If my father were still here with us, he would have turned a
hundred years old this year. He’s been gone since 1986. Although I’d have loved
for him to be around longer, I tend to think he was one of the blessed ones who
took only sixty-seven years to complete his assignment on this earth before
moving on to a much lovelier life.
When my father was born in 1919, women had been allowed to
vote for three years, although they would not be declared “persons” in Canada
until Dad was ten.
World War One had ended the previous fall (although it would
not be called that until World War II), but the subsequent influenza epidemic
still raged on. As a result, the 1919 Stanley Cup series was suspended after
five games.
From mid-May until late June, the Winnipeg General
Strike became the largest strike in Canadian history. More than 30,000 workers
left their jobs. Factories, shops, transit and city services shut down. The
strike resulted in arrests, injuries and the deaths of two protestors.
In books, ranking near the top were Willa Cather’s My Antonia, James Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man,
and The Good Soldier, by Ford Madox
Ford.
Movies hitting the big screen in 1919 included hits called The Miracle Man, Male and Female, and Daddy
Longlegs. The big stars of the day were Charlie Chaplin, Lillian Gish, Mary
Pickford, and Gloria Swanson. Of course, the movies were silent—forcing the
viewer to read intermittent title cards displayed separately from the moving
picture to inform dialogue and key plot points. Theaters provided an organ or
piano player who accompanied the on-screen story, enhancing its drama or
comedy. Of course, I’m sure that by the time Dad got to see a movie, talkies
had been invented since they came out in the late twenties.
As a Manitoba farm boy through the twenties and thirties,
Dad was not acquainted with the luxuries of indoor plumbing and electricity.
While Chrysler and Ford were introducing their latest automobiles to the world,
Dad’s family relied on horses and actual horse power. It’s weird to think he
grew up that way, but lived to see television, the moon landing, and computers.
Dad would be completely blown away if he could see us driving cars that tell us
where to go. He’d marvel at how easily we can stay in constant contact with others
whether they are across town or on the other side of the world. He wouldn’t
believe how simple it is to “ask Alexa” to answer a question or play a specific
song.
With all these changes, one of the things remaining the same
is the value of a good father—or, in the absence of that, a good father figure.
No matter how technologically-advanced this world becomes, every one of us
needs and craves the security, love, and validation that only a good father can
provide. I feel blessed to have had one of the good ones. I’m pretty sure Dad
never attended a parenting seminar or listened to a podcast in his life. He
never heard a TED talk or read How to Talk so Kids will Listen and Listen so
Kids will Talk.
But I saw my dad embrace my mother. I watched him cry. I tasted
his home-cooking. I listened to him sing his made-up songs about me as we drove
down the gravel road in his old Fargo pickup. I saw him reading his Bible. Best
of all, I heard him pray for me each night when he tucked me into bed.
You could say Dad was ahead of his time. Maybe even ahead by
a century.
Happy Father’s Day!
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