple years he started to acknowledge and talk more openly about these early years. I was touched when he posted this on Mom's photo of me as a baby on Facebook (click to view).
I had my first child when I was 26. Noah was born in 2006, and Dad came up before Noah was born and immediately after. I faced my own demons in raising my son, and I've made my share of mistakes, like my Dad. Like my Dad, I worked hard to overcome them. Every time Dad was with his grandsons, I saw him love them completely. He was the Dad he wanted to be with them - while I'd lose patience with Noah, he'd delight in letting Noah be himself, and he'd give Noah space and happily engage him in conversation. He'd come to me after and tell me how much he loved being with my boys, and what a good job I was doing as a Dad. He told me early on how important it is to say at least six times more positive and loving things than negative or critical - a lesson I took to heart and try hard to follow at home and at work.
In my mind Dad's short life had three distinct parts - the first 20 years when he was very young, the middle 20 that he dedicated to us kids, and the last 20 where he dedicated his life to being his true self. I can't think of a more generous, kind, hard working, compassionate, loving person. He would chose to see the good in everyone. As us kids left home and started to find our own boyfriends, girlfriends and eventually partners, we could count on Dad to accept them with open arms no matter what. Thank you Dad for being so loving and accepting of everyone.
When we were small and growing up Dad was generous with his hugs and kisses. I am sure all of you who met him experienced his warm embrace. He'd hold me against his body, and it always felt warm and natural. His arms were always big and strong, and the sound of his heartbeat always brought me comfort. In the last few years his embrace grew even stronger, and he'd catch me sitting (so he could be taller than me and reach my head), wrap his arms around me, and say "I love you laddie." He'd kiss me on the head, and put the side of his head on my head, and hold me. He took every opportunity to tell me how proud he was of me, what a good Dad I am, and how lucky I am to have found myself such a great wife. Thank you Dad for affirming me.
In the old days he'd lie on the floor and read us stories almost every night. Sometimes I'd lie on his stomach and listen with my ear to his back, feeling the vibrations through his chest. He always managed to tell the same stories over and over again with the same gusto as the first time. He seemed to have a bottomless well of love and patience, especially when it came to storytelling. He insisted that we stay away from TV and video games, and made up for this with late night seemingly endless story sessions. His favourites to read to us were the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings. His stories would inspire us and we spent countless days playing outside, re-enacting scenes from stories and creating our own epics using our imagination. This combination of story and enforced no-screen playing outside has been a critical piece of my success in life. Thank you Dad.
I look forward to telling many stories about Dad. The absolute best story is the story of his life. It is the best kind - a full circle story of incredible challenges that follows the rise-fall-rise formula and ends in beauty and redemption. It is the best kind because it is unbelievable and it is true. If you have time, I would love to tell it to you. It is the story of my father, and I am his proud, proud son.
-Jacob