Father’s Day
Or at least, today’s what would have been my father’s 61st birthday. In the past, when we were all under one roof, we’d probably have gone out to eat at my uncle’s restaurant in Regina. In recent years, it was a phone call and perhaps a book sent through the mail for him. In his last year, we had a birthday party at their place in Penticton with his close friends from church. I have a short tape of that night — something prompted me to dig out the hand-held tape recorder and let it just record the conversations, some of the last real discussion my father was able to participate in fully. I think it was less than a month later when his speech became increasingly slurred, and soon he could only speak haltingly, slower and slower, till only his lips moved, then only his eyes. But on that night, on that recording, my father is laughing and joking with his church friends from childhood. It’s enough for me to know that the recording exists. Somewhere the laughter is preserved. That moment of delight and warmth continues and I can start the tape any time I want. There’s his voice again. Happy birthday Dad.