My grandfather ❤

My maternal grandfather was born in 1925 in a small town north of Québec City. He was the fifth of six children and one of three boys. His own parents hailed from the Îles de la Madeleine (Magdalen Islands). In search of a better life, my great-grandparents moved to the mainland not long after their first child was born in 1918. Almost one hundred years later, Islanders from PEI and the Magdalens are still heading West for that “better” life. The more things change... ;)

 

He wasn't that debonair when I knew him but he still had swagger!

He didn’t have much of an education, only up to Grade 6 or Grade 8. I can’t remember for sure. He went to work at the local paper mill at a young age and rose through the ranks. He only spoke French and the mill owners and operators spoke English. So he taught himself English. He eventually supplemented his education by taking distance education courses through M.I.T., something mostly unheard of at the time. His course certificates proudly hung on his home office wall. He would eventually be responsible for operating several mills, including starting some from the ground up. He is a classic case of having come from nothing to make something of himself.

Growing up, my sister and I spent a lot of time with our maternal grandparents, especially during extended summer stays. We LOVED everything about it. It really was our second home. When our parents came to pick us at the end of our vacation we would hide – literally hide! – because we didn’t want to leave. We would try to negotiate: Three more days! Two days! One day! It would start with a semblance of seriousness and would quickly turn into sorrowful pleading (one more day.... pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease). Inevitably, we would begrudgingly stomp to the car that would take us back to Montréal.

While I loved my grandparents equally, it would be fair to say my grandfather and I had something of a special bond. It probably comes with being the first grandchild of the family.

Some of my most cherished memories include trailing him around the property, watching him fiddle on projects in his basement workshop (projects I didn’t understand), observing him at mealtime (he was very quiet), cuddling with him and my sis on the back porch while listening to evening Expos games on the radio (that was awesome!), listening to his stories while he pointed out the stars, and going on road trips.

Thinking back on it, he was probably an extroverted introvert. There were times when he would just come ALIVE and others times when he would be completely shut down. One instance when he would come alive was on card game night. One of his brothers and sister-in-law would come over after supper to play cards for pennies. Those games would last well into night and the house would fill with laughter, cigarette smoke and one-upmanship. Those were special nights for us as well because we were allowed to stay up later than usual, hang out with the adults and partake in the snacks!

As alive, entertaining and chatty as he was, he could also be quiet, stand off-ish and moody. He came of age during the Great Depression and World War II, events which obviously left their mark. But behind the sometimes gruff exterior there was a heart of gold. He loved my grandmother. Maybe not the way she would have wanted to be loved but he loved her tremendously and wanted nothing more than to make her happy. He wanted nothing but the best for her, his children and his grandchildren. He would give his last shirt to help someone out, which sometimes got him into trouble.

March 1946

What I remember the most though – and that I had forgotten until recently – is that he believed in me. From a very young age, he would tell me that I could do and become anything I wanted, anything at all, even Prime Minister if that’s what I wanted. He was a possibilitarian if there ever was one.

Unfortunately, he passed away when I was 21 years old and didn’t get to see and experience what I would become, or what I am still becoming. I don’t think he was ever disappointed with me but he was a bit worried. Those years between 18 and 21 were awkward ones for me. Despite that he never lost faith in me. For that - and so much more - I am eternally grateful and I owe it to him to never lose faith in myself.