My Favorite Memories of Dad--Part III

When we were kids, we used to spend 2-3 weeks in Southampton at a cottage we rented. Dad spent the night before leaving packing the car to the t*ts (pardon my French.) He was a packing genius, completely spatially adept able to cram thousands of pounds of stuff into all spaces left unoccupied by passengers.

Somehow, mid-car ride (the majority of which was spent listening to AM 900 CHML Toronto Blue Jays baseball), we'd stop and pick up a tiny rental TV and VHS player and one of us would sit with it on our laps. Dad used the TV to expose his girls to "good movies" like Mash or Cannonball Run, and the original Around the World in 80 Days. He'd wear track suits and get the fireplace going and sit watching with us toasting marshmallows, showing us that the perfect golden 'mallow came with a combination of patience and rotation.

I vividly remember BBQ-ing with him in the sandy yard. We'd come up early from the beach because "the men" (me being a dude until the age of 13 made me an honorary part of this twosome...) had to heat the charcoal. Dad spent hours trying to lite the damn thing, for which I'm surprised there haven't been serious chemical repercussions (*shifty eyes*). He was always proud of his q-ing skills, and never let the grill defeat him. The smell of a charcoal is still one of my favorite summer scents.

It was also Dad's idea to teach us euchre. His patience was unending, as 9 and 13 year-olds are not the best strategists. I remember the year he taught Beef Rummy 500 and I was so jealous I made mom promise to play 500 games of Crazy 8s. Whether or not he wanted to, he always agreed to play games with us, and that continued to today always humoring me with Phase 10 and Yatzee.

He taught us to windsurf at the cottage, and took us sailing in the neighbor's tiny Laser boat. He taught us badminton and bought kites to fly on the beach. He explained the tides of Lake Huron, and used the flags that lead down the main street to teach us the Provinces, Territories, and capital cities.

He'd walk with us down the boardwalk and buy his daughters french fries. He'd walk us the other way down the boardwalk to buy his daughters ice cream.

And every summer we'd have a day to ourselves. Mom and Beef did girly things, like lunch and shopping, and dad and I went golfing (and he'd let me drive the cart.) We'd pack lunches and he'd have beer and I'd have root beer. In the afternoon we went to the pond and in our rubber boots we'd walk through the marsh and he'd point out the ducks and their eggs, the water spiders, and the tadpoles.

In the evenings we'd watch the sunsets from the boardwalk. After thunderstorms he'd get us up early to see the holes in the sand where the lightning hit. If we couldn't sleep he'd sit on the side of the bed and build you a nest of pillows and blankets and talk you to sleep from the toes up. He was always the first one up, on the deck with is coffee and crossword. And he was usually the last one to bed, with his scotch and sh*tty mystery paperback (broken spine and all...)

He's so vivid in these memories, you'd swear I could reach out and touch him.