…you always felt like he had shit handled, even when he didn’t. During a RV vacation in California when I was ten, my parents decided to take my siblings and me to Knott’s Berry Farm. Rather than try to find parking for the RV, my dad put us all on a transit bus instead – the wrong bus, as it turned out, one that drove us straight into Compton. Imagine – a conspicuously caucasian family in matching Toronto Blue Jays outfits, one that had never seen black people except on TV and now we’re with a busload of them, ALL staring at us with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns. I remember sensing intuitively that we were not welcome, but it never occurred to me that my dad had no fucking idea what he was doing. Instead, he just said rather nonchalantly “oh look, this is our stop.” We got off in the middle of nowhere and walked 20 minutes along an interstate to a gas station where he called a cab that took us to Knott’s (in the opposite direction). The man fronted so well it only occurred to me years later he may have been shitting his pants.
…He was elegant and supremely witty. My sister tells a story of how my dad took her to a company party when my mom was sick. My mother never drank, so dad took advantage of her absence to get his drink on. According to my sister, the man turned into Fred Astaire and danced with every woman at the party, and when it was over he went to the wedding party next door and danced with bride. The bride thing is where it goes off the rails for me but my dad liked to dance and did it well, so there’s a hint of truth in it. What I know for a fact is that dad’s wit was razor sharp and he possessed an intuitive sense of comic timing. On the occasion of his 35th wedding anniversary he told me “Chris, I never knew what true happiness was until I got married – by which time, it was too late.” Oh wait! that reminds me…
…He had otherworldly patience. As I mentioned earlier, Dad was married to Attilla the Mom, a condition in no way improved by the addition of seven kids. Any reasonable man might’ve lost his composure, but dad rarely shouted or lost his temper with us, or with my mom in our presence.
…He was modest. I think I get my combination of self-aggrandizing/self-deprecating humour from my dad. He might joke to us about how great he was, but in truth he never demanded undue attention or took credit for other people’s accomplishments, even when others might take credit for his.
…He found joy in simple pleasures. For my dad, bliss was sitting down after dinner to watch Hockey Night in Canada with a crossword and a slice of bread with jam on it. What could be simpler?
No matter how strained my time with him was, I can still see how my dad tried his best, acting with as much honour and integrity as he could muster, which is probably why I can forgive his lapses in parenting. Maybe he figured he didn’t need to tell us what he was doing, that we were smart enough to just watch and learn from his example. It’s apparent now that he might’ve been giving me too much credit, but that hasn’t stopped me from trying.
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Leora Kornfeld
Chris, a very moving tribute to the big guy. I still recall you saying, around the time he passed away, that he became more present than ever in your life. That must have been at least a dozen (?) years ago yet it has stuck with me.
I also recall you quoting him to the effect of laying low and prospering…what was the exact line? (and what was the context?)
That philsophy, while charming, does not seem in keeping with the description of the man here.