My Father, My Frith
Hey Daddy, I thought of you…
This week, as I sat quietly on the beach at Wheatley, listening to the lake and the birds, I found myself acutely missing my dad. He’d have loved that beach. He would have spent hours upon hours walking back and forth collecting bits of driftwood to make his “famous” holiday table centrepieces. Any waterfront was his happy place but he’d have loved the beauty of Wheatley’s beach. Hey Daddy:
“I Thought of You
I thought of you and how you love this beauty,
And walking up the long beach all alone
I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder
As you and I once heard their monotone
Around me were the echoing dunes, beyond me
The cold and sparkling silver of the sea—
We two will pass through death and ages lengthen
Before you hear that sound again with me.”*
Just in case there is still a reader left who does not know, I am an only child and a Daddy’s girl, and now my closest friends are all giving me a gigantic eye-roll for that gross understatement. Rather than being embarrassed or ashamed of that “revelation”, I am very proud of my deep and affectionate bond with my dear dad. Don’t get me wrong - it wasn’t always clear sailing! There were lots of ripples in our shared water, even a tsunami or two. But beyond the turmoil, there was the greatest love and friendship between us.
It is so hard to believe that, come October, he will have been gone 40 years already. In my first birthday card after we lost my dad, my Auntie Pam wrote, Pamie, there was nothing your Dad loved more than being your daddy, and when Mum read it, she said it was very true. That’s a tidbit I cling to, especially on dad days, when I most miss his happy presence in my life.
For those of you who never had the honour and pleasure of knowing my Dad:
- His name was George Kilpatrick, but everyone called him “Chub” and my cousins called him “Uncle Chub” - it was affectionate, promise!
- He cheered very enthusiastically for his local teams - the Leafs, the Argos and the Jays - even when they were on colossal losing streaks which was most often in those days. Loyal to the bitter end, was Dad.
- Food, foremost! Feed everyone who comes into our home - all the time. Food is welcoming, inclusive, security and comfort. Dad felt it was impossible to overstate the importance and value of gathering around the table, understanding that those gatherings were about togetherness and communion, not about the food. My dad, an über-talented pâtissier, knew all about the power of sharing food, mostly in a comfortable, casual setting (usually crammed around the table in our tiny kitchen).
- Dad’s best and enduring advice to me was “Put your best foot forward.” To dad, my grades, my successes, and my failures were never important. What counted in his book was effort. If I’d tried my very best, regardless the outcome, he was proud as punch! No exceptions.
- Dad believed that every problem can be solved over a cuppa. When there's a dilemma, first plug in the kettle.
- Dad was a helper and always encouraged me to be quick to lend a hand. He wanted me to pay attention to my family, friends and neighbours and if if I noticed a need, jump in. Right quick! In this regard, he led by tremendous example.
- Dad was a loyal friend. He encouraged me to nurture genuine, enduring friendships where there is no purpose but sharing, caring and togetherness.
- He didn’t hold grudges, was quick to apologise if he was in the wrong and quick to forgive whenever someone wronged him.
- Dad loved gardening and his indisputable forte was roses. He built and expanded his rose garden to 350+ bushes - all different. In full bloom, it was a spectacular display. Part of the rose garden was beneath my bedroom window and ohmigosh, did the blossoms ever make my room smell beautiful!
- Nowhere was Dad happier than on or beside the water. He shunned motorised boats, preferring the quietude of self-propelled. He loved rowing.
- Dad was a profoundly religious man. His faith carried and sustained him through WWII. From his spirituality he drew solace in the bad times and expressed gratitude for the good times. He wanted me to foster my own faith and spirituality, no matter what that was, knowing it would nourish my soul.
Hey, Daddy, I’m thinking of you…
On this Father’s Day, to my dad, my first hero, you made me feel cared for, content, secure, happy and very well-loved. I love you and miss you always. Happy Fathers’ Day!
’Til next time, y’all…
Gallery
The little house on Joy Drive.
Dad surveying his roses.
Dad's happy place.
Rowing on Lake Simcoe.
Daddy and me in the garden at Joy Drive.
Fess up, you're jealous of this spiffy outfit aren't you?
Merchant seaman.
Best baker in the navy!
Dad in the garden at Joy Drive with a cuppa.
In the fine weather, early on Saturday and Sunday mornings, Dad would always start his day with tea in the garden.
*Sara Teasdale, “I Thought of You”, page 83, from her anthology Flame and Shadow.
Frith (Gaelic) means peace, sanctuary.