On August 6th of 2010 I wrote a blog for my eldest son Schuyleur and today I am reposting it for his 35th birthday. Where does the time go?
The son I once knew has disappeared.
If you see him, please let me know where he is.
I think he is about six feet tall, and has a big smile – like his Mother.
Beware, as Schuyeur has a lot of stories to tell – like his Mother.
Thirty five years ago I gave birth to a baby that was the size of a small country. After 28.5 hours of labour he was put into the Intensive Care Nursery because I had Gestational Diabetes and he weighed more than all the babies in there combined. Councillor Doreen O’Sullivan from North Grenville remembers too– as she was there as a nurse in the Civic Hospital.
I named him after a character in a soap opera called Schuyleur Whitney from the late “The Edge of Night”. He asks me often why I did not spell his name with only six letters. (Skyler)
I told him because of his name, he would excel in spelling.
Schuyleur mysteriously came home after lunch one day when he was in Grade one. He told his grandparents that they had closed school for the afternoon due to lack of school work.
The school called looking for him thirty minutes later.
So where did my son go I ask myself. The one I used to know.
Where is the kid that made an exact replica of Mr. Hankie from South Park for his Caldwell french immersion class?
Who else, but my child, makes an animated piece of poo from Fimo?
What other child argues in French with his teacher that it should be accepted as his class project?
He is definitely his mother’s child.
He was once a birthday party man, used to love my store, and the girls that worked for me.
He used to like to play dress up.
Yes, his Halloween chicken suit gathers dust upstairs.
Maybe one day he will come back for it.
The house is quiet now, and the yard holds no more laughter and chaos.
The basketball net has been long forgotten, and his silver bike lies unused in the garage.
Maybe, I am looking for the wrong person.
Maybe, Mothers always see their sons and daughters as still young children.
Maybe, we never seem to realize that they have grown up.
Instead of the small child I am looking for, maybe I should see what he has become.
A man that worked hard in school, and wants to succeed.
He has made us proud.
One day, he too, will search for his child not realizing that he or she has long grown up.
Only pictures on shelves hold the memories I seek.
Documented proof that instead of searching for my child, I should be now looking for the man that he has become.
Today another year has gone by and next year I will enter into another decade that begins with the lucky number seven. Frankly, due to my family’s health history I never thought I would live this long, but I have, and have always vowed to make each year count.
This is the only birthday photo I have, and I have to thank this wonderful woman from Cowansville, Quebec, Agnes Rhycard, and my grandparents for getting me to the year 1966. There is Linda with her “Parent Trap” hair and some suit she made out of broadcloth teaming it up with bare legs and sneakers. Next to me is my late sister Robin, and you can tell by my face how much I hated birthdays even then.
I have always believed a day dedicated to your age shouldn’t matter and you need to celebrate every single day. We all know time never returns. Sometimes I wonder if I feel like this because I never really had a childhood, and was raised with the upbringing of keeping a ‘stiff upper lip’. The only childhood birthday I remember is when I was 6 and I can still see a swan cake and many friends under the old apple tree in the Albert Street backyard. That memory will last in my mind forever.
My family is planning a celebration tonight and that is what means the most to me. Being together– and being my regular Beverly Goldberg self. I have changed this year in some aspects and I don’t know if it’s the COVID-19 isolation or what. I don’t mean to be a Beverly Goldberg twin, but I guess it’s always been my way of caring. This week my daughter-in-law had some wise words for me:
“Maybe it’s just better you don’t know what goes on.” and she is right.
So that’s my new mantra, and when one of my car enthusiast sons has this big smile on his face because I have the OPP’s “You are going this fast” machine on my front lawn, I am not going to even question what he has in mind. It’s better that I don’t know.
I get up each morning thankful to be alive and am thankful for my community and the history I research and write about each day. I am thrilled to represent my town as a councillor and listen to people and try and help. Granted I quickly learned that I can’t change the world, but sometimes being like Beverly Goldberg does come in handy. I am so honoured to know so many people, and there is no reason to wait a full year to say thank you for being in my life. We should be grateful that most of us are fortunate to celebrate our birthdays once a year knowing that back in time they celebrated their birthdays because the average age of death was 35-40 years.
When I was 16 I wanted to be 18. When I was 18 I wanted to be 21 and after that it stopped. Today I am reminded that as a young hippie in the 60s, or was it the 70’s, I can’t remember anymore– I had chosen words for my father on his birthdays. I would constantly remind him of my belief that people over the age of 30 should be sent to farms. Well Arthur Knight never forgot those words and on my 30th celebration he handed me my birthday card and asked me when I was leaving for the farm. Touche! I now live and celebrate one day at a time.
So, I only have one wish for my birthday– and that wish is YOU. To my friends and to all the people that read me every day, once a week, or once a month. I just want to celebrate this day with all of you in my life. I’m getting older, I’m getting wiser, (that could be out for debate) and I am getting stronger, but most of all I sail my daily boat with your love. I am so glad all of you were born and we get to celebrate life together. Thank you for being in my life.
Rose Mary Sarsfield Happy birthday Fred! This is the photo of the veterans from Union Hall. Fred is one of them along with his brother Nelson and sister Edna.
Joanne Rajguru sent this to me this week. Monday, June 15th is her Dad's 100th birthday. Really it is the summer of his 100th.
Things you might not Know about Fred
Fred Dunlop still lives on Townline Rd E Carleton Place in his own home.
He was born on Wolfe Grove Road Almonte June 15 1920
He is the 9th of 10 children
Parents were descendants of Scottish presbyterians –William Dunlop & Annie McKay [Middleville]
He did farm labour as a teen for George Robertson and Neil McIntosh
He also spent 2 summers out west harvesting grain
He later worked CP Bates & Innes Woolen Mill 13 hr shifts making blankets
He worked at a Canadian Locomotive Company operating a lath
Joined Air Force in 1941, stationed in Moncton 4 years Technician for Aircraft Navigational equipment
After war jobs included:
Watch maker in Pembroke
Machinist in Renfrew
Instrument Technician in Ottawa
Married Dorothy Smyth in Nov 1953, built a house himself on Veteran’s Land Act 1/4 acre, Ottawa
He built and sold two cottages Rideau Lake, Perth & house in Ottawa
He also supervised construction of house for his Sister Alice McIntosh of Almonte
He worked many years for Computing Devices, Bells Corners while they raised a family 2 daughters and 2 sons –(Joanne,Debbie,John & Scott)
Grandchildren living in many places include Mrs.Kate Wilson in Vancouver, Dylan Rajguru Victoria, Darcy Rajguru Toronto, Mrs. Rebekah Depler Kansas , Adam Rajguru Montreal, Anisha Rajguru of Bali Indonesia, Shannon Alexander & Jessica Galloway, Ottawa, and John & Katrina Dunlop in CP.
Fred is the last living of all his siblings!
Some of Fred’s Nieces and nephews include Brian Drummond, Allan McIntosh, Carol Berger, Dolly Tashock , Howard Dunlop of Almonte area , Barry Drummond of Winchester. Wayne Drummond of Belmont, Donald Cooper & HELEN JOHNSTON of Carp.., Steve Drummond of Innisville–
Posted by R. S. Dunlop: My father, Fred Dunlop, who was born in Union Hall and now lives in Carleton Place. He was out today pruning the row of trees at the back of his yard–
Did you know Fred? If you did can you comment with some memories? Thank you.
John Morrow Fred Dunlop is my grand-uncle, the youngest brother (and second youngest sibling) of my maternal grandmother Effie Ann Robertson, née Dunlop, formerly Cooper. He is the second of the family to reach his 100th birthday, his brother Norman achieving that milestone on January 11, 2008, and dying December 27, 2010, 15 days short of his103rd birthday I was able tp arrange an honorary membership for Uncle Norman in the Dunlop Clan Society based in the United States, but was unable to make a similar connection for Uncle Fred.
Stuart McIntosh I worked with and for Norman in the sixties…nice hardworking man. His sister, Alice was married to Neil McIntosh; again a wonderful hardworking person who donated incredible energy towards church, community and family – especially the McIntosh Clan of which her son is Chieftain. I recall Norman cutting wood at Alice’s during sugar making… very proud to have known them both.
Carol McDonald Des and Jean Moore , my parents knew him.wishing Mr Dunlop a Very Happy Birthday, hope he enjoys a very special time! Shelley Munro Happy birthday Fred!
David Coot —Happy Birthday Uncle Fred. Wishing you a great day. As we were not in touch much, I am your sister Effie’s second youngest son. It’s a great milestone to reach the age that you’re at.
Hi Linda,As I posted on the site, Fred is my 2nd cousin, 3x removed. I found out about a month or so ago that I had a set of 5G grandparents that had settled in Lanark Co in 1821, they (Andrew Smith 1778-1845 & Margaret Smith 1786-1871) came over on the George Canning and according to the published history I’ve received they settled on Lot 10, Con 5, Ramsay Twp, Lanark Co).Their daughter, Jane Smith (1805-1889) married Alexander Stevenson (1805-1888). Their oldest daughter, Margaret (1830-1897) is my GGG grandmother. Her sister, Euphemia (1842-1928) married John Liddle Dunlop (1837-1914) and they are Fred Dunlop’s grandparents through his father, William Dunlop (1873-1957) and mother, Anne Alice McKay (1878-1953).I’ve joined the Lanark Co Genealogical Society where I met Fred’s nephew, Don Cooper and his wife, Fran.All the best,Patrick LengyelWinnipeg Canadajwplengyel@shaw.caPS – Margaret married Thomas McFarlane and homesteaded in Mayborough, ON, then East Wawanosh, ON (Huron Co) and a third and final homestead in Carberry, MB (which I am going to visit in 2 days for the first time). Their oldest daughter married my great-great grandfather, John McDonald, in 1878 in East Wawanosh, they moved west with her parents to Carberry and then north to Dauphin in 1894 to their own homestead. From there the trail goes to Prince Alberta, SK and then Flin Flon, MB, where I was born in 1964 to one of their descendants.
Thanks to Penny Trafford This was Lori Devlin’s status from yesterday.
Celebrated a milestone birthday for this wonderful man today! Happy 90th birthday Dad
I was just going to post it on my historical page but thought it needed to be documented.
Lor Devlin said: “John Tombs worked for the school board for almost 30 yrs. Prior to that, he worked as a carpenter for many years, for Parkman and Taylor. Mom’s name is Marg. Tombs’s lived on Bell street (Dad’s parents and siblings). They were just between where the Leatherworks is and the apartments”.
Lynn, Jan and Lori with their parents celebrating John Tombs 90th.
When I get older losing my hair Many years from now Will you still be sending me a Valentine Birthday greetings bottle of wine
Today I turn 67 and frankly I don’t know how I got here. Every morning I look in the bathroom mirror I see the same face I saw years ago, but when I take a selfie the person staring back at me is not that same face in the mirror. I was born on the 24th of July in the year 1951 on supposedly the warmest day of July. My mother had a rough labour, and soon after she was placed in the Victoria Hospital in Montreal as she had a horrible case of postpartum the likes no one had seen before. For two years my Dad travelled on one of the Cowansville McCrum Trucks each evening to see his wife who did not recognize him and screamed for security. My first memory is sitting on a iron bed in that hospital watching my Mother play solitaire and her smiling at me, yet she had no clue to who I was. My father said I could not have been more than a year and a half. Childhood was not easy with my younger sister and I being alone a lot while my father attended my mother in various hospitals. I think I developed street smarts of some sorts during those formative years and learned to take crap from no one. It was the only way to survive in a way and thankfully I had my grandparents to lean on after my Mother died. Years passed and I became a fashion designer for years where my creativity could flow. I had always been different and never made any apologies for it. My life had many ups and downs like everyone else, but somehow you survive, you have too. Heart attacks, strokes, you name it dealt me cards I had to handle, and sometimes I wondered if life had an expiration date for me. I became a writer and have never figured out how this happened. I found myself back in history, back in time, recording the past of an area I never lived in with passion. I longed to find my own family, to understand why I was the way I was. I found a great grandfather that left his family for the music business and another that resided in Queen Victoria’s court and her bad reputation was known for miles. There were artists, and some that worshipped leading their community over their families. It was all that I uncovered under the family dust. Did I really come from that?
1966 the year before I left home at 15.5 to tackle the city of Montreal- Photo by Agnes Rychard, my “kitchen table mother” who made me the cake.
Where do I sit if there is history on on every chair and it does not look like mine? All around me were murmurs of neglected dreams– or were they? I had always fled from conformity and my past life. There was too much pain, too many memories that crushed the remains of my heart. One could speculate for hours about why I became what I am today. So maybe I still am that 16 year-old girl in the mirror, even if the reflection no longer looks like me. The wrinkles and the wisps of white hair are battle scars from the past. I need to make peace with the reflection, but honestly mirrors need to think longer before they reflect. In the end I am not going to take that reflection seriously, as my true reflection is in my heart.
If I’d been out till quarter to three Would you lock the door Will you still need me, will you still feed me When I’m sixty-four