What's In An Object?

It's funny how a simple inanimate object can have such an effect at bringing back a flood of memories.

This past weekend, my son and I spent the long Easter weekend with my Mom back in Levack.

Because my Mom had given Liz and I Baba's long-standing recipe for pierogi last December, and we had gone through at least a couple rounds of making them on our own with Liz's girls and Alexander, I told my Mom that Zander and I would make some pierogi for her.

My Mom hadn't made pierogi since her mother, my Baba, died in February seven years ago. She keeps buying them from Costco. So I thought it might be fun for her to have some home-made pierogi. No, not as good as Baba's (nothing could ever replace those) - but home-made and, like Baba's, made with love and just a touch of calamity in the kitchen.

When, back in December, Liz and the girls and I had been making pierogi, I remember being quite particular about the vessel we used to cut the dough into the round shapes for crafting the little Eastern European dumplings. I likely went overboard in my desire to find just the perfect glass or cup to use, and was never quite satisfied with what we ended up using.

It was because Baba had always used a particular little tea cup for cutting her pierogi dough with. A small white cup with red roses and green-silver stems and leaves; complete with a couple of chips in it that suggested it had been long and well used.

Baba's pierogi tea cup

Looking at that teacup brought back a huge flood of incredibly powerful memories.

Life Reflected in Art

I've been reflecting all day on the fact that it has been thirteen years since my Dad died.

A few nights ago, when he was feverish and having trouble falling back to sleep, as I laid in bed beside my son trying to comfort him, we chatted in the dark.

He asked me if there was anything I regretted. With tears in my eyes, I told him the one thing I really regret was not having spent more time with my father when I was younger. While I had made it a point to spend time with him once I was a young man (ie, in my early twenties), I often think about all those additional fishing and hunting excursions I could have gone on with him when I was younger -- all that father/son bonding time that I missed out on.

Because the times spent with my dad were always so very precious; and the memories I have are good ones -- fun ones.

I told Alexander that's one of the reasons why I love to spend so much time with him; why the traditional week-long "Boy's Road-Trip" we do every year the first week of July is so important to me. While I do spend a lot of time traveling, I have made spending time with Alexander a top priority.

Every year, on this delightful day in which we're supposed to all turn a little bit Irish and drink a toast, a cheers to St. Patrick, I find myself offering a special little cheer to the many beers that I shared with my Dad over the years. I think of the happy memories, all we had, and not the regrets.

And, today, I have been thinking about how many of the books I've written are reflective of that important father/son bond.

When he was still alive, one of my biggest fears was my father dying. To that end, I struggled with the thought, and imagined having to face it head on. From that fear and anxiety came the novel MORNING SUN.

Sharing parts of the first draft with him that I was working on while my Dad, my cousin Rodney and I were on Manitoulin Island during deer hunting season. (Dad and Rodney were hunting, I stayed back and hammered away on the laptop on the novel)

Dad & I on Manitoulin Island. Him reading MORNING SON; me with a beer

MORNING SON (a novel which I haven't yet published - it remains in a drawer) is more of a contemporary story with a bit of an underlying mystery. It's the story of a bereaved man who learns that his father's last dying wish was to have his son scatter his ashes at his favourite fishing hole. The only problem is that he always kept his favourite fishing hole a closed guarded secret. The young man, a bookstore manager who continually escapes into work as a way to avoid conflict in his life, finds himself compelled back to the Sudbury region to explore his father's past and find that secret locale. But in the midst of uncovering the past, he also unveils a closely guarded family secret that explains why his father was estranged from the rest of the family.

The novel contains many autobiographical details as well as several details from my father's own life. All fictionalized, of course. But many elements -- my father's near fatal motorcycle accident, the less than out-doorsy bookworm son with epilepsy -- are based on reality.

Here's the prologue for that novel:

I never spoke so many words to my father as I did when I was thirty-two and traveled with him from Ottawa to the sprawling network of fishing holes off Highway 144 in Northern Ontario. The only thing that took any real pleasure out of the experience was the fact that my father was nothing more than about five pounds of ashes in a silver-plated urn that I had strapped into the passenger seat beside me.

     A man of few words his entire life, my father's Will reflected the same, stating that everything was to go to his only son, and that upon cremation of his body, I scatter his ashes at his favourite fishing spot. The only problem was that my father's favourite fishing spot was a more closely guarded secret than the US president's nuclear launch code. That and I hadn't fished with my father since I was eleven; I was about as likely to remember where he'd take me fishing all those years ago as I was to guessing the winning Lott 649 numbers. And I would be just as at home reading a topographical map as I would be reading the French language my namesake suggested I possessed.

     Nonetheless, leaving my wife and child behind, I set off to fulfill my father's request, taking myself on a journey of introspection, self-discovery and, finally, a clear picture of who my father really was.

     Despite some of the shocking secrets I discovered, the realization that my father was as flawed and fallible as myself, and the fact he had been dead for several weeks, I never felt closer to my father in my entire life

     And I couldn't have loved him more.

As I mentioned, I haven't yet published the novel. I did send it off to a few publishers back when I first completed it and received a few polite rejections. Apparently, mainstream more "literary" novels just aren't my forte. I then moved on to other writing projects; but every once in a while I wonder if I'll pull it back out, give it another polish, and send it off to a publisher or perhaps self-publish it.

One novel that I DID publish, and which was based on my father's actual death, was, again based on some things from both my father's life and my own. The afore-mentioned near fatal motorcycle accident; my initial adoration of computer programming back in the Commodore PET computer days; not to mention that the novel mostly takes place in a fictionalized version of the building where Kobo's home off is. (I changed the company my hero works for to an online insurance company).

EVASION was inspired by my father's death, and the anger I felt towards the doctors, towards the hospital, towards everyone involved. It also came from the odd thing that kept happening to me for years after he died. I kept imagining I had spotted him in a crowd or driving the car beside me on the highway. It made me wonder: well, what IF he really is still alive? How could that be? Why would it be? The answer to that turned into a thriller -- one in which a man investigating his father's mysterious death finds himself hunted by everyone he knows and encounters. And thus, the novel, EVASION was born.

Here's the beginning of the Prologue for EVASION:

Scott Desmond was looking at a dead man.

     He shook his head, swiped at the sweat running down his forehead and into his eyes, tried to focus more clear-ly on the sight before him.

     There was no mistake about it.

     The man he was looking at across two sets of train tracks was none other than his father – a man who had died almost eighteen months earlier.

     Scott shook his head for the second time, rubbed his eyes, tried to focus through the humidity of the August day. But there was simply no disputing the fact.

     The man he was staring at across the GO train plat-form had to be his father.

EVASION is available in print, eBook and now in audiobook versions. You can also read the entire text of the first draft of the novel (unedited, so you'll have to just suck up the typos and grammar and other issues) on Wattpad where it has had almost 200,000 reads. I'm quite delighted with the audio version and think that Brian Troxell does an amazing job reading it. Click the link below to listen to a sample of it.

Evasion on Audible

I have already written most of the sequel to EVASION. It's a story that focuses on the life of Lionel Desmond. (Lionel was my father's middle name, and, yes, much of Lionel' character was based on my own father -- it was so much fun writing Evasion and based certain personality traits on my Dad. Even more fun exploring a fictional childhood from my father's perspective)

My father has shown up in a few other stories I have written; stories and tales he has shared, or that have been shared about him have surfaced in so many other places, including direct tributes that became a collaborative effort such as the time I wrote him a poem inspired by a painting and he turned the poem itself into a beautiful piece of art. So while these, so far, are the only two book-length works he has appeared in, I'm sure he'll continue to make himself known in other works along the way.

That's the reality of art that pulls snippets from life. That's the reality of continuing to be inspired by someone who meant so much.

Here's to the continued inspiration, the memories and the never-ending love. Thanks, Dad!

Eugene Lionel Lefebvre: June 28, 1938 - March 17, 2003

A Dozen Years, A Lifetime of Memories

Twelve years ago today I lost my father.

For the longest time, losing my father had been my greatest fear. The first full length novel I wrote (still unpublished) was an attempt to come to terms with facing that fear. And a relatively recent novel that I wrote explored my desire to explore "what if he hadn't died." I doubt I'll ever stop including this element in some way in my writing.

Yesterday, when I was talking with my son about the grandfather that he never had the chance to meet, he asked about the surgery and if I ever wished I could find a time machine so I could go back and change what happened on that day. One of the things I love most about hanging out with my ten year old is that our minds are so alike; we can get into a grove and the decades of age difference between us dissolve. 

It's always an interesting premise, wanting to go back and change things that didn't go right.

But there are a few things that went right that fateful morning. Such as giving my father a hug and a kiss and telling him that I loved him before he headed off into surgery.

Dad and I in Levack, sharing a beer and some laughs back in the 90's

Taking the time to tell those that you love, those who are important to you, is always the right thing to do; even when it's awkward. But the great thing about love is that you can give and share love without ever once feeling depleted of it. It's an amazing internal natural resource.

Tonight, when I'm sitting back and having a beer, I'll be toasting the memory of my father; I'll be toasting all the fun times that we shared, all those moments together, and the life that he lived; celebrating a man I continue to try to emulate. But I'll also be celebrating the incredible gift that I have in being a father to such a truly wonderful son as I continue to marvel at all he is and continues to grow to become.

Alexander and a game of chess we played last night (while philosophizing) at The Winking Judge

Tonight, I'll be toasting to memories, and to futures; and reflecting on just how blessed I am that I get to live between the two extraordinary lives of my father and my son. The influence of both of them make me into a better person.

Dad And My Writing

June 28th has always been a special day. My Dad's birthday.


When we were young, it was always a time for our family to get together (my larger family, that is, which always included my Mom's brother, Uncle Leslie, and his family. His sons, my cousins Rodney and Kevin grew up more like extended brothers than cousins, so whenever I thought of the family getting together, they were always a part of it - especially on special occasions like Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter and my Dad's birthday)

My Dad died unexpectedly on an operating room table. It's something I've been dealing with for a long time. Before that, my biggest fear for the longest time had been losing my father. And that was the spark of the novel Morning Son, which I wrote more than a decade ago.

Morning Son is the story of a man who is tasked with spreading his dead father's ashes at his father's favourite fishing spot -- only, his old man's favourite fishing spot was a secret, so the novel's hero ends up leaving his wife and daughter behind to go on a quest to see if he can learn this secret locale -- only, he uncovers other disturbing secrets from his father's past that he wonders might be better left alone.

Dad reading a scene from Morning Son

I had been working on one of the first drafts of the novel when my Dad, Rodney and I were staying at a cabin on Manitoulin Island. They were hunting and I was writing. Although the novel is fiction, some elements had been based on things from my Dad's life, such as a motorcycle accident that had almost killed him when he was in his early twenties and left him with a leg injury that would plague him his entire life -- I thus had my father read a few of the scenes that had been based on real life, like the accident in order to help ensure I properly captured the essence. (I had constructed it from reading the gigantic court transcript of the case)

I shopped Morning Son around to a few publishers, several of whom thought it interesting and with some merit, but none interested enough to publish it. I put it back in the drawer and haven't looked at it in years. I think it's a decent novel, and certainly unlike most of my writing, because it's mostly contemporary fiction, with perhaps a bit of a mystery to it.

But last November, during NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), I ended up writing about my Dad again. Only this time, it was to explore something that kept happening to me shortly after he'd died. I keep "seeing him" everywhere. Wish fulfillment, of course, because I wasn't ready to have lost him. But my mind kept imagining scenarios where he wasn't really dead and thus there was a chance that the two of us might get together again some day.

And that's how my novella length thriller Evasion was born.

Evasion opens with the following text...

Scott Desmond was looking at a dead man.
    He shook his head, swiped at the sweat running down his forehead and into his eyes, tried to focus more clearly on the sight before him.
    There was no mistake about it.
    The man he was looking at across two sets of train tracks was none other than his father - a man who had died almost eighteen months earlier.

Evasion, trade paperback version - front cover and spine

Evasion explores what happens when Scott Desmond starts looking into his father's death, convinced that he man can't possibly be dead, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Just as he feels he is getting somewhere, people in his life, starting with his boss, begin trying to kill Scott. He is forced to run, wondering if he'll be able to stay alive long enough to figure out what happened to his father.

I hadn't planned on doing anything with it for a while (particularly since I already had two books coming out from traditional publishers and also releasing the 10th Anniversary Edition of my self-published One Hand Screaming all slated for later this year).

But I had posted the novel to Wattpad in the hopes of getting some beta reader feedback and perhaps even winning some money from a post NaNoWriMo contest they'd offered. I figured if I won I could use it for editing and cover design costs for the book. Only, a Wattpad employee found the story, liked it and wanted to feature it in the Thriller category on May 26th.

So I rushed it to an editor, revised the cover and got a cleaner version of the book ready.

It exploded in reads and, to date, has received more than 71,000 reads, over 1000 votes and 270 comments. Wow.

One of the more popular comments including many that ask if the book will be available to purchase and also what happens next.  (Inspiring me with plans to write the sequel to the novel this coming November during NaNoWriMo 2014)

Evasion - trade paperback back cover

The book is available to be read completely for free on Wattpad.  It's also available as an eBook on Kobo and Kindle. (Versions coming for other forms in the near future) And a print version is also now available.

I also thought I'd test out using some book design templates I had read about from designer Joel Friedlander. I had been following his blog for a while and heard many positive comments about his templates and services from trusted folks in the different writer communities. Friedlander has created a series of Word templates that allow authors to easily create print-ready documents for both a book's interior and exterior.

So last weekend, I spent a few hours fooling around with the templates and then loading them to Createspace, a POD solution offered by Amazon.

The templates were simple and easy to use. Despite knowing how to use Adobe InDesign to create a cover flat layout, I used Friedlander's Word template for covers and followed the handy online instructions. I ended up with a template that worked quite nicely and did not look like a cookie-cutter outline. There's enough flexibility within the base template to allow someone to be able to come off with a decent looking design. I was suitable impressed and can highly recommend these templates to authors who don't already have expert support in making print-ready files.

Then I accidentally published the thing.

Yes, in the process of going through the proofing on Createspace, I had meant to order a proof copy (which I did), but I accidentally hit the APPROVE PROOF button and the book went into publish status.

So I hadn't really been planning on letting the thing go live yet. I've been waiting since 2007 for my first novel I, Death, to be published by a publisher I have adored working with. And it's coming later this year.  (I suppose, since Evasion is a novella, I, Death will still be my first novel)

The proof arrived the other day and I looked at it for the first time last night - on the eve of my father's birthday. I was blown away by how gorgeous it turned out.

Evasion is dedicated to My Dad. Writing the book has been a cathartic experience, and testing out the templates and the process to make it into a print ready book has also been incredible.

Interior of Evasion - a Picture of Mark and his father Eugene

On the inside "About the Author" section, I used a picture of me and my father at the BBQ.  It was taken a few years before he died and reminds me of the fun we had on those late June afternoons, hanging out with the family, sharing stories and jokes, drinking a cold beer and enjoying those precious moments together.

When I return to the universe of Evasion this coming fall, I'm certainly going to enjoy further exploring the relationship between Scott and Lionel Desmond, a fictional father-son relationship that has already brought me so much joy in writing. When I look back at it, stories my father shared with me have ended up being used in so many different stories. There are elements of him almost everywhere in my writing.

No, writing Evasion or the next book in that series that explores the father-son relationship between Scott and his father won't bring my Dad back. But it's always fun to dream and wish and imagine.

Happy Birthday, Dad! I love you. I miss you. And I thank you for so many wonderful memories and for the endless inspiration.

A Beer In Your Honour, Dad!

Another St. Patrick's Day and another year that I will be tipping a beer back tonight in honour of my Dad, who died on this day 11 years ago.

My Dad and I BBQing in Levack, ON - mid 1990's

At bedtime tonight, I'll also take the time to tell my son another story about the grandfather he never had the chance to meet, but who is very much present in so many of the things that we do together.

My Son and I, at my Dad's BBQ in Levack, ON - mid 2000's

It doesn't get any easier each year this anniversary hits. The pain and loss never really goes away. It just grows a little different as time passes. Love never dies. It grows stronger and memories, precious memories are clung to and new memories are made. I'm so glad that I matured enough to appreciate my father for the man that he was before I lost him; that I had begun to pay attention to all of the things that he could teach me.

And most of my thoughts about my Dad now turn and result in reflecting on my relationship with my own son, and the special moments and fun memories that we are building.

Last week, we took a family trip down to Myrtle Beach; it was great to be able to spend so much time with my family after so much work related travel recently. Zander and I had a wonderful time playing in the pool, solving magical quests together, exploring hands-on science, climbing through 3-story obstacles, zip-lining and racing go-karts. We even shared a few of those special and strange moments of looking into the night sky and speculated together about the possibility of aliens life and UFO's. All new memories of fathers and sons. All special moments that I will continue to cherish in future years.

Here are a few of the annual posts about my Dad's loss from 2013, 2012, 2011, 2010, 2009, 2008, 2007, 2006, 2005.

Nine Years Ago

Nine years ago today my son was born.

And my life changed.

Permanently.

For the better.

I can't express just how fantastic it is to be a father - in particular to be Alexander's father.

Alexander at Tobermory

It's funny. I remember thinking (in the way that many teens do), at how little my parents knew about everything when I was in high school, and marveling at just how much they learned when I went away to university.  It was an interesting perception thing.

There's a new perception thing taking place now that I'm a parent.  It seems that now I marvel at just how much my son teaches me about the world every single day -- he helps me see the world with a fresh new perception, with innocence and curiosity; with wonder and a new appreciation.

Sure, I helped give him life, nurtured him, took care of, provided for, coached, taught and played with him -- did all those fatherly things.  But among the most important things I could ever do with simply listen to him. Actually sit and chat with him about the little things, about the big things, about the things that are important to him, the things he wants to express.

And from that, I have learned so much more about him, about me, about the world.

Barnaby, Zander and Daddio on their July 2013 Road Trip

It has become a tradition, ever since his first birthday, for me to take the first week of July off to spend with Alexander.  A fun father-son week.  This year we decided to take a road trip, try some fishing, and do a quick visit with my Mom (Baba Jean).

Alexander demonstrating how he caught his first fish (Georgian Bay near Tobermory)

Though it was a quick three-day trip (I needed to back back in Hamilton on Friday morning so that I could participate in a little Kobo chat about kids and eBooks on CHCH Morning Live), we packed a lot of fun into those days, and it was, as always, a delight to spend so much time with my son where the focus was on doing fun father-son stuff.

The proud fisherman (with his cooler of fish), posing near the Joseph Simon (our chartered fishing boat)

We did some fishing in Tobermory (his first time out, and almost twenty years since I had gone fishing), we took the Chi-Cheemaun ferry from Tobermory to South Baymouth, then drove up through Manitoulin Island on our way to Sudbury and Levack.

Alexander on the Joseph Simon (fishing vessel), just off Middle Island (just before catching his first fish)

A simple, trip, quick, yet the stuff that fun memories are made of. 

Alexander on the deck of the Chi-Cheemaun

And, as mentioned, a chance for me to learn more about everything from my son. Alexander is an amazing little boy and doing stuff with him is an absolute joy, pleasure and privilege.

Relaxing on board the Chi-Cheemaun (from Tobermory to Manitoulin)

I am a blessed father, a blessed man.

The Product Of Two Men

I am the product of two men. Okay, one's not yet a man, he's still a boy - but truly, so many of the things I am, so many of the things I appreciate about life, that I respect, admire and connect with, come from my relationship with two people.

So much of the way that I see myself, stems from two very important guys:

My Dad and my Son.

They never had the opportunity to meet each other. I know that my Dad would have worshiped the ground that Alexander walked on, and that my son would have had idolized and adored his Grandpa Gene.

But my Dad died before Alexander was born, so they never met.

And yet they are connected.

Today is my Dad's birthday - our family always made a big deal about that; always celebrated it, in conjunction with ringing in the summer season. Alexander's birthday is about a week later and has, for Francine and I, been a similar type of special celebration of a wonderful new season in our lives -- and thus, as June ends and July begins, I am filled with strong thoughts about how I am a better person for my relationship with these two males who define me.

Dad and me in the boat on one of my earliest fishing trips

Alexander and I are heading on a boy's trip next week. It's going to be a road trip with lots of exploring and, of course, fishing as a central activity. He has expressed a desire to go fishing; my Dad was the most avid fisherman I ever knew.  Taking Alexander for his first fishing experience is going to be fun, a little bittersweet, but certainly a wonderful memory for the two of us. I have spoken to him many times about my own experiences fishing with my Dad, but I'm sure, when we're out on the water, I'll conjure up other memories for him of other memories and stories that will come to mind.  (Fishing, inherently, goes hand in hand with tales)  Who knows, it might even become a tradition, the way my taking the first week of July off every year to spend some concentrated time specifically with Alexander has been a tradition ever since his first birthday.

Alexander and I BBQing in Levack

I'm a really lucky guy. My Dad loved doing things with me. And Alexander has always enjoyed doing stuff with Daddio.  I cherish those moments, and those memories.

And so, on my Dad's birthday, I think a lot about the two men who make me a better man, a better person.

And I'm extremely thankful for both of them.

Man Of The House

I used to receive great little tidbits of fatherly advice from my Dad. And, interestingly enough, the advice that he would share with me didn't seem like all that much when he was relaying them to me. But now, I think back on those nuggets of wisdom and cherish them.

I have tried to do the same with my son Alexander.


I travel quite a bit for work. And, every time I do, I usually sit down with Alexander the night before and have a heart to heart chat with him about what it means.

Alexander has always been a helpful little person, assisting with chores around the house and he has always been working right at my side at various tasks and DIY projects in the home. And he takes his responsibility very seriously.

So, respecting that, I usually sit him down prior to my departures to pass on the "man of the house" duties to him.

Alexander and I, summer 2012 - Swiss Family Robinson tree house, Walt Disney World, FL

This is how it went last time.

Mark:  I'm heading to New York tomorrow and will be there for almost a full week. You know what that means, don't you?

Alexander:  That you'll be spending most of your time looking up on the side of the tall buildings to see if you can spot Spider-Man?

Mark:  Of course. How could I visit New York without doing that? What I mean is, you know what that means around here, right?

Alexander:  That I'll be the man of the house.

Mark:  That's right.  And you know what your main job as man of the house is, don't you?

Alexander:  Yes.  Listening to Mom.

Mark:  Exactly.

Again, my son has nailed it.

In celebration of what it means to be the man of the house (until she gets home), here's Rodney Carrington's "The Man Song" in which he sings:  "'Cause a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, and I'm gonna do what you tell me to.  Because I'm top dog around here . . . but I've been neutered....


To all the "men of the house" out there . . . Happy Father's Day!

Getting Along With Your Brother

I was raised an only child, so I don't have many of those "stop touching me" or "stop looking at me" stories from the back seat.

And, since Francine and I only have one child, I don't really have many of those "father yelling from the front seat at the children" stories to share.

So I'll do what I do best - I'll use my imagination to create some.

Saturday morning, our bunny Scotty (Mr. Scotty Nibbles III) found a new friend: Herman. (Herman is a stuffed ape that my Dad bought for me for Valentine's Day just a week before he died; so, though Herman is a bit goofy looking and gigantic -- yes, it was my Dad's idea of a joke, because when I was a child I had always wanted a monkey -- he means a lot to me) 

Scotty, who rarely sits for long, sat for half an hour beside Herman. It was so cute that I had to take a picture. Then, he started to get cozy and nest himself between Herman's legs, pulling down the ape's arms to cover himself.  It was quite adorable until Scotty started to chew on Herman's legs and pull the stuffing out of him to further pad his nest.

"Scotty, stop chewing on your brother!" I scolded.  I didn't take a picture of that mess.

Then, later that day, we went as a family to see Iron Man 3.  I moved Barnaby from the front seat to the back so that Francine could ride shotgun. (Yes, Barnaby, my skeleton, rides with me - not so I can get in the HOV lanes, but simply because there's no good place in the house to store him, and, since Barnaby comes with me to book signings, it's easier to have him in the car already.

Besides, it's fun to make the other motorists do a double-take, and it's a great ice-breaker when I'm at the gas station or getting in to my car in a public parking lot.  (And yes, I have a small front cover image of my book Haunted Hamilton within site -- I figure, if people are looking, they might as well see some self-promotional stuff)

Barnaby's head sometimes shifts around when I'm driving (a great side-effect to help further freak out fellow motorists), but Alexander gets angry whenever the skeleton's head shifts over to look at him.

"Dad, tell Barnaby to stop looking at me!" Alexander was yelling from the back seat. When the skeleton didn't comply (how could he, after all?), Alexander started poking him in the head until the head swiveled away from him.

I imagined Barnaby replying, "Dad, tell Alexander to stop poking me!"

"Alright," I yelled. "Knock it off, both of you. Barnaby, stop staring blankly at Alexander, you know he doesn't like that. And wipe that goofy grin off your face. And Alexander, stop punching your brother in the head."

At that point Francine did what she always does:  she shook her head and wondered why she ever married me.

It Has Been Ten Years, Dad

Ten years ago today my Dad died.

I still miss him, and I still love him. I still wish I could have just one more minute to spend with him, drink one more beer with him, exchange one more joke, hear one more story or fishing tale. And I would give all of those things up (were they presented to me) for the opportunity of having my son and my father meet. I know that my dad would have loved Alexander and my son would have, likewise, adored his Grandpa Gene.

But there are always things you want, things absent, things left unsaid that you wish you had made more of an effort with.

At the very least, I know that I didn't fall into that stereotypical male habit of holding back feelings and being non-demonstrative.

I never failed to tell my dad that I loved him, I never paused to hug or kiss him, to make sure that he knew how much I respected and looked up to him.

In fact, the last words I spoke to him on the morning he died were "I love you." And this was said as I was giving him a big hug and a kiss just before he went off to the operating room. He never came back out.

Had I held back on sharing that with him I would still be regretting my inability to express what I felt.

And I'm so thankful that my dad knew just how much I loved him.

The lesson, here, I suppose, is this simple thing:  if you love someone, if you appreciate someone, if you have positive feelings towards a relationship, any relationship, why hold that in and keep it to yourself?

Love is at its strongest when it is given out and shared fully.

Because this is the 10th anniversary of losing my father, I thought I would link to the annual memories I have posted on this blog (and where I grabbed these pictures from):  2012, 2011, 2010, 2009, 2008, 2007, 2006, 2005.

The Grinch Who Stole Halloween

My son went out the front door this morning to discover that somebody has stolen two of the "Gruesome Greeters" that have been a part of our annual Halloween decor in the front yard for several years now.

A pic from last year - stolen "greeters" are circled

They were attached two a couple of plant stands that Francine uses - including the wonderful "bunny" plant hanger that we had for years - those were stolen too.

It's not the cost of these items that bothers me, but rather the effect it has on my son.


It was a fun morning - the family was happy, heading out the door to drop him off at school, only to discover this.  He burst into tears of frustration and was determined to go hunting through the neighbourhood, convinced we could find them.  Going to school and learning and seeing his friends and teachers was the furthest thing from his mind.

The incident has been reported to police - it's not the first time items have been stolen from our front yard -- this is perhaps the fifth or sixth time.  Honestly, I have lost count.  And, like in the past when his fun things were stolen (a statue, a fountain, planters, Halloween and Christmas decorations), Alexander is going to obsess with trying to find these items we'll likely never see again.


It's interesting - I'm often asked why I write horror stories.  One of the reasons might be that at least the bad things are fiction. At least, there are opportunities in the horror I write, for good to triumph over evil. And sometimes, when the evil does win in the story (becomes sometimes in horror, the monsters win), at least when you close the book, the bad stuff is over.

But these thieves haven't just stolen some decorations from me and my family. They've also stolen a bit of fun that has become ritual in our neighbourhood.  We enjoy putting out fun decorations - this time of year, kids walking to school enjoy pausing to check out the decorations -- adults often stop to take pictures.  It's a small thing that brings fun and seasonal spirit to people. A little bit of that is now taken away.

I would just love to find the jerks who did this and force them to stand in front of my son and apologize.

Then You'll Be A Man, My Son

Yesterday, Alexander and I went to the Hamilton Public Library to register him for the summer reading program,called the TD Summer Reading Club.

To enter the program, a child needs their own library card.

In my mind, this is a significant moment in a child's life; one of the most important memberships a person can ever own.

A library card opens up an endless world of possibilities.

I think about all of the magic, all of the wonders, all of the learning, all of the entertainment, all of the hours of escape and delight that my own library cards have given me.  To be able to introduce my son to all those things is priceless.

Alexander did a great job.  When the librarian was asking questions in order to fill out his registration, he did all the talking, answered all her questions by himself.

I explained to him (in my ode to the mantra that Peter Parker/Spider-Man lives by) that with great power (his library card), comes great responsibility (making sure he returns all borrowed material).

In many ways, to this book nerd, getting a library card is one of the defining moments that turns a child into an adult, a boy into a man.  I know he's still just seven, but the learning of becoming a man -- an adult, begins early.

For some reason, I kept thinking about the wonderful poem "If---" by Rudyard Kipling, which I thought I'd share here as part of that sentiment. After all, learning the classics is all part of the wonder having a library card will endow him with.

If---

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

                    - Rudyard Kipling (1895)

Here's a great link to a typographic animation of the Kipling poem by George Horne (read by Des Lynam - music by Fauré)

Darth Vader And Son

As a special treat for Alexander and I, we recently picked up a copy of Jeffrey Brown's hilarious new book Darth Vader and Son. 

It is a cute little book of cartoons examining what life might have been like for Vader if he has raised his son Luke. In the cartoons, Luke is about four years old.

Alexander and I have been enjoying reading through it.

There are so many moments that a Star Wars fan and a father might enjoy, with wonderful fatherhood lines like:  "When I was your age we didn't even have Star Destroyers." 

But this one is one of my favourites, particularly because it reminds me of the ongoing struggle to get Alexander to bed every night (a struggle that has been going on for 7 years now . . .)

My Father & My Son

Father's Day is a special day for me not only to remember my dad, but also to relish in the very special joy I have to be the father of such an amazing and wonderful little boy.

My dad and Alexander never had a chance to meet, but I'm sure they would have gotten along smashingly.

Being the generation that binds the two of them together in this subtle way, and being so lucky to be the son of a great man and the father of a wonderful child is an honour and a privilege.

Here's one of my favourite pictures of Alexander, taken last spring, sitting on my truck (what used to be my dad's truck).  Dad and Alexander are beautifully connected in this picture, which brings me a great sense of joy and bitter-sweet pleasure.

Fatherhood Fact #87

Lunches taste better when sandwiches are in the shape of the Millennium Falcon or a Tie-Fighter.

This has been Fatherhood Fact #87 - a public service announcement.

I Have A Bad Feeling About This

Last night, my son and I were playing and, jokingly, he said: "I have a bad feeling about this!" I immediately recognized it as a "George Lucas" line and started laughing, because I realized that this "got a bad feeling" or "have a bad feeling" line is one that is used multiple times in the Star Wars movies.


Funny how a seven year old points out something that it took this 42 year old about thirty years to discover. I learn a heck of a lot from my son.

Adults should spend more time listening to children.

Alexander and I, Halloween 2011

From Wookipedia, here are the uses in the 6 films . . .

    Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace

    "I have a bad feeling about this."
    ―As Obi-Wan Kenobi's first line at the beginning when Kenobi talks to Qui-Gon Jinn onboard Saak'ak

    Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones

    "I've got a bad feeling about this."
    ―Anakin Skywalker at Geonosis in the arena, in reference to the approaching execution beasts

    Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith

    "Oh, I have a bad feeling about this."
    ―Obi-Wan Kenobi talking to Anakin Skywalker as their starfighters approach a large, closing blast door on Invisible Hand

    Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope

    "I have a very bad feeling about this."
    ―Luke Skywalker, when the Millennium Falcon approaches the Death Star

    "I've got a bad feeling about this."
    ―Han Solo, before the walls of the trash compactor start to close in

    Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back

    "I have a bad feeling about this."
    ―Princess Leia, while inside the belly of the space slug, just before the mynocks appear

    Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi

    "Artoo, I have a bad feeling about this."
    ―C-3PO, when entering Jabba the Hutt's palace

    "I have a really bad feeling about this."
    ―Han Solo, after the Ewoks capture the strike team

Here's a YouTube collection of clips from those movies . . .



Wookipedia also has a listing of uses in books, comics, computer games, the Clone Wars series as well as an extensive use of the phrase both in other George Lucas projects as well as outside the Lucas owned realm.

Just The Boys Writing Scary Stories Together

Francine flew off to Banff on Saturday. (Okay, in the interest of accuracy, she flew to Calgary then took land transportation to Banff).

Fran's trip left Alexander and I to our own devices this weekend.

The original thought was that, without Francine's calm head, and clear guidance, and proper influence, Alexander and I would be running wild all weekend, having nothing but pizza parties (okay, we did have one, but ate a healthy, well balanced home made meal Saturday night and a nice hearty breakfast on Sunday), playing video games (well, yes, we did that too, but just for a couple of hours at the neighbour's house), and making huge messes (okay, we did make a few little ones, but we also did some cleaning)

But here was the funny thing.

We spent a lot of time writing.

All week, Alexander has been talking about wanting to write a story on his computer. I told him we'd have a chance to do that on the weekend.

So, Saturday morning, after he woke up he joined me down in the den. I was working on a revision to a novel and across from me, he was beginning his first experience at typing up a story.

I helped him figure out some of the basics such as how to open Word and save a new document, how to BOLD a selection of text and how to delete and replace a word.

Here is his first attempt at a story he was itching to tell . . .

Immediately after writing, then printing this first draft of his story, he took out some pencil crayons and added some illustrations to it. I love it. I think I'm going to have it framed.

Then, this morning, during the Sunday morning father and son writing session, he expressed the fact that the story wasn't over and he had more to tell. I was delighted to hear this. I then explained to him the importance of re-reading the previous day's work and working on a second draft. As part of this exercise, I asked him to explain a few things to me.

When I told him that the first sentence didn't make sense because it wasn't a proper sentence, he explained that it was an overview/summary of the story. So we talked about it and he modified it slightly and I suggested that he add an indicator that it wasn't part of the story.

Then we had a quick chat about POV. I gently explained that he couldn't write "Alex" using a third person narrator, then revert to "we" and "me" -- but that he had to keep the point of view the story was being told from consistent.

He immediately caught on and said: "I should change Alex to I." I nodded vigorously.

Then I explained a bit about past and present tense. I wasn't even half-way through my intended explanation when he said: "I need to change it from see to saw."

"Exactly!" I said.

"And change run to ran."

"Precisely!"

So he made the changes and then began working on the next "chapter" of his his story.

At a certain point, because he kept asking me how to spell words, I took him up to his room and we pulled out two difference dictionaries he had there and brought them downstairs. I showed him he could look up words he wanted to know how to spell in either his The Cat in the Hat Beginning Book Dictionary or his Macmillan First Dictionary. (The latter was a bit more sophisticated and had a lot more words and more descriptive meanings).

He was rather pleased with the exercise of looking up words he didn't know how to spell, but then he asked why he would use more than one dictionary and I showed him Daddio's four different dictionaries, and told him that writers often use these types of writers tools to help them, depending on what was important at the time.

We didn't get into the hundred or so other writer guides and other reference books on the shelf to the immediate left of my writing space. Those lessons will come at a future day.

I was initially pleased at how productive this past weekend was for my own writing. But I'm tickled pink, and as proud as can be to see my son enjoying the simple yet powerful act of pouring his creative spirit into words on a page.

HNT - Boys Being Boys

It has been a busy few weeks. It always gets this way working at a campus bookstore.

The storm will pass, things are already starting to slow down.

For example, yesterday, I only worked 12 hours. It felt, strangely, like a really short day. (It's all relative, right?)

And though this summer was a great one (we had one of the best July's for weather in our little part of the world), it seemed to have passed all too quickly.

This morning I was looking at some pics from the past summer, and laughed when I saw this one of Alexander and I goofing around at the Dinosaur Mini Golf on Clifton Hill in Niagara Falls earlier this summer.

It reminds me of how the fall season brings Halloween -- one of our family's favourite times of year. Fran and I have always loved Halloween.  And, ever since he could walk, Alexander has been involved in the huge tasks involved in purchasing new materials for, deciding on a plan, and setting up our front yard to be a spooky haunted graveyard.

And I just love those special family moments where, after acquiring one or two new Halloween things as a family, Francine sends us out to work in the front yard; then the delight we take in showing her all the details of our new "masterpiece."

What I Missed Today

I just got home from a fourteen hour work day. I have a lot of them this time of year. Not a big deal. What is a big deal to me, though, is that I missed my son's first day of Grade 2.

For Kindergarten and Grade 1, both Francine and I were there.  This year, however, I wasn't able to be here for the first day of school ritual (cue up Cat Stevens' "Cats in the Cradle").

Fortunately, Francine took some pictures, so I could at least see what I missed.

Here are a couple of nice shots of Alexander on his way to school.

Here's ye olde standard first day of school shot . . . .

Then the old "look over the shoulder to show off my new Star Wars Clone Wars backpack" shot . . .

Of course, in the evening, after school, Alexander got his hands on the camera and took a few shots of his own. Experimental fun shots - the kind that show his creative, and "hey, let's check this out" approach that I so love.

There's the: "Look at me posing with the blue bird I bought for Mom at French River." (One of about a dozen self-pics with this bird) . . .

Then there's the: "Hey, look at me posing in front of a digital picture frame that has me in it!"

Then we have the classic: "Oh, look, a mirror! That'd be a great shot!" picture . . .

Followed by a: "Hmm, let me get this up close" shot that ended up turning into a pretty stylish and funky picture, due to the shaky hand blur.

Yes, I missed the first day of school ritual. But I think what I missed more was that fun playful evening I could have spent with my son.

And I'm thankful that though I missed some fun stuff today that I'm usually there for a good part of those playful moments . . . it makes me feel fresh and young.

No Longer My Truck

I sold my Dad's truck the other day.

Funny, isn't it? I've owned the truck since 2003, yet I still think of it as Dad's Truck (and yes, in capital letters like that). My Dad owned it from 1997 until he died in 2003. I held onto it, yes, partly as a way of trying to hold on to my Dad.

But the control arm (steering mechanism) rotted out and I haven't been able to drive it for weeks. So I listed it, a dozen or so people asked about it, a few came to look at it, and the other night someone offered me pretty much what I was asking for it.

I sold it to a mechanically inclined man who is going to be buying it to try to either fix up for his son to use or else use the parts and sell others. While it's tough letting go of my Dad's truck (see, I still don't think of it as my truck), I would be delighted to learn he WAS able to fix it up and his son was able to use it. Perhaps that way, the truck could be part of a third father/son bonding experience.

I did ask if his son fished and told him if he did, this truck would be lucky for him because it came with my father's essence of fishing luck.

I took this picture of Alexander recently, sitting on the hood of the truck and looking off pensively. From his perspective, it's Dad's truck.  He was born in 2004, so he never knew my Dad, and never really knew it as Grandpa Gene's truck, even though I constantly refer to it that way. Alexander and I had some great times driving around together in that truck.

I found a picture of Dad and I that was taken in the early 90's - both of us looking off camera, pensively. It's one of those many moments we sat together in a pause between chatting, just enjoying being in one another's company.

I feel these shots are the best kind to go with this blog post as I sit and think back about My Dad's Truck and all the things it has meant to me as well as my relationships with my father and my son.

So it's no longer my truck, no longer even my Dad's truck - but it leaves me with a lot of great memories of the father/son bond which can occur over something as simple as a hunk of steel, glass, plastic and metal mounted on four tires.