We have come together to remember Mark Abbott, my father and father to Ruth, Jill and John. Husband to Josie. Brother to Fred, Colin, Tony, Alan, John and Wendy,
I think a summer’s weekend afternoon in 1972 encapsulates much of what we all know of dad.
Saturday afternoon at the opera on the CBC. Turned up to 11.
A project underway. Plumbing. Electrical. Concrete! There will be a surplus of ambition. And quite likely blood.
Followed by Manhattans on the patio. Or perhaps G&Ts, if the weather is like this.
Then a barbecue. “The black parts are the best!” followed by fruit salad. “It’s fine – just cut off the moldy bits”
Alternatively, if the winds were gale force and the seas over your head, it would be a fine day for sailing. We kids would of course fight over hanging on to the painter on the bow of the boat, heeled over at 45 degrees.
OHSA was not a big part of Dad’s life.
All of this topped off with Saturday Night at the Movies with Elwy Yost. I will never forget seeing the Seventh Seal at perhaps 8 years old. When better to learn about playing chess with death?
Your knowing smiles and chuckles show that you knew him too.
My father was a man of intelligence and drive, curiosity and wit. He had a multitude of passions and wide circles of family, colleagues, friends and acquaintances to enjoy them with.
He was born and grew up in Yorkshire, the proud son of a coal miner. But New Crofton could not contain him and he became the first in the village to go to middle school. Not satisfied with that, he kept going until he had his PhD.
I’m sure his life long love of water didn’t come from New Crofton so perhaps that came from his Navy service. Perhaps that also triggered his wanderlust with a posting in Malta.
Subsequently, the new world beckoned and he began the next phase of his life in his new home, Canada.
He scaled the heights of several careers, in business, academe and public service. Typically, he ran for the NDP in the conservative heartland - to great opprobrium - because it was the right thing to do. I read his platform again this week and I wish he was running today. I’d vote for him.
Living his maxim of “a third to learn, a third to earn and a third to return”, he retired early.
He called me, when he was younger than I am now, to proclaim the greatness of retirement and question why I hadn’t done so already? Did I say greatness? Of course, I meant he said it was “Glorious”. I can hear him saying it now.
He was good at retirement, I think. Travel, the Academy for Learning, family and enjoying the garden (and puttering!) at Langmuir kept him active and engaged. It certainly didn’t slow him down. Josie and I were recently recalling him biking downtown for lunch with me into his 80s. When he did it in 6 inches of snow, we thought perhaps it was time to find a new way to commute.
While in later years, that powerful mind betrayed him, I watched childlike wonder overtake him as everything was again new to him. And in his last few weeks, I know he enjoyed having family by his side, with music and debate never far away.
Dad wasn’t obviously ambitious. He just did things. Everything, and usually all at once.
He was a titan.
Like all children - well, except mine of course – my relationship with my father was complicated.
All that I am, I owe to him. The character and values I have flow from his life.
He was a child of his generation and he was consequently hard and strong. Living a life like that, of course he had to be strong.
I don’t remember my father ever saying he loved me. Until two weeks ago, in his hospital bed, when in one of his final acts of strength, he became vulnerable. And prompted by Josie, his everything, he told me he loved me.
I love you too, dad. And I’m going to miss you every day.
I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing, but if there’s a rowdy crowd debating the coming election, I know you’ll be at the heart of it and recommending the NDP.
Enjoy your rest. You’ve earned it.
