Writing blog posts can at times be trying. I'm never quite sure how much impact they have.
Early in my tenure as Principal, a wise, long-serving school head told me that one of the most important responsibilities of this role is to shape narrative in the community - to introduce important ideas and be the catalyst for the community engaging in the dialogue. Of course, many of the subjects should be different for students, employees, Governors, alumni, parents, etc., but across the board, having the conversations is an important part of being strong community.
The blog is one vehicle for this narrative, but I get very little feedback on my posts. While I receive readership counts and some in-person comments from time-to-time, I'm never quite sure whether my thoughts resonate, offend or are met with a wave of indifference.
Over the last year and a half, the one exception to this has been the consistent, enthusiastic and heart-warming feedback from my father-in-law, Doug Holt. He has been my most loyal reader and every time I have posted, he has been was quick with a supportive comment or a laugh. Loyal readers will recognize that I have mentioned him in a couple of posts, which he always appreciated, even if it included some good natured chiding.
Sadly, I won't be getting commentary from him about this post (at least in traditional media). Doug died last week. His death was unexpected and sudden while he and my mother-in-law were vacationing in Florida. It was shocking because Doug (known by his three daughters and five grandchildren as Poppa) was only 71 (but seemed much younger), was seemingly very healthy, and came from stock that were blessed with remarkable longevity. While any death is difficult on family and he lived an extraordinarily happy, fulfilled life, it always hits you a bit harder when someone goes prematurely. There is no doubt that's how everyone who was close to Doug feels today - lots of incredulous friends and family still trying to figure it all out.
Doug was a special guy. He was born and raised in Magog in the Eastern Townships of Quebec. He was the first in his family to attend university (a proud Gaiter), living with his grandmother in Sherbrooke as a way to be economical. While he had a very successful career working for and leading sales and marketing divisions in various sectors from aeronautics to tools to manufacturing, he wouldn't for a second peg career as his greatest achievement. He worked to live, and his greatest pride, pleasure and comfort stemmed from family.
He certainly dotted on his three daughters, Alison, Sandy and Jenn, sometimes to the chagrin of his two sons-in-law. He often treated them lovingly like teenagers, always getting their cars ready (washing them or filling up fluids), passing on helpful advice, and insisting that they check-in regularly whenever travelling ("Your mother insisted that I call.") If is he dotted on his daughters, then he downright fawned over his four grandsons and one granddaughter. They could get away with a great deal with Poppa, and they would do things for him that were beyond the realm of possibility if requested by a mere parent. It was apparent to anyone who knew Doug that his greatest pride in life was around his daughters and grandchildren - he would talk about the "original five" and his grandchildren all the time. For his grandchildren, their grandfather was among their very best friends. While it is a great blessing to get know grandparents, their loss is often the first major one experienced by children, and this is a case in point. As a parent, while losing someone you love is tough, it is not nearly as difficult as breaking that news to your children.
He and I had many common traits (sometimes disturbingly so for me), but we were also different in many ways, none moreso then our relationships with mess. As I brag to my wife, I am blessed with a very high tolerance for mess. She is less enthusiastic about that particular "strength" of mine. And as for her father, if there was one thing that drove him nuts, it was disorder and mess. Anytime people were doing something significant, like cooking or packing up to leave, Mr. Clean would some sweeping in with an almost Pavlovian drive to vacuum or collect the recycling or empty the garbage in the middle of the chaos. He loved order, which made him the easiest target for button-pushing from mischievous relatives.
Doug was one of those guys who loved to be busy. He always had cottage or home improvement project on the go, even though, truth be told, they weren't exactly his forte. He took on many tasks large and small and took as much joy in doing them, especially with family members, as he did in the outcome He was a very active guy - loving to play squash, ski, walk, and golf, despite his titanium knees. He reveled being with his many friends as well as extended family members such as in-laws and cousins. He was fun to be with.
In the family, he was famous for his many oft-repeated phrases: doing a high kick (although not as high as it used to be) and karate chop while yelling hyundai; singing Summertime but coughing after the first line as he tried to mimic Satchmo's gravelly tone; pointing to himself with both thumbs and declaring himself gooooooood when he was feeling particularly proud about something; or running around the outside of the Trouser Lake cottage (Lac Trousers in Quebec) at night banging on the windows to scare the kids while yelling "Monkey Man". Their response was to charge outside searching for Poppa them taking him down like a wounded animal.
What I always found most remarkable about Poppa was the strength of his personality. He went through life with an unrelenting ability to always be positive, enthusiastic and supportive to everyone around him. He complimented people all the time and was one of those people who always showed deep, sincere interest in others. He took pride in others' accomplishments whether large or small and wore his emotions on his sleeve. One of the great family games was to get him crying, which would in turn get one of his daughters crying (usually Jenny), which would have a domino effect with the rest of the family. When I think of his tears, however, they were almost always tears of joy and nostalgia rather than sadness. What a wonderful way to go through life. I've talked to a great number of his friends, acquaintances, and even those who barely knew him, but they all talked about that sense of enthusiasm and joyous acceptance. While Poppa was a man of his own strongly-held opinions (politics, sports, religion, among others), he always seemed to listen to, appreciate and accept those who were different from him. Like most Quebecers, he loved a good conversation. None moreso than his daily one with his younger brother Gerry, where a review of the weather could eat up 10 minutes.
Finally, one of Poppa's most remarkable traits was his willingness to laugh at himself and practical jokes aimed at him, which were never in short supply thanks to his nephews, sons-in-law and grandchildren. Whether it was used tea bags (a personal nemesis of his) throughout the house, water balloons being tossed his way, trick golf balls, or a variety of other pranks - all of which featured him as the target - his own laugh at the outcome was usually the loudest. I really wish I can become as generous.
So, what else is left to be said? Lots.
Stories and memories, photos and videos will for a very long time help nurture us with his generosity and enthusiasm. But more than anything, whether it is through genes or learned behavior, Poppa's greatest legacy is in who his children and grandchildren are today, and who they will become. Together with the completely symbiotic, loving relationship with his dear wife Kay, this is the legacy that is most important to him, and it is the one for which he has the greatest pride.
So farewell to a man who loved people, who loved family, and who loved life. We will miss your enthusiasm, your joie de vivre, your caring, your laugh and your cries, but look forward to seeing you often in the words, actions and personalities of your children and grandchildren.
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