Day 14: For the love of Pa

Family day today. Drove out to see my paternal grandfather for a few hours, and then drove a scant few kilometres down the road (my parents grew up within two miles of each other, went to the same elementary school until my mother was 10, and then met again when they were in high school, seven years later) and visited my mother's parents. Sat on their back porch and looked out over their yard. It hasn't changed at all since I was ten -- the trees are larger, and the vegetable garden is smaller now, but the air still smells the same.

My father's father grew up in Quebec, and has a Quebeçois accent to rival that of Jean Chrétien. It still surprises me to know that I didn't notice his accent at all when I was growing up. Now, of course, I notice it all the time. I love the way he talks. I love the way both he and my father get increasingly agitated when they speak (particularly when they speak to each other -- the French blood runs hot in these veins, let me tell you!).

And so today I sat with family, and reveled in voices and pictures and sounds from my childhood. It made me thankful for my dad, who can be so gosh darned stubborn and ornery and infuriating but never fails -- ever -- to make life interesting in the extreme. Must be all that French blood.

I'll probably have to write a story about it, some day.