To the Editor,
A few days ago, I had a small complication come up that I needed a mechanic to rectify. The problem was, my day was pre-planned and busy, and while I would be able to drop my vehicle off 25 kilometres away at 6 a.m., I had no way of getting back home since at that time everyone was either asleep or already on their way to work.
As I was mulling over my options, I happened to mention my issue to my dad. My father is 78 and exactly 30 years my senior, I was born on his birthday. He’s one of those old farmers who never learned to sleep in. “Yeah, yeah, I will take you,” he said the night before my appointment, “but you better be awake.” With a solution to my dilemma found, I went to sleep after our conversation.
The next morning at 6 a.m. sharp, my phone vibrated, and I saw the WILLEMSCREST name. I chuckled at my father’s meticulous timing. “Are you ready, man? Let’s get going, I’ve got lots to do today.” he said, his morning coffee discernible in his over-the-phone exuberance.
“Yeah, I’m heading out in 5. I’ll see you there.”
I hopped in my truck and started to make my way to Glen Robertson, and pretty soon the headlights from my dad’s red Chevy appeared in my rearview mirror. Down winding roads, we drove, and I kept checking my mirror to make sure he was keeping up and that I wasn’t leaving him behind. As the fog rolled out and the sun rose over the Rigaud Mountains in the distance, the deep thoughts rolled in. Today I’m looking out for him, yet he, even at 78, is still looking out for me. He’s not just in the rearview mirror of my RAM; he is and has always been in the rearview mirror of my life. He has always looked out for me, followed close, and been there if I derailed or just needed to be picked up in more ways than I can verbalize. In that moment, I felt tremendous gratitude while simultaneously wondering: how many more times will I travel these roads and be lucky enough to have my dad in my rearview, whether literally or metaphorically on the journey of life? How many more times will we follow each other down these familiar roads, two men in trucks, awake at sunrise, with a day full of possibilities ahead?
In a world full of chaos and trivialities, some of us are lucky enough to be blessed like the good seed in the Gospel that fell on fertile soil to have somebody in our rearview always looking out for us, even sometimes at cost to themselves.
Let this letter be a reminder to those with whom this resonates; be conscious, be humble, and be grateful, because that man in the rearview mirror will someday no longer be behind us, but above us.
For now, as the old farmer says, let’s make hay while the sun shines.
Patrick Willems,
East Hawkesbury
