In 1969, we moved to Halifax, just across the harbour from Dartmouth. We didn't have to do a thing. His men did it all for us. Another house, another school for me. We didn't stay there for long though, the Navy transferred my dad to Ottawa, Ontario. We had a nice town-house there. My dad was stationed at the Forces base near Parliament Hill. I can remember seeing him carried from his bed to a car in the mornings, by his men, just so he could go to work. Some days he was strong, some days not.
One time my dad took me swimming, and being the show-off we all know I can be, I decided to show him how I could jump off the diving board. I panicked when I couldn't touch the bottom, so I started to take in some water. My 90 pound father took off his jacket and dove in after me. After he got me out, a pool worker had to pull my dad out. So here we are, a scared 10 year old, and a soaking wet, fully clothed, hunched over man, driving home, and all he can say to me is, "You owe me a pack of cigarettes." He also told me not to tell my mom. Everybody knew my dad was really sick, yet he didn't want my mom to worry about something like that. That night my dad was in a lot of pain. The incision he had from his pubic bone to his sternum had ripped open a bit. He never did say anything about having to jump in after me.
Christie Public School was great. I had a lot of friends there. I also had a lot of girlfriends too. Laura Benedict was a beauty at 10 years old. So was Lorraine Foster, Wendy Brown, Karen Pettigrew. My dad used to tease me about having, 'girly friends'. I was always lucky with girls. It seems my greatest gift would turn out to be my biggest fault.
No comments:
Post a Comment