The Story My Father Couldn't Tell

My father used to talk fondly about writing a novel.  Often after retelling a portion of his past to me, he'd remove his glasses and rub his eyes as if recalling those memories was somehow exerting. "They say everyone's got one great novel in them. I really should get around to writing my memoirs." It was clearly on his bucket list, something he wanted to do before leaving this world. He never got around to it.

World War Two has ended and a steam liner bringing Scottish and English immigrants arrives in Canada. My father and both his parents are aboard the ship. He's only eighteen years old. It was the first time he was ever on a ship. They came looking for new opportunities. Only my father would be able to find work. My grandparents returned to Scotland.

My father, old and grey, stands in a shower. My mother tells him he needs to use the soap. He touches the soap with two fingers and then washes himself with only those two fingers. A deep resounding sadness washes over her. The problem feels enormous.

My father moves across the country to beautiful British Columbia. He finds himself in the lumber trade. It is a mostly immigrant workforce. His job is to ensure the trucks are loaded up with lumber and move out smoothly. While my dad is in charge, the trucks move like clockwork. There are never any problems.

I sit at the table with my family: my wife, my father and my mother. Dad is unusually quiet tonight. Mother fills the gaps in the conversation, effortlessly drawing any attention away from him. It makes it easy to overlook his pensive stillness. "A penny for your thoughts?" I ask. All attention for a brief moment is focused on my father.

My dad laughs. "Oh, I'm just miles away," he says disarmingly and we go back to eating our dinner.

My father moves to Montreal. He starts taking night courses at university while working as an assistant for an accountant. He meets and marries a fellow immigrant from Scotland. They were both lonely and homesick. The marriage is annulled a year later in what is an amicable split. It turned out they had no connection other than shared memories of their homeland.

It's nearly midnight when the phone rings. My mother is in tears. He's hit her. It's unthinkable. I say, maybe it's time. Her response is no, it's not time yet.

My dad completed his first degree and started working on his second. He's a much older student with all white hair. He sees and is instantly attracted to a much younger woman. She thinks he's handsome but too old for her. This is how my parents met for the first time. It would be years later at a dance that they'd reconnect and start a relationship. My mother no longer finds the thirteen year age gap as daunting. They eventually marry.

We are sitting at a restaurant again. My dad's quietness is now expected. He no longer participates in conversations. My mother orders his meal for him. She carries the conversation as per usual. Going out for dinner is a release for her. There is no conversation to be had at home.

My father graduates with the very top percentile of his class. He's obtained three degrees now. His most recent being his teaching degree. He finds work in an Ottawa high school teaching business. He eventually becomes a guidance counsellor because of his caring demeanor and desire to help others. Students find him easy to talk to.

Before getting married I was still living at home. I caught my father reading a book, he used to be an avid reader. He finished the novel and immediately started reading it again.