Heroes Come in Flesh & Blood Real Life

.
.
Today marks the second anniversary of my dad’s death, and I miss him so much. Bertrand Cote was the second born of 12 kids, the black sheep of the family. Back in the 1930’s, children were to be seen but not heard; so for a loud mischievous kid like Bert, he was considered a problem and not much more.

He ran away from home at 13, and a year or so later ran into his own dad when he went looking for work in a lumber jack camp. They worked together and when my grandfather moved to the United States, my dad came along, a hard working, well trained assistant who didn’t keep his own paycheck.

All through our lives I saw my dad work hard to be kind and helpful to his parents, going the extra mile, perhaps in part to secure the love they always withheld for his older brother.

This colored my dad’s whole life, and in turn colored mine too. Desperately desiring to be loved, but also distant, afraid love would be turned against him, or worse, withheld, my dad spent years in our home aloof and unknown; a stranger in a strange land.

As a kid, thinking that everything happened because of me, I was convinced my dad’s distant behavior was for character flaws he saw in me. This hurt my self-esteem which left me desperately desiring to be loved, but fearful to show my need or weakness.

For the last 25 years, my dad and I built a great relationship. Time mellowed my dad, which along with his relationship with God, really healed his wounds. He could show and express love, and not be fearful to receive it.

My dad was very smart; gifted in many ways though his education was limited. He worked as hard as any man I have ever seen. He cared about excellence, and “putting your money where your mouth is” kind of integrity. He was generous to a fault and didn’t waste his energy gossiping or maligning anyone. He was far from perfect, with his share of human frailties, but he was a man I was proud to know, and I’m grateful I had his character to measure my own manhood to.

I have at times been mocked about being a goody two-shoes, or a phony nice guy, cause “no one is like that in real life”, and I would have believed them if I hadn’t known my dad.