Begin forwarded message:

From: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
Date: January 14, 2018 at 11:07:16 AM EST
To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>, Marjorie Skeoch <marjorieskeoch@rogers.com>


alan skeoch
Jan. 2018

“Fix your goddamn road…hear me….FIX YOUR ROAD!!”

‘Red!  Red!  Be careful, you’re weaving all over the road.”

“have to miss the pot holes…could break a spring.  If that son of a  bitch would  fix  his road, I wouldn’t have
play  Dodge ‘Em all the way to the farm.  FIX YOUR ROAD!!”

“Red! You Fathead!*  You’re off the road…Yiiiiii…we’re going to tUrn over in the swamp.”

“Get out ..  everybody out.”

“Elsie…get out my door….not yours”

“I can’t…I  cannot move.”

“Why not?”

“High heels have gone through the floorboards….pinned me here.”

“Take off your shoes…crawl out…not that way…boys can see top of your nylons…girdle clips…be more graceful can’t you?”

{*Calling Dad a Fathead  was the  closest Mom every got to swearing.  Dad made up for this lack  of obscenities however.}

“Slip up the road  and  get Frank or Ted to come down  to haul us out.”

That little adventure was just taken for granted  when driving with Dad on the Fifth Line.  For some perverse reasons he held
farmers accountable for the roads  in front of their farms.  As  if we were still living in pioneer times.  And he loved to
yell  obscenities  at them. Most of them knew him and probably let the words  slides of them like  water off a duck’s back.
In this caee  we had to get cousin Ted  Freeman to bring the tractor down with a chain to get us out of the ditch.

turned  out to be a good chance to laugh at Dad’s expense.

Dad was never easy to control.  Impossible really.  

We bought the 1953 Meteor for $400 in 1958.  None of us  could drive…neither Dad, mom, Eric nor myself.  By 1958 every one we knew seemed
to have a car so  Eric  and  I sleuthed  out the Meteor from a used  car dealer on Bloor. We believed his sales pitch. 

 “Great car…the owner
developed  gangrene in his right leg and cold no loner drive.  This car just came on the lot today but won’t be here long.”
Eric and I believed  his  sales pitch.

“Mom, we should  buy this car.  Can you find  $400?”    

Mom was the stable part of our family.  She made her money as  a seamstress in
various garment factories and sweatshops in west Toronto.  And  she saved what she could.  Dad had a good job…high paying tire 
builder at Dunlop Tire Corpoation…skilled..but he never saved a cent.  Plowed his money and  any he  could  beg, borrow or steal down the throats
of race horses across Ontario and even into New York State’s  Batavia Downs.  I thought the word Garnishee was just a  normal deduction from 
wages.   Later we came to understand  that Finance Companies had long arms that could reach right into the accountants office at Dunlop’s.
Dad treated debt just like he  treated the farmers on gravel roads.  People that had money should be willing to lend a  bit to him.  Non refundable loans.
To Eric and  I, this was normal.  Adventures with finance companies need a whole chapter.  “Bastards have more money than  they know what to do with…”  
Should make you laugh or cry. We never could  understand  why people would  say  “those poor boys”  because we never felt poor.  Dad  loved  us although he
never said so.  Love was a word used by sissies. But we knew…as did Mom.  We
felt we were part of a  great adventure…new surprise every  day.

The car gave Dad  more freedom.  Which  unleashed even more  weird behaviour.

Ten few  years later when Marjorie and I were married we were at the farm and entrusted Dad with the kids
while we went shopping .  When we returned a couple  of hours  later.  There they were…all three of
them chomping and puffing on White Owl  Invicible cigars.

Not a bad thing really for neither Kevin nor Andy became  smokers….except of course for the odd cigar now and then.

alan skeoch
Jan. 2018

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