Homebodies: No ordinary man…

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Published on Saturday, January 21, 2017

By Rita Friesen
Neepawa Banner/Neepawa Press

Reminiscing about our childhood, my sister and I reflected on the role the adults of our community played in our life. We were a close knit circle, farming families, sharing a common heritage and faith. This conversation triggered deeper memories of a gentleman we simply called “Mr. Pete”. We would not have dared to address our elders by their first name, and even as we became adults, my sister and I could not drop the respectful title of Mr. or Mrs. Not when speaking of, or to, our parents’ friends.

It was no coincidence that his name came up. I had been moving objects around in my home and set one very aged picture aside. It looks a little like a water colour, but then again, it could have been a scene from a calendar. Six by eight in a simple wood frame, the dusty red barn sits in a clearing amid scattered trees, a soft mountain way in the background. For years without number, this simple picture adorned Mr. and Mrs. Pete’s home. My younger sister purchased it at their auction and gifted it to me. Plain, unadorned, but sturdy and safe. Sums up the owners.

Mr. Pete would have described himself as an ordinary man. To me, he was outstanding. A sense of humour, a sense of fair play and humility. When I had returned to my childhood home, newly divorced and a mother of two young children, the community was unsure of how to treat me. I was a ground breaker in many ways. Their uncertainty certainly fed my uncertainty. One summer evening, Mr. Pete drove into the yard and when I directed him to where dad was working, he quietly stated that he had come to see me. Their country church was short a teacher for the summer vacation Bible school week and would appreciate it if I would fill the position. I was astounded and questioned whether he had the backing of the rest of the church. He assured me he had the right to ask. I accepted and that gentle act was a turning point for me. I treasure the token gift I received in thanks.

Whenever possible, I would stop by for a visit with him. One summer day, he was recounting all the garden produce he had processed for his adult children; jams, jellies, pickles and frozen vegetables. I said he was a good dad, and he replied, “Yes, I am”. Recognized his worth, but not boastful. Mr. Pete mastered the art of telling good, clean, funny jokes. His timing was impeccable. What I hold most dear, on the last visit my sister and I had with him, months before his passing, he thanked us for caring and said he loved us. Sounds simple, right. But for a man I truly respected and admired to articulate his feelings was, to me, extraordinary.

Powerful reminder that I can never know that what I see as a ordinary act or words, can be life changing.