“My Dad”, a Tribute by Guiliana Sinclair

My Dad

     As children we aren’t supposed to lose our fathers so early in life. He’s supposed to be there forever, to teach us how to drive standard, see us graduate, walk us down the aisle, and watch our children grow up. Father’s are invincible, a security blanket, voice of reason, and a balance of mother’s hormones. So what do we do when this prefect life does not go according to plan? We freeze. We question our faith. We lose sight of ourselves. Memories of my dad are happy, so happy in fact that they make me sad. When I think about it, I have so many memories, and even the little things that when I think back, have affected me so greatly.

     My dad was diagnosed with colon cancer when I was 14 and Patrick was just 11. We had been living a perfect life. Our dad taught us to ski as soon as we could walk. He pulled us around in red plastic skis in the backyard with his ski poles. He’s ski poles became so bent from pulling us around on the ski hill and he always hesitated buying a new pair because he knew they would be bent in a matter of days. I remember throwing a temper tantrum when he told me, at the age of eight, that I was too big to be pulled around anymore.  He purposely enrolled me into a ski program a year ahead. We went on the chairlifts, but because I was too small he’d follow my ski class around and lift me onto the chair every single time. Skiing was our thing. Every year, a ski vacation was not negotiable. While my friends were all flying to a tropical destination every March break, my dad was carrying 4 ski bags and numerous boot bags through the airport. We complained… a lot. But at the end of the day, we loved the sport. There is no other feeling standing at the bottom of a hill full of moguls, drenched in sweat and not being able to feel your legs. We would have never done it if our dad hadn’t told us we were good enough. We loved spending time with our dad, watching him ski with his trademark “hop jump turn”, and then waiting for him at the bottom of the hill. He always ended up in the glades. Always. We’d look for his yellow coat, and could never find it, so we’d question if we really did go down the correct run, or if we were too slow and he was already up on the chairlift. But ten minutes later he’d appear out of the trees and beat us on the chairlift. What’s funny is that he is terrified of heights. Yet he went on chairlifts hundreds of feet off the ground, and up mountains that were the highest peaks for kilometres. He tackled his fears, literally head on. Nothing was going to stop him especially when it came to skiing. He would ski for hours, be the first out on the hill and the last to leave it. I`ve never met someone who legitimately loved the sport more than my dad.

     Another huge quality of my father was his lack of materialism. To him the difference between a BMW and a Volkswagen was the name and the inflated price. If the car worked it was driven, and only after a good 10 year life was it `recycled`. Dad drove cars second hand. After my mom had driven them. I remember when he was driving this old Ford Escort. I had just started school at De La Salle, and my dad would pick me up from school some days. At this point in time the car was over 7 years old, and for some reason the back doors wouldn’t open. So I had two options:  I could either go in through the window, or climb in to the back through the front seat. This was pretty embarrassing, especially since the other parents had cars with working doors, and because I was wearing a kilt. But to my dad it was just a car, nothing too important, it worked and served a purpose. He never cared what other people thought. For Christmas and birthdays dad would rarely get you something on your list. You’d be lucky if you did. He could never understand the need for a 500 dollar purse, “what makes it so much better?”, he’d always say.  Dad was always into the gifts that he would call “kinda neat`. This Christmas we got a ride in a helicopter for one of our gifts. It was amazing, but again, not even on our list. We went up right before school started this year, and I’m really happy we did. Experiences and memories were worth so much, more to him than material gifts. Last summer he spent hours watching seasons of Sex and the City with me. It was kinda awkward, but he did seem to saunter away or call someone during one of the “disturbing parts”.  He`d drive me and pick me up from the mall just to spend time with me.  He’d take us out for dinner and not eat the food but still pay for our meals. We had some of our best family conversations out for dinners. Patrick could always make my dad laugh on any day. It’s the memories gained from these experiences that count the most.

    This past summer I was fortunate enough to work at Wescam in Burlington, where my dad worked. For the majority of the summer my dad would drive me to and from work every day so we had an opportunity to talk alot. And believe it or not, most of our conversations were about work. When I was little, I really did think my dad was a workaholic. And maybe he was, but talking to him about work didn’t seem like he thought he job was work. To him, it was learning about people, how people interacted, solving problems, listening, and observing. Work was a passion.  This summer I worked in procurement with a group of individuals who were very vocal with their use of language. I once brought this issue up with my dad and he chuckled a bit but then said `but they are trying to change`, and that was it. He never judged, he was the least judgmental person I knew. He hated yelling and arguing, he never swore and he worked to calmly resolve problems. He taught me not to be quick to blame others, and that listening was the most important part of business. He looked up to his boss, who he said was the best listener he ever knew. Being his daughter, in the past I would have ignored some of his advice from our discussions. But working at Wescam, and seeing these theories in action, really pushed me to live them. I really think that my dad wanted the world to calm down a little, stop honking and swearing in traffic, stop yelling for no reason, start listening and responding more, and start moving away from their comfort zone. Life’s too short to live by a routine, and complain more than praise.  My dad wanted us to be thankful, and work with what we have, and try our best, maybe not be best, but at least work to our potential. I didn’t do too well at my ski races or my gymnastics competitions, but I felt a ton better when my dad told me that he was proud of me, regards of how well I placed, because he said that he could have never done what I did.  He’d be the first person I’d call when I got a test or assignment back, because I knew he’d be genuinely happy and proud of me, and wouldn’t half listen to what I had to say.

   The last thing I want to say is that while many of you might have been exposed to the engineer or quiet and serious side of my dad, there was really another side of him. He coached multiple soccer teams year after year, he made a backyard rink for Patrick and his friends, he read us the Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings books, he made up songs with our names in them. He used to sing that “fee, fi, foo, fum`song as he was walking up the stairs to tuck us into bed. I remember screaming because I i really thought he’d eat me.  He’d call us master and mistress and sometimes refer to himself as the downstairs maid. He’d push us around on the merry go round in Southampton so fast i couldn’t walk afterwards, he went on adventures and hikes with us down the ravine,  he’d take shortcuts through the back alleys and side streets to save 30 seconds when driving somewhere, he’d wrap Patrick into a cocoon before he went to bed for a good few months straight, he’d play tennis with us when no one else would, he’d teach us calculus and physics even when we’d yell and scream and get mad at him, he’d make three different dinners a night because we were such picky eaters, and he’d always remember our favourite kind of yogurt, or chips and get them every single time he went to the store, until we were so sick of eating them. He was always going somewhere, talking to someone, working or running. But he always had time for us.

   When you’re growing up you kind of see your parents as your friends see their parents; guardians, people who finance their lives, give you advice that you don’t take seriously, and make crazy rules that you’re determined to break. I’ve always been a closed person, stubborn, and not someone who would tell their parents every detail of their lives. To me, my mom and dad were these such people, their advice could never be trusted without discussion with my friends, and persuasion from the popular teenage decision. But then somewhere along the line, probably as I finished up my first year of university, my opinions on these matters began to change. It was my dad I turned to. He was the most efficient and thoughtful person I’ve met. He always thought about others problems before his own. His decisions were fair, never one sided, and always listened and acted on my concerns or problems, never ignoring them. After awhile, I looked to my dad as not just the traditional “guardian” figure, but as a role model. Before I’d make a major decision or when I was put in a situation with my friends, I’d always think “What would dad do? What would dad say?” It only took my 18 years to figure this out.

My dad had cancer for just around 6 years. He had some great results and some not great results. He was always honest with us, regardless of the news. One day this past summer, when we were driving home from work and stuck in traffic again he started talking about life after death. My dad had been meditating and taking courses on healing and spirituality for awhile and I had really noticed his change in attitude. I’m not really comfortable with talking about life after death because it honestly really scares me. So I started crying, and of course since we’re talking in the car i can’t really escape. But he told me that it was okay to cry; crying just shows you care, not that you’re weak. He said that he’d believed that you enter the divine, where you have no worries or pain. But I said that I’d miss him, there really is no one else I have ever met like him. But he said `Giuls, it’s just my body that’s leaving, my spirit is still here, it will always be with you`. We really do question faith when things like this happen, to such an amazing person. We get mad, and frustrated, and we think why it wasn’t someone else. But the more I think of it, the more I realize that I’m only 20, Patrick’s only 17 and all of you are still pretty young. My dad has such an impact on so many people; he lived an extraordinary and motivating life. We all now have time to adapt some of the qualities that he showed and lived our lives with the courage, compassion and spirit that he had. He knew that this disease was powerful, but not powerful in a destructive way. It is powerful in an inspirational way. Cancer teaches you that the world does not revolve around just you. The world is much bigger picture.  Because of him, I really do try not to judge people, give them the benefit of the doubt and take the high road. What you own does not and will never define you.  You`re attitude and how you treat others is what matters. So although I’m sad, and one of the most important people in my life is gone, I`d going to keep going. But I’m going to keep living how he’d want me to keep living.  We’re going to be okay, but my dad, he’s going to be much better.

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