My father was ever one to sacrifice for his family.He drove eighty miles each way to work so,as he once told me,we would not have to go to school in rural northeastern New Brunswick,where some of the worst funded schools in the entire country were located.In Moncton we would have a lot of conveniences not available to us if we had lived closer to where my father worked.All very true,and so he drove,eighty miles to work and eighty miles home,day after day,year after year.It took a toll,for he often seemed tired,not just as a hard working person might,but as someone more weary than normal more of the time.I've no doubt that it weakened him and ultimately shortened his life.And it's difficult not to admire the sacrifice,for it truly was a good one in terms of what our quality of life was.
A few years ago I found out something about my fathers sacrifice that I did not know.And this is where the enigma rears it's head.I'd met Steven Wright here in Calgary more than a decade ago now and of course we fell into talking about people in New Brunswick,including my father.Steven is related to people on my mothers side of the family.During this conversation,he related to me that my father could have had a transfer to a military installation in Moncton,just a ten minute drive away.The only stipulation was that he would have to learn to speak French,at the governments time and expense.He refused,for whatever reason.I,of course was not aware of this at the time.At the time relations between English and French in Moncton were not always the best.But I truly did not believe that my father would have been motivated by hatred to the point of not wanting the opportunity to improve himself.This seems now to be especially inane in view of the fact that he traveled all the way to Chilliwack,British Columbia,in the fall of 1968,for upgrading that his employer also required.And so,the sacrifice continued,eighty miles,twice a day.But I really don't understand the nature of sacrifice,I think.How necessary was it?I can accept it as being one of those difficult choices that adults sometimes have to make.
It's so difficult to fully describe my father and to say nothing of his health,and the effect it must have had upon him.I can never recall him being in really good health for a long period of time.When I was young he had the bigger part of his stomach removed because of ulcers,and I had no idea how serious such an operation was in those days,or of how it must have worried my mother.He had a gall bladder removed when I was a bit older too.
Of course,in his later years he was ravaged by strokes,one after another,until he was dependent on others for his care.All of this had a great effect on how I viewed my father,and on how our relationship went during most of my adult life.But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Physical health was one thing,but I believe my father had some mental health issues he struggled with as well.Still he went on providing for us,and,I believe,sheltering us from the state of his health.Another sacrifice.Aside from the view of having very little power within himself,there was at least on incident I recall that would cause me some concern,if I had only knew then what I know now.Our street was in a residential area and was posted as a no truck route.Still the trucks took a short cut through and this made my father angry.So angry in fact that he backed his car out on the street on morning and blocked a truck from going past.During the incident,the truck drove into the side of his car,and the police were called.As the years passed,my father spent a lot of time at home sleeping.Far more time than normal.He spent a lot of time away at the summer cottage too.I never though much about any of this at the time,but in looking back it seems my father had a lot of occupations that might have been though of as a means of avoiding...something.I wonder now what that something could have been
Sometime after returning from British Columbia my father took a second job selling cars.I should mention that he always regarded British Columbia very fondly,and at times talked of transferring there.It seemed to me that the time right after he got back was a very happy time for him and he was very enthusiastic about life in general.Never have I seen him look more happy and natural as he did in a photo of himself with a couple of fish he caught in the Vedder River during that trip.So,it was likely that vigor that motivated him to take his second job.He worked at it for a few years,maybe ten or so,then quit,but his boss always remained a friend.
It was my fathers second job that caused a number of people to come into our life,and our home,and to bring about another part of his enigmatic nature.He seemed to like mentoring young men.He sold a number of these men their first cars,and at least two of them became friends of the family.Dana Weaver and Lawrence Wilbur,then later,Lawrence's brother Phillip.My father was best man at Dana Weavers wedding,and during the mid to late 1970's he and the Wilbur boys became good friends.They were often out doing things together.And this troubled me somewhat.Not that I could articulate that at the time.I suppose there was a bit of jealously to it if I were to be perfectly honest.But there were times when I guess I needed my father to be there and he was not,and so I never got the benefit of his point of view on some problem I was having.
I think the truth of the relationship that my father had with the Wilbur boys was that he found friends that he could hang out with,and perhaps share a beer with.When I think of it now,there were many people that my father knew,but I don't believe he had a friend roughly his own age with whom he could relate to on a purely friendly,man to man way.I think that is what the Wilbur boys became,at least for a while-neither sons,nor father and not exactly peers either.
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