The Kitchen Table In Orillia
To everyone who has sent kind thoughts regarding my dad, I thank you all very much. I’m very touched, as is Luci and my brother and his wife Kelly, who have read these comments on this site and also on Twitter, Facebook and emails. Everyone has been so great, and I’m tremendously appreciative. It must be true – Habs fan are nicer people than other fans. And if you say you aren’t a Habs fan, you probably are and just don’t realize it.
I’m sitting at my brother’s kitchen table in Orillia, after a flight from Vancouver where I sat beside two toddlers and had one behind me kicking my seat.
My family seems to have issues. Two sisters aren’t going to the funeral – one has found God and says she doesn’t need to be near the physical dad and that she’ll be talking to his spirit, and the other who doesn’t want to go because she got into a tiff with my brother. But whatever. Aren’t most families screwed up? Or is it just mine and a couple of others?
Tomorrow I’m going for a walk to see the old arena, which is about to be torn down. Yes indeed, the Orillia Community Centre, where a smallish-yet-shifty right winger scored often, even with a mediocre shot. Imagine what he could have done if he had a decent shot? And was a tad bigger. And maybe a bit smarter on the ice. And probably a little stronger and faster. But aside from these few things, can you imagine?
I love my hometown. Good old Orillia. I couldn’t wait to get out when I was younger, and now I can’t wait to come back and visit. Just not for funerals, that’s all.
The funeral director was an old teammate of mine when I was a kid. He took over the family funeral business when his dad retired, and I haven’t seen him since high school. I guess I’ll be seeing him in a few days. His dad used to help with the driving when we would play out of town. Everybody wanted to ride in Jack Mundell’s car because he liked to go about 90 mph. My dad was the opposite, a slow driver, and it was embarrassing.