My fondest Christmas memory

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I am the third child in a family of nine. I was born in Prince Albert, Sask. My father worked for the city and my mother worked in restaurants and as a cleaning lady for a dentist.

My father passed away when he was only 46. It was on my sister's birthday, April 4, 1972. It was a very sad time in my life.

Before that, I remember when I was at home my father would always call me by his pet name for me, Coach. Every school day I woke up to "Coach, school." Since my father's passing, no one has ever called me Coach.

My fondest Christmas memory is of the Christmas of 1968. It was a beautiful morning. My father had just woke us all up. On this special morning I jumped up anxious to open my presents.

We all said Merry Christmas to each other and started opening our presents. All at once the pretty boxes of wrapping were gone.

"Dad, where is your present?" we asked. He pretended to look all over the tree and under the tree. To our dismay it wasn't there. All of us looked high and low wondering what could have happened to it. All of a sudden dad looked at his wrist and said it's time to go to church. To our delight he was wearing the watch that we had bought for him!

I often think of the little things that our father did for us, and now that I am approaching 46, I realize just how young and alive he was.