What did your folks do?

[malcolmk14]

Very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet.

My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes, he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament.

My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring, we’d make meat helmets.

When I was insolent, I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds – pretty standard, really. At the age of twelve, I received my first scribe.

At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. At the age of 18, I went off to evil medical school. At the age of 25, I took up tap dancing. I wanted to be a quadruple threat — an actor, dancer…

[CaptainCrunch]

My Dad, was in sales for his whole life, mainly around construction materials and decorating equiptment, not thrilling but he made a good living. My mom was an accountant. They decided to take a risk a start their own business, selling home renovation stuff (Carpet, paint, decorations all of that). They went from one store, to two store to three stores, saw some really great success at it. Then the Alberta Economy was crushed by the NEP. We lost everything (like everything completely), and my dad went from job to job for a long time, doing whatever he had to do. Real Estate. He sold ice machines to restaurants for a while. Ceramic tile sales. Nothing thrilling, but it put food on the table, and they put my sisters through school. My mom went back to accounting. We finally got back on our feet, and my dad had found a good job managing Western Canada for a tile company (again not thrilling). My folks managed to rebuild what they lost, and got back to a point where they could think retirement someday and my parents ground thier butts off. Then my dad was hit by a drunk driver (He was a pedestrian), he had his hands wrecked. He couldn't work the same way, and retired from full time work. He did a post retirement part time job selling art at a upscale gallery which he really loved. He also did a side gig framing paintings.

He didn't have it easy, for all of me and my dad not getting along, he really had amazing determination and work ethic that I admire to this day. I remember talking to him about it not that long ago. There was no such thing as a dream job for him. What he did wasn't exciting, he didn't really love it, but it was a means to an end and that was it.

My mom kept doing accounting and payroll work in the Oil Patch until she retired.

[Locke]

Originally Posted by malcolmk14

Very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet.

My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes, he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament.

My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring, we’d make meat helmets.

When I was insolent, I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds – pretty standard, really. At the age of twelve, I received my first scribe.

At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. At the age of 18, I went off to evil medical school. At the age of 25, I took up tap dancing. I wanted to be a quadruple threat — an actor, dancer…

Good Lord....and you wonder why we dont trust teachers....

Is there not a vetting process?? I'm totally joking and you know it.

[OMG!WTF!]

My dad was a cowboy. When he was 16, he lived alone in a cabin near Hanna taking care of his uncle's horses during the particularly harsh winter of '48. In November of that year a man who worked for the Stampede ranch found him walking through the snow across the prairie several miles from his cabin during a severe storm. His horse, Blaze, had left him and he was cold. The man rode him on his horse back to the cabin where Blaze was waiting for him by the door of the small barn. His saddle bags were still full of the food he had bought from the small town 20 km's away.



A week later, the man from the Stampede ranch returned and offered my dad his first job. A few days after that he was on a train, a bunk in a livestock car full of horses heading to the grey cup football game in Toronto. His job was to take care of the parade animals. 70 years later the story he told most is ordering a large orange float in the bar of the Royal York Hotel. The way he tells it is a poem. The ice cream delivered in a cup on a tray with a bottle of Crush on the side. A woman hitting on him. A stable of horses waiting his return for hay and brushing. It must have been impossible to imagine any of this only a few weeks earlier during his freezing walk back from town.



He was several other things in life. A salesman, warehouse man, truck driver, delivery man, entrepreneur and business man. He managed to keep many kids alive. His care and attention ebbed and flowed. Food. Water. Clean bedding. A way of training that required you to be smart. You had to know how to get yourself home in a storm. The jobs he did or the business he created, the ones that worked and the ones that failed, 70 years of them all, ultimately were not what he did in life.



As he deteriorated and was close to death, I showed him pictures from a 1948 Toronto newspaper. He had trouble remembering our names towards the end. But in the newspaper was a photo from the grey cup parade. In the photo was Blaze, a strong looking paint leading the parade. There was Annie. Pete. Snippy. Socks and George. And Coulee. All at my dad's command like it was 1948. He knew all their names. Ronnie and Chester. Raspberry and Sonny. They had all stayed with him for his whole life, maybe not under his mount, but always waiting at the barn. If nothing else, he loved what he did once.

[calgarywinning]

Originally Posted by OMG!WTF!

My dad was a cowboy. When he was 16, he lived alone in a cabin near Hanna taking care of his uncle's horses during the particularly harsh winter of '48. In November of that year a man who worked for the Stampede ranch found him walking through the snow across the prairie several miles from his cabin during a severe storm. His horse, Blaze, had left him and he was cold. The man rode him on his horse back to the cabin where Blaze was waiting for him by the door of the small barn. His saddle bags were still full of the food he had bought from the small town 20 km's away.



A week later, the man from the Stampede ranch returned and offered my dad his first job. A few days after that he was on a train, a bunk in a livestock car full of horses heading to the grey cup football game in Toronto. His job was to take care of the parade animals. 70 years later the story he told most is ordering a large orange float in the bar of the Royal York Hotel. The way he tells it is a poem. The ice cream delivered in a cup on a tray with a bottle of Crush on the side. A woman hitting on him. A stable of horses waiting his return for hay and brushing. It must have been impossible to imagine any of this only a few weeks earlier during his freezing walk back from town.



He was several other things in life. A salesman, warehouse man, truck driver, delivery man, entrepreneur and business man. He managed to keep many kids alive. His care and attention ebbed and flowed. Food. Water. Clean bedding. A way of training that required you to be smart. You had to know how to get yourself home in a storm. The jobs he did or the business he created, the ones that worked and the ones that failed, 70 years of them all, ultimately were not what he did in life.



As he deteriorated and was close to death, I showed him pictures from a 1948 Toronto newspaper. He had trouble remembering our names towards the end. But in the newspaper was a photo from the grey cup parade. In the photo was Blaze, a strong looking paint leading the parade. There was Annie. Pete. Snippy. Socks and George. And Coulee. All at my dad's command like it was 1948. He knew all their names. Ronnie and Chester. Raspberry and Sonny. They had all stayed with him for his whole life, maybe not under his mount, but always waiting at the barn. If nothing else, he loved what he did once.

I feel the next thread should be what did your grandparents do for a living. Maybe some people don't even know?

I think the clear thread in all of these stories is how economically different it was, in that many parents had so much to fight for just to provide. Could it be a mirror reflection of what is about to come again? Let's hope not.

My dad worked as a power engineer at a nitrate plant for some time. My mother worked for AGT (now Telus) and worked her way up to an office leader. They left PEI at the age of 18 and were essentially broke but could not bare to stay in the Maritimes where there was little or no opportunity. Both their parents had nothing either.

Eventually they became entrepreneurs and built several businesses. The key thing was that my dad always had a fear of not having money and thus not having control over his destiny.

My grandmother, his mother was extremely fearful of this condition as she grew up in the great depression in London and during the Nazi bombing of England. So it was instilled in him to be frugal.

It really took my mothers spirit to drive him forward and take a few risks.

[keratosis]

My mom was a cleaning lady and my dad was a garbage man. I loved them.

[peter12]

Pops was a bricklayer, Mom was a COO for a pretty big O&G company. Gender roles were kind of weird growing up.

[flamesfever]

My Dad worked the first 20 years for Simpsons which later on was called Simpsons Sears which became Sears. One of his bosses was Syl Apps, who was in charge of the shoe department. My Dad used to bring home hockey sticks signed by Apps, who was captain of the Maple Leafs.

The second 20 years my Dad was production manager for a large firm that made resisters and condensors for the space program. He trained many recently graduated electrical engineers, even though the highest he went in school was grade 10.

My Mom worked for the same firm as my Dad for a time, and trained women to work on the test lines. She later became a dental assistant. She helped put me through University by handing me her paycheck each week.

[Finger Cookin]

A lot of things. None of them very well.

[vtec260]

Both parents were pharmacists before coming over to Canada in their early forties with three kids. Once here, they couldn't continue their profession due to differences in licensing standards so they bought and operated a small corner convenience store for twenty years. Working 13-14 hour days and having 1-2 days off out of 365 days, not complaining about their work (even after being robbed a couple of times) and sacrifices they made for us. Crazy work ethics for sure until they retired at 60. They managed to put three kids through university and paid off the store and house at retirement. Before I complain about my "tough 8 hour shifts" at work, I reflect back to them and shut the f*** up.

[redforever]

My Dad was a farmer in Saskatchewan. My mother was a typical farmer's wife at the time having multiple gardens (veggies, flowers, shelterbelts), chickens and other fowl, milking cows and the like.

I come from a family of 4 girls and all of us knew the basics about farm equipment as we had to help out from time to time. Bored was not a word in our vocabulary.

I grew up 13 miles from the local town, in a very isolated area. That is why I have always enjoyed nature and have always prized my solitude.

I think growing up in such an environment has made it easier for me and my sisters to deal with COVID. We have always been pretty self reliant and independent and know how to live by ourselves.

[Codes]

My Dad was a telecommunications electrician at AGT, then BC Tel...then Telus when they all merged into one. He worked out of town most of the time, so he got to see quite a bit of AB and BC over the course of his career.

Growing up, my Mom stayed at home to take care of us kids, and ran a small daycare service. After we grew up, she worked several different jobs, but ended up at Shaw for many years.

[Nufy]

both my parents worked labor jobs all their life.

My dad left school after Grade 8 as money was needed for the family.

My mom finished high school and both of them worked in the fish plant for most of their lives. Mom upgraded and got into the quality side of the business before she passed from cancer at age 42.

Dad worked labor jobs until the facility shut down and is now retired.

Their goal in life was that neither me or my brother have to do the same kind of work they did while growing up.

They did pretty good I think as both of us are well established in our professional careers.

[calf]

My mother was a hamster, my father smelled of elderberries.

[Fuzz]

Originally Posted by calf

My mother was a hamster, my father smelled of elderberries.

This sounds like a riddle. What creature than smells like elderberries does a hamster have to mate with to produce a calf?

[calf]

Originally Posted by Fuzz

This sounds like a riddle. What creature than smells like elderberries does a hamster have to mate with to produce a calf?

Hint: it has the same latent airspeed of an unladen swallow

[Buff]

My dad bought livestock for a major meat packing plant. He got a healthy severance when they closed down and didn't have to work for two years, but that wasn't his style. He sold cars for nearly a year, then went back into ag as a livestock broker until he retired. Couldn't hack not doing anything so we got a part time job as a security guard until he really retired.

My mom was a secretary until I was born, then she stayed home most of the time. She did get a part time job when I was in school for a neighbour's company doing office admin stuff, then she was a part time assistant librarian at a school for a couple of years.

[Ironhorse]

Originally Posted by calf

Hint: it has the same latent airspeed of an unladen swallow

African or European?

[Bindair Dundat]

My Dad joined the RCAF in 1952 at the age of 17. He was trained as a radar operator and spent the first couple of years manning ADC stations in the North. After re-training as an Air Traffic Controller (1956) he was posted to 1(F) Wing in Marville France, this during the height of the Canadian Air Division (Sabre Days). He did two years overseas and came back to Canada for yet more re-training. The technology that they were working with in those days was evolving at a ridiculous rate and required constant upgrading for the operators. He did a couple of tours in the north after this as an ATC (Fort Nelson, and Churchill). During his posting at RCAF Churchill he met my Mom, who was working on the base as a teacher in the school where the military dependents got their education.
After this posting it was time for more schooling; Mom eventually joined him once her contract ran out in Churchill and he received another operational posting. This time it was Bagottville and sure enough? This is where I entered the picture. Summer of 1964. At this point, Mom became a "mom". We (my brother joined us in 1967) were there until the Spring of 1968, then the powers that be decided we were going to Goose Bay, Labrador.

This is really where my cognitive memory starts kicking in. What's for dinner? Fish (Herring/Smelts), three or four days a week. I would ride on the sled behind the good old "Sno-Trek" down to the bay on winter weekends and help Dad haul in as many as possible. We also caught lots of cod and these were VERY yummy indeed. Goose Bay was a very active Strategic Air Command (SAC, USAF) base during this period, with a Wing of tankers assigned and a constant rotation of period aircraft. MATS C-124's, C-131's, C-141's, C-97's; B-58's and B-52's, ADC F-101's, F-102's (ANG units by this time) and F-106's.
The RAF also had a presence on the "Canadian side". They had a detachment of Avro Vulcans (along with HP Victors as tanker support) based in their two hangars. They rotated their operational crews through Goose Bay to conduct low level strike training over the desolate frozen wastes in Northern Quebec and Labrador.

In the summer of 1969, Boeing's 747 prototype paid us a visit on it's way to the Paris Airshow. Still have the grainy black and white photos I took with my Kodak 126 buried somewhere in a box.
This exposure made me into a complete "airplane nut".


In the Spring of 1971 it was time to start packing again, this time we were going to Germany. We arrived in Baden-Soelingen (the runways in Lahr were being resurfaced at the time) on a shiny new CC-137 and as we swung around to head back on the taxiway I looked out on the 4 CF-104's sitting QRA with their USAF (nuclear) custodians, guns, and dogs.
This was a rather different world.
In the Spring of 1973, my Dad landed his 26,000th radar approach, which made him the top of the heap for GCA's in the Canadian Military. Two years later he hit 30,000 GCA's (bad weather landings, where the controller "talks" the pilot to the threshold of the runway); in the Canadian Military, this record will never be broken.

After 4 years in CFE we went back to Goose Bay. Dad was promoted to MWO and began the process of becoming an administrator instead of a "scope dope".
He still did shifts "in the hut" on this tour and continued to pile up "runs". Two of the most interesting in his log book are emergency diversions of SR-71's. One of these was a recovery in absolutely horrible weather with the aircraft barely controllable (or so he told me). Over the course of this tour, Dad also (an avid fisherman) took on the administration of the fly-in fishing camps. We spent a good deal of time flying in on the Otter float plane in the summer of 1976, catching epic Brookies and huge Northern Pike.

In 1977 it was time to hit the road again. Dad had spent two months "on course" in the Spring and was now qualified for the administration role that he had been groomed for over the last 3-4 years.

So?
Off to the most active airbase in the CAF, CYOD (Cold Lake).
Two years later he got his CWO and the ATCWO position, in charge of roughly 180 airmen and (in reality) the young Lieutenants and Captains who were the new radar operators and tower personnel.

He later did a stint as Base Warrant Officer (while still handling ATCWO concurrently) and had pretty much risen as high as one possibly could.



Without going to Winnipeg (Air Command HQ) that is...


And that's when he decided that he'd had enough of it all, I can't say as I blame him.
Despite the allure of being promoted to "Command CWO" he refused the numerous offers.

In his words?

"There's no way I am going to be a "bum boy" for some General".


In 1987 (at only 52y/o) he hit his magic 35 years (full/maximum pension) and pulled the plug on what had been one hell of a ride.


He and my Mom have been happily retired in Creston, BC ever since and have lived another entire lifetime since Dad retired.

All around the world and all that jazz.


As they said in the Seventies advertisements?

"There's no life like it"
If you pick up the ball and run with it that is.

Luck and nepotism had nothing to do with where Dad ended up, it was all hard work and a willingness to learn.


He's on the downward slope these days and it's going to shatter me when he's gone.

[peter12]

I don't know if anyone is going to top Bindair's post.