It is easy to underestimate the impact someone has had on your life while they are still alive.
My earliest memory of my father is of waking him up early in the morning. It must have been quite inconvenient, having a toddler crawling all over him, but Dad didn't let that ruin his day. Instead, he gave me a great big bear hug (a John McCool Classic!) and sang me a song. That feeling of warmth and security cannot be described in words.
Dad taught me many things, including how to read, how to swim and to ski, and most importantly, how to care.
Reading was always a passion of my father's. With his characteristic good humour, Dad turned learning into a game by having me read signs and billboards on long drives. To this day I find joy in language, all because my father inspired a little boy to have fun with words.
A dedicated swimmer and an experienced sailor, John made sure that my swimming lessons started immediately. He always said that I was "fearless" jumping into water. The truth is that there was never anything to be afraid of with my Dad there to catch me.
A driven skier, John made sure that winters at the Cabin were full of activity. I will never forget racing down the slopes of Craigleith with him, and how he could turn a blizzard into an adventure through sheer force of personality. Evenings were spent next to roaring fires, defrosting with the family. Dad loved hot saunas, a leap into cold snow, a stiff drink, and a warm bed at the end of the day.
As a veteran parent, my father brought perhaps more patience than I deserved to my turbulent teenage years. He showed me that truly caring for someone is as much about weathering storms as it is sailing through calm waters. He always made it clear how much he loved my mother and I. He was a solid presence, a constant, a rock; a dedicated husband, a caring father, and a good man.
My father always encouraged me to learn and explore. He supported my education, even if he never understood the gibberish that I picked up in the chemistry and computer labs. He told me stories of far off places, and urged me to travel and see them for myself. Dad had the amazing ability to make me want to broaden my horizons: to pick up an instrument (jazz trombone), to try new foods (sushi), and to follow through with my decisions, no matter where they may take me.
My experience with John McCool is far from unique. Many friends and family members have made it clear, through shared stories and lived experience, that John was an inspiration. When he expressed his affections, John could be intense, but he was always sincere. His sense of humour and passion for life touched many of us.
I love you, and will always miss you, Dad.
PS - Heya, Dad. If you are somehow reading this: No, I cannot provide tech support for the heavenly internet. And yes, I'll try my best to get a loaf of your favourite soda bread up there, but it may take me a while. Your jazz music, operas, and history books might be a bit of a stretch, but I have heard of this thing called "The Cloud" and it sounds promising. Please don't watch too much CNN before we meet again. Hope you found Uncle Derek and Auntie Collette without too much trouble. Please give them my love. Mom misses you terribly. I'll take care of her, like I promised. We'll light a candle and raise a glass to you every year on your birthday. Godspeed, Dad.
