When I was little I thought my grandfather was larger than life and knew everything. I still thought that when he died thirty years later. Harold Dow, was born and raised in Nanaimo, BC when it was a small coal mining town. His father was the accounting clerk in the mine and died far too early from emphysema brought about by mustard gas. Harold was an active kid and it wasn’t uncommon for him to be out from sunup to sundown. He once told me he could go all day and consider himself lucky to see a car once. Talk about a change since then. His beloved companion was his german shepherd King.
Daddy Harold enrolled several times into the Air Force only to be sent back eventually when they realized his age. When he hit the right age he enlisted into the RCAF. At the end of the war they all were given a choice between enough money for a down payment or for full tuition. Most people went for the down payment but my grandfather went for the tuition, he felt it would suit him better. He married his childhood classmate, Kathleen Green. He always said she wasn’t his sweetheart back then because he wasn’t interested in girls at the time, just playing and making mischief. My Mom and her younger brother had their first years in free, retired army barracks and Daddy Harold worked construction to make ends meet.
Daddy Harold graduated with a degree or so in Mechanical Engineering and was this close to a doctorate. He couldn’t see the point in writing a paper that people would read once then stash away never to read again and no one could explain it to him either. He worked for Avro testing jet engines and ended up in Montreal with General Aviation and then working for the Government of Canada in Ottawa with the metric commission. We had a huge map of Canada on our kitchen wall, thanks to him, complete with all the demarcation lines for each stage of conversion to metric.
Daddy Harold and Nana lived just outside of Ottawa in Nepean for most of my life and they were married right up to the day Nana died in 2003. He was a complex man. He was very intelligent and loved to read (mainly non fiction). He also loved a good argument, especially around the dinner table. We’re talking politics and intellectual ideas, not family fights. He was also a skeptic who told me over and over to check my sources and check those sources too. To this day I won’t say, “I don’t think” because his response was always, “That’s because you weren’t thinking”. It was so frustrating and I’m grateful to him for this every day. The world needs critical thinking. Too many people “let their brains fall out” as he also used to say.
Daddy Harold was a devoted husband who was a partner to his wife for decades and then cared for her in her last years. He was an involved father at a time when most fathers were anything but. He stayed active, starting with lacrosse then moving over to soccer when that became a wee bit too strenuous. Then he started coaching, which is what I remember. He could come across as gruff but, if there was a baby in the room, it was soon on his lap. And if there was a dog in the room he was soon on the floor.
It’s been 15 (almost 16) years since you’ve been gone and you’re still so very missed by very many people. I’ve been battling huge clouds of brain fog to write this. I hope I did okay, you deserve a good birthday memorial. And this is one of my grandfather’s favourite poems:
Spring is sprung.
The grass is riz.
I wonder where the birdie is?
The bird is on the wing.
Now isn’t that absurd?
I always thought the wing was on the bird!
Because I'm Fabulous 