Right On, Broseph.

I think it’s easy to be lazy when it comes to hallmark holidays.  Cards written with every possible expression of love and admiration for the mom, dad and spouse we adore, pre-packaged gifts with an assortment of appropriate generosity (send Dad golfing!  Treat mom to a Spa Day!  Say it with chocolate!) and a ridiculous amount of targeted television broadcasting (Seriously, could there be more baseball, golf and football on this weekend? No.).   I say this with the acknowledgement of my own transgressions in this matter – I, possibly more than almost everyone, fall prey to the commercialism of aforementioned holidays.  I do, however, celebrate these days with a genuine and authentic appreciation for the impossibly amazing people that are represented to me as mothers, fathers, and (very important to note the singular tense of the next word) spouse (see? I’m a one husband wife). I only wish there were Sister's Day and Brother's Day.

This being said, I was outdone this Father's Day. Big time… and I’m more than okay with it. The person responsible?

 This Guy. Don't be deceived by his boyish charm...he's basically all that is man.

My brother is pretty fantastic.  I’ve talked about him before – though not in detail (mostly because he is not the mushy-type – guaranteed he’ll be uncomfortable even with my restrained sentiment here).  He’s my baby brother (despite towering over me and turning 19 next month) and yet, for the first time this weekend, I realized just how much I respect him and look up to him – as a man.  He is not one to dive into the hallmark holidays.  Let’s face it, he’s a typical guy when it comes to remembering the day of, scrambling to sign a card and buy a thoughtful-despite-being-last-minute gift.  Where he’s different though, is in the heart.

He is a lover and keeper of all things traditional.  He places great value and importance on maintaining our heritage, our history, and our furniture (I had to mention the last one because we’re always arguing back and forth about painting wooden furniture pieces – I’m of the opinion that if it’s ugly, paint it – don’t keep it as plain wood just for the sake of it…my brother disagrees.  Perhaps it’s because he actually knows what he’s talking about…?Maybe.)  To ensure that we don’t forget or lose our identity as Saip’s, Rockwell’s, , Snider’s or Grandy’s , he makes a point of listening and learning about where we came from.  He speaks highly of our family – and remembers absolutely everything (this is not meant to be a joke – he actually remembers EVERYTHING – he finds embarrassing moments belonging to his sisters especially note-worthy…).   Gatlin even inherited both sides of our family genes/talents.  He is ridiculously musical and all things SAIP simultaneously.  He’s athletic and artistic – with my mom’s freckles and musical genius, my dad’s eyes and poltical conscience, my gram-bea’s maritime antics, my grampy's love for automobiles and my Papa’s work ethic.  To put it plainly: I'm very proud of him. 

Proof that he's a ringer for our Dad the Dale-Snail (circa 1977 ...?)

 Here he is at one of his very favourite locations on earth: My Uncle's Farm in Macoun

 (ignore the goofy expression)

 To give you an example of this type of family-tradition-type love, I’ll explain to you what happened this past Saturday.

My Brother, my Dad, my uncle Grant and my cousin Linden all went fishing.  It wasn’t an ordinary fishing trip.  There was a definite purpose in it, a deliberate location, and a prized possession accompanying them. To understand the significance, I'll give you a little history first...

Weaver Lake, as we’ve all known it for life, was a favourite best-kept-secret fishing spot of my Papa’s. He absolutely loved to fish – though he hated anything to do with eating them.  

My Papa showing off his catch

He took my dad and his brothers with him fishing often, and in later years, the trips got bigger and often he would go with his group of buddies up a little farther north – but he always returned to Weaver Lake.  He even took us grandkids there on several occasions – and it’s still one of my very favourite memories that I have of my grandfather - Doing what he loved, and sharing it with us  - I tend to think that the memories and emotional attachment to Weaver Lake far out weigh the actual fishing. 

Papa and his sons at Weaver Lake

So they went to Weaver Lake for a Father's Day Fishing Trip.  My brother arranged and purchased a small fishing boat (coined 'Mother Moose'-  our beloved Grandma's nickname), which he successfully tested in my parent's pool and combined with a motor (and make-shift handle). They took along a trophy that was given to my dad not that long ago – my Papa and his friends had started an annual Lake Champion Fishing Trip - in which the fisherman with the largest catch that day would win the trophy, have their name engraved and own bragging rights until the next time around.

Papa with the Laker Champion Trophy

 Though my Papa died in 2001, his friends continued their annual trips, and named the trophy after him.  As of this year, they decided to pass along the tradition to my Dad and his brothers - and they, with their sons, were happy to rise to the occasion.

Here are some pictures from their day at Weaver Lake:

Uncle Grant and Iggy

Dad enjoying a cigar in his belly boat

 A Prized Possession

 Watters with his catch

Iggy with the winner!

My Dad, an expert Fisherman :)

The 3rd generation Fishermen

Sons and Grandsons of Len

Gatlin is one of my very favourite people - not only because he's my baby brother, but because he has turned into one heck of a guy...and I know my Papa would agree.

Now how's that for legitimate-sentiment on a Hallmark Holiday?