My grandfather Hanlan and my Grandmother Judy raised.
When Grandpa died – just a couple of years past his retirement it was like losing a father.
When my Dad, Leigh, died – at age 53 – it was like losing a father all over again.
Father’s Day is always a little bitter sweet for me.
I wrote this a while ago – but it pretty well sums up my feelings on this Father’s Day.
TWO TALL MEN TALKING
These men, so tall
I swear you could hear the wind
whistling round their scalplines
my dad, his dad
leaned on the couch, legs on the coffee table
stretched long and lank as trestle timbers
talking of the world and their work
their boozy baritones booming deep and faraway
as a freight hog rolling through a long winter fogbank
reeking clouds of Player’s tobacco
their pliarboned hands waved magical smoke signals
the tang of Canadian Club Rye
bubbly Seven Up blended
with diesel tainted sweat
two old crows
between the treetops
I was listening dad and I was listening grandad
and you both were full of crap
and I love you still.
yours in storytelling,