DAD'S HABS HAT
“I think he wore it partly as a good-natured dare, an invitation to take the bait.”
My dad grew up in Montreal, and this was his Montreal Canadiens toque. A classic. He loved the Canadiens—the Habs, short for their nickname, les Habitants. We lived in Toronto, though, where the Maple Leafs ruled the ice, and I think he wore the Habs hat partly as a good-natured dare, an invitation to take the bait. He loved an encounter. He loved engaging with people. Even if you disagreed with him, he wanted to be your friend.
He was a joker, a laugher. He was a man of his word. He ran marathons (115 or so), he traveled the world (for work and pleasure), he built and fixed things (as an amateur carpenter and an engineer), he was community-minded (Rotary, Habitat for Humanity, environmental groups), he listened to music nonstop. He was a hype man for adventure, always ready with the right Rolling Stones song to start you up and keep you up. He had a strong group of ride-or-die friends from university; after they graduated, they’d all bought property around the same lake in Muskoka. It was possibly his favorite place on earth.
My dad was also super stubborn, and we butted heads constantly. He wasn’t always in tune with his emotions, and he really didn’t know how to deal with me once I hit my teens. I was a young artist with undiagnosed ADHD, and just as tough and independent as he was; he had a temper and a voice that could terrify me. Still, at the lake he was always at ease. In summer he’d be taking us waterskiing or swimming, going for a run, sailing or canoeing, barbecuing, sitting by the fire drinking Labatt 50s with friends. In winter, in his Habs hat, he’d be out cross-country or downhill skiing. He’d make a hockey rink on the frozen lake.
My son was born in 2011, when my dad was 63—his first grandchild, and he was psyched. We made yearly trips to Canada from our home in New York City. On one trip, my dad and my son made a boat out of wood, then popped it in the water and followed it around the lake in a paddleboat. That was such a happy day.
By then, though, my parents were retired and living in Muskoka year-round. Their community had gotten smaller, and they were challenged less on their ideas about politics and culture. My dad’s views had become more conservative. Talking to him was difficult. We argued a lot. The last time he and my mom visited us in New York, in February 2018, was very hard. He lost his temper with my son. Looking back, I’m guessing the tumor was already growing in his brain. He died about five months after that visit. He had just turned 70. My son was 7.
I’ve done a lot of thinking about my dad since then. His mother died of cancer when he was only 6, and I imagine he must have felt quite alone. I think he had an unforgiving father and quite possibly ADHD, and I suspect he was misunderstood. I like to believe, or at least hope, that if he hadn’t died, he would have reached a point where he was able to look at his life and think about why he was the way he was. Since my own ADHD diagnosis last year, I’ve joined an ADHD group, on top of weekly cognitive behavior therapy. I’m doing the work, and wherever he is, I like to picture my dad doing the work as well.
One really nice thing did happen on that last hard visit: My dad gave the Habs hat to my son. I feel like it’s a symbol of his confidence, which is something my kiddo could use as he moves through his teens. There are so many questions I wish I could ask my dad about these years, and it’s so sad that he isn’t here to share them. But the hat makes me think about how much he loved to have fun and enjoy himself and cause a good kind of ruckus, and those are excellent things to aspire to at any age.
—Gillian MacLeod
Gillian MacLeod is a Brooklyn-based art director and designer, currently working at Men’s Health.
For a different reading experience, The Keepthings’ stories can also be read in their entirety on Instagram @TheKeepthings.
Have a story to share? See the complete submission guidelines, including photo guidelines, at TheKeepthings.com.
 | A guest post by
|
Beautiful tribute and that photo speaks volumes.
Thanks for sharing your Dad's story. The handing off of the Habs hat to your son touched my heart -- just another example of the simple ways we bind our generations together.