Why didn’t I get to know my dad better when he was alive?

Why didn’t I get to know my dad better when he was alive(əˈlīv)?

By Helen(ˈhelən) Wainman

It’s a question many of us consider. If we could invite(inˈvīt) three historical(hiˈstôrək(ə)l) characters for dinner(ˈdinər) – who would we ask?

Not too long ago, my list would have included some of the world’s best writers. All that has changed now. I would invite only one guest, my father. Not only because he knew so much of our family history, but also because of a book he wrote decades ago that I never read until this year. The unpublished manuscript(ˈmanyəˌskript) had rested(rest) in an old cardboard box in my late brother’s storage locker(ˈläkər) for 45 years.

My father was a descendant(dəˈsendənt) of Scottish(ˈskädiSH) highlanders who were veterans(ˈvetrən,ˈvetərən) of the Battle of Culloden(kəˈlädn). While they sailed(sāl) to Nova(ˈnōvə) Scotia(ˈskōSHə) in 1791, his story begins in 1901 and focuses on the descendants of those old warriors(ˈwôrēər). His characters were mostly farmers who lived in a fictional(ˈfikSH(ə)n(ə)l) place in Nova Scotia. Cape(kāp) Breton(ˈbretn)? Antigonish? I sense he based(bās) these characters on real people, but I’ll never know.

There was one character in his book that jumped out at me and made me tear(te(ə)r,ti(ə)r) up. Percy(ˈpərsē) Jeepers(ˈjēpərz). How did my father come up with that name? The character was so real and his situation so sad, I cried at the end. Percy was an orphan(ˈôrfən), adopted by a neighbouring(ˈnābəriNG) family who needed a farm hand. He wasn’t loved. He was illiterate(i(l)ˈlidərət), always filthy(ˈfilTHē) and hungry. But strangely, he remained optimistic(ˌäptəˈmistik). He believed he would inherit(inˈherət) the farm when his adoptive parents died but that didn’t happen. They had already arranged(əˈrānj) to sell the farm to someone else. Percy was kicked out.

He was devastated(ˈdevəˌstāt) but when the First World War broke out, he signed up.

In my father’s book, Percy’s proudest(proud) moment was when he marched(märCH) down the main street of his town, dressed in his regimental(ˌrejəˈmen(t)l) gear(gi(ə)r) before sailing(ˈsāliNG) to France.

He never came back.

Was Percy a real person? I’ll never know.

At least if I had that mythical(ˈmiTHək(ə)l) dinner party, I’d be able to ask my father, as I poured(pôr) him another glass of wine: “Dad, who was Percy Jeepers? I know he was real. Tell me more.”

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