My dad loved trains
By: Don Anderson
Tags: Dads, Fathering, Death, Parenting, Loss

RIP John (‘Jack’) Edward Anderson, 1930–2021

Dad absolutely loved trains.

He was a teenager when he landed his first permanent job on the Canadian Pacific Railway back in the 1940s, shovelling coal in the days of steam. It was hard work he always said, and the crew was even harder. But he stuck with the railway for some 40 plus years where he eventually retired as locomotive engineer, while raising a family of three boys with his always patient and supportive wife Muriel striding 10 feet ahead of him, and even becoming one of Pickering, Ontario’s longest serving Mayors for a time.

I always count myself one of the luckiest kids. Imagine this: you’re all of seven or eight buzzing with always-on wonderment, your dad is a railroad train engineer, and every so often you would get to ride with him at his place of work. And you would get to pull that piece of rope responsible for letting out the greatest of bellows that informs everyone around for miles that several hundred tons of raw, thundering locomotive power was barreling down the tracks. And you’re a kid who’s right at the front of it. The boom was a bit deafening for young ears, but no matter: perched on your dad’s lap you could never feel as tall, or as safe.

Dad passed away this weekend at the very admirable age of 91. He outlived many of his circle, although I don’t believe that was ever his intention.

Complex, traditional, self-made and direct, he was part of a generation that many of my friends are unfortunately watching go quietly into the night. These passings are something you can never really ever brace for as much as you try, and these pandemic times only further compound the difficulty of acceptance.

The distance stings. The day is pained with the burden of knowing that I was unable to get just one more of his all-so-powerful, warm and enveloping bear hugs. Or feel the tender burn of his sharp stubble beard against my cheek.

My father and mother during their tour of Taiwan.

Dad was unequivocally one of a kind. I know I’m biased here in saying that, but there are people who you come across who are larger than life — that was dad. Perhaps accentuated by his ever-present formidable belly fuelled by a love of Molson Canadian beer among other brands, a good glass of wine and spirits, and a well-cooked steak, but it was really much more than that: Dad just loved people and the opportunity to make a joke and rile folks up. All in a good, hearty way.

Dad taught me the meaning of community. He taught me the importance of working hard, perseverance and respecting others along the way. He taught me about leadership. He taught me the value of a well-placed swear. But perhaps best of all, he taught me how to dad.

And he generously gave our family some of the most memorable quips (“Jack-isms”) you could ever ask for:

“Eat it, and shut up! Be thankful you have any food at all.” Always said with well-meaning concern for our nutrition, of course.

“You kids are driving your mother up the wall.” You know, when you’re all of eight, this can really confuse a kid. I am absolutely certain I never actually saw my mom physically “go up the wall.” That would surely have been something to remember.

“Go grab me a beer, willya?” Standard fare I know, but that order given to a son by their father is an acknowledgement of one’s existence. You long for it. And you move like the wind, too.

“Turn off the lights if you’re not in the room!!!!” Dad was way ahead of the environmentalist curve. Either that or he was frugal. Likely the latter.

“Go ahead, hit me in the belly. I dare you. You’ll break your hand, kid.” Yes, a few attempts were made. I’m sure I now have arthritis because of it.

“That Rocky (Balbao), he’s lucky he never met me!” Look, there wasn’t a Rocky movie that dad didn’t love. Okay, maybe Rocky 4 but you can’t blame him, Sly was way off his game at that point. I won’t get into Dad’s love for all things Rambo here.

“Your son tried to kill me.” His explanation to mom after the two of us went for a walk at the cottage, during which he sprained his ankle.

“Well I gave you that one ’cause I felt sorry for you.” Said after losing a game of Euchre. For those wondering — and I would count my wife among that crowd — it’s a beloved card game that was (is) played by many Canadians, before the invention of cable.