May 1st, 2006
As I type this, my sister and my father are winging their way to Holland.
My sister has never been to continental Europe before (though she once had a week-long gig singing jazz in a Scottish castle ... thereby trumping every trip I've ever made to Scotland). But she never made it further than a quick gander at the channel and then flew back to Canada.
Well, my other sister went to continental Europe with her high school, and I've been there performing with a choir and, if you count Western Russia as Europe (which, if you know your geography, you should) and a trip with my mother and grandmother when I was a child, I've been to Europe five times!
So I'm very happy that my sister is finally getting a trip to Europe all her own. She deserves it, since she is the most worldly of all of us "kids" anyhow. She's earned it.
But the real interest is for my dad who, the last time he entered Holland, was on the back of a Canadian Army truck with the stench of death and destruction all around him. That's right, he was among the Canadian soldiers who accepted the mission the Americans called "suicidal" to liberate Holland. This time around he plans to have a less stressful visit.
Actually, my sister Jennifer is there as much to accompany him as for her own enjoyment. For example, I told her to keep him away from the Red Light District in Amsterdam—an area of that town I visited myself when I was the stunningly young age of 13 (and don't get me started about the sorts of things my 15-year-old eyes used to see out behind my hotel in Hamburg in the back alley that also bounded the sex clubs of the next street over!)
But, back to my father in 1944-5: Who knows how many -er- 1/2-Canadian baby-boomers are wandering around Holland? I wonder if I have any brothers or sisters that we don't know about :-o ) Well, knowing my dad's gentlemanly attitude, probably not. I'm sure he was truly genteel and refined even before his post-war officer training ... right, dad? Dad ... ?
I hope my dad gets to see the sights he wants to, and relives the fragile memories he carries. I hope Jennifer has a pint of real Dutch beer—Grolsch or Amstel, perhaps, not that Heineken moose piss. But, most of all, I hope they have the time of their lives together over there so that they return with new memories just their own.
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