MY HEROES

My time in the bullpen was brief. Five days after my demotion, our elderly neighbor and friend, Jack, had a bad fall and was hospitalized. Terry and I visited him in hospital several times before his number was retired and he took up residence in a nursing home. His rapid demise was heightened by my realization that his days of coming over for dinner with two bottles of Honey Brown and two dozen funny stories were over, that the paint job I had done on his garage door just weeks before would now be a selling feature of his home.

His sudden departure from the game made me realize that the bullpen was no place for me, that I had to get back on the playing field. Yet I felt that all the players were now so much taller and stronger than me. All the praying in the world would not add a centimetre to my height.

That powerless feeling created a strong drive in me to connect with my roots, my heritage, my power supply….my heroes.

I hope that you have heroes, people you look up to and admire. Some of mine include Terry Fox, Jean Beliveau and Pinball Clemons. But I have two real heroes, my anchors, my dad and St. Jean de Brebeuf. Believe it or not, they are both linked in a surreal and inexplicable way. Let me explain.

My father, Neil, was born in 1915 on a farm about 10 km outside of Midland, Ontario, in the heart of Huronia. One of eight children, his mother, Florence spoke only English, while his father, Julien, only French. Clearly, that did not interfere with their communication in the bedroom. Dad left his humble surroundings at the age of 18 and by 1949 had risen to the status of top selling agent in Canada for the London Life Insurance Company.  He loved his family, Georgian Bay, his career and playing bridge in that order. His sometimes gruff exterior belied the fact that he would do a favour for anyone. Gregarious, energetic, courageous, and spiritual are words that best describe my dad. In 1954, he built the family cottage on Ossossane beach at the foot of Tiny Township Concession 8, a building that remains the glue that holds our family together. A man of action, Pierre Trudeau’s  “Just watch me” byword was dad’s unspoken mantra.

Jean de Brebeuf was born in France in 1593. He was a Jesuit missionary and martyr who spent almost twenty years of his life evangelizing the native people of Huronia. During the first half of the seventeenth century, Brebeuf  humbly served the native peoples as he learned their language, ate their food and slept under their roofs. Brebeuf endeared himself to the Hurons for his willingness to always pick up the heaviest pack and carry it over long portages. They called him Echon, ‘The man who carries the heavy load’. Brebeuf gained the trust and respect of everyone he worked with and showed by example what it means to believe in Jesus and live His message. Indeed, Brebeuf was a courageous man, a man of faith, a man for others and his martyrdom in 1649 crowned his virtuous life.

And now the missing link. Having spent over forty years of my life as a student and later teacher at Brebeuf College School in Willowdale, my interest in all things Brebeuf has led to the discovery that, like so many of the important things in our lives, my career at the school was part of a much greater plan, a plan inexorably connected to both my dad and Jean de Brebeuf.

In 1634, Brebeuf left Quebec with two fellow Jesuits, Father Antoine Daniel and Father Ambroise Davost to return for his second visit to Huronia. In 1637, he visited the Huron settlement at Ossossane, one of the largest in the area. He quickly realized that this was fertile ground for missionary work and soon a new mission station called La Conception de Notre Dame was established there. As I read Brebeuf’s account of his initial trek to Ossossane, I was struck by his description of the crescent shaped beach he happened upon, his walk through a forest of cedars and pines, and his ascent to the top of a ridge overlooking the southern tip of Georgian Bay. Could it be the same beach, forest and spectacular view that I had grown up with?

At the back of one of my resource books was a map that astonished me. The Huron village of Ossossane and the site of the most successful Jesuit mission in Huronia was situated on Tiny Concession 8, my dad’s concession, our family cottage concession.  Like Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark, I then noticed the giant X. It marked the site of La Conception right on top of the parcel of land that was my dad’s birthplace.

Like Brebeuf, my dad was a man of courage and a man of faith. Like Brebeuf, my dad lived with passion and compassion. And like Brebeuf, he had no fear of death when he succumbed to lung cancer 22 years ago.

Thank you Dad and Jean de Brebeuf for your courageous examples.  I think I’m going to need it.

For fear that God would tear me up by the roots

 as a tree that bears no fruit

I prayed to Him to leave me standing yet this year

 and I promised Him that I would bear better fruit

 than I have done in the past.

Jean de Brebeuf  1637