Speaking Canadian

Buddies. Eh?

I knew what he was saying.

He knew what he was saying.

Too bad they weren’t the same thing . . .

When I was little, I hung around with my dad.

A lot.

Well, at least as often as time – and his busy schedule – would allow.

He was a rancher, veterinarian, Hereford Club director, 4-H Club director, Church leader, husband and father.

In no particular order.

Yep. When time would allow.

I made the most of every moment I had with him.

I chattered.

Constantly.

And every sentence ended with, “Eh, Dad?”

Okay, yes, I’m Canadian. It goes with the territory.

Moving on . . .

It must have been a bit annoying.

But he never showed it.

Patiently he answered me.

Every ‘eh, Dad’ was responded to with “B, Diane.”

I was happy. I thought ‘B’ meant ‘Yes’.

Our conversations must have been interesting . . .

“Horses! We love horses, eh, Dad?”

“B, Diane.”

“Look at those birds! They’re pretty, eh, Dad?”

“B, Diane.”

“Ooh! Look at the little calvies! They’re playing, eh, Dad?”

“B, Diane.”

“Mmmm! Dinner! We love dinner, eh, Dad?”

“B, Diane.”

You get the idea.

It was years before I realized that he was merely putting a non-committal ‘B’ with my ‘A’.

Just to keep the conversation flowing with a chattering little girl.

It worked.

And that’s what it’s all about, eh?

B.