Dad would have turned 100 today or it would have been his hundredth year. He had a distinction between the two. All I know he always said he was year older than what he was. So it is safe to say he is 100 considering he was born on March 31st, 1923.

Been looking through some old photos. Some I look at every day. Not a day goes by I don’t think of my father, usually when I hear something funny, or see something on the news. Nature as well, almost anything I know he pointed out to me when I was young.

He’d still find a lot of those things interesting in this day and age. The level of the creeks. When the berries ripen, the dryness and forest fires. The politic climate, how we are set against each other depending if you are left or right.

One thing you never asked was, how you vote. I knew that early and never asked. He despised bullies, people who punched down. That could be unions or conservative tight asses. It was hard to know where he stood. I figured it was on the side of common sense.

He could be hard, even to his own children. I never felt it, he was older by the time I came along. But I don’t doubt my brother’s rendition. Men when they are young are on an edge.They want the best and are damned and determined to achieve it even if it works counterintuitive to their goals.

His grandchildren had the best of him. He wrote poems to them that demonstrated, love, humour and wit, with always an invitation to come along.

In his final year Hunter and I would go down to the old house. I would mow the lawn or do a few chores. Hunter, sitting on his Grandfather’s wheelchair, would shoot the shit like a couple of friends on the mountain. Hunter no more than 5 and Grandpa at 79. By the time I was finished they both looked disappointed to see me interrupting the party.

We go when we go. The older go first. That’s the way it works.

Cripes I miss him. I still have an apology to give, but will only do it when we are face to face.

Happy 100th oldtimer!