Dad

My dad was a cowboy.  A strange comparison for sure but if you knew my dad, you knew he loved western movies, Louis L’ Amour novels, and country music.  We always thought it was weird.  My mom used to complain about being dragged to the movies with him to watch another boring western.  “Dad and his westerns!” mom would say rolling her eyes.  But if you look closely at it, he loved cowboy stories because they represented a simpler time:  a time of honesty, morality, friendship, and family.  My dad was a cowboy.

His horse was his car.  He was the best driver I’ve ever seen.  He rode that horse smooth without ever getting near any trouble. Never an accident.  He always knew where he was going without a map.  Even when he was 91 and telling me where to turn on a random street in Vancouver.  It’s no surprise that he ran his own company around car parts.  Central Fleet Parts and Supplies.  He ran that company for 40 years so that he could build a life for all of us.

He was quiet and self-contained like all the best cowboys.  Unless he was hungry, and he didn’t like the food.  Then, his guns would come out.  My mom was only worried about one thing with my dad: hot food ready for when he came home from work.  All meals were not created equal, however, as growing up, we knew he didn’t like chicken.  “Chicken!?” he would say, if it somehow worked its way onto his plate.  Working on the sugar beet farms in Alberta and chasing after chickens to catch and butcher them for dinner must have caused him chicken PTSD.  

Food was no joke to my dad. The maddest I’ve ever seen him in the last many years was when he was in the hospital last May and a nurse took away his sandwich before he had a chance to finish it.  “She took my sandwich!” he yelled.  

And no talking during eating.  Cowboys focus on one thing at a time.  Don’t waste time talking when food is sitting in front of you.  Good food.  Luckily, the women in his life are all excellent cooks.  And we all know how quiet dad got when the food came.  Why waste time talking when you could be eating?  

Dad was a hard-working person, but he could also relax very quickly.  He could fall asleep anytime, anywhere, especially in a comfy chair.   He would be asleep right now.  It was a constant source of amusement for us, but we always knew that he was ready. He’d rest, but he was always ready for whatever responsibility lay ahead for him that day.   

His resilience is what was the foundation of our family.  Living through the war and internment, like our Japanese ancestors and seniors, he was forged in a fire that we couldn’t ever imagine.  That’s what made him cowboy tough.  I only remember him missing a couple days of work in 50 years.  They were and are called the “Greatest generation” for a reason.  They saw and lived through conditions that our generations could not even imagine.  

No complaining, either.  He never complained about pain, sickness, or other people.  If he complained about you, you just knew that there must be something wrong with you.  He had to work at a young age to help support his brothers and sisters and later his family.  He likely pushed aside his dreams to allow us to pursue ours.  But he never complained.  He showed his tremendous love for family not through words but through action.  If we needed something, he was there to help.  Cowboys don’t express their feelings in words, but we could always see his sacrifices.  

Maybe that’s why he adored his New York Yankees and Vancouver Canucks.  They were living the dream.  He never said much, but he could talk forever about sports.  Put him in front of a screen with a baseball or hockey game, and you would lose him.  He never missed watching our hockey games or competitions.  Never missed driving us to our games and practices.  He loved it.  Unless we didn’t perform up to the level he expected.  Then we’d hear about it.  You couldn’t survive on the frontier unless you could meet the challenge.  

My dad was a peaceful cowboy, though.  His guns were his golf clubs.  He was an easy, straight shooter.  Straight shotgun driver.  Soft touch, no wasted shots.  He cleaned them carefully and displayed them each week. He loved golfing with his golf buddies, too.  Like the Magnificent Seven walking on the plains of the fairway, as good as it gets.  With his best buddy, Uncle Tom Akizuki, getting ready for golf every week was as excited as we saw him.  Straight shooting on the range with his buddies.

Dad loved people.  Any chance to be in a social situation and he made the most of it.  And if you’re going to the saloon, why not have some shots of scotch whiskey? His favorite. He was not a tall or imposing cowboy, but he would disarm you with his smiling face and loud, genuine laugh. 

Even up until November, his fellow golf-slingers were right there with him.  Kuni, Reverend Grant, Rich, Pat, Shao, and Davey were always looking out for him.  We’ll be eternally grateful for that.  I’m sure he survived for many more years after my mom because he had such good friends looking out for him.  No life on the frontier without friends.

When he moved to Wisteria, he immediately made new friends.  I asked him if he missed our family home when he moved into his new bachelor pad, he replied with his simple, “nope”.  The residents and staff invited him into a new home, a new chapter in his life.  And he was happy here.

But all cowboys need a muse.  And his was my mom.  He loved her.  He didn’t express his love in traditional, vocal ways but he was as faithful and dutiful as they come.  Was it always easy? No.  But they were playful together and loyal apart. He knew that mom was his conscience.  He was her caregiver in the end after she had taken loving care of him after so many years.  After she passed in 2019, he talked to her every night before he went to sleep and each morning when he woke up. He always kept her close. True love.

Finally, like all the best dads, and all the best cowboys, he took care of the people around him.  He loved his grandkids and enjoyed watching them grow up.  He was always thinking about us before he was thinking about himself.  Even in the hospital these last few weeks, he was worried about us – saying sorry that he was there.  Protect those you love.  The villains are always driven away in the end, because the best dads and the best cowboys, teach us right from wrong and protect us from the evil that lurks in the distance.  We should live in a world where everyone says, they had the best dad.  Because that’s just the way it should be.

91 years is a great life and there are so many stories to tell, but I’m sure dad would be waiting for the food and the company.  My mom would often say, “Tom, say something!! Dad, he never says anything!  I have to do all the talking!”  Cowboy like.  He’d reply with the Clint Eastwood shrug.

Dad.  You’re off into the horizon and into the new frontier.  Mom, grandma, grandpa, your family and friends have been waiting.  We know you’re riding into the sunset, but the sunrise on the other side is warm.  We’ll see you again there one day but until then, enjoy the ride like you always did.  Give everyone our love.  We love you forever.