George K. Ilsley - The Home Stretch: A Father, a Son, and All the Things They Never Talk About

THE
HOME
STRETCH

GEORGE K.
ILSLEY

THE
HOME
STRETCH

A FATHER,
A SON,
AND
ALL THE THINGS
THEY NEVER TALK ABOUT

THE HOME STRETCH

Copyright 2020 by George K. Ilsley

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any part by any meansgraphic, electronic, or mechanicalwithout the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may use brief excerpts in a review, or in the case of photocopying in Canada, a licence from Access Copyright.

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The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the British Columbia Arts Council for its publishing program, and the Government of Canada, and the Government of British Columbia (through the Book Publishing Tax Credit Program), for its publishing activities.

Arsenal Pulp Press acknowledges the xmkym (Musqueam), Swxw7mesh (Squamish), and slilwta (Tsleil-Waututh) Nations, custodians of the traditional, ancestral, and unceded territories where our office is located. We pay respect to their histories, traditions, and continuous living cultures and commit to accountability, respectful relations, and friendship.

Bingo and Black Ice was published in subTerrain #69 as the winner of the 2014 Lush Triumphant Literary Award for creative non-fiction.

Front cover design by Oliver McPartlin

Cover photograph by Felipe Cardoso, courtesy of Pexels

Full cover and text design by Jazmin Welch

Edited by Shirarose Wilensky

Proofread by Alison Strobel

Printed and bound in Canada

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication:

Title: The home stretch : a father, a son, and all the things they never talk about / George K. Ilsley.

Names: Ilsley, George K., 1958 author.

Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20190232706 | Canadiana (ebook) 20190232765 | ISBN 9781551527956 (softcover) | ISBN 9781551527963 (HTML)

Subjects: LCSH: Ilsley, George K., 1958 | LCSH: Ilsley, George K., 1958Family. | LCSH: Fathers and sonsCanadaBiography. | LCSH: Aging parentsCanadaBiography. | CSH: Authors, Canadian (English)Biography. | LCGFT: Autobiographies.

Classification: LCC PS8567.L74 Z46 2020 | DDC C818/.603dc23

Dedicated to my parents,
Christina and Stephen

CONTENTS

When you dont have obsession, when you dont have hang-up, when you dont have inhibition, when you are not afraid that you will be breaking certain rules, when you are not afraid that you will not fulfill somebodys expectationswhat more enlightenment do you want? Thats it.

Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche,

Words of My Perfect Teacher

THE OUTSIDE
WORLD

MY FATHER CLIMBS THE STAIRS FROM THE GARAGE, one step at time. He clomps into the kitchen, where I am putting away the groceries, and braces himself up on the dishwasher.

He is sputtering mad.

If youre going to be like that, he says, Im never going shopping with you again!

In the fall of 2010, my father is ninety-one years old.

On the first day of my visit, after cleaning the kitchen in the morning, I take my father in the van to go up town. His fridge is almost empty, and I want to stock up on essentials, like extra-virgin olive oil and fresh ginger.

My father uses cloth bags for shopping. The bags used to be a novelty, and originally were plain white cotton, with the name of the grocery store in big blue letters. The store was sold, yet Dad is careful not to use the Moodys bag at the other store: the one that was the competition to the old Moodys. He pays attention to which bag to use at which store, even though no one would care, but does not notice his reusable cloth bags are disgusting. He never thinks to wash them. Grocery clerks recoil at the sight of the dark-stained relics Dad brings out to use. When I see the state of the rank old bags Dad slips off the door handle for our grocery trip, I flat-out refuse to touch them.

Those need to be washed, Dad. Well have to use plastic today.

Whats wrong with them? He genuinely does not seem to know.

Well, for one thing, they smell really bad. We cant use these for food. When was the last time you washed them?

Oh, he says. Last week.

Last week is Dads answer for everything. I dont know if he really believes last week or if it is just an answer he has come up with to put people off. It sure sounds more reassuring than I dont know. Most people would be satisfied with his response.

Most annoying people, with questions.

Like me.

And yes, its true. We used to buy our groceries at a store called Moodys.

Moody Brothers, it was. And then just Moodys.

In my own life Im in the habit of shopping for food all the time, so we dont buy all that much on this first trip. Just enough to get started.

When we get back to the house, I slide open the side door of the van and gather up the groceries.

Dad says, Give me some of those.

I grab all the bags. Its okay, Dad. I got them.

The load is not that heavy, considering I am only going from the van to the house. Im used to walking a couple of blocks or more and lugging everything.

So I huff all the groceries up the stairs from the garage.

I set the bags down in the kitchen. Carrots and celery make their home in the crisper of the freshly cleaned fridge. Cans of organic BPA-free beans go into the current corner of the pantry. Much shelf space in the pantry is cluttered with convenience foods and baking suppliesShake n Bake, cake mixes, rock-hard bags of brown sugar. The pantry is still very much the domain of my mother, an enthusiastic baker, who died more than twenty years ago.

This really needs to be cleaned out. But cant do everything the first day.

And here is when Dad catches up with me in the kitchen, sputtering mad. He leans against the dishwasher, catching his breath, his eyes sparking. If youre going to be like that, he declares, Im never going shopping with you again!

What? What did I do?

I know Im fussy with groceries; Ive always been very particular about what I will eat and what I wont. Ill be doing the cooking while Im here, so I feel empowered to do things my way. I know what Im like, how impossible, so when we go shopping I buy the groceries. Paying gives me the freedom to get what I want, and my penny-pinching father has no reason to get upset.

We no longer fight at the grocery store. We dont end up arguing over crackers. I just directly and simply express myself: I want it, Im going to buy it. And so I buy two kindsthe old-school saltines Dad considers synonymous with crackers and the Triscuits I prefer. Dad likes Triscuits, too, but the price on them is terrible. Theyre not even on sale.

Well just get both, I said, and then we can stop talking about crackers.

But that is not what got Dad going. That is not why he is breathless and angry. Finally he is able to tell me.

You didnt let me help with the bags, he says. I have to do things like that to stay strong.

I am going to have to learn to be more diplomatic. I thought I was helping, just grabbing all the bags myself. But perhaps I made it look too easy, made it too obvious I didnt need Dads help. I made the decisions, paid for everything, and carried all the bagswhat was he there for?