My Dad

My Dad – on Father’s Day

by Annis Karpenko

Published National Post, June 14, 2007

My dad was a kid from Brooklyn. He always called himself that. “What did I know? I was just a kid from Brooklyn.” or when he was experiencing something lovely or wonderful, he would say, “Who’da believed a kid from Brooklyn could have this?” and then he’d slap his chest and wave his arms around to take in the full miracle of the moment or scenic view.

Dad made being “a kid from Brooklyn” almost seem like being born with a silver spoon in your mouth, if you don't count all the hard work! He joined the army for a short tour at the end of the war and after he got out, he took advantage of the GI bill to go to university in New York and then med school in Lausanne, Switzerland where he met my mother. While he was there, his sisters and mother who were working back in New York would send him envelopes with $5 from their labours to help him along. He would repay them back for the rest of their lives with money, kindness and care.

After completing his internship and residency in New York City, Dad was a surgeon for 35 years in Connecticut and during that time, he also became father to four daughters who all got good educations. He and my mother stayed married for 50 years and except for their first four, lean years living in a Manhattan walk-up, they lived in fine houses with enough bathrooms to accomodate all the girls. In 1979, they bought the family farm up in Quebec and when Dad retired, he loved to sit on the big wrap around veranda and watch nature. It was on this porch, amidst the trees and field and river that he most often reflected on his humble beginnings.

When we were growing up, Dad worked long hours so he wasn’t home much but when he was, we could always count on him to play long and expansive pieces of classical music on the record player, tell funny stories, sip good coffee (real coffee with real cream) and most importantly to listen to the breathless trials and tribulations only teenage girls can experience. He always gave us wise counsel, never discouraged us and while only one of us would follow in his steps to become a medical professional; we all try every day to follow his example by continually expressing gratitude.

This will be our first Father’s Day without Dad. He passed away quietly, peacefully, in good health, in his own bed, in his sleep last October. And I am quite sure, as he arrived in heaven, completely bypassing the hospital, nursing home and hospice route he knew so well from his doctor life, he’d be saying, “Who’da believed?”