There won't be a phone call. Or brunch at The DogHouse. Or four trips to four different stores to find the right card to somehow convey the proper love and gratitude.
No bowls with hard macaroni noodles painted gold and glued on the outside. No gifted socks for the ninth year in a row. No agreeing to cut the lawn without complaining.
I'm not sure how to deal with it.
Father's Day is June 15 this year. And even though I'm wildly fortunate and blessed to be a father myself, I've never thought of it as somehow being my day. It was Dad's day.
This time, I'm pretty sure it will still be his day but again it will be decidedly different.
We lost dad on April 29. A remarkable life well-lived, all the way to 89. Laughing and joking and surrounded by love to the very end as he peacefully slipped away, in my mind heading off to rejoin my Mum (waiting patiently for him since 1987) and guide us from afar.
As a lad my bedroom walls were adorned with posters of athletes (and later models) I looked up to and admired. If you asked teenage me who my heroes were, I'd surely have pointed to some of them.
But they weren't real heroes.
As I got older and realized just how much he sacrificed of himself to give our family the best possible life, my definition of hero changed significantly. Dad was a real hero.
Like many of his generation, he was the strong, silent type. He could fix anything from a car to a fridge to a jet plane (yes, I'm assuming there but still believe it 100 per cent). When he got home from work, he went out to his workshop to do more work. Didn't share my passions for sports and avoiding manual labour like the plague.
The latter meant we butted heads with some frequency when I was young. Serving as the cage-guarded lightbulb holder for hours on end as he worked on engines seemed like torture.
"Mum, I'm never, ever going to be a mechanic, why does he make me do that stuff?"
Pushing our antique, 12,000-pound lawn mower uphill around our gigantic yard also seemed unduly harsh as I envisioned my friends swimming or fishing or playing ball.
"Mum, can't we get a ride-on mower?" (Side note: Dad got one shortly after I moved out. Checkmate.)
In the end, though, darned if I didn't learn the actual important stuff from Dad.
I was 30 before I paid someone else to change my oil or do my brakes.
I could hear Dad's voice: "You have to be able to at least do minor maintenance on your vehicle."
And while I never developed any type of affinity for the manual labour, there was a work ethic instilled nonetheless. I once went more than 11 years without missing a day of work. Not exactly an earth-shattering accomplishment when I sat behind a desk, but I could still hear Dad's voice again, shrugging off any number of ailments: "They pay me to go to work, so I go to work."
The best lesson of all: the value of simply being there.
Though he didn't love sports, if he wasn't working, he was at my games. And if an ump or other official was missing, his was the first hand up to volunteer to fill the gap. Many of his holidays were devoted to my sports tournaments (to even it out, my sister was usually allowed to bring a friend).
No matter what it was, he was there. I didn't appreciate that nearly enough as a headstrong youngster.
A few years ago, my son got married in Victoria. Dad, of course, was there. And watching his 86-year-old self whooping it up on the dance floor at the reception is a memory I'll cherish forever. He stayed in my hotel room that night and I drove him back up-Island the next day.
We talked more about ourselves and life during that time than we had ever done before. It was revelatory and amazing. Even well into his eighties, I was still learning from him. I'm smiling right now just thinking about it.
Mostly because I know even if he's gone, he'll always be there for me. Love you, Dad. Happy Father's Day.
* Do you have some special memories of your Dad you'd like to share ahead of Father's Day? Lessons learned, things you miss? I'd love to hear them.
PQB News/Vancouver Island Free Daily editor Philip Wolf welcomes your questions, comments and local story ideas. He can be reached at 250-905-0029 or via email at philip.wolf@blackpress.ca.
