Sharing a Day

Clarence John Stewart

After reading my dear friend Mary’s (Momma) blog about her parents and especially about her Dad, I thought about my Dad. These are not easy memories to bring up, but here goes. I well-remember my Dad – he was my idol. Tall, strong handsome and I was “Daddy’s Little Girl”. Being an only child, it’s easy to see why I fit in that mold. I remember him mowing the lawn, making sure the grass underneath my swing set was taken care of so I could swing easily. Snuggling next to him on the couch watching Hockey Night in Canada (my cousin was on the team) and rooting for them to win (my Dad was from Paris, Ontario, Canada s0 there’s the connection). Visiting his relatives in Canada (a ‘day trip over the bridge’) and almost feeling like the ‘odd man out’ to  my cousins because I had an ‘accent’! (Translate that as: “I didn’t say “eh?” or “Ooooooot” instead of out, or “Abooooooot” instead of about – that sort of thing – Oh! or calling cookies “Biscuits”) I remember being in grade school and being made fun of because when I recited my A,B,C’s I said: “W, X, Y, Zed” (Zed is the way Canadians say Z). As to the title of this blog, I well remember a year when Father’s Day fell on my birthday (June 18th) and I was royally angry – I wanted it to be MY day, not have to share it with my Father (pretty spoiled sounding, wouldn’t you say?) The sad part of growing up, for me, was that my father became ill when I was about 8 and went into hospital; he was there almost 2 years and in all that time I never was able to visit him. (back then hospital rules were different – young children were not allowed in hospital rooms). He died when I was 10 and I regret not being able to say goodbye. I was told that, at the time, he was in so much pain that he was ‘out of his mind’, so perhaps it was better I didn’t see my idol in that condition.

My father had been a Meat Master (Canadian term-here we call them butchers). He came to Michigan for work and was working in a Meat store in town when my mother came in (I guess she knew another fellow who worked there). They met and the rest is history.  My Dad was a quiet, gentle man who loved to take me to get ice cream cones, or let me tag along when he went to the store for milk or bread. My best friend once mentioned that she really liked my Dad because he would let her tag along on our ice cream trips. I well remember a memory of playing on the kitchen floor and my father telling me that when I grew up he would have to fight off young men who came courting me. (the memory was that I didn’t understand what he was talking about and he had to explain – I was probably around 6 at the time).

Those are my memories – I resemble my father in looks – I have his square jaw, and even his cleft chin. Although it’s been 53 years since he died;  I still have fond memories of my ‘idol’.

Hoping you are either enjoying time with your Father or remembering something about your Father which brings you gladness.


Pam  (“Penny” to my Dad)

Published in: on June 18, 2011 at 11:14 am  Comments (1)  

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  1. A wonderful remembrance of a father that did share a short but loving time with his daughter. He had to have been that for you to remember the wonderful things he did with you. I must also add that your turned out to be a wonderful, creative, and giving person that he would have been very proud of. Thank you for sharing some of him with us.

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