BECAUSE I WAS VISITING, my dad had taken Christmas week off from his usual job. When it snowed the day before Christmas Eve, he told me he’d been picking up extra cash by shovelling driveways.
Shovelling driveways? That’s what my older brother Graham did for pocket money. If I was too young for a part time job, my dad was definitely too old for one. But the water was off at his house again, and with the kitchen full of noisy workers I didn’t want to stay there alone.
“Do you have an extra shovel?” I asked. “I can come with you. I can help.”
My dad looked over his shoulder from inside the toolshed. He was wearing the bulky ski jacket he’d had since the 70s and insulated winter gloves. “Are you sure you can handle it?” he asked. “Shovelling is physically demanding work.”
I knew exactly
