Eggs on the Wall . . . for the Love of Family

By Donna Jean Gerrier

The Gerrier family faced monumental challenges together. Eggs on the Wall . . . For the Love of Family is about sacrifice, responsibility, and the compassion that Donna Jean had for her elderly parents. They embraced humour and a love of life, which was better than medicine.
Her mother was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis and osteoporosis. Her father, a Parkinsonian, cared for her mother until he suffered a stroke. This resulted in both parents being immobile and confined to wheelchairs. Donna Jean left a thriving career as well as her study of vocal performance and chose to be her parents main caregiver when their needs surpassed the home care mandate. The days unfolded from dealing with health care bureaucracy to managing her parents high-level care, hiring private workers, running a household, and managing the finances.
The Gerrier familys motto was to do the best they could with what they had to work with. They did not merely existthey lived. Her fathers condition improved due to non-traditional treatments received from a neurologist in New York City.

Their lives were not without outrageous experiences. Donna Jean tells an intriguing story of how her father nearly lost his life in Las Vegas and the horror she and her father lived through being arrested in Stockholm, Sweden. It was assumed they were Russian spies, as well as husband and wife.
The family dog, Sir Samwell, played a major part in their lives. You will read how he definitely ran the show.
Donna Jean continues her long-time passions to end violence against animals and women. She also advocates for stronger laws concerning their safety and rights. She shares how she sees the world today and emphasizes the importance of supporting each other, avoiding isolation.
Donna Jean stresses if you choose to be a caregiver for your family strive for no regrets. Do all you can, the very best you canthat is enough.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Feb 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9781452598796

Donna Jean Gerrier

Donna Jean shares her family’s story to help others facing the responsibility of caring for a loved one. Donna Jean facilitates a pet-loss support group and is passionate to end violence towards animals and women. A retired speech language pathologist, she pursues an interest in the performing arts.

Book preview

Mother’s Health Challenges

Complaining was not part of Mother’s vocabulary.

Donna Jean Gerrier

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Isabelle Gerrier

M Y MOTHER’S LIFE WAS AFFECTED by severe osteoporosis and rheumatoid arthritis. Eventually these diseases caused limited mobility, confining her to a wheelchair. Her condition debilitated her body. Her hands turned inward, as well her bones became very fragile. She went from being an independent woman to needing assistance with household obligations, as well as being dressed for the day.

People were amazed that my mother did not complain about the pain she suffered. Frequently, Mum stated how she wished she could maintain her home as she always did, completing tasks for herself.

The blessing was she retained her cognitive ability and pressed on to partake in life as much as she could. She emphasized many times how fortunate we were to be together as a family. Not everyone was this lucky.

Dad’s Struggle with the Effects of a Stroke and Parkinson’s Disease

The difference between a successful person and others is not a lack of strength, not a lack of knowledge, but rather in a lack of will.

Vince Lombardi

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Albert Edward Gerrier (Punch)

T HIS BOOK GIVES A FLAVOUR of what is involved in dealing with parents who are in need of high-level care.

My father’s stroke resulted in personality changes that were not demonstrated prior to the thrombosis. Stroke victims may maintain their original characteristics or develop opposite traits altogether. My father’s altered behaviour revealed occurrences of diminished tolerance, patience, and sensitivity to his surroundings.

The other difficulty Dad struggled with was the perception of time. There were incidents when I would leave my parents and Sir Samwell in the van while I went into a market to purchase groceries. I ran as fast as I could to complete the list. Dad calculated that I had been shopping for an hour when I had actually been in the store for a mere twenty minutes.

When I returned to the van, my father usually said, Donna Jean, I figured you must have gone back to Toronto. There have been ten people who have come out of that grocery store since you entered. He could not process that the people coming out of the supermarket may have been in the store for an extended period before I arrived. This perception was not evident prior to the stroke.

Several occasions in this book demonstrate changes in Dad’s nature, which comprised of a need to act immediately and verbal repetition of certain messages. His speech was slurred so some words ran together, but his communication was intelligible.

There are episodes where you may think my father is abrupt or inconsiderate of me. I was not offended because this now was just my dad’s temperament as a result of the stroke. Instead, I dwelled on his thoughtfulness and dedication which was not isolated to my mother and me but also for his parents’ well-being. His unselfishness, generosity, and kind heart far outweighed any frustrations I faced as a result of his declining health.

I give thanks to my profession, as I had studied and gained knowledge in reference to the behaviour of stroke patients. This made it easier for me to tolerate the adverse effects of Dad’s condition. What an advantage to have had this awareness.

Parkinson’s disease is complicated. Most people are acquainted with the type of Parkinson’s that causes one to shake but are less familiar with the type that causes immobility. My father was afflicted with the latter.

It behooves all caregivers to research and become acquainted with the impacts that can result from a stroke or other inflictions that may change an individual’s disposition, regardless of age. Our clear vision, patience, and sense of humour assisted us to overcome many trials. A tenacious will within all three of us was the foundation that moved us forward. Sir Samwell was a huge help too. He was always there to catch us if he could see we were going to fall.

CHAPTER ONE

Reminisces of My Childhood

The greatest gift is a portion of thyself.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

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Mother, Father, and I going to town on a Saturday night to shop and visit.

T HE SUBSEQUENT STORIES OF MY childhood gives a flavour of who we were as a family, what we felt was important, why I chose to care for my parents, and my reasons for fulfilling the decisions I made. The recollections of my parents’ love, coupled with their support, mirrored our family’s strongest asset—to be there for each other under all circumstances.

My Life with the Cows on the Farm

My Companions

Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.

Pablo Picasso

U NTIL THE AGE OF TEN I lived on our family farm a half hour away from Virden, Manitoba. I believed my life was unblemished because the animals on the farm were my companions. There were no playmates my age living nearby, so all the animals became my beloved friends, specially my dog, Boots, and the cows.

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Donna Jean sledding with her dog.

I seized every opportunity to leave the house and head for the barn with Boots at my heels. I ran as fast as my three-year-old legs carried me, because I was adamant to sing for the cows. I made up my own songs. I curtsied, lifted my petticoat, and bowed my head following every story and song. They were my audience, and I was their entertainment. These devoted cows seemed to applaud. I ran up to hug each animal after every performance. I told them again and again how much I adored them. The cows turned their heads in my direction as they chewed their cuds. These animals were careful not to hurt or step on me as I was a little girl. They trusted me, and I trusted them. I was fearless as I ambled between, in front of, and behind the cows. They were my buddies, along with Boots, who was always with me.

Following every story, song, and rhyme, I said, Do not worry, cows. I am going to sing for you as soon as I wake up in the morning until I go to sleep. I will not stop for dinner, even if I am starving. I am with you forever. I proceeded to recite and act out the tale of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. The cows never booed despite hearing these same stories over and over. I pretended they wanted an encore after every concert.

I believed I was a star. A few years later, I saw Doris Day in the movie On Moonlight Bay and tried to imitate her in almost everything I did. My enduring memory was of her eating a shiny red apple, while she was on a swing. I cannot tell you how many apples I ate and the number of instances I fell off the swing. I finally gave up acting like Doris Day, and decided this was hopeless because I did not have blonde hair. To me, this lady was the most glamourous movie star ever!

I spent hours in the barn with those cows and my dog. They loved me despite my dark brown hair, and I loved them. We had such fun together. I could not ask for better friends.

My parents were terrified I would be trampled by the animals. They did their utmost to keep me out of the barn. However, I remained faithful to my audience and was determined to be with them daily. The unique way Mother used to entice me to abandon my singing and acting was to convince me the cows were weary.

She said in a firm but loving voice, Donna Jean, the poor cows are tired. They need a rest.

I kept on singing with every ounce of energy I could muster.

Finally, my mother said in desperation, Dear, the cows are not only tired, now, they also have a headache. You must leave them this second and come in for dinner.

That got my attention. I did not want my cows to be hurting. Before leaving the barn, I hugged each animal several times. I assured them not to be upset or lonely because I would race back and climb on the stage (really a stool) to perform for them. As soon as I consumed my meal, I returned to be with the cows. In the evening, I sang a lullaby and wished the cows a good sleep.

As a child I refused to understand the killing of animals for food, or watching a fish gasp for air, later to be placed on a plate. My feelings have never changed. I know all animals have intelligence beyond our comprehension and should not be abused in any way for food, research, clothing, or amusement. I choose not to eat meat or flesh of any kind. As Sir Paul McCartney said,

If slaughterhouses had glass walls, everyone would be a vegetarian.

My Grandparents

What Fun!

Festive tea parties – I love them still.

Donna Jean Gerrier

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I had many happy times with my grandmother and grandfather Gerrier.

M Y FATHER’S PARENTS WERE A significant influence in my life. I was thrilled to visit my grandmother and grandfather Gerrier, who lived in Virden. I could not wait to talk on the telephone to all of my grandmother’s friends. Trying to sound like an adult, at four years of age, I asked each of them, Did you get your dusting done? The ladies laughed, and now I know why.

One afternoon my grandmother and I were invited for tea to the home of one of her neighbours. I speculated this lady must have owned the local bank because she served red sockeye salmon sandwiches made with butter and tiny gherkin pickles. Our hostess, in her eighties, had short dyed-blue hair and dressed beautifully. She had brown age spots on her hands and wore sparkly rings on several of her fingers. I assumed these were diamonds. To add to this, her house was elegant.

I was positive she must have been in the movies and was a buddy of Doris Day.

My mother canned her own pickles, bought pink salmon, and added artificial colour to margarine to make it look like butter. She did all of this because it was more economical. Both of my parents lived through the Great Depression, so every penny counted.

When we were seated at the table for dinner, I asked my parents and my grandmother, Do all rich ladies have brown spots on their hands and dye their hair blue?

It is amazing how young children observe and interpret the adult world.

Mother inquired, What on earth made you think that, dear?

It was easy. Grandmother’s friend served fancy fish sandwiches with real live butter. We also had tiny pickles. That means she must have a lot of money.

My family chuckled as Grandmother informed me, No, Donna Jean, not all ladies fit the picture you are describing.

I said, Are you sure? Are you really, really sure?

Mother interjected, Yes, dear, we are sure. I was not convinced.

Dad commented, That child!

Another incident occurred a few weeks later. My grandmother and her group of friends had lavish afternoon tea parties. Each hostess tried to outdo the others as they served delicious delicacies from their dining room tables. These occasions were the formal of the formal, from the way the ladies wore their hats, their finest Sunday attire, to addressing themselves as Mrs.

I was excited to wear my frilly dresses to attend those gatherings. A huge pink bow was tied on the top of my head, holding my dark hair in place. I must have resembled an airplane ready to take off. I was dressed for the Queen and all set for the party.

There were approximately fifteen ladies sipping tea in a beautiful living room. They chatted about the local economy, along with current events. I tried desperately to join the conversation, but was not successful. I was frustrated. Discouraged—no one was paying attention to me!

I sat on a little footstool in the middle of the living room surrounded by all these ladies, feverishly trying to imitate them. I strived repeatedly to cross my chubby legs, the right one over the left. Down it came. No way were my stubborn legs going to do what I wanted no matter what I did. The ladies looked so elegant with their legs crossed. Why would mine not do the same thing? I was exhausted and annoyed. What was worse, I started to perspire. That did it. I was fed up!

Exasperated, I decided to give up crossing my legs. Instead, I focused on what the ladies said. In desperation, I concluded the one way for me to compete in the conversation was to utter in a loud voice, Ladies, I have something important to tell you. The price of peas and carrots at the grocery store is just terrible! Where is it all going to end?

Everyone choked back laughter as they held handkerchiefs to their faces. I could not grasp why they were laughing at me. I was so irritated because I believed my speech resembled their conversations.

On the way home my grandmother had a massive task on her hands, as she tried to clarify the reason for the ladies’ reaction. She explained I spoke words that only a grown-up would speak.

I retorted, Well Grandmother, how can your silly friends laugh at me and say such a thing! I am grown-up. After all, I am four years old!

Dad Builds a Tracked Snow Machine

If I had asked people what they wanted, they would have said, ‘Faster horses.’

Henry Ford

If at first the idea is not absurd, then there will be no hope for it.

Albert Einstein

R EMEMBERING WINTERS ON THE PRAIRIES, I had a flashback to my childhood when I was six years old and in grade one.

My father built a track-driven snow machine. Dad had a 1952 Ford tractor that he modified by placing skis under the front wheels and large tracks over the back tires. My entrepreneurial father constructed a wooden box that covered the entire tractor, which protected us from the bitter wind and cold.

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Dad standing beside the tracked-snow machine he built to take me to school in the winter.

When my father worked in the yard, Boots, our Collie dog, worked right beside him. It was a sunny morning when they came inside the house.

I said, Dad, what are you doing?

Dad replied, Little one, I am building a special snow machine so you can get to school if there is a blizzard. That way you will not miss any classes if we cannot get there by car. Also, if one of us becomes ill we can still drive to town to reach the hospital or see a doctor. You cannot predict the weather in this part of the country. We could get snowed in for six months. Winters here can be pretty bad.

I was overjoyed for two reasons. We would not be so isolated socially. Furthermore, I would get to school to be with my classmates. I could see this was necessary and wonderful, but I still was so sad to leave my dog and the cows.

Dad taught me by example. I learned my father took care of those he loved, whatever the cost. This dedication usually called for his innovation and imagination. He applied both of these qualities to protect us so this is why he modified the tractor for driving in snow. My father was always there for his family.

I recall a storm when Dad and I were inside the cabin of the tractor driving on treacherous roads. It was 30 degrees below zero and snowing so swiftly the windshield wipers could not compete with the whiteout. I was not fazed because we were safe. I did not doubt that we would arrive at the country school, which was four miles away.

I wore my snowsuit, red felt boots, and was wrapped in a brown plaid wool blanket. Dad wore a heavy parka, a fur cap with earflaps, and large warm gloves. His hands tightly clutched the steering wheel. Visibility was impaired, so my father’s nose was pressed against the windshield, his face exuding determination.

Dad said, I promised we would find a way to get you to school in a snowstorm. We are almost there. Put on your mittens, Donna Jean.

Dad turned off the main road into the driveway of the little one-room schoolhouse. My father was very proud of beating the blizzard, making sure I got my education.

Oh, Daddy, we made it! I exclaimed. Can you pick me up after school, too? Will you please bring Boots? One more thing, tell the cows I will visit them when my classes are over. I should have lots of new stories.

I will bring Boots with me later and relay your message to the cows as soon as I get to the barn. Work hard, Donna Jean.

I worried about my dad driving alone. I had to let him go, knowing he would be safe. In my eyes, my father could do anything.

Dad’s words, I promised we would find a way, will remain with me forever. When my parents faced health challenges, I wanted to find a way for them to be as contented as possible in their senior years.

A Rush Order for a Baby

Brother or Sister

Words are of course the most powerful drug used by mankind.

Rudyard Kipling

Harsh words design a tattoo on your soul and mind. You can remove a tattoo; damaging words do not have that luxury. Their sting can be permanent.

Donna Jean Gerrier

I ATTENDED A COUNTRY SCHOOL from grades one to four. We had a strict teacher. How we became proficient in our studies I do not know, as she frightened many of us.

I am reminded of one incident in particular when I was six years old. Being an only child never crossed my mind until I heard the harsh words spoken by my grade one teacher. When school was dismissed, I desperately struggled to buckle my snow boots, knowing my mother was waiting for me outside in the car. I did not succeed and requested assistance from my teacher. In a stern voice, she informed me I would not learn to buckle my boots, print, or write as quickly as the other children because I was an only child. I was devastated.

Holding the boots, I ran swiftly to the car and said, Mum, we have to speed to the post office right away and order a baby brother or sister. I do not care which one we choose, but I must have more than just me in our family.

Dumbfounded my mother inquired, What could possibly cause you to think that, dear?

Oh, Mum, my teacher just told me I would never print, write, or buckle my snow boots because I am an only child. Mum, what are we going to do? It will take a whole week to get this baby. Please put your foot on the gas. We do not have a second to waste because I need someone in a hurry.

I would like to clarify the reason I said one week. My family usually purchased items from a T. Eaton or Sears Roebuck catalogue. To a young child, the packages took far too long to arrive at our rural post office. I hoped the postmistress could speed things up.

I kicked up such a fuss Mother finally turned around on the road and drove to the post office. She travelled slowly because of the icy roads—way to slow for me. When we arrived, I prattled on and on describing my situation to the kind postmistress. I emphatically but politely insisted we put a rush on the order to get this parcel fast. Having little patience, I exclaimed, If we cannot get this child sent in the mail we will have to go to the big city to pick up the baby, because I need one before nighttime.

My wise mother and the postal clerk advised me to forget about a sibling as it would be months before this wish would come true. They convinced me it would be beneficial to perfect my printing and writing with tutoring from my parents. Mother also suggested she and my father would teach me how to buckle my snow boots. Both ladies hugged me as they assured all would be solved beautifully.

I went along with this advice, but I was not enthralled with the plan. I stubbornly concluded a baby brother or sister would solve my problem quickly. During the ride back to the farm, my mother displayed immense patience as I repeatedly questioned her why my order would take so long. I was convinced the entire world could be ordered from the T. Eaton and Sears Roebuck catalogues. Why not? My teddy bear came from the same place.

My mother was a step ahead of me hence maneuvered the situation to ease my mind, hoping to heal the damaging words spoken by my teacher. When we arrived home she served me milk in her special china teacup and saucer. This was really something! Her strategy was successful.

Now, Donna Jean, I am going to put your milk and cookies on the desk. I suggest we practise your printing and writing.

Six months later I won the writing contest at a nearby country fair. My mother made certain the teacher knew of my accomplishment. I was proud and completely forgot about a brother or sister because I could manage on my own, secure and confident. To be a single child, having such a loving upbringing was a gift.

My mother also taught me how to speak correctly by insisting I enunciate each letter and pronounce every word distinctly. She would have a fit if I dropped an ing. She corrected articulations of words when she heard I’m gonna … instead of I am going to … I do not think she would be thrilled with the constant current use of the word awesome either, as she refrained from using common phrases. Absolutely would have been in the same category.

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Darlene (left) and I in front of our Grandma and Grandpa Fraser’s home.

My cousin, Darlene, who also did not have siblings, would visit every summer. I never felt alone as I always considered Darlene to be my sister. She lived in Winnipeg and rode on the train to our town. I thought she was so mature coming from the big city. I am six weeks older. We had many wonderful times together. Neither one of us could escape my mother’s teaching of proper English. I am honoured Darlene and I will always call each other sisters.

Mother’s principles still have a profound influence in my life. One afternoon while playing with Darlene, I told her a secret that someone had shared with me. My mother overheard our conversation. She explained that I must never repeat a secret to anyone because the friend I told the secret to would not trust me with her secrets. Mother requested that I apologize to Darlene and my friend, which I did. I was four years old. Thank you Mum!

My Exceptional Extraordinary Mother

If people are talking about us, maybe we are doing what they would like to tackle, too."

Punch Gerrier

The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.

Oscar Wilde

M Y FATHER AT FORTY-THREE YEARS of age, with a grade four education, made a ground-shifting decision. In 1956, he sold the family farm and moved us to Virden, Manitoba, a pretty town on the prairies in Canada.

Virden was typical of most small towns until oil was discovered in the 1950s. People arrived from all over North America. Oil wells sprung up in the countryside. One well was actually drilled in the town park, which I assume is still pumping today. Residents became affluent overnight. The oil brought happiness and sadness because people could not master the sudden wealth.

It was quite a social stage with many families hosting cocktail parties. My parents attended these social gatherings, but did not reciprocate hosting one in their home. They preferred to entertain in smaller groups over dinner. It was common to see some women wearing mink stoles at church and at other functions. Many expensive cars with out-of-province licence plates appeared on the streets. I reckoned this must be how people lived in Toronto or New York.

Virden had been a town where everyone knew everyone, so strangers threatened and disrupted our interpretation of being safe. My parents warned me not to venture downtown on my own unless I was with a group or accompanied by an adult.

***

My father joined a firm as a financial advisor and became successful in the investment business. Dad was doing what he felt was authentic, capitalizing on his skills. He often returned home at midnight having toured long distances throughout the countryside to discuss investments with clients.

When we left the farm, my mother no longer had the partnership of working closely with Dad. Their lives had changed, and so did mine.

Mother loved her home, was an excellent cook and immaculate housekeeper. After a few months of living in town she became bored. I suggested she go for coffee and visit the hairdresser like many other ladies in our town. Mum adamantly said, Donna Jean, I want you to understand I do not want to have that lifestyle on a regular basis. That was that. Oh my, I confess, I am exactly like my mother when it comes to spending longer than half an hour at the hairdressers and having coffee with the girls.

Mum wanted to exercise her talents to embrace a new challenge that would reward her with financial independence and interaction with people. The income was not necessary as Dad was an excellent provider and always generous. In the 1950s if a woman worked out of the home, she was likely single. If she was married and working, this meant the husband was not making sufficient money to support the family. Most women of my mother’s era were one man away from welfare, as quoted by Gloria Steinem.

After a discussion with Dad, Mother accepted a part-time position in a dry-goods store working five mornings a week. She also gave children lessons in piano on Saturday mornings. My mother had gained her piano training with certification from The Royal Conservatory of Music in Toronto.

Mum was ahead of her time. I realize it was not only my mother who was unconventional but also my father.

Dad said, Isabelle, if this is what you truly want, just go for it, then we will all be happy.

Punch, what will people think! Mother exclaimed.

Who cares what anybody says or thinks! If we all did what brings us joy without hurting anybody, then everyone wins. Your happiness and fulfilment far outweighs what people think. If people are talking about us, maybe we are doing what they would like to tackle, too.

I did not look at it in that context.

Dad joked, Now, you can become one of my clients by investing a percentage of your earnings with me.

My mother retorted confidently, You behave yourself, Punch. I might or I might not. Just for argument’s sake, what would be the return on my investments?

Dad snickered. You do not have to puzzle over who is running this house.

Donna Jean, do not believe a word of this, said Mum, obviously enjoying the banter. She went on to explain. Keep saving your money and someday we will open a bank account for you. You are the boss of the funds in your piggybank just like I will be in control of the income I earn.

On Saturday mornings while Mother taught piano to numerous children of all ages, Dad and I did our part. He helped me with my homework, washed the car, and ran errands Mum could not attend to during the week. My chores were to clean the house, prepare the evening meal, and mow the lawn. It was important to us that we provide Mother with all the relief she needed to augment her new career. Dad was concerned Mum would become fatigued. How wealthy we were as a family because we all worked together.

In June of that year, Mother called us into the living room for a family discussion. I was scared Mum had a terminal, strange disease, as we usually had consultations at the dining room table. Instead, she wanted to communicate a proposal for a fantastic career opportunity.

Mother was approached by the Superintendent of Schools as he heard she had a special way of teaching children. The Superintendent offered her a position as a kindergarten teacher.

Bursting with excitement, Mother was yearning to share the news of the possibility to teach twenty-five kindergarten students each morning from nine o’clock to noon. Space for kindergarten classes was not available in the school, which meant the students would have to come to our residence. At that juncture, Mother’s kindergarten class was the first one in our town.

My father listened intently before responding. Isabelle, teaching children brings you such pleasure. I see this with your piano students. However, if this new position is too taxing, please rest and take care of yourself. Your health is more important than your vocation. Donna Jean, we will have to gather forces to pitch in and help Mum. I guess I really do not have to say this because you are always cleaning something every hour. No doubt by now you must own the Javex Corporation.

You bet, Dad. I have a lot invested in that company. Beyond question, that product is germproof, I retorted.

Mother replied, Punch and Donna Jean, thank you. I am grateful to both of you for supporting my desire to accept this stimulating new position. I will be able to give young students the grounding that is mandatory for them to enrol in grade one.

Dad said, If this is your dream, and it does not interfere with your health, that is all I needed to hear.

I said, Good grief. How are we going to get all these children in our house?

That is easy, Dad said. We have a back entrance to the basement so all we need to do is remodel the lower level into a classroom.

My parents’ entrepreneurial spirit was evident once again. A few weeks later all the youngsters arrived as scheduled. These students gained so much from my mother who spent hours conversing with them. She adored them, and they adored her. Mum’s purpose was enriched, because she was living her passion. Dad and I often marvelled how she had exceptional patience with all of those little ones.

Our home became the information hub for many students. They stopped by on weekends, or whenever they could, excited to share a story with my mother. Filled with curiosity, they brought a myriad of questions such as, Mrs. Gerrier, why are oranges round? In chorus they rattled on, You know what? Most often they did not have any more questions to add, they just longed to be in her presence. Mum patiently granted an accurate explanation that satisfied their inquiring minds. She wanted each child to feel that they were special, and made learning fun.

Rest assured if Dad was asked the same question he would say oranges are round because oranges are round. Then he would kindly usher the children on their way with a cookie.

When the school term ended, Mother made hats, gowns, and diplomas for each student. She organized a special graduation ceremony for the class in one of the local churches. Family members and well-wishers were invited to attend. When the students crossed the stage to receive their diploma, tears filled my mother’s eyes.

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My mother with her kindergarten student on graduation day. The student is wearing a cap and cape designed by my mother.

Dad and I lamented, Oh, no, graduation. Mother would be sad because another school year ended. Once the ceremony concluded, Dad and I hurried to prepare dinner for us.

We gave Mum a hug as Dad said, Isabelle, a new class of children will be trundling down to our basement in the fall. This will transpire before you get things in order and go for a swim this summer.

Mum smiled. Soon she would be teaching again. Mother always said if you love what you do, your work will seem effortless and your pay will be a bonus.

My mother had a way of riding the storm, as she always saw the good that was lingering on the other side. Thank God for her serenity and insight into our family.

One instance comes to mind. It was the start of a school year. We were excited to take a trip into the city. Mother and I looked forward to these shopping outings. Seated at the dining room table the evening before we were to leave, my father announced he had to complete the paperwork for his clients. Therefore, the trip had to be rescheduled.

I instantly inquired, Oh, Dad, is this true?

To quell my dramatics Mother gave me a withering look that would melt butter, demanding I cease further chatter. When we left the table, she took me aside and said, Donna Jean, you get your school work done, then chose what you want to wear tomorrow, because we are going to the city. I am definite Dad will finish his work before we watch the late-night news.

Three hours later, my father came out of his den, confirming, All my business is done. So if you ladies still want to go shopping we can be off to Winnipeg in the morning.

How did my mother predict my father would get his work done? How did she do this? As a child, I figured she must have given Dad a magic pill. Mum was observant of my father’s nature and his integrity.

Mother was a small package of powerful dynamite. A great deal of this story profiles my father because he was such a colourful character. I also wish to share how dear and special my mother was; she had unique characteristics but in a subdued way. Mum remained calm, always steady during a crisis. She was strong-willed. Plainly stated, nobody messed with my mother!

Her advice is implanted in my memory: know the difference between what is important, and what is not worth your time and energy.

In many ways, Mother was the silence that held us together.

Dad Deals with Heavy Decisions

The less said the better. Dad listens differently.

Donna Jean Gerrier

A S A YOUNG GIRL I discovered no one was immune to my father’s direct but kind manner. One winter my mother curled on a team in a women’s bonspiel held in a neighbouring city. They won their last draw which obligated them to play another game early the next morning. The ladies decided to stay overnight. This was exciting because Dad and I were bachelors and could sneak extra treats from the pantry. Mum did not encourage this often as Dad’s doctor had recommended that he follow a strict low-calorie diet.

I distinctly recollect I was in grade five and had just arrived home from school. Usually, my first words were Hi, Mum. Her reply was always the same. I am here, dear. I want to hear all about your classes. I eagerly related every detail, so we chatted for hours. Not with my dad.

This afternoon Dad was the one greeting me. Upon entering the house, I said, Hi, Dad. He responded differently than my mother.

Donna Jean, would you like to have a tasty snack? He anticipated this might curtail a lengthy conversation about details that took place at school.

What a dreamer! I launched into describing a shattering incident that happened at recess. The story involved some of my classmates. I acted out the entire drama, as only I could, explaining to Dad what Mary said to Bill, what Bill said to Sally, and what Sally said to Margaret. I thought all of this was serious.

Rattling on non-stop, I also told Dad about an invitation to a birthday party the next afternoon. I communicated with him as I would with Mum. I went all out by showing Dad the two dresses I chose so he could advise me which one would be appropriate for this upcoming party.

Suddenly, I noticed Father was shifting from one foot to the other,