Prologue
It was a snowy mid-December evening in 1972. White, flaky snow piled up along our living room window. Dad placed his hand along the bottom of the back door and felt a cold draft making its way inside. The temperature outside was dropping, so Dad quickly turned up the baseboard heaters and placed a few rolled up towels along the bottom of door to prevent the cold air from blowing through. Mom was in the kitchen scrubbing the supper dishes. It was Dad’s night to attend a support group meeting, and he asked—well, begged—Mom to come with him. She was not interested in going. I overheard Dad pleading with her to go with him that night, but she was unwilling.
My sister Jan and I shared a larger bedroom, so my siblings and I often gathered there to play our favorite board games on the floor, and tonight was no exception. We loved Kerplunk, a game where a long plastic tube with plastic straws was inserted into a tube and then dozens of marbles were thrown into the top of the tube. The object of the game was to take turns pulling out straws and dropping the fewest marbles in your section of the tray to win. In another game called Operation, we took turns mastering the skill of removing white plastic bones and organs with tweezers to win big “money.” We had to be careful not to touch the metal edges as you would hear a loud buzz and Sam’s (the electrified patient) nose would light up cherry red, ending your turn. The wishbone on the left side of Sam’s chest looked like a chicken bone (furcular forked) and was worth a high amount of cash, so it was challenging to remove. Funny, whenever we had chicken for dinner, we would save our wishbone and let it dry out and make wishes while breaking it in half. To have your wish granted, you had to end up with the longer side of the wishbone bone in this tug of war. The plastic “broken heart” with an imprinted crack through it was on the right side of Sam’s chest and not so hard to pull out as I think back. Etch a Sketch was popular back then too. It was roughly an eight- by eleven-inch red square with a gray screen and two white dials that you would turn back and forth to create drawings. To start a new drawing, you simply shook the square to clear the screen. I spent a lot of time on Etch a Sketch as I enjoyed drawing.
That evening, Dad came into our bedroom and watched us play our various games. He asked us casually what we would like to be when we grow up. I remember Jan saying a go-go dancer, and Dad laughed. I had a typewriter, so I may have said a secretary. I do not recall what Dwayne and Ben (my brothers) said, but I think one of them wanted to be a truck driver. We finished our games and started to get ready for bed. Dad said goodnight to us all as he was leaving for his meeting. Mom continued to busy herself in the kitchen doing supper dishes. I followed Dad to the front door and saw him look at Mom with wet weather. I followed him out and down the stairs as he headed to the underground garage, begging to come with him. He stopped at the staircase and quietly said “No,” not in an unkind way, but with enough inflection that I knew he was serious. “Go upstairs and take care of your brothers and sister,” he said. Reluctantly, I went back upstairs feeling disappointed that I was unable to go with him. I went straight to bed, as school was the next morning.
Dad never returned home from that meeting. Mom filed a missing person report with the police at the end of that week.
Christmas arrived and we had no idea where Dad could be. Mom was so distraught that she was unable to cook Christmas dinner; she just laid on the couch in a cloud of sadness and worry. I wondered if she felt guilty that she did not go with Dad that evening. We made peanut butter and jam sandwiches and had some chocolate milk. Christmas of 1972 was mostly a blur.
We went to afternoon mass on New Year’s Day. Mom shared her worries with a lady that was a regular church goer before mass started. Afterwards, we were invited to supper at her place. Mom called a cab later that day, and we taxied over to the kind lady’s place. The conversation at the table was around the whereabouts of my dad. We wondered why he had not called us. We all were feeling anxious and worried as we passed the food around the table. The mashed potatoes were fluffy white like the snow piled up outside the kind lady’s home. Smothering them in the hot, thick gravy was comforting to us all. Dwayne asked for pepper and heavily sprinkled his food to taste. It was so nice to have a home-cooked meal, and we emptied our plates and went back for a bit more. Ben, Jan, and Dwayne grabbed some Chips Ahoy cookies and headed to the living room to watch some TV, but I decided to have tea and cookies with the adults. I felt way beyond my age of nine as I sipped my tea from a rose-patterned cup. We were in deep thought around the table, and all prayed we would hear some encouraging news soon. After a few hours we were given a lift home and invited back anytime.
Days passed, and it was time for us to return to school. I loved school and always tried to do the best I could. I aced the spelling test that week. It was usually during French when I would lose my focus and think about Mom. Each day, I wondered if she would have some new information when we got home. As each day passed with no news, I realized it was probably not going to be good. I burned a lot of energy at recess time, as I loved to run around the playground and make snow angels. When school was out each day, Dwayne and Ben played hockey until supper, slamming the puck against the concrete wall. The sound was loud and sharp. I occupied myself with Paint by Number projects, and Jan kept busy creating different hairstyles on her mannequin. Mom spent hours talking on the phone to her sister.
After school on January 11, 1973, we arrived home to the news that Dad’s car had been found parked behind the Continental Can Company near the waterfront. His wallet and overcoat were found in the front seat.
We were all numb.
