Poles Apart by Terry Fallis

It’s as if my life peaked in university when, at the time, I thought I was just getting started. Instead, it’s been a steady decline ever since.”
    “Calm yourself, young Everett,” she soothed. “You’re an unusual man, I’ll grant you that. But you’re young, and your heart and head seem to be in the right place. You’ve got a lot of time yet to make the mark you always wanted to make.”
    I was so focused on Beverley and my own wallowing that I hadn’t noticed him until he was nearly upon us.
    “I let down my guard for one minute and my own son is out here trying to put the moves on my girl,” Dad said as he pushed his walker close and dropped onto the bench.
    “Woman, Dad, she’s a full-grown woman, and she certainly doesn’t belong to you,” I said evenly.
    “Thank you, Everett, but I’m sure your father wasn’t being serious,” Beverley said.
    I just looked at her with tilted head and elevated eyebrows.
    “The hell I wasn’t,” Dad snapped.
    I nodded.
    “Oh dear” was all she said.

CHAPTER 3
    After a five-minute, sometimes heated, debate, I finally persuaded Dad that my intentions with Beverley were honourable and wholly platonic. I then lectured him again on his near constant use of the word “girl” when he really meant “woman.” You’d think I might have learned by then that lecturing my father was not exactly a high-percentage exercise. Let’s just say he was very adept at missing the point, over and over again. I’m almost certain he was just messing with me, but he sure didn’t make it obvious. Besides, I was still on the lookout for a stroke-related decline in his already limited powers of “perception and judgment.” Finally, after practically stalking Beverley for the preceding few weeks, I thought it time to formally introduce Billy Kane, diehard boorish man’s man, circa 1950, to Beverley Tanner, aging, iconic, witty feminist writer. Oil, I’d like you to meet water. Matter, say hello to anti-matter.
    Dad didn’t seem put off by her pioneering feminist background and beliefs, which I dutifully presented in some detail. Although, he might not have had a solid handle on what a feminist actually believes. I say that because he simply continued his shameless and thinly veiled sexual overtures, genuine or not. She parried his advances with patience, good humour, and the odd barb that may or may not have registered with Dad. It was painful to witness. He was clearly impressed that she’d written a book. He stared at her cover photo for an unduly long time before turning to Beverley, smiling, and nodding his head.
    “Nice. Very nice,” he said. “But I gotta say, as God is my witness, I think you look even hotter now.”
    “Dad, please don’t do this,” I said, eyeing the heavens.
    “It’s fine, Everett, he’s not being serious,” she said.
    “The hell I’m not.”
    “And there you have it, my father has once again crashed right through the good-taste barrier, in record time.”
    This banter carried on for another few minutes until I could take it no more.
    “Okay, that’s it.” I stood up and pulled Dad back to his feet.
    “Whoa! Calm down, son, I’m just having a bit of fun,” he protested.
    “Dad, trust me when I say this. It’s only fun for you.”
    “Ouch,” Beverley said with a wince and a wink.
    We left her on the bench and walked all the way to the end of the Yellow path. Then we tried a section of the Blue path untilhe was too tired to talk. Mission accomplished. We rested for a few minutes and then headed back inside.
    Chevrolet was where he always seemed to be – directly between us and the door. Dad went right up beside him.
    “Okay, look, Chevy, this is getting boring. I think we gotta bury the hatchet if we’re going to be living under the same roof, don’t you?”
    Chevrolet looked wary but said nothing.
    “Okay, me first,” Dad said. “I’m Billy Kane and I worked the line at Ford for nearly forty years.”
    “Where?”