The Gifts My Father Gave Me

My Dad died 21 years ago.

I miss him.

There's something special about a father/daughter relationship at it's best, and ours was that. Even though Dad was 51-years-old when I was born, he never seemed older than my friends fathers.

When I was pre-school age, he would come during the work day and pick me up in his monster truck, lifting me high into the seat. I felt like we were driving closer to the sky than the earth. He always had time for a game of badminton in our back yard but his favorite passtime was to roughhouse with me. I soon learned to use my gender to my advantage. There were times I would cry out as if I was hurt (think of the World Cup soccer players grasping their shins when they were barely touched). My Mom would invariably call out,"Not so rough, Henry, she's a girl you know." Then I'd grin and really attack him while he would try to find a gentle way of keeping me at bay.

As I reflect on his life and our relationship, here are some of the most important gifts he gave me:

• a sense of humor. Dad was always pulling practical jokes or telling jokes at work and home. One April Fools Day when I was young, he woke me up and told me to come see the baby deer in our front yard. I raced to the window looking frantically for the fawn. Although Dad was chuckling I didn't see the humor in this as my disappointment was huge. He often told jokes in low German and though I never understood them, they made my Mom laugh.

• confidence. When I got my learner's license and my Mom refused to drive with me, Dad took over. He would take me out every Sunday afternoon near the Abbotsford airport where there were criss-crossing roads with virtually no traffic (this was quite a few years ago :). He taught me to parallel park by pounding in two wooden poles the proper distance apart. If I knocked one of them down, I did it again...and again... Once I got my license (on the first try) he made me change all the car tires and showed me how to check the oil and transmission fluid. He gave me the confidence I needed to handle car problems and flat tires when there was no one to help me.

• love of animals. This was our special secret. Mom didn't want pets. The only reason we had a number of cats (all living entirely outdoors) was because of the mice on our property. Dad was my animal ally. If he caught a mouse and it wasn't dead, he gave it to me to nurse back to health. Once it was better I had to take it into our neighbour's woods and release it there. When I rescued a wild rabbit that had been mauled by dogs, he took shifts with me feeding and caring for it. Dad and I often found baby birds stranded out of their nests and he would show me how to put them back. He was the one who talked Mom into allowing us to have a dog. Unfortunately "Tiny," our golden lab puppy, only stayed tiny for a few weeks. With a penchant for chasing airplanes, and with us being right on the flight path for the Abbotsford Airshow, Tiny was soon moved to a farm.

• spiritual integrity. Dad and his whole family had to flee Russia because of spiritual persecution. Dad was only 16 years old at the time. Though he told me few stories about that time, he showed me that his faith was real. We had family devotions every day and often the stories Dad read moved him emotionally. He was not ashamed to cry, even though I was sometimes ashamed that he did it. But as I grew older, I saw how deep his relationship with God was. I became to appreciate his ability to show his feelings when so many men bottled theirs in. He helped give me the freedom to express my own emotions and live a spiritual life that is meaningful and deep.

• expressing love. I was Daddy's 'little girl' and he told me he loved me often, even when I grew taller than him. Fathers usually have a harder time expressing their love for their sons than their daughters and I think that was true with me and my older brother. Maybe because I was much more demonstrative of my love, Dad found it easier to respond in kind. In my mid-20s, when I got really sick, he didn't know how to help me. One evening he sat on my bed and told me how he had loved me when I was born and how that love had grown. It was the best thing he could have done. When I moved to Calgary, I knew he missed me very much. Whenever I flew home I would spend as much time as I could just being with him, a companionship where words were seldom used. When his kidneys failed and he knew he was dying, he asked me all sorts of questions about my car, my boyfriend (soon to be husband) and my finances...like he was just making sure I would be okay. The last words he said to my Mom (and my brother and me) were, "I love you."  Because of him, I never miss an opportunity to say those words to someone else.

I wish my Dad were still alive, but I'm so thankful for all the things he taught me. What did you learn from your Father? What gifts did he give you?

Tennis Anyone?

I know most of you think tennis is as much fun as watching grass grow. Well, I happen to LOVE watching grass grow. What's even more fun is seeing grass being ground into dirt and clay under the rapid footwork of Rafael Nadal.

Yes, he's my tennis hero, not just because of his long hair or bulging biceps (although those help, of course). Rafa's positive attitude in each and every match, even when he is losing, is amazing. His willingness to work harder than most of the top ranked men, so he can chase down every ball is compelling. But it's how this fiesty Spainiard has dealt with the chronic tendinitis that's plagued his career that has really gained my admiration. This is a potentially career ending injury he has battled for years, and he is only 24.

In 2009, Rafa won very few tournaments due to painful tendinitis in his kness. He thought his career might be over. But he worked hard at finding a treatment that enables him to perform at the highest level.

This year was astounding for Rafa. Even his greatest rival, Roger Federer, can not claim a better year.

Nadal won all three major clay court tournaments leading up to Roland Garros, the clay court Grand Slam in Paris. The two weeks of tennis there found Rafa on the brink of elimination a number of times. His strength, determination and positive attitude kept him on the court. When he beat Robin Soderling in the final, he dissolved into deep sobs - a display of emotion he had never shown before. He explained how important it was to win this tournament after thinking he may never be able to compete again.

A few weeks later he went on to dominate Wimbledon, the grass court Grand Slam in London. Winning both tournaments back to back is something few players, other than Bjorn Borg, have ever achieved. Rafa has done it twice.

In September the U.S. Open loomed. This final Grand Slam of the year was extremely important for Rafa. To win it, would mean a career Grand Slam. Only six other men have ever won all four Slams in their lifetime as the surfaces are so completely different. In the last 48 years just Andre Agassi and Roger Federer have managed this feat.

Nadal only dropped one set on his way to becoming the youngest person ever (in the Open era) to claim the career Grand Slam crown.

Yes, Rafa Nadal inspires me!

Watching him play makes me believe in myself. When I see his biceps and fitness level, I start pumping iron. When I see him fight back from injury, I continue to wage war against a chronic, physical illness. When he says he never gives up on any single point in the game, I try to bring my best attitude to everyday challenges.

So who inspires you? Where do you get your motivation to be a better person? I'd love to hear your story of the 'hero's in your life!

What did you name your car?

Okay, I know you've done it. You've given your car a name. Ever wonder WHY exactly we do this? My theory is, it's the 'Adam-complex.' (Freud missed this one completely.) It seems that ever since God asked Adam to name all the animals we've been naming everything in sight.

When I first met my future husband, Peter, he was driving something he called The Higgen-bomb. Affectionately named after the guy that sold it to him, Peter bought this wreck for $1 but then found .35 cents in the vehicle as he was cleaning it up. What a bargain! At the time, I hardly knew Peter, but agreed to write a story for this young editor and his fledgling newspaper, City Light News. It would be my premiere piece of published journalism. But first, I needed to survive the drive to the interview.

The Higgen-bomb was a standard Ford Maverick that didn't have any brakes...Have you noticed how people often get a vehicle that mirrors their own personality? I soon found out Peter was an active communicator. He enjoys expressing his viewpoint and looks frequently at his passenger(s) to gauge their response. In fact, on this first drive together he spent more time looking at me than at the road. He was chatting, shifting, waving his hands in the air to make a point, using the emergency brake at every stop and glancing at me constantly. Within five minutes of us 'hitting' the road, I knew we were going to die...

Peter had bought the Higgen-bomb after he found out his van was guzzling way too much gas. He only owned this van for a few short months before it's lifespan seemed about to end. The van was wheezing its last breaths, limping along the roads. Three different mechanics told him it was engine trouble. So Peter drove to Cochrane where a friend provided him with an engine and was going to install it for free. But first they decided to check out the possibility that it was only a disconnected valve. Sure enough, it was fixed in minutes and resurrected from the dead. Quickly christened 'Lazarus' Peter soon thought it more appropriate to rename it Lazarust!

In the 20 years Peter and I have been married, we've only owned three vehicles, but all have had special terms of endearment. Peter bought the Sprint the week we started going out. He's always remarked what a good week that was. It was our 'happy car.' (No, not because of that.) It got it's name after we were married and Peter had a minor altercation with an SUV that left the hood of the Sprint slightly bent. We decided that rather than fix it we would just bungee cord the hood down. Unfortunately, when we were driving on the highway, the increased air current would lift the hood up. When the winter sun was setting, and a long shadow of the car could be seen on the side of the road, the raised hood made it look like it was smiling.

After the Sprint came the Spirit. With plush seats, cruise control and air-conditioning, we had landed in the lap of luxury. I would wash this car frequently as I didn't want to have an 'unclean Spirit' around. And whenever we went for a drive, we would go wherever the Spirit would lead us...

The Saturn was next, (getting the "S" trend?) and it has been out of this world! We bought this car on December 31st at 4 pm, 2002 (talk to Peter about this) and have had virtually no extra costs so we plan to drive it into the ground, or to the stars, whichever comes first.

Ask almost anyone what they have named their car or truck and you'll get an interesting story. So will you tell me yours?

CHANGE

It happens. Whether you want it to or not. Change is something you can control or it can be a runaway train, taking you on a frightening ride with no guarantees as to how it will end.

Right now, I just want to look at the change we have control over. Specifically changing ourselves and our character. As I'm working on my novel, this is one of the essential aspects of the main characters. Do they choose change as a result of the circumstances around them? Are they so set in their way they will never change?

When I was in Grade 7, I decided to re-invent myself. Have you ever done this? Looked at who you were and decided you could be better - way better? Well, I had been in the same clique of girls from Grade 1. We did everything together and were bound by a mutual love of academics and athletics. But I was a follower. Two of the girls made ALL the decisions for the group and I was tired of it. So one recess, while we were outside "taking orders" for our activities that day, I stood up and outlined a plan for what I decided I would do during recess and lunch. Everyone was silent. The two girls looked at each other, a bit jaw-droppingly stunned. Then they shrugged, turned to me and one said, "That sounds great. Let's do that instead." And THEY followed ME.

That moment changed the course of my life. I realized that if you have enough self-confidence to risk rejection and are willing to go it alone if need be, people will follow you. But more than that, I began to like the person I was becoming. I decided to change many of my characteristics that year and it was one of the best years of my life. Going from 12 to 13 for a girl can be pretty traumatic. For me, it was transformational. I started to like just being with myself. I set personal goals, to try to understand the essence of truth, knowledge, love... I took a keen interest in others and started my life-long passion of trying to find out what makes people tick (my God-complex :). I was no longer afraid to say "No!" to my peers when I didn't want to do something, no matter how influential the group was. This saved me from alot of trouble later on.

Have you ever deliberately decided to change yourself? Or to change your focus in life? What has been the most dramatic change that you have had control over?

Choices.

We make hundreds of them every day. Most, like choosing what to wear or what we want for breakfast, go entirely unnoticed. More deliberate, time-consuming choices, like starting a blog, can open new doors and create a whole new world of contacts and relationships (I hope).

Then there are the BIG ONES. The choices that will change the trajectory of our life. What to do when we grow up (if we grow up). Where to live. Who to marry. Do we want children? Will we settle for a dog?... Here we have control, mostly. We can choose our friends. But the family we are born into, the color of our skin, the country and economic strata - those choices are made for us.

I am one of the lucky ones. I was born into a loving family in western Canada. When I was young, we were poor, but we always had food, clothes, a roof over our heads and an amazing world around us to explore. When I was eight or nine years old I recognized this blessing and began being thankful for all I had. So many other children have not been as lucky.

Last night Romeo Dallaire was in Calgary. His latest book, "They Fight Like Soldiers, They Die Like Children" looks at the plight of children abducted and used as child soldiers. Born in Rwanda, Sierra Leone, Sudan, the Congo and many other war-torn countries, these children know abject poverty, rampant disease and pervasive violence. They had no choice about any of this. They cannot leave.

“Child soldiers,” Dallaire writes, “are a commander's dream come true: the perfect low-technology, cheap and expendable weapon system that can perpetuate itself ad infinitum.” It's easy for them to be lured away by armed soldiers who promise to feed and clothe them. Dallaire wants to eradicate the estimated 250,000 children involved in armed conflict around the world. He is actively recruiting Canadian teens to join his Campaign Zero Force (http://www.zeroforce.org/). He hopes to recruit 2.5 million teenagers to 'talk' to the youth in developing countries through Skype, Facebook, text messaging or even in person. "I want them to be disturbed enough about this to do something," Dallaire said. He sees the next generation of students who have been blessed by living in this country become advocates on behalf of those who "are at risk of being abducted, raped, drugged, abused and used as child soldiers."
So can we take the blessing we have recieved and make a tangible difference in someone else's life?

Mildred Taylor says, "We have no choice of what color we're born or who our parents are or whether we're rich or poor. What we do have is some choice over what we make of our lives once we're here."

What choices have you made that have changed your life for the better? The worse? If you could live life over again, would you change some of the choices you've made?

PS - Special thanks to Heidi for your persistence. Yes, a blog! Finally.