{"id":1745,"date":"2018-10-28T22:58:29","date_gmt":"2018-10-29T02:58:29","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/?p=1745"},"modified":"2018-10-28T23:03:40","modified_gmt":"2018-10-29T03:03:40","slug":"fwd-you-are-a-goddamn-fool-dad-you-got-that-right","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/?p=1745","title":{"rendered":"Fwd: “( YOU ARE A GODDAMN FOOL!” “DAD, YOU GOT THAT RIGHT.”"},"content":{"rendered":"

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Begin forwarded message:<\/div>\n


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From: <\/b><\/span>Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com<\/a><\/a>>
<\/span><\/div>\n
Subject: <\/b><\/span>“( YOU ARE A GODDAMN FOOL!” “DAD, YOU GOT THAT RIGHT.”<\/b>
<\/span><\/div>\n
Date: <\/b><\/span>January 11, 2018 at 10:48:08 AM EST
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To: <\/b><\/span>Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com<\/a><\/a>>
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\u201cYOU ARE A GODDAMN FOOL!\u201d  \u201cDAD,  YOU GOT THAT RIGHT.”<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
DAD SPOKE IN OPPOSITES\u2026IF HE LIKED SOMETHING, HE SAID IT WAS JUNK.  WHEN HE CALLED ME<\/div>\n
A DIMWIT, HE MEANT I WAS OK.  NOT THAT I WAS GREAT\u2026JUST OK.  WE LIKED THAT\u2026.NO SLOPPY SENTIMENTALITY. NO <\/div>\n
KISSING AND  HUGGING.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
 <\/div>\n
alan skeoch<\/div>\n
Jan. 2018<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
   One fine spring day around 1970, I brought this heavy  corn cutting machine  to the farm.   Dad helped me  unload.  <\/div>\n
He had a whole  string of four letter words when he  saw  the thing.  That meant he liked it even  though he said it<\/div>\n
was  no goddamn good and  the former owner had  no right to exploit my stupidity.  <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
So  this story is  really about Dad and less about the machine. <\/div>\n

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“:Dad,  give me a hand with this big corn cutting box\u2026runs off tractor belt or stationary engine in barn.\u201d<\/p>\n


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\u201cNow what the hell did you buy that thing for\u2026should be in the scrap yard.\u201d<\/div>\n
Are you out of your GODDAMN MIND\u2026daft\u2026brainless.  Take the son of a bitch back to the smart ass who sold it to you.”\u201d<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\u201cNeat, isn\u2019t it.  Circular blade \u2026 sort of like a revolving guillotine. Did you ever use one on the Skeoch farm outside  Fergus? \u201d<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\u201cNo.  I headed west when I was 14, told you that a long time ago.  Are you both deaf and dumb?\u201d<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\u201c Harvest Excursion? wasn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\u201cNo, I got in a  bit of trouble when I was 14\u2026had to hotfoot it west to Keeler\u2026<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\u201cKeeler>\u201d<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\u201cSaskatchewan…spent couple of winters cooped up with 16 horses. Slept in <\/div>\n
an empty stall.  No farm house.  Horses kept the barn warm.  No corn feed\u2026lots of hay and some oats.  No tractor so <\/div>\n
why the hell would we want a corn cutter?  So cold around Riverhurst in those winters that a fellow could die fast in the open<\/div>\n
Freeze balls  of a brass  monkey  as they say.\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cJust you alone with 16 horses.\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cThat\u2019s right, better company than my two sons that\u2019s for sure.\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cGet paid?  \u201c<\/div>\n

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\u201cJust enough to get me back East with a new pair of boots.  Then some bastards stole the boots  when I fell asleep and I had to hotfoot it<\/div>\n
along Queen Street in Toronto to that old hotel at Roncesvales..  Came back with nothing. \u201c<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\u201cWhy not go home?\u201d<\/div>\n

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” Sure as hell wasn\u2019t going back to the Fergus farm.<\/div>\n
No room for me up there anyway.  Too many kids\u2026too little money.\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cCouldn\u2019t you  go back  to school?  Grade nine?<\/div>\n

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\u201cJesus, don\u2019t you ever listen to me.  Fergus High School was the reason Iwent west in the first place.  i old you about the wood flap at the back of<\/div>\n
the girls  outhouse.  My schooling ended suddenly when Kelly and I hurled snowballs up that flap in the  girls outhouse.  We thought it was funny.<\/div>\n
Hit a girl on the ass.  She  ran into the school screaming.  Dizzy.  We just stood there.  The principal was not amused, \u201cArnold, you go home right now and get your father over here.\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cWhat did your Dad do?\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cNever told him.  Never even went home.  Hid out in the swamp for a while, siept in neighbours place.  My sisters\u2026Elizabeth and Greta looked after me…brought me food.<\/div>\n
Couldn\u2019t;t stay there so I lit out for Saskatchewan where brother John had  just got himself married  and fixed up on a section \u2026 640 acres\u2026nearly seven times the size of our Fergus farm.\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cWho put up the money for the fare?\u201d    <\/div>\n

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\u201cMaybe mother or big sister Elizabeth\u2026don\u2019t rightly know.  Think John had something to do with it”  He wanted us all to  move west\u201d<\/div>\n

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”  My brothers Art and Archie each<\/div>\n
bought farms near Keillor but they  never lived on them.  Had crop put in then buggered off  back to Ontario.  Let big brother John do Threshing in fall\u2026did it on shares.\u201d<\/div>\n
Archie made money beating up  French Canadians  one summer.  You know how  skinny Archie  is even to this day.  Skinny as a tent pole.   that fooled lots of people.<\/div>\n

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\u201cIs this the boxing story,  Dad?\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cGod that was great when I Heard about it.  Word  was spread  around from Keeler to Riverhurst that  A fist fight was going to happen over near Riverhurst.  French Canadian against an Ontario  Scot.  Skinny Scottish bastard\u2026going<\/div>\n
to get the shit kicked out of him.  Put your money on the Frenchy.  Wrng!  Wrong!  Archie could really fight.   Knocked  the Frenchy down fast and  the boys  picked  up a bundle.   Archie became famous for a while.<\/div>\n

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\u201cHow come you were not involved?\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cNever wanted to go back west.  Try sleeping winters with 16 horses\u2026alone.  that will knock any romantic notions out of your head.”<\/div>\n

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\u201cScared?\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cMore scared of my dad than the idea of travelling to the West.”<\/div>\n
Enough bull  shit.  I Bet dollars  to do-nuts you don\u2019t even know what this son of  a bitch is supposed to do.\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cChops up field corn.\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cFor what reason?\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cMaybe cut it up green and blow chunks into the silo to make ensilage for winter feed.\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cHow did a dimwit like you figure that out?\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cFarmer I bought it from told me\u2026he was short a thumb and finger\u2026maybe cut off by this machine.\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cHow much did you pay for it?\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cThirty dollars.What is it really worth?\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cHe sure saw  a sucker coming when you arrived. Not worth a goddamn cent\u2026junk\u2026\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cI thought you would like it, dad.  Flattered .\u201d<\/div>\n

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\u201cWhere do  you plan to put it now your barn has collapsed?\u201d (Story to come)<\/div>\n

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\u201cThat, Dad, is the big question\u2026I do not know. where to put it.\u201d<\/div>\n

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Wait until your Uncle Norman sees this machine.   Shows what a damn fool you are.  Why in hell he named<\/div>\n
you as executor of  his will defeats me.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
alan  skeoch<\/div>\n
Ja. 2018<\/div>\n
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Stories to come   1) The Barn that a Jackas  built<\/div>\n
                             2) Dad  teaching andrew and  Kevin how to smoke White Owl  Invicible  cigars when they were 6 and 8 years old.<\/div>\n

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RED SKEOCH\u2026”\u2019BROTHER CAN YOU SPARE A DIME?”<\/div>\n

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ASIDE:  Mr. and Mrs. James Skeoch operated a 100 acre farm on outskirts of Fergus (SW)  and, like many farmers they had a big family.  Greta, Elizabeth, Sarah, Lena, John, James, Archie, Arthur, Arnold, Norman.   The oldest, James  Skeoch was killed by artillery shells on one of the lat days of World War One,  sarah died of<\/div>\n
the Flu epidemic that followed the war.  The rest thrived.  John bought land near Keeler, Saskatchewan and both Archie and Arthur also bought<\/div>\n
some western land although they never moved  west.  Had their families in Ontario. Uncle John looked after things in the west.  Arnold (\u2018Red\u201d)  and Artur became tire builders in Toronto.  They became city boys.   Norman, the youngest took over the home farm in Fergus and cared for his mother and father unto their death.<\/div>\n
When Norman died, his will stipulated that each of his brothers and sisters should get an equal portion of the estate.  This meant that the farm <\/div>\n
had to be sold and the machinery put up for public auction.  My cousin John (long John) Skeoch and  I were named  as executors.  Nasty job.<\/div>\n
Never met my grandfather Skeoch.  By all accounts he was a tough man.  Grandmother Skeoch lived on the Fergus farm util she died.  She became<\/div>\n
an oil painter and made sure that all her kith and kin were given one of her paintings before her death.  There were so many relatives  that I never<\/div>\n
really got to know her. Which is too bad.  The first Skeoch boys, James and  John, migrated to Canada in 1846 with their grandfather Mr. Watt. and an aunt who was terrified the boys would fall overboard as  they spent a lot of time running along the deck of the sailing ship.  Why were the little boys brought out while their<\/div>\n
father was not?  I think he came later but there was a little mystery about the migration. I have never been able  to convincingly join the dots.  Trouble  with<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
the family tree is the  repeated use of James and  John\u2026from  generation to generation. <\/div>\n

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 If you have read this far you might be  comforted to know there <\/div>\n
was  only one Arnold in the family, my Dad, but henever went by that name.   To everyone he was  just \u201cRed\u201d because  he was born with red hair. No sign<\/div>\n
off red hair when Eric and I were born but the name Red stuck.  He was Red to everyone  including my mother.  She  had another name for him when he<\/div>\n
got in trouble which was often.  Then she  said, \u201cOh, Red, you Fathead!   Her name was Elsie  but he never called  her that.  His name for his wife was \u201cMethooz\u201d, <\/div>\n
a shortened form of Methusalum.  Why?  Because Methusala was  the oldest person in the bible and  Mom was  a  year older than Dad.  No I did not misspell <\/div>\n
Methusala.   Dad  added the \u201cum\u201d because it sounded  better.  It was a love affair that defied reason.  I think most real  and deep  love affairs are like that.<\/div>\n

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Some people we knew well as boys felt sorry for us.  They thought we lived  in a dysfunctional family. Are you kidding?  We lived inside a  cyclone with fasc[nating things whizzing by every day\u2026and  remarks that were hard  to decipher.  What?  Meaning what?  Indecipherable remarks?  Sorry, maybe only Mom, Eric and I would  understand. For instance, Dad never used  our real  names, Alan and Eric.  Instead he always said, I  have two sons one is a gutsy bugger and the other is as stupid as  Joe\u2019s dog\/\u201c  He never said who these  terms of endearment applied to.  Do I sound  like a gutsy bugger or stupid as Joe\u2019s  dog?\u201d Your call.<\/div>\n

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He had a disparaging label for everyone.  Catholics were fish-eaters.  English people were  sparrows or cheapers or broncos. Snobs, smooth talkers and creditor were ,\u2019meally mouthed sons  of bitches.\u2019  Dad turned a lot of people  off.  But he  also made a  lot of friends for he had  a twisted kind of charisma.  As proven, I suppose,<\/div>\n
by the  fact he  remains vivid in my mind decades after is death.<\/div>\n

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Dad \u2026 caught him in a  pensive mood.  Rare. Shows a side of  him he  did not want the  world to see.   Much preferred the  tough guy pose.  Or the  cigar smoking arrogant man of the  streets and racetracks.  Under all that was the real  man.  Red was strong as  an ox from his AIaly labour making tires for big trucks. Slapping HEAVY slabs of rubber onto spinning wheel day in and  day out. \u201cCareful of that roller boys, saw a guy  go through that, came  out as  flat a Gumby.\u201d  he told  Eric and  I when we  visited Dunlop Tire  Company week before he retired.  Dad was proud of his work\u2026he made things<\/div>\n
with his two hands that our society takes for granted\u2026huge rubber tires.  Deep down dad probably wished he  had gone  to high school\u2026wished  he had<\/div>\n
not thrown those  snowballs at the ass of that poor girl in the back house.  Mistakes in life can do damage. If he  became  an  educated son of a  bitch he<\/div>\n
would have been a  different man.   Eric and I loved  him the way he was even when he pilfered our wallets for a few bucks to take  to the track.  Or forged  a  check that emptied  my bank account just when  needed  for first year university fees.  Or emptied that prize bottle of  Henessy\u2019s cognac brough back from the job in Ireland. Mom felt the<\/div>\n
same  way  even though she  slept on the couch  in our three room house  using her purse as  a  pillow. Would you lend Dad twenty bucks if he came around<\/div>\n
to see you.  Most of  my friends had been  hit for a few  bucks now  and then.  They  seemed to like  dad in spite of himself.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Dad did not take pictures.  This shot of his must show the horses  he cared<\/div>\n
for in the winter in that lonely barn. The west was won by horses\u2026thousands of them.  Dad  kept 16 alive in a frigid Saskatchewan barn when he  was a kid.  Alone.   Alone!The west was won by horses\u2026thousands of them.  Dad  kept 16 alive in a frigid Saskatchewan barn when he  was a kid.  Alone.   Alone!<\/div>\n
This is  one of the few pictures he ever had.  Hardly glorious.<\/div>\n
  Hardly glorious.<\/div>\n

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WHO WERE WE?<\/div>\n

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In 1846, our wayward branch of the Skeoch \u2018clan\u2019 left Scotland under mysterious circumstances  that I have never properly understood.  Just two little boys, James  and John  Skeoch, with their mom and her father, Mr. Watt.   The grandfather was the prime mover\u2026wanted out of the Scottish Lowlands near  the west coast… not too far away from the place<\/div>\n
where Robert Burns had his love  affairs and wrote his  poems.  1846 was a bad year al across  Europe and Britain.  Potato crop had  failed  and starvation stalked humanity like  the fabled gym reaper.   Starvation, however, was not the push factor.  Old Mr. Watt was an economic migrant.  He had money.  I am  not too sure he felt his daughter had married wisely.  Hart to understand why his son-in-law, Skeoch, was left in Scotland  when the children and wife shipped out for Canada. <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
 My Skeoch grandfather, James  Slkeoch, was the son of James Skeoch, one  of  the little boys on board that 1846 ship.  <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
This story is not a documented  family tree\u2026instead  it provides a  little flesh and  blood to the family history.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
By the end  of the 19th century James, son of James, was building an immense  field stone house  and  an equally giant barn on their Fergus farm.  He  also seems<\/div>\n
to have been  quite busy in the marital bed when darkness fell. <\/div>\n
  Mr. and Mrs. James Skeoch operated a 100 acre farm on outskirts of Fergus (SW)  and, like many farmers they had a big family.  Greta, Elizabeth, Sarah, Lena, John, James, Archie, Arthur, Arnold, Norman.   The oldest, James  Skeoch was killed by artillery shells on one of the last days of World War One,  sarah died of<\/div>\n
the Flu epidemic that followed the war.  The rest thrived.  John bought land near keillor, Saskatchewan and both Archie and Arthur also bought<\/div>\n
some wester land although they never moved  west.  Uncle John looked after things in the west.  Arnold (\u2018Red\u201d)  and Artur became tire builders in<\/div>\n
Toronto.  They became city boys.   Norman, the youngest took over the home farm in Fergus and cared for his mother and father unto their death.<\/div>\n
When Norman died, his will stipulated that each of his brothers and sinners hold get an equal portion of the estate.  This meant that the farm <\/div>\n
had to be sold and the machinery put up for public auction.  If you think that was pleasant, then you have a brick for a brain.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Never met my grandfather Skeoch.  By all accounts he was a tough man.  Grandmother Skeoch lived on the Fergus farm util she died.  She became<\/div>\n
an oil painter and made sure that all her kith and kin were given one of he paintings before her death.  There were so many relatives  that I never<\/div>\n
really got to know her. Which is too bad.  The Skeoch boys, James and  John, migrated to Canada in 1846 with their grandfather Mr. Watt. and an aunt who was terrified the <\/div>\n
boys would fall overboard as  they spent a lot of time running along the deck of the sailing ship.  Why were the little boys brought out wile their<\/div>\n
father was not?  I think he came later but there was a little mystery about the migration.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
NEVER BROUGHT GIRLFRIENDS HOME\u2026WITH ONE EXCEPTION<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
I had  a  lot of girlfriends.   Platonic  girlfriends  that would  never understand  Dad.  Many  would bolt in fear.  So I never brought a girl friend home to meet dad  with one exception.  Marjorie was  different. They got along like a house<\/div>\n
on fire.  He loved her almost immediately.  Both loved horses so  they had  common bond.  One of my graphic memories is Dad  and Marjorie glued to the rail that surrounded  the Fort Erie racetrack.  Racing form in hand.  Assessing the flanks of race contenders. And she  understood him even when he  was at his worst. She found him amusing.  Warm.  And he dropped in at our apartment and eventual  house so often that Marjorie had to give up trying to breast feed the  kids because Dad  kept popping up at the most inconvenient times.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
We  miss  him.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
alan skeoch<\/div>\n
Jan. 2018<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
The TEST:  Who called  me a \u201cgutsy bugger?”<\/div>\n
Must stop here\u2026more will come…<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n


<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Begin forwarded message: From: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com> Subject: “( YOU ARE A GODDAMN FOOL!” “DAD, YOU GOT THAT RIGHT.” Date: January 11, 2018 at 10:48:08 AM EST To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com> \u201cYOU ARE A GODDAMN FOOL!\u201d  \u201cDAD,  YOU GOT THAT RIGHT.” DAD SPOKE IN OPPOSITES\u2026IF HE LIKED SOMETHING, HE SAID IT WAS JUNK.  WHEN HE […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1745","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1745","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1745"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1745\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1745"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1745"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1745"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}