Every kid I grew up with wanted to be just like his or her heroes. My hero has been and always will be … my dad. My Old Man. You’re damned right I wanted to be just like him.
As a high school graduate, he joined the Royal Canadian Air Force in the late-1940s. With his grades and his vocational technical studies, he should have been commissioned as an officer. However, his recruiter — who wasn’t as good at his job as he should have been — made it sound like he’d have to pay his way through Royal Military College (RMC) and still owe the RCAF five years of his time after all that! Besides, at the time, there was just no way he could put himself through RMC.
Instead, Dad enlisted as an airman, later becoming a trade specialist in integral electrical/integral systems or what is now known as avionics. Despite his existing qualifications and knowledge of electronics and mechanics, the Air Force taught him about instrumentation from the ground up, how to determine what broke and why, and how to fix it. He was proud of his work because he knew the lives of fighter pilots and bomber crews depended upon his skills as a technician.
Later in his career, he worked on classified projects that would advance the Canadian Air Force and its aircraft instrument development and computer capabilities to a degree that were envied by the likes of NASA.
Promotions did not come fast despite his skill, hard work and diligence, but he persevered. He spent many years as an airman, leading air-craftsman and then a corporal. Finally, after more than 20 years in the service, he was promoted to sergeant and relatively quickly obtained the senior non-commissioned rank of warrant officer.
When my brothers and I were young, he became a cub master and then scout master because nobody else stepped up; knowing full well his sons would take heat for just being his sons. To counteract that, he told us we were going to have to work harder at getting anything. He didn’t want anyone accusing him of favouring his boys.
Let me tell you, he worked our arses off for our proficiency badges and promotions until he was satisfied we knew what we were doing, and the other kids saw it and for the most part, respected what he was doing.
My dad rarely raised his voice (a trait I wished I’d inherited earlier in life), but you could tell by the expression on his face and look in his eyes, if you crossed him, he was not someone you wanted to mess with. I’ve watched bigger men than him, who could have easily beat him to a pulp (although he probably would have given as good as he got or better) weigh their options and walk away when confronted by him. He taught us respect: for parents, elders, the military, the uniform and our country.
He also taught us to fight back-to-back when confronted by bullies. If we didn’t stand up for each other, we’d know about it when we got home. It seemed like he knew everything and I mean, everything! The good. The bad. The ugly.
When I was in trouble, he’d come and pick me up in that 1956 Chev station wagon and give me the silent treatment to let me get my thoughts together on the ride home. Later, he’d call me out to the backyard or we’d go for a walk and a “discussion”. The discussion was never threatening or intimidating and would usually conclude with me confessing to whatever I’d done or in some cases, not done.
Although he might have been angry, he would quietly (which usually scared the hell our of me) ask what I figured I could have done instead. Or worse yet, he’d ask what I thought his next move should be.
He worked part-time at various jobs in order to supplement his income. An airman’s pay wasn’t much when we were kids and Mum didn’t go to “work”. My mum’s full-time job was looking after five kids while doing sewing jobs for her neighbours to bring in a bit of “mad money”.
We moved a lot! In fact, transfers from one base to another came anywhere between every two to five years. Sometimes, we had to live outside the base in the nearest town (on the economy, they called it) until housing became available on the base. It seemed we were always the new kids on the block or at school. Generally speaking, we were.
Not having long-term friends could be very frustrating and lonely. I remember one time when I lamented about it, my dad told me I would always meet plenty of acquaintances, but I would have very few friends. However, those friends, no matter where I lived, how long it had been between visits or conversations, would be there when the time came. Turns out he was right about that too!
My sad survived some very trying times. Somewhat sickly when he was younger, he seemed to be a magnet for nearly every damned childhood disease in existence. As a child, a young man and during his military career, it seems he had a knack for trying to get himself killed in numerous entertaining and varied ways.
He suffered long periods of being away from his family. In fact, he was married exactly 24 hours before having to ship out, due to the Korean War. He had to leave his newly minted bride by herself without any nearby family or friends in a strange town for six months. Not many marriages could handle the stress of leaving your family for weeks and sometimes months at a time while you are assigned temporary duty to another base somewhere on the other side of the country or the world.
Not that Mum and Dad were perfect or anything like that. They had their moments and they had some pretty heated discussions, with the heat usually coming from my mum. They also showed us what affection was all about and gave us an insight as to what love truly is.
My dad has always had a calming effect on people especially when in the middle of an emergency, a life and death situation or when they were excited, upset or hysterical about something taking place. He once said, “It’s hard to remember that when you’re up to your ass in alligators, the main objective was to drain the swamp.” I use it all the time as well.
As my dad gets deeper into the last chapter of his life (he turned 89 last October), it’s sometimes difficult to understand that my dad, my Old Man, my hero, will soon leave this earth. We’ve both had to say goodbye to a lot of important people in our lives. We’ve both had to say goodbye to family members.
Because of that, my dad taught me that real men do cry. He taught me that real men are allowed to feel scared or afraid of what lies ahead or is unknown to them because that’s part of being human. He also taught me that how you deal with those situations defines whether or not you are a real man.
He taught me that real men never hit women. He taught me that enjoying what you have in your grasp is usually far more important than what the other guy has. He taught me that being in the moment and enjoying the simple fact that you are alive is better than continuously looking for something better.
He taught me that being happy with who you are, despite every flaw you own, is the first step to truly being happy and is more important than what you think you should be. He taught me that being by yourself and enjoying your own company is nothing like being alone.
He taught me that despite the various organised religions throughout the world, the easiest way to be near your God, whoever or whatever you worship, is to walk with your entity in nature. He taught me that sticking to strict protocols of etiquette and honour didn’t mean you couldn’t have fun while doing so.
Yes, my hero always has been and always will be my dad. My Old Man. As I’ve always said, if I live to be half the man my dad is, I’ll die happy.
Over the years, my dad has touched the hearts and minds of many people. When the time comes, they will all collectively feel a major loss in their lives. I know a void in my heart as large as the universe will be torn open, but he will always remain… My dad. My Old Man. My hero.