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Since this week would have been my father’s eighty-third birthday, I have decided to write a few celebratory words…

…or maybe not so few,

…in his honour.

This story begins way back when I was still a young teenager.

I can still recall the times that I would go to a refrigerator in search of a snack.

Upon hearing the fridge door open, dad who was usually upstairs, would call down to me:

“What are you doing in the fridge?”

“I’m hungry,” I would reply.

“Eat an apple,” he would then tell me.

“I don’t want an apple…” I’d answer.

“Then you’re not hungry.”

I would then proceed to linger in the fridge for a few more seconds. Then finding nothing of interest, I’d close the fridge door and walked away, disappointed and…

…apple-less.

Let me state, that our humble fridge never lacked for apples. Father did not believe in the regular two or five pound bags.

He brought home apples by the bushel, fresh from our downtown market.

We were a family of three: my Father, myself and my little sister.

That’s a lot of apples for just three people.

In turn, each morning before school, I would fill my large purse with apples and gleefully hand them out to friends during break.

Still, somehow we never ran out of apples.

And so… years later, as a memento of those days, I cross-stitched the apple sampler you see above and gave it to dad as a father’s day gift in 1990. He hung it in his kitchen. And there it remained until after he passed away, when it was ultimately returned to me.

It now hangs in my dining room, and continues to bring me joy to this day… In the week my father would have turned eighty-three.

Now, if you’ll excuse me… to celebrate the life of my father, I am now off in search of an apple…

…Even though I’m not hungry.

I miss you Dad.

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