So my dad died last week, comfortably and peacefully, and after a relatively quick downturn in his health following a few years of slowing down and finally showing his age. That age was either 82 or 83, depending on who you ask, and there’s an odd story behind that which I’ll share here:
When my dad was fifteen, he lied about his age so he could get his driver’s license and go to work running logging trucks on Vancouver Island. As a result, his year of birth wound up being entered incorrectly (1932 instead of 1933) into a number of government databases. That was never a problem until he got notification that he was set to receive his old age pension a year early, and his lawyer advising him that the government would cheerfully sue him for fraud if he collected. That in turn resulted in him and me (but mostly me) having to do a whole ton of running around tracking down his original hospital birth records to get the information corrected before the RCMP kicked down his door. Good times.
My dad accomplished a lot of other things in his life, but “lying about your age so you can drive a logging truck at fifteen" sums him up pretty nicely in its own way. I’m not sure I’ve done anything in my life quite that cool, but I’ll keep working at it.