Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .



Wednesday, April 1, 2020

Not Forgotten

April 1. Daddy's birthday. He would be 95 today. I hope they have cake in Heaven!
Remembering you today and every day, Daddy! I love you!

Something like this.
Dad had a new toy.
A small musical instrument called a ‘musette’.
The fact that he was in his first year of university didn’t stop him from playing it.
He and a group of friends were riding the streetcar home from Sunday Services.
They were a happy bunch.
Talking.
Laughing.
Dad was tinkering about on his new toy.
Much to the discomfort of the other passengers.
I should mention, here, that Dad had a beautiful singing voice.
I’ve never heard him play the musette.
Possibly because of what follows . . .
The streetcar conductor called back to the group of boys, “You! On the harmonica! Please stop playing!”
Dad stopped.
For a moment.
Then, thinking that the conductor could no longer hear him over the noise of the rest of the passengers, he started again.
“You! Stop playing or I’ll have to kick you off the bus!”
Dad sighed and dropped the musette into his lap.
He looked down at it.
Just one more . . .
“Okay. That’s it!
The bus slid to a sudden stop.
“You! With the harmonica! Off!”
Dad got to his feet.
“And the rest of you with him! Off!”
His friends looked at each other.
Then, disgusted, they too got to their feet and followed the author of their misfortunes off the bus.
And began the long walk back to the University.
Moving ahead seventy years . . .
My Husby and I had moved our family to Edmonton.
Six hours north of where I was raised.
I met an elderly couple at church.
We started to visit.
They discovered that my maiden name was Stringam.
“Well, who do you belong to?” the man asked.
“Mark is my dad,” I said proudly.
“Mark,” he said. Then, “Mark! He got me kicked off the streetcar!”
The good things we do are quickly forgotten.
The mistakes?
They go on forever.

18 comments:

  1. Many of Dad's anitcs will live on forever; The memories of him are always in our hearts. I still find myself thinking of some person or event in the past and I know that Dad would know that. The sudden realization: I can't ask him anymore. I was thinking that I was truly blessed to have known Dad for over 60 years; he was only 34 when his dad died. Call me silly but I still have his phone number, E-mail and Facebook page.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Now you are my go-to for historical info! Stick around for a while, okay?

      Delete
    2. Sure don't plan on going anywhere. Too stubborn anyway...

      Delete
  2. Of course there's cake in Heaven!

    Where do you think we got the idea from?

    ReplyDelete
  3. DragonPawLady has the right answer! Thanks for the story.

    ReplyDelete
  4. OMG. Got goosebumps. What an amazing and touching story.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you, Laurie! Daddy has so many to choose from. He was just So. Much. Fun!

      Delete
  5. Your daddy and my daddy should have gotten together. I still have all his harmonicas. Wonderful memories.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Maybe they're up there now--getting kicked off a heavenly streetcar!

      Delete
  6. Never forgotten. Which is why they are not gone, missed (so badly), but not forgotten.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It's so nice just to think of him. I'm so grateful I had him for almost 60 years. I lost Mom way too soon...

      Delete
  7. My dad used to play harmonica, also a piano accordion.

    ReplyDelete
  8. Oh, dear. Sometimes temptation hits and you go with it and next thing you know, your kids are being regaled with tales of your deeds!

    ReplyDelete
  9. What a great story, Diane! Your dad gave you so many wonderful memories.

    ReplyDelete
  10. A beautiful connection with your dad, a hello across time and space, a hug orchestrated by him and given through a friend of his. A reminder to us that these concepts are illusion, that we are enveloped in a web that is the cosmic now and here and the then and there all networked with love.

    ReplyDelete

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