We lost my father many years ago. He was far too young to have passed - he hadn't had the opportunity to enjoy his retirement and had met only a few of his grandchildren. Many more were born later. But although he died before most were born, they all know about Grandpa and are aware of the wonderful man he was. Kind, gentle and thoughtful, family was the most important thing to him. I wrote the following which was published in The Province in a series about immigrants.
Why do people leave their countries and often their close and extended families for a new country? For such life-altering decisions to be made, I feel the reasons must be very important. My father came to Canada while still in his teens not knowing if he would ever see his family again - his reason was strong for leaving his homeland of Germany. Sponsored by a church group, he came by ship with other young people to get away from Hitler’s tyranny; his attempt to control the youth and in some cases to try to turn them against their parents.
He went to work on a farm in the Peace River District so that he could repay his passage. The family had several sons and my father was fortunate in that they treated him as one of their own. After the four year period, they asked my father to stay; but because the Depression was severe at that time, he realized things were already difficult for the family without having an extra person to worry about, so he set off on his own. He now, however had the advantage over when he arrived of being able to speak English.
Work was difficult to find during the Depression and food was sometimes scarce but my father was willing to work hard. At times he was employed as a cook in logging camps; as a baker; and as an orderly in a men’s senior unit; he worked as a labouror and did other small jobs and thought nothing of traveling long distances to look for work.
During the early part of the War, my father worked as a cook in a restaurant. It was here that he met my mother. She was employed as a waitress and said every time she looked up she saw big brown eyes smiling at her. Those smiling eyes could not be ignored forever and they eventually married.
Like the Japanese during World War II, my father was considered an alien in those early years of the 1940’s and he was relocated to Calgary, to be away from the coast. My mother joined him there returning sometime after the War to the Vancouver area. (During this time my mother lost her Canadian citizenship in spite of having been born in Canada). My father, upon his return to British Columbia worked as a baker until he could save enough money to buy land in the Fraser Valley. Life as a farmer had always appealed to him.
As a result, when I was a young child, my brothers and I were surrounded by goats, cows, pigs, chickens, ducks, geese, rabbits and two sheep. The two sheep were pets but it never took long for every other animal on the ‘farm’ to become a ‘pet’ also. That was my soft-hearted father’s downfall as a farmer. My mother finally decided that farming was not for him and he again became an Orderly at a men’s unit and later at Essondale. She then became the farmer in the family.
Being a newcomer to Canada during a time when the economy was so poor was difficult for a new immigrant but my father was blessed with vast inner strengths - or more likely he developed these strengths by being young in a new country. His strengths and values are what make him stand out as a special person in my memories and I believe he was a great addition to his chosen country of Canada.
He was a great parent, a loving husband, a good friend, a kind neighbour and a thoughtful co-worker. His cheerfulness and optimism were never failing as was his sense of humour. The rules he lived by were ‘giving up is never an option' and 'you can do anything you set your mind to do.’
These early strengths helped him later in life as well when he was struck by a car and thrown fifty feet. He was told he would never walk again; but “I can’t” were not words that were part of my father’s vocabulary and as such with determination and perseverance he eventually walked first with crutches and then with a cane. He never complained. He always looked at his cup as being half full. He never felt sorry for himself. While still in a wheelchair he started a coffee wagon business. While one of my brothers did the driving, he prepared all the food and my mother worked as a Corrections Officer at a minimum security facility. He believed that you can always ask for more but you have to be grateful for what you have.
Unfortunately, ten years later my wonderful father was struck with cancer and died a short time later. Although his bank account was not large, he died a far richer man than many because he lived his values, no doubt learned as a young, hardworking immigrant. He taught his family the power of love and that wishing for something won’t make it happen – you have to work for it; the value of working hard; and the value of optimism and perseverance.
He taught each of his children that every day of our lives is a fresh page and the choice is ours how we want to live it. We can make it a good story or a bad story.
My father, and the strengths he developed as a very young immigrant those many years ago, left his family with a legacy that none of us will ever forget. Every time my brothers and I talk about my father, it is always with much love and a whole lot of admiration for the man he was. It is a shame that his grandchildren weren't able to grow up knowing this wonderful man.
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