Tag Archives: dad

In living and loving memory

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My dad died a year ago today. In all honesty I haven’t thought that much about it today other than seeing a chat in WhatsApp from my sisters this morning and then I just got off the phone with my mom.

The thing is, I don’t want this to be a day that I hold as special in my memory. I was in agonizing pain with a herniated disk, and I didn’t get back in time to say good bye when he took a turn for the worse. February 26th is his birthday, and that’s a living, loving day to remember my dad. The day of his death had no other significance before his death, and frankly I will only track it to ensure I chat with my mom.

It’s holidays, family dinners, and adventures together that I want to remember. I want the moments I hold dear to be ones that keep his memory alive, and the anniversary of his death doesn’t make that cut. In the coming years I’ll write more about my dad, but this is probably the last time that I mention him here on this day. I’ll choose more meaningful days and/or more meaningful memories.

The cult of conspiracy

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I read this quote in Tim Ferriss’ 5-Bullet Friday email newsletter:

“I sometimes wonder whether conspiracy theories are an attempt to re-enchant the world in a distorted way. It’s like religion knocking on the door and trying to come back in a strange and distorted form. A sense of mystery beyond our own understanding of the world. If you ever talk to conspiracy theorists, that’s the sense you get from them. A sort of almost romantic sense of awe that there is this dark mysterious thing that a rational thing could never penetrate.” ~ Adam Curtis

Having a dad who was constantly making connections across seemingly unrelated topics, all for which he found resounding ‘evidence’ of conspiracies, this quote resonated with me. With an inclination towards conspiracy came a blind willingness to accept wild, unreliable sources of any information or claims that supported the conspiratorial narrative. Crazy, unsubstantiated theories were treated as fact.

Whenever I brought up counter arguments, and shared anything to suggest inaccuracies in a conspiracy I would get the same retort: “Who is fact checking the fact checkers, David?” Then Dad would send me an article, I’d click a link to some ‘fact’ that it mentions and it would lead to a warning page that I was going to a known Russian propaganda website. In all my years on the internet, I’d never been redirected to a page like this, except from the ‘reliable’ sources my dad followed.

“Dad, did you know the source of this information is a Russian propaganda website?”

“Even bad sources get the information right sometimes David.” This from a scientist, a man dedicated to research and detailed documentation. But the grasp of the conspiracy came from deep within, like a core faith, a religious grip that broke common sense,

“A sort of almost romantic sense of awe that there is this dark mysterious thing that a rational thing could never penetrate.”

It’s not about rational thought, nor common sense. It’s a new, distorted form of religion. Faith does not require reason, it does not follow logic. But it holds on to people and steers them in directions they are unaware that they are going. 100 pieces of counter-evidence can go blindly by, and then a crumb of evidence in support will be enough to fuel the conspiracy and shield it against the next 100 counterpoints.

Conspiracies are mysterious, even romantic. The people who follow them bear witness, they see the light, they are the believers, the keepers of the faith, the chosen ones. Logic and reason do not alter the faith of the devout… and so the cult of conspiracy continues.

Lateral Thinking

Like I mentioned yesterday, my dad passed away leaving hundreds of boxes to sort through. Today I found a few with memorabilia and one specific one I was looking for with a diesel fuel formula he invented. Most of the other boxes were files with copies of patents and research my dad collected. Although, there were also quite a few boxes with some strange topics he also ventured into.

As a self taught generalist, my dad was always taking ideas and combining them, and he wasn’t afraid to delve as deep into ‘wu wu’ science as he did into ‘legitimate’ research. He had a knack for seeing connections where others didn’t.

So it was no surprise when I found these periodic tables where he was identifying the elements that were prime, double prime, and Fibonacci numbers, and looking at their isotopes.

This is the kind of thing my dad did. He would think laterally and make unusual connections that would be completely missed by anyone else… and the reason they would miss it is because there isn’t a logical connection.

My dad developed a CRO/REDOX process to chemically extract platinum and other precious metals from catalytic converters and recyclable computer components. He actually got a test lab built and proved the technology, while scientists at the Ontario Research and Technology Foundation (ORTECH, now ORF-RE) said it couldn’t be done, and even after it was proven said, ‘This shouldn’t work’.

But like many things, my dad had a different angle, and in this case a different perspective on the chemistry behind the process. And when he built the prototype, he made it modular so that he could expand it rather than rebuild it. For many reasons, including terrible timing with a stock market crash, this project never got off the ground.

The ideas that my father combined allowed him to be extremely creative and innovative. He was brilliant in the connections he made. Yet that same ability was also a disability. My father was also an end-of-the-world prepper, and followed a lot of conspiracy theories.

The same lateral thinking that made his scientific mind so brilliant also created lateral (read more as sideways) connections to far out conspiracies that kept the ideas alive long after others had moved on. Among his boxes and boxes of printed patents and research are other boxes with articles that I would describe more as delusional rather than just ‘fake news’. In fact these articles date back as far as 2004, long before the term fake news existed.

I think the internet broke my dad. He was a doomsdayer since the 80’s. After we watched World War III, a miniseries that aired on NBC on January 31, 1982, he turned the TV off and had a heart-to-heart with his kids. He basically told us that WWIII was inevitable in our lifetime. I remember getting upset not just that the world was going to end, because at 15 I believed everything my dad said, but also that my younger sisters were crying as he broke this ‘news’ to us. Why did they need to know this at those ages?

It got really bad with Y2K, that’s when he started ‘prepping’, storing food and collecting thousands and thousands of dollars worth of supplies. Supplies we now need to get rid of for pennies on the dollars spent. But what really made it worse after that was the internet. Dad found all kinds of websites that he considered reliable, some of which where known Russian propaganda sites, but that didn’t phase my dad who believed all kinds of conspiracies about big media. Now I’m not saying that big media is fully trustworthy, but I’d put more weight on them than on Russian propaganda websites.

So lateral thinking was both a blessing and a curse for my dad. Making incredibly insightful scientific connections made him a brilliant scientist and inventor. And making incredibly dubious doomsday connections made him a paranoid prepper, who always believed ‘the shit is going to hit the fan’ at any moment.

There is a fine line between brilliance and madness.

Boxes and boxes

My father passed away in late April. He was a wonderful and complicated man. He spent his entire life reading and learning. And among many other things he was an inventor. He was a genius, and also very quirky. In addition to being brilliant, he was also a zealous doomsday prepper. This complicated his ability to focus on his inventions, which is a shame because he had some proven technologies he invented that never came to life.

I’m visiting my mom now, and one of my tasks is to sort through 500+ boxes of files my father amassed, in an oversized garage. He was quite OCD, and would make multiple copies of patents and other research, and put them in individual file folders and then put those in file folder holders, the kind with a metal edge to fit into filing cabinets. But he didn’t have enough filing cabinets so they went into boxes.

Most of what I’ve uncovered so far is going to the dump. It’s reams of paper copies of things anyone can find freely on the internet today. My dad filed them as a way to remember as opposed to a reference he continually went back to. That said, in the coming days I’ll share some stories about his amazing memory and ability to find files in unmarked boxes and file folders.

But for now I’ll be in a garage with hundreds at boxes looking through them and searching for some of his inventions. I think it would be sad to throw away things like the formula to mix diesel fuel and water in a perfect solution that runs more efficiently than diesel on its own… one of the inventions or rather discoveries of my dad.

It’s sad to think that his brilliance wasn’t shared with the world. I hope I can salvage something that can be valued and put to good use. I only have a few hundred boxes to search through, and I say ‘only’ with a lot of sarcasm. In many ways these boxes represent who my dad was far more than his ashes do. He was happiest when reading, printing, filing, and ultimately boxing everything he learned and found important.

And so into the boxes I go. It’s a daunting task, but I’m developing a rhythm, and will hopefully not have to spend my entire trip boxed up in the garage.

My life before Google

I shared this in a post a few years ago:

I grew up in a pre-Google era, but I had something better… I had my dad. It seemed that no matter what question I may ask, my dad had, and still has, a comprehensive answer. My only hesitation to ask him a question was that I needed to be sure I was interested enough to get his extensive and detailed answer.

He didn’t just have verbal answers, he had books, thousands of books, and files, and files, and still more files. In Grade 11 I had to do a project on tidal power, and so I asked dad if he had any information for me. He did, and after moving some file boxes around he found it. No easy task when there were layers of boxes to reorganize… and not a box, or a file was labelled!!!

The tidal energy file was 2-3 centimetres thick and I blew away my class and teacher with the research I shared. In a pre-Google era it would have taken 15-20 hours searching library bookshelves and microfiche to collect research, newspaper clippings, and magazine articles that I had at my fingertips.

This was the life most people lived before Google:

I always had the information I wanted, I just had to ask my dad.

Nuggets of happiness

My dad passed away last week. Today we did the paperwork at the crematorium, and we’ll do a family gathering in the fall. He had a stroke while I was visiting over the March break and he never left the hospital after that.

While at the hospital, my youngest sister was staying with dad late one night and she was feeling hungry. She said to him, “I’m heading down to Tim Hortons, do you want anything?”

My dad responded, “No thanks, are you going to get some nuggets of happiness?”

Puzzled, my sister asked, “Do you mean Timbits?

Dad smiled and nodded ‘Yes’.

Nuggets of happiness. This is a great metaphor for coping with my father’s death. There are a lot of emotions, and a lot to deal with. There is great sadness. But then there are also those moments of fond, joyful, and humorous times that I’ll enjoy remembering. Little nuggets to love. Little nuggets that remind me he is still with me as long as I choose to remember.

I don’t think I’ll ever eat a Timbit again without remembering my dad.

And while there are many other emotions right now, I know the memories I cherish, the memories I will share with my mother, my siblings, my wife, my kids, and even grandkids in the future, will bring me joy and happiness.

Passion and Compassion

Had a chat with my parents yesterday for their 55th Anniversary. My dad was sharing that he spoke to one of my daughters earlier in the day and her gave her some advice.

“Live life with passion and compassion,” he told her. When you find a job you love, it’s not work, it’s a vocation. And so you can live a life of following your interests with passion. And then, don’t forget to have compassion for your fellow man.

Simple, thoughtful advice. Be passionate about the things you do, and be compassionate to those who are less fortunate or who could use your help or support.

“Live life with passion and compassion.” ~ Abraham Truss

Sharing again

Revisiting my uncle, I was reminded of this story, and my post, forgotten dream:

From my earliest memories I can remember our house containing numerous bookshelves with books double stacked, one in front of the other, with whole sections having books stacked horizontally, so that 6 or 8 horizontal books could take the place of 4 or 5 vertical books.

And I read almost none of them.

The dream was a dream of lost opportunity. Of being blind to the ocean of information that sat before me metaphorically unseen, and literally unread.

Adding to this we need to spend quality time with people we care about… and not take them for granted. It’s easy to think the people closest to us will always be there and forget to treat them the way they deserve to be treated.

Inversely it’s a good thing when we remove people from our lives if they are not worthy of our time. I love this quote by Isaiah Frizzelle about creating boundaries for people that don’t deserve access to your life, “Time does not allow reentry and an apology does not always allow access.”

To the fish, water is invisible. It’s fine for us to ignore the oxygen around us, but we need to pay attention to, and show love and respect to, the people we care about.

Can you drive me home?

I don’t pretend to be a perfect dad, but let me tell you one thing that I do that I’m pretty sure I’ve got right. Whenever one of my kids asks me to pick them up at the end of the night, my default answer is always ‘yes’.

My oldest shared this with me one night when I picked her and three friends up from a club… We just dropped the 3rd one home and my oldest said about the kids me we dropped off second, “You know what she said to me before you picked us up? She said, ‘I think you dad actually likes dropping us home’.” We had a good chuckle.

Yes, I do.

I want to be asked. I want to know they are getting home safe. I want them to plan ahead and ask me. I want them to know that I’m the backup if things don’t go as planned.

The fact is if I’m part of the plan, I know the plan is good. I know they aren’t driving with a designated driver that still had drinks, or left the party early. I know that my kids will call me if they feel stuck, or uncomfortable, or decide to leave before the person driving.

And I want them to know that I’m not rolling my eyes, or judging them, or doing it begrudgingly. As they get older, they aren’t going to come to you for the big things if they don’t feel like they can come to you for smaller things… And playing chauffeur for them every now and then in their late teens and early 20’s isn’t half the work that being chauffeur to sports and dance and musical theatre and singing lessons were when they were younger.

“Hey Dad, can you drive me and a couple friends home at midnight tonight?”

“Of course.”

A forgotten dream

Last week I visited my uncle and he reminded me of a dream that I shared with him, 27 years ago, before my move from Toronto to Vancouver.

There is a saying: “To the fish water is invisible.” And that is what my dream was about. I grew up in a pre-Google era, but I had something better… I had my dad. It seemed that no matter what question I may ask, my dad had, and still has, a comprehensive answer. My only hesitation to ask him a question was that I needed to be sure I was interested enough to get his extensive and detailed answer.

The dream was that I was in my bedroom next to my dad’s office and everything was under water. It wasn’t scary, I could breathe. I knew the water was there but I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.

What was right in front of me was all of dad’s books that I had never read. 1,000’s of books. My dad has read and given away more books than any 50 people would normally read in their lifetime. From my earliest memories I can remember our house containing numerous bookshelves with books double stacked, one in front of the other, with whole sections having books stacked horizontally, so that 6 or 8 horizontal books could take the place of 4 or 5 vertical books.

And I read almost none of them.

The dream was a dream of lost opportunity. Of being blind to the ocean of information that sat before me metaphorically unseen, and literally unread.

I didn’t enjoy reading until I was in my 30’s. I slowed down again after that, getting too busy, until recently in my 50’s when I discovered that I could listen to audio books while exercising, and walking, and waiting in lineups, and commuting in my car.

We often don’t see the opportunities right in front of us. We often take things, and people, for granted because they are right there.

About 8 or 9 years after I moved to B.C., my librarian at the school I was teaching at did an exchange with a teacher from Australia. That teacher and her retired husband went away almost every weekend during the exchange. In a single year they had visited more of B.C. than I had in almost a decade. In fact, more than I have in over a quarter century of living here now.

We are fish, blind to the water we swim in. Sometimes it’s worth stopping and paying attention to what is right in front of us.