1. I remember 1973 so well. After the tsunami of ’72 we had peace at home. No more
yelling between mom and dad once I was in bed. No more crawling into my little brother’s
bed to feel safe and warm. No more wondering what was to become of me. If I had a
report card for that year before grade 8 it would read: child of divorce, not sure where I
belong, afraid, needs rest.
When I consider how my parent’s lives had been before they met I wouldn’t wish any
child to be born into my situation.
My dad, Lorne, was born in 1928 in Saskatchewan. His parents, Harold and Alice,
worked in schools. He travelled as an overseer to schools, she was a teacher. His travels
made it impossible for him to be the dad he should have been. She made up for this by
spoiling him. Being an only child he definitely got lots. This was only the beginning. In
1942 his dad was called to serve in WWII. My dad would never have the dad he needed
to help him grow into a man. Being a “perfect” child in mom’s eyes only made it easier for
him to do as he pleased. There was no one to stop him from making the wrong decisions.
While he excelled in sports and art it was nothing compared to the legacy his drinking
would leave.
My dad dreamed of going to school to become a photographer. His dream died as his
parents did not give him their blessing. They told him he would have to go to school to be
trained for a “proper” job. It was then that my dad began to drink. That was to be his
“career” for 43 years.
My mom, Irene, was born in 1936 in Revelstoke, B.C.. Her dad had grown up in
Poland. He was a POW in the First World War. After the war he married and moved on
his own to Canada to start a new life by finding work on the railway. He had his wife come
to live with him once he was settled in Revelstoke. She stayed at home and raised my mom
but suddenly passed away when my mom was 12.
In 1954 she was dating a young Japanese man, Ray. Their love led to the birth of
Donna. Not being married and unable to support her, they gave her up for adoption.
This was a hard year for my mom not only because of giving up her own child but because
of the racial tension over them as a couple. The memory of what the Japanese had done in
WWII was definitely still fresh. My mom was very fortunate to have the support of her
loyal friends. Only death has brought new memories to an end.
My mom moved to Vancouver in the late ‘50s and worked at Vancouver General
Hospital, where she met my dad. By then he had been drinking for 14 years and was
already divorced. Their pictures show a beautiful 23 year old woman and a man who is 31,
yet looks much older. Alcoholism, I later learned, speeds up the aging process. I learned
much more when I grew up. I was born into all the fun on March 23, 1961.