NON-FICTION — AUTOBIOGRAPHY
Chapter Eleven — Forgiving the Sins of My Father
Kintsugi: Making, Breaking, and Putting Pieces Back Together Again
The next seven years passed with normal family life. My work life was progressing well, and the family’s standing in the community was ascending, as both M and I had invested time and energy in the community. We participated in the community, especially in activities in which our children were involved.
Both of us coached sports in which our children were taking part. M focused on girls’ softball and soccer, while I created a cross-country running club in the community. I became a hockey coach and manager, and helped with boys’ baseball team.
Together, we formed a small cross-country skiing club for our children and some of their friends. There was no “me” time for either of us as our young family became more and more active.
We went camping at every opportunity, alone as a family, and at other times with other families who had children the same ages. To all outward appearances, we were considered a perfect family, a model family, a normal family.
Yet, those outer appearances didn’t tell the whole story. As part of our camping experiences, we would skinny dip under the cover of darkness. It was an exhilarating and fun experience for all of us which eventually came to be shared with some of our children’s friends when we stayed the same campgrounds. Under the cover of darkness, there wasn’t any shame in being nude.
I had resumed university studies with the intention of getting a Bachelor of Arts degree, with a major in French not long after we made the move to Lanigan. I had become an executive member of the provincial French Teachers’ Association and had begun to participate in the national pilot programs for the teaching French as a Second Language.
I took on the challenge to test myself. My teaching energy had begun to suffer from the repetitious covering of the same teaching material with old books. Having finally caught up with the content of what I was teaching, I needed the challenges of the pilot program and being on the executive committee. As a result, professionally, my life just seemed to be getting better and better.
“M!” I called out as I read the contents of the letter in my hand, “They are going to let me attend the workshop in Montréal.” I had applied to take part in a two-week workshop for the new second-language teaching methods.
M was proud of my accomplishments as a teacher. However, this news meant that I would be away from home for two weeks. We had never really spent any time apart from each other.
“I knew they would choose you, Bob. I mean, how could they not choose you?”
The two-week workshop was set to take place during the summer.
“You should go a few days early so that you can see your Dad,” she continued. “Denise says that he’s not doing well. She’s afraid that he won’t be coming back home from the hospital.”
“I don’t know,” I muttered, “It’s not like he’s ever even tried to connect with us, with me. I mean, we try each time we take the kids to Ottawa, but it seems he just doesn’t care.”
“But you’re not your father, Bob. I think you need to make this effort now, rather than regret it later. You remember how glad you felt after seeing your French grandfather before he died. You were at peace knowing you had seen him before his death. It’s better than waiting for your dad’s funeral. Then it would be too late.”
When summer arrived, and it was time to leave, M and the three children walked with me to the bus station. After giving the children my trademark hugs with kisses, I gathered M in my arms and whispered, “I’ll love you always, all ways, and forever.”
Then I boarded the bus, taking a seat beside the window where I could see my family waiting for me to wave good-bye. As they stood there, waving their hands, I saw tears fall from M’s eyes. I knew this journey to the East wasn’t going to be easy for either of us.
In Ottawa I spent some time with my sisters P and her family. While in the city where I was born, I took the time to attend a CFL football game with my father. He really was in very poor health. He had become an in-patient at the veterans’ hospital. He was very weak and as a result couldn’t manage to stay for the whole game before he had to return to the hospital.
I didn’t have the heart to say anything to upset his father. The past didn’t seem to matter anymore when I was confronted face-to-face with my father’s mortality. Rather, I did my best to give him as much joy in that afternoon together as I could.
I knew it was going to be the last time I saw him. There would be no more bi-annual family trips to Ottawa which would include a stop to visit with him, his wife and my stepbrothers. When I left Ottawa by train for Montreal, I was already beginning to grieve for the loss of my father.
The workshop had taught me quite a few new strategies which would improve classroom instruction, by making lessons more interactive for the students. I didn’t realise how much M was suffering from my absence. I had always been there beside her regardless of what was going on between us, and now I wasn’t there.
I was far away, interacting with others, others who were professionals. Her own self-doubts were gnawing away leaving her questioning her own worth. ‘What if he meets a smart woman, someone who has the same interests; someone who is beautiful? What if he leaves me for her?’ were thoughts that haunted her, which I found out months later.
“What did you do today, Love?” I asked hoping to have her talk of her day and about our children.
“Nothing important. Just the usual, feed the kids and wait for your phone call.”
Marynia couldn’t bear to ask questions about my day as that always opened a floodgate as I excitedly told her about what I learned and what I had hoped to try in the classroom in the fall. My enthusiasm stood in stark contrast to her feelings of abandonment, her certainty that she wasn’t worthy of me.
However, I heard a different story in the prolonged silences. My own self-worth issues told me she had finally realised just how much better off she was without me. It was no wonder that she had so little to tell me. As I held onto her prolonged silence, I began to panic. I couldn’t find the words to bridge the silence.
“I’m tired and need to go to bed, Bob. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay, Babe. Tomorrow. I love you, M.”
“Me too,” she said before again retreating into a silence.
Previously
I want to thank the following people for reading this story:
Brian Lageose, Robert, Dennis Koluris • M.Sc., Bill Harris, Mariana Busarova, Alberto Ocando, Chase Dalton, Mr. Plan ₿, Harshil Mevasa, Author, D. Denise Dianaty, Loicrees, and Buddhi Ruparathna
