"FAAIIILLL"

That's what my Father was saying at the exact moment this picture was taken. :D

Thanks, Dad

In talking with Kirstin (the cousin I had breakfast with just yesterday and who is truly one of the most wonderful people I've ever met - no joke) about the possibility of spending Christmas with my mother's side of the family, I've been reminded how great my father actually is.

You know, there are many people who have a relationship with their father which is strictly "father and son", but our relationship is so much stronger than that. Thanks to our many adventures - both good and bad - through out the last decade we've grown a bond which is best described as "best friends" first, "father and son" secondly.

It's a bond which I'm undoubtedly proud of. I can not only confide in him, but I can talk to him about anything. Anything means anything - sex (way beyond the "birds and bee's"); girls; racism; my daily thoughts as well my hatred for this and that. They're always discussions which are completely open with little nervousness. Not only can I trust in his knowledge and his advice, but I can always trust that he'll be there for me. If I need him to do something for me I know he'll do it. And that's definitely a two way street - we feed off each other's character

And It doesn't take too long before we're joking, laughing and throwing sarcastic comments around about most everything.

And because our interests are nearly identical, we haven't a problem with spending time with each other. For instance, we like the exact same music. In fact, most of my music taste was inherited from him. And on my side, I was the one who got him onto Rush and just recently, Porcupine Tree. We like the same TV shows too 0 X-Files, Heroes, Curb Your Enthusiasm and naturally, Trailer Park Boys. And there isn't a time when I don't watch Top Gear with him.

And as he is also an automotive enthusiast, It's clearly that I inherited his automotive obsession too. And yes... we like the same vehicles too... We like the same art, the same activities and even have the same taste in women.

And what I have also failed to mention in the past, is that he is essentially my hero. The both of us have been through some really tough times together and even when it looked like all hope was lost, he pulled us through. His determination is second to none.

Thanks pops.

Out of the Blue

As I recently mentioned, I signed up with Facebook just a few weeks ago. Ahh yes, and the results were quite spectacular; not only did I get to reunite with many of my old friends, but I was even able to add a few of my GermanCarZone buddies. It really is a great site, but they're are some downsides - such as people who you don't want to talk (nor want to find) you, and then asking for a friend's invitation.

That happened to me a couple of nights ago. The person you ask? My mother.

Had you failed to notice, I've never brought up the subject of my mother. Never ever. The reason being because I haven't spoken to her since 2001 or 2002 and quite honestly, hadn't the intention to ever again.

To keep it short - my Mother bailed on me and my Father many times when I was just a wee-lad, and then left us some time in late '97 and then reunited with us back in '99 and then left us again. So, suffice to say, I don't think too highly of my Mother at all. And that's just a few of the terrors that once were!

Truth is, over the last 5-6 years she has only popped into my mind about three times. And yes, I'm serious. Her making contact after all of these years actually makes me uneasy. Though she lived with us through my childhood, I can honestly say that I do not know her as an individual. We don't have anything in common, let alone the son and Mother bondage which is naturally expected of most normal families. And I'm not being dramatic either. She left a mark upon me and my Father which needs little reminder.

Undoubtedly, my life hasn't been the most sorted thing over the last several years, but the last thing I needed was a reminder of the old days. Uggh... And just when I was getting my life back on track.

I have yet to accept her request...

The Day

As of late, many of my childhood experiences and memories (which have laid dormant for years) have been surfacing. I suppose having recently stabilized my life (for the moment at least), I can comfortably take a look at what has happened over the years.

The earliest memory of my childhood which has stayed with me through out the years is when my grandpa died. The reason as to why it has stayed with me through out the years is because I, just 8 (hm..) years old at the time, was the one who found him dead.

The day started like any other nice summer one, but ended in a fashion which I would never forget. On this particular starry night, me and my mother had gone to their house (grandpa and grandma's) for a casual visit and get-together.

Strangely enough, this particular night was one of the very few in which were not joined by my dad as he was away on business related trip in Northern Alberta.

As we got ready to leave their house, my grandma had been sitting in bed waiting for my grandpa to come upstairs. As we got prepared to leave we called his name a couple of times in hoping that he would come up and say goodbye, but he never did. As he had hearing troubles (from his enrolment in World War 2) and was in his power-saw workshop in the basement of all places, we had just assumed he couldn't hear us. So naturally, I told my mother and grandma that I'd go downstairs and get him.

As I got further down the stairs I continued to call his name, but there was no response. As I peaked into his workshop, I saw him laying face down on the floor with a pool of blood surrounding his head; I distinctly remember the red blood contrasting off the bleak 1950's blue coloured floor.

I yelled upstairs - "grandpa's not moving". My mother immediately ran down stairs and had realized we needed an ambulance. As my mother continued to panic, my grandma restricted to bed (as she need her respirator when walking around) sat in disbelief as we frantically charged around. She looked onwards with a straight look on her face and at that moment, I knew that she knew - I knew that she knew that he had passed on.

In a desperate act of panic, my mother ran to the neighbours (which had been good friends of my grandparents), and called 911. It turns out he died with from a stroke and likely died before his head hit the floor.

It's a night that I'll never forget. An image forever bleached into my mind. And after it happened, I refused to go into the basement alone. It scared me like nothing else.