When I have trouble tying my shoelaces, my dad...
One of my earliest memories of my dad inspired this short story.
(my dad circa 1980s)
Tying Laces with My Dad
A lace in each hand, I glare at my shoe. I want to scream. I want to yell. I want to tear the shoe apart. Why won't these dumb, stupid laces work? What is wrong with them? What is wrong with me?
The sound that explodes from my mouth makes my dad pause. "What's the matter, Honey?"
I look up at him with a face full of tears. I crawl onto his lap and find comfort in his arms.
He spins a tale just for me. "All the trains had tried to climb the tall mountain. All had failed. The only one left was the smallest engine. No one thought he could succeed. No one believed he could, but he kept saying, I think I can. I think I can. It took all the strength he had to climb that mountain. But he didn't give up, he just kept trying. I think I can. I think I can. And do you know what?"
My tears had stopped falling, and my face was dry. "What?"
"He made it all the way to the top of that mountain. He succeeded when everyone else had failed." My dad gave me a hug. "Just try. That's all we want--that's all anyone can ever ask from you--try." We exchanged a smile. "Would you like me to tie your shoes?"
I thought about his offer. I wanted to say yes, but the little engine hadn't given up, and so... and so... "You can tie this shoe," I stuck my left leg straight out so Dad could tie that shoe. "And I can tie this one." I bent over the shoe on my right foot.
"Let me see if I remember how this works," my dad said. "Make two rabbit ears." We made two rabbit ears. "Fold one rabbit ear over the other. Oh, this is the tricky part. I'll have to try that again. Okay, that time it worked. Let's do it one more time to make a good knot. And done."
"We did it," we sing.
And do you know what? To this very day, most of my shoes are... slip-ons. (My dad also taught me the importance of humour.)
written on Monday, May 12, 2025
On this blog in June...
Sunday, June 22
Book Review for Indigenous Day
Two Tricksters Find Friendship by Johnny Aitken and Jess Willows
...is a year in the life of a new mutually supportive friendship between Jessie, a white girl, and Johnny, an Indigenous boy
Sunday, June 29
My fingers
on my keyboard
My head
in the clouds
I relish
my days
He’s Cool (short memoir)
Before my big leap into university, my team—Mom, Dad, and I—found a course offered through Red River Community College that promised to prepare me for higher learning.
Before the first class, Dad asked, “Would you mind if I took that course too?”
Navigating my way from my small community in rural Manitoba to the large city of Winnipeg by myself was an overwhelming prospect. But the idea of going to college with my dad…? With. My. Dad. I feared getting lost, so I agreed to let him join me--he drove.
Dad was the oldest person in the course—older even than the instructor. Our instructor was knowledgeable and confident, invitingly presenting the information. One of the valuable skills she taught us was how to skim-read. She told us to "read the first and last paragraph and the first sentence of all the paragraphs in the body of the article." For a slow reader like me, learning to skim-read was invaluable.
On the last day of the three-day course, we were expected to become teachers. The instructor presented us with a list of topics we had studied, and we were to choose one to present a review on. Most of us scrambled to grab the best topic, but not Dad. He waited until only one subject remained—adverbs and adjectives. Boring!
On the day of his presentation, he carried a small brown suitcase to the front of the class. He set the case on the teacher’s desk, unzipped it, and pulled out what looked like two bombs. “You have to be very careful with these,” he said. He turned the bombs so we could read the labels—adverbs and adjectives.
I remember what the coolest, most handsome guy in the class whispered to me: “He’s your dad?”
I shrugged. “Yeah.”
“He’s so cool. What happened to you?”