And Now ...

Mother's Day. With Dad.

I know, Ms J. But I'm too doggone busy to get these posts done on time. Mother's Day is long gone, I know. But I said yesterday I'd tell you about Sunday. So I shall.

My sister phoned me last week.

"Are you going up to Mt. Forest for Mother's Day?"

I told her yes, I had planned to.

"Nobody else is going," she said. "Mum's not going to be there."

I was shocked, Ms J. Mother's Day and no Mother?

"What the hell, Goon?" I asked. (Her name's June, but I sometimes call her Goon -- I have since we were kids.) "Where's Mum gonna be?"

"I don't know," said June. "I think she's going on a bus tour into Quebec or something."

I told her I was planning to go with my brother, Pat. We were going to ride in his new car.

"You should go anyway," my sister said. "You and Pat can help Dad with some chores around the house. Anyway, it might be fun with just the men."

So we went, Pat and I. I slept at his house in Georgetown on Saturday night and we rose early and drove to Mt. Forest and had breakfast with Dad on Sunday. Pat loves his new Mustang. He was keen to show it to Dad. Surprise him, like.

It's a 2000 Ford Mustang with a convertible top and a 4.6 litre V8 engine. It'll pass everything but a gas station. Pat let me drive there and back, Ms J. It's a rocket!


Here's Sherri (the dental hygienist) sitting in her dad's new 'Stang.

After breakfast, there was a long discussion about the Mustang. Dad approved of Pat's purchase. Pat was glad to have dad's blessing, and he said so. It's a funny thing you know, Ms J. It doesn't matter how old a man is, he still wants to hear his daddy tell him he "done good". It sure was nice to sit around the table with my dad and my big brother. Dad said he couldn't recall the last time we three were together. It's a distant memory to me too.

"Do you want me to cut your hair, Boy?" Dad asked me. "It wouldn't take long."

Pat spoke next.

"Yeah, he hasn't got much to cut, has he?"

My brother has a terrific sense of humour, Ms J. (Hardy har har.)

After the haircut, Pat used a shop vac to clean up the hair. He vacuumed me too! Then Dad took us outside and showed us his vegetable garden.

"I've got pataytas planted," he said pointing to a spot in the dirt. "There's carrots over there, and here I've got beets. Nothin' comin' up yet, though. C'mon down to the berry patch and I'll show you where the goddamn mice et up my razbries. Took the bark right off, the little bastards. Dale and I put up chicken wire last fall to keep the rabbits out, but the mice got through it."

Dad knelt down and we followed him, one on either side.

"See that?" he said and he pointed to the raspberry canes about a foot above the ground. "Mice. Sons-o'-bitches, eh? I hope it don't kill the damn berry bushes."

"Musta been rabbits, Dad," I said. "How could a mouse reach up that high?"

"Shit, we had snow up higher than that rail fence there. A mouse would just have to stand on the snow to eat all the bark he wanted. We had a hard winter up here. Lots of snow."

My dad smiled then, a little smile. You'd miss it if you weren't watching him. And he softened.

"Poor little buggers. I guess they've got to eat too, don't they?"

My dad's not as gruff as he'd have you believe, Ms J. He's kind. And gentle.

And when I grow up, I want to be just like him.



Here's another look at Pat and me as we hurried home. It's a rocket, I tell ya.
A rocket! (Thanks, Scottie!)

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