Somewhere around the time I was 11 or 12 years old the law was enacted to deal with drinking and driving. My father had 3 things: a sense of entitlement, no common sense and a lot of money. Money that would buy you "friends" to drink with. I remember the Railway Hotel being one of his haunts. He had several - he would go to town for the mail or to haul a load of grain and not come home for hours. Living in a smaller community of around 13,000 people there were people who knew everyone and there were people that everyone knew. My father grew up and went to school there, my grandmother taught school for many years there, my father was a reeve on the rural council and we owned a rather sizeable grain farm not far out of the city. And......the police knew my dad well too! When the drinking and driving law came into effect my father collected several of these infractions. His licence was taken from him at least 3 times that I know of. As he was a farmer he was allowed to drive farm equipment to and from the various fields that he needed to get to but it was my mother that became his personal chauffer. Now, you would think that during these times that he was unlicenced he would curb his drinking....not the case.....this is where his money would help him because his drinking buddies were more than happy to oblige him and drive him around because he paid for their booze as well. So did losing his licence repeatedly stop him from drinking? No, he simply found other ways to get where he needed to go. He would come home very drunk and just itching to get into a fight with someone. He was slightly embarrased that he had to have his friends drive him around and apparently that was everyone's fault but his. He would arrive home mad at my mother because she had refused to take him into town and he was ready to go for the full 10 rounds. My mother retreated to the bedroom. The rest of scattered like rats on a sinking ship. My father was a hunter, as most people on the prairies were. He carried rifles in the gun rack in his truck and he had a rack of guns on the wall in his office in the basement. More than once those rifles were waved around in the midst of his rants. He was going to shoot himself, no, he was going to shoot one of us, no, he was going to shoot himself. Today, I find that almost amusing because he wouldn't even have been sober enough to load the gun never mind aim it and hit something. But to a child of 11 these were very scary moments. No adult was there to protect us from him. More than once the police would phone my mom and tell them that once again they had stopped my dad and taken his licence on the spot. And my mom would go get him. The winters were the worst as being a grain farmer my father had many hours of freedom whereas in the spring and summer he was busy seeding and harvesting. But I do have some beautiful memories of being the early riser and going with my dad to the fields at 5 in the morning. He taught me how to grease the combine (a skill that has proven to be as useful as Grade 7 French) and he would let me drive the big machinery. Eventually it was my job to drive the big grain truck along side the combine as he unloaded on the move. I was thrilled! Between us - neither of us had a driver's licence most of the time!!! I have some happy memories that I cherish and I cling to.
Slowly my parents' marriage was disintegrating but this was in the middle 1970's and single parent homes were rare. The summer when I was 14 was the pivotal point and things were about to get very bad.
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