Dad

I really miss my dad. My dad died a year ago. He was one hundred years and a few days short of four months. He died in his sleep. He went into a coma on a Thursday and died on the following Sunday morning. He had a hard life working bulldog labour on the Halifax waterfront as a stevedore for 45 years. His funeral and burial at Mount Olivet Cemetery took place on one of the coldest days of the year. It was appropriate because he would work on the cargo ships in all kinds of weather; wet and dry, cold and hot. Most of his work was in the winter with the wind blowing sub-zero temperatures and he did it without complaint. His internment in the cold was appropriate. My brother had all the arrangements prepaid and he took care of everything. Dad did not want a fuss and did not want a reception. My sister did and we had to placate the princess. Dad would not have approved. He often talked to me about it and if it were up to me, he would have had a simple box and burial in a day. Since I am (was) considered the black sheep of the family, I was not included in any of the arrangements.
I remember how strict my dad was with me. At the time I resented everything and rebelled as often as I could. But as a mature father myself, I understand his concern. Thanks, Dad, for letting me become who I am. He was 41 when I was born and he did not have much time for me as a youngster. At least I thought he didn't. It seemed to me that he would do whatever he could to make sure my brothe and sister were looked after first. Looking back I can see that. My mom and he split when I was eight and I went to live with her. I think that is what caused my brother and I to be so distance and antagonistic towards each other. It was as if I had a choice. Dad was a simple old fashioned guy and believed that a child should be with his mother. My siblings were either married or in high school and thus not under that restriction. They had a choice. I didn't. I would see Dad every weekend. I went to school in HAlifax until grade seven. Then I attended schools in Dartmouth where Mom lived.
I enjoyed my visits with Dad but he was so often working that i seldom saw him. Talk about a fuck up. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger.
The proudest my dad felt for me was upon my graduation from university. During the convocation while I was speaking to the archbishop of Halifax, His Grace James Hayes, Dad started whistling and hollering. His Grace asked what the commotion and fuss was and I proudly told that it was my dad. He smiled.
I miss my dad.
Dad taught me to fish, to ride a bicycle, to cook, to play cards. He gave me my first pipe. It was during my university days. He knew I smoked and he thought college men should smoke a pipe. More class than cigarettes.
I remember taking Dad to the Bluenose restaurant for clam chowder and coconut cream pie. When I started working I would often come into town and treat the old man to a fancy meal at the best of restaurants. It impressed him that I would take him to the one in the Nova Scotian Hotel and just sign the bill to my room. I even lit a cigar for Dad with a $20 bill.
I remember staying up late with dad on Sebastian Place on a Friday night to watch the Gilette Cavalcade of Sports from Madison Square Gardens. Dad liked the fights. He took me to see Blair Richardson fight Burke Emery at the old Halifax Forum. He dressed so sharply. He wore his best suit and overcoat and his gray fedora with the brim bent down. We sat in the cheap seats and Dad smoked his favourite cigar..Muriels. After the ninth round Dad said we should go to avoid the crowd. Richardson had the fight won but he didn't last much in the tenth. As we were walking down the aisle, Burke Emery, at the bell for the tenth and final round, ran over to Richardson and caught him with a tremendous right hand. The fight was over in less than 30 seconds; Richardson KOed. Dad and I would often reminisce about that fight. Dad: I'll see you in the funny papers you old four-eyed moccasin face
George Thomas Joseph Stone: 1908-2009. 100 years. Requiesat in Pace.