As a post-war immigrant to Canada, my dad worked hard. Yet in spite of his long working days, he was also a bookworm and always had a book on the go. As a kid, one of my big thrills was going with him to the German Book Club, located in a rambling 3 story house, overflowing with books. That’s where he’d get his German language novels … many set during the war years … and I became determined to keep up my own German language skills so I could read his books. I became inspired to live in my own book-filled house and to be a writer of historical fiction.
Dad taught me to drive using our sixties-era mint green Mercury. Driving home from the cottage on Sunday nights he’d encourage me to pass the slowpoke RVs, trailers, or farm equipment ahead of us on the single-lane highway just west of Lake Winnipeg. “Check your surroundings, make sure it’s safe, and then pedal to the metal and pass the slowpokes.” I remember having my hands gripped tight around the steering wheel, filled with fear, as Dad urged me on. “You got the power, girl. It’s a V8! Go for it.” That’s how I gained confidence in my driving. Passed the test first time around, too. Thanks Dad. (Music: Mercury Blues Alan Jackson)
Dad’s been gone more than thirty years, and I sure miss him. I miss the fact that my own kids never got a taste of his exuberance and zest for life. What I’d like to tell him? Dad, you were right! There were so many things that I did the hard way. Dad would laugh at me and demonstrate an awkward pose. “Why scratch your ear like that?" he'd quip. "When you can scratch it like this.” I’m a slow learner, Dad, but I’m finally putting the pedal to the metal and changing lanes. Now I can roll down the window and feel the breeze. Thanks, Dad. You were right! I do have the power. (Music: People have the power, Patti Smith)
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