Who's a Bad Ass?

Eric Stone's post on badasses immediately made me think of my dad. At first glance, Dad doesn't look like tough guy, but as a child I always saw him as some mysterious entity hiding much more than the naked eye could see. His posture, his raised eyebrow and his dry comments told a deeper story than the accountant personae he revealed. Often, he struck fear in our misbehaving hearts with just one intense glare.

He once told me a story about being in a bar fight. He was minding his own business, having a beer when a fight broke out. Someone tossed a guy across his table just after he picked up his beer. He didn't spill a drop. When the table was swept clean of said guy, he put his beer back on the table. At least, that's how I remember the story.

He grew up in Minto, a mining town in northern New Brunswick. He has lots of tough guy stories, some true, and some probably not so much. He had many jobs: fim reel delivery guy for a major movie distributor, coal miner, tobacco picker. He used his razor sharp mathmatical brain to work his way to a white collar position at a national construction company, then was wooed by an international construction company to help out with a financial mess in Algeria. He still cruises around the world, having worked in places like Mexico, El Salvador, Saudi Arabia, Nigeria and soon, Siberia.

In his travels, he made many friends. Some were high profile leaders of the equality movement who died for their beliefs, and some were associated (by family) with enemies of Democracy. He always seemed to leave a project just before a coup, an earthquake or a major government shakeup. I often joke that he's really a spy.

Gee, Dad, I hope I didn't blow your cover.

Happy 73rd Birthday to my favourite Bad Ass.