Memories of my Father Part 2

Today is July 16, 2016, six years ago I had my first date with a great lady. Six years later we are stronger and more in love with each other.

My father once told me to take risks, because life is about choices and risks.

I did take a risk and asked Shelley out. As most first dates go you share stories about family, career, hobbies, interests etc, etc. After I dropped Shelley off at home I evaluated the date and decided I would take that risk again and several days later made arrangements for date two.

I had the pleasure and honour of writing my father's obituary. About 1:00 in the morning July 16, 2005 I sat down with pen and paper in one hand and a glass of single malt in the other. My dad loved his scotch. He had a strong partner, my brothers had strong personalities. I had a strong relationship with my father and his obit would be my legacy to him.

My father was a humble man of many achievements, first and foremost he was a survivor. His birth mother died when he was 4 and he went to live in Prague with his grandparents. The time was 1938, a turbulent time indeed. Hitler's army was marching towards Prague.

With the help of many people including the British Red Cross, my father at the age of 9 was granted safe passage to England so he could have a better life.

This experience defined him. He was complicated, complex, distant, aloof, brilliant. His formative years were spent in rural England. He excelled in sports soccer, cricket and bridge and was an exceptional student.

He attended Oxford and the London School of Economics for his doctorate. It was no surprise that his field of expertise was European history considering he lived it. He read, wrote and spoke German which led to his first job translating captured German war documents.

My father was destined to be an academic. When you are just starting out you go wherever you get a job which meant England where my brothers arrived, to Australia where I appeared on the scene, back to England, to the United States and finally Canada. Winnipeg to be exact.

My relationship with my father can be defined in three parts. From early years to age 15, he was my hero, I worshipped and idolized him. He supported me when I played soccer and speed skated, spending many a cold night timing me at the outdoor oval.

From age 15 to early 20's, I resented my father was angry, confused and blamed him for my parents separation. Months would go by without me seeing him and even our phone conversations were frigid and only discussed surfaced material and pleasantaries. He was making every effort to gain my approval of him. I was not receptive.

In university the healing started. I took an interest in history and we found common ground. We would talk history which led to current events, sports and monthly lunches together. I was maturing and my father was becoming a regular fixture in my life.

When he and his partner would travel, I would stay at their house. Apart from over watering plants it was the best of both worlds. I had my space because I was still at home with my mother.

As I said earlier my father encouraged me to take risks. I took a huge risk by forgiving him and recreating a relationship with my father that continued to blossom until the day he died and even beyond his death.