Building a Home

I grew up in a tar paper war time four in Toronto.  It had one bathroom, an unfinished damp basement and two tiny rooms for our family of four.  It was a ‘modest’ house by the standards back then. But it was the best home I could imagine to grow up in.  To my father, it was always his castle.

He was really excited about the prospect of seeing my new house. When I would visit him at the nursing home, he would ask most days about it.  “did I start yet?–yes”, “Is it finished?– no”  It would have been nice for him to be around long enough to see it done, but it was not meant to be.  There was a bit of a sombre congruence this week as the foundation quickly came to be, he began to rapidly decline.

Kitchen islands, tall basements and beautiful fixtures are wonderful things– things which I will enjoy.  But with the passing of my father I am reminded about what is important to me– truly important, that those are not (for me anyways) the necessarily parts of a happy life.  Love, kindness, health, family and friends.  Its the home, not the house.

Thanks Pop you were a wonderful father who gave Judy and I so much. As I run next Sunday in my seventh marathon, in the city where your castle was, where our home was,I will think of that incredible stamina you had, and honor that tradition you showed us.

Mihaly Tancsa Feb 18th, 1929 to April 24th, 2016




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