In the early morning hours of May 27, 1996 a great man passed into eternal slumber. No television news reports of his loss were made; no radio stations made notice; no flags flew at half-mast to commemorate his passing. The only printed record of his death was found in the obituary column of his hometown newspaper and yet my life will be forever different. He may not have been famous, but he was my dad, and I will always remember vividly where I was when I first heard he had died, the contributions he had made to my life, and how much poorer the world would be without him in it.

When a significant person in someone's life passes, it is often remarked, "what a pity I never told him what he meant to me!" Fortunately, I was spared this one regret. Enclosed in the last Valentines Day card I sent dad was a letter that told him all the reasons why I loved and respected him. I was gifted with the opportunity to tell my dad he was my hero, now I want to tell the world.

My father was not an educated man, the son of a farmer; he quit school in grade eight to take over the family farm. He had a gift with animals and could coax the weakest of seedlings to flourish in the poorest of soils, yet his quiet modesty often left him without the true recognition he deserved. He met, courted and married a city girl, my mother, when in his thirties. Mom moved to the farm and worked along side my father while the two built a family together. I was the last to be born. When I was two it became apparent that a small mixed farm could neither feed or support the family, and a change would have to be made. Swallowing his pride, dad agreed to sell the homestead and move to Ottawa, a nearby city, hometown of my mom, the Capital of Canada.

Once in Ottawa dad did something, quite popular now, virtually unheard of in the 1960's, he became Mr. Mom. Dad stayed at home; cooked, cleaned, and nurtured his children while mom took on office work outside the home. Dad took it in the teeth on a daily basis; many felt he was and, called him lazy for staying at home doing "women's" work while making his wife support the family. Today everyone realizes how difficult a job child rearing really is. We were now officially members of the working poor, but we had everything anyone ever needed plus the gravy of having loving parents who were willing to swallow their pride to provide a better life for their children.

In my preschool years, dad took on manual labor jobs. He worked

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