The Scariest thing He's Ever Done

We had had lots of forewarning; the weekend had been planned out since before New Years Eve when I wrote my father a birthday card that sealed my fate by simply stating, “For your birthday this year I am going to take you out for dinner.”

At one point I had thought maybe the card would be a passing thought, but I had no such luck. He perused this card as if it contained the secret of life.  My mother tells me he kept it by his side amidst the random pile of newspapers he pretends to read each morning and his assortment of reminders, calendars and post it notes that helps keep his dementia at bay.  About twice an hour, on average, my dad would read his birthday card aloud and shriek with excitement when he read the inscription, reveling in his good luck that he was going to be TAKEN OUT for DINNER.

 WHEN, Lynda, did she think I was going to come down and take him for dinner?  TONIGHT perhaps?  Had I meant TONIGHT?  Did they have plans?   Would he be free to go? I hadn’t the heart to tell him it wasn’t for a few months down the road.  Eventually my mother hid the card…for all of our sanity.

And now here we are, I sheepishly admit, four months later and the dinner date has arrived.  The part of the equation that the card failed to mention was that it was also a present for my mother.  Dad would get a special dinner out with us and mom would be free to enjoy a guilt free evening with her friends knowing her husband was in good hands and enjoying himself.  (Theoretically, at least.)

A great deal of planning went into this single evening.   Mom had to plan (elaborately) a suitable night on the town  (complete with a full 24 hours pre and post event activities).  We had to deliver and prep the waitress about his de-alcohol ized wine, mom and her friends had to find accommodations close, but not too far away and a babysitter had to be procured.  I won’t go into details about the random tidbits of life that flew our way this weekend that nearly capsized our plans, the WORST of which being my own father’s anxiety about my mother ABANDONING him for a night with his daughter. (!!!)

FINALLY, after finding a last minute replacement babysitter (for the unreliable 14 year old who randomly decided on THIS WEEKEND of all weekends, to garner a social life) we were out the door, Carl Jung de-alcoholized wine deceptively in hand, ready to face a night of repetitive questioning as to the whereabouts of my poor mother.

Not long into dinner, just when I thought I had heard every story there was to hear about playing hockey in Cortina and teaching high school English at Northview, the cloud of anxiety lifted off my dad; he and Rob started debating the new rules of hockey and who the greatest sports heros were.  I realized it had been a very long time since I'd last had such a natural and meaningful conversation with him.  It was then that I brought out the “Questions cards”.  It is something my dad has always loved as it gives him free reign to reminisce, reflect and then talk about himself.  Each card contains a simple question, “Who is your greatest hero?” or “What was your greatest fear”.  You never know where it is going to take the conversion, but as long as it doesn’t go back to “WHERES LYNDA” we are good with just about anything.

A few interesting conversations unraveled before we hit the “What is the scariest thing you’ve ever done?” card.  My dad, the man who couldn’t for the life of him tell you what day it is or where on earth his wife had gotten to, didn’t miss a beat. “That’s EASY.” He said, “Going over Niagara Falls.”

I was met with was a split second of shock, speechlessness and unexpected humour all at once and there was only one reasonable response to his statement; I spit my precious mouthful of Shiraz all over the white table cloth.

It seemed ludicrous at first, but he had some robust and consistent details to corroborate his tale.  It was the 1950s.  They went over in a little boat.  He went with his teaching buddies at the time. They wore lifejackets.  Why was I looking at him like he was crazy? LOTS of people do it all the TIME.

Was he full of shit?

Of COURSE he was full of shit.  I think there was only ONE PERSON in the history of the WORLD who has ever travelled over Niagara Falls and lived to tell the tale.  But who am I to squash the most interesting story my dad has ever told me? 

As the night went on we kept coming back to this epic adventure over the falls that took place sometimes in the 1950s.  My dad eventually started chuckling as he told it and shaking his head, ‘You guys are making me think this didn’t happen the way you keep ASKING me about it like it’s RIDICULOUS” he said at one point.

Eventually and rather painlessly, our night out came to an end, with none of us really knowing where the truth began or ended. 

I suspect sometime in his life, my father took cowardly trip on the Maid of the Mist, but after last night he still has me guessing.

What I DO know for sure this: tonight my dad is back home with his pile of papers, pretending to get caught up on the world events that went on while he was on his quick jaunt to Collingwood.  The Stanley Cup playoffs are probably on in the background, which he will feign watching later.   His martyr of a wife is again loyally by his side and he probably has no recollection of the anxiety he had felt in her absence a mere 24 hours earlier.  All is right in his world again.

He may one day find that card I gave him and wonder whether I ever DID take him for dinner.  He’ll probably even call tomorrow night complaining that we never get to see one another, but this time I’ll know a little secret: we did, Dad.  And it’s a night at least ONE of us will never forget.

(My dad - -the great adventurer...and surprisingly good storyteller!)