For some mysterious reason, I am recently recalling him as having larger, beefier hands, capable of gentle hugs when worn kindly.
Christmas season and my dad got along fabulously 鈥� they brought out the best of each other.
I theorize that one of the main reasons I am so enthralled with Christmas is due to my dad and how he managed to squeeze the holiday season for as long as he could.
It warmed the hearts of those around him when he was in that happy state.
My fixation with the festive season is littered with multiple memories 鈥� many inspired by my dad.
Ironically, my first Christmas flashback was not a happy one.
Dad and I were shopping in a department store in uptown Summerland when suddenly my protector and hero was laying on the ground moaning and flopping about.
The large man sputtered, 鈥淕et me help Charlie boy,鈥� which I rushed off to do.
Thankfully, a doctor was also shopping in the same store and my dad was attended to immediately.
What transpired I do not recall but it was a wakeup call. He was home the next day from hospital.
Dad decided we both needed to face our demons as soon as capable, so we returned to the same store and finished our shopping expedition.
We went for hot chocolate afterwards 鈥� something I now recognize as 鈥渙ur thing.鈥�
As background, the majority of my life Dad and I were not friends due to his ferocious, unpredictable temper. A fear for me.
However, at Christmas, for some reason, that all changed.
I stopped trying to analyze why and simply enjoyed this whole new wonderful man.
Thankfully my parents enrolled me in minor hockey and even though I was a lousy player to begin with, they encouraged me.
We could not afford the best gear, but my dad found people he could persuade to sell him older gear or at least at a reduced price.
He was determined not to let our income hold back opportunities to partake in the world of average.
On the occasional Saturday minor hockey game day that my dad attended, the routine was completed with a hot chocolate at the Sing鈥� Caf茅.
Syd Hodge鈥檚 finest hockey-hot chocolate moment took place in May 1966 when somehow (still beyond comprehension), he managed to take me and a new friend of his to Sing鈥檚 Caf茅.
He was only man I had met up until that moment who had bigger mitts than dad. His name was Eddy Shack of NHL fame.
Shack was in town for a promotional fundraiser event and dad managed to snag him away for an hour.
The two seemed to make quick friends, however, looking back I am not shocked.
Pa had that ability with people. Certainly, he loved to entertain and no more so than in his own home. Especially at Christmas.
As a youngster during Christmas, my brother and sister were used to dad bringing a total stranger in the house for dinner, sometimes at Thanksgiving as well.
When done, my dad would drive them back to their dwelling (seniors home, hospital ward鈥herever).
For years, Christmas dinner was usually a huge spread with grandma and grandpa Atkinson, elderly Eddie and Winnie Aldredge, Betty and Jack O鈥橫ahoney, whatever waifs my dad had found that day, and Old Steve.
The table would be abuzz with conversations, toasts, Christmas crackers and stories. It truly was marvellous and magical.
Old Steve was a reclamation project my brother brought back to the family from the Anglican Church Camp, where Steve worked as the camp caretaker.
Since my ad was not physically able do much in the outdoors, Old Steve became our surrogate Daniel Boone.
Both Vic and I enjoyed years of learning about hunting, fishing and forest lore from the old bush rat, gold panner.
A former skid row alcoholic, after cleaning up in detox he wound up working for churches 鈥� hence his arrival at OAC.
Dad鈥檚 somewhat unpredictable thinking also showed up in his gift giving for me.
I wrote letters to Santa all summer one year asking for a pair of skates or a stick.
I received a pair of used figure skates (too big as well). However, I also got a small hockey set.
Not challenging but my friend Danny Thiessen and I made it work.
The next year, I got a GI Joe. I know I received other items but for some reason I remember that GI Joe.
I was not a big 鈥榳ar guy鈥� back then so it was different. I think they were trying to find something cool.
I tried the hockey request again the next year and received a small guitar. I was shocked.
My sister was a talented musician, but I had shown little interest.
I was disappointed at the time but looking back I now realize what a great gift it was.
It took me a while to give it a try, but clearly mom and dad had their plan.
I was often lost and confused when asked what I wanted for Christmas.
At the age of 13, I had no idea what I wanted to do for a career, no plan, no road to travel.
Whatever I 鈥榳anted鈥� for Christmas never seemed to happen, so I had no list or letter for Santa.
So my parents bought me a typewriter.
I was devastated. What the heck would I do with it?
At that point, I had not started writing poetry, songs or anything.
I thought it was perhaps just my dad playing head games again. Looking back now, clearly that is what he and mom were doing. And it worked.
That little typewriter (which is now stuffed in a corner of my shed) inspired me to begin writing professionally by age 17.
Since then, I鈥檝e written approximately 2,225 columns, a plethora of songs (most bad) thousands of newspaper stories and magazine articles, and three books.
I blame it all on Christmas 鈥� and on my mom and dad.
