Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: MEMORY LANE (04/23/20)
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TITLE: Four hearts | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jack Taylor
04/28/20 -
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Towering cumulonimbus clouds crowded out the mountains, chasing golfers into clubhouses, shoppers into malls and seniors back into their care-homes. Four generations of Weatherlys under umbrellas ignored the warning signs and hovered over an ancient scrap book.
“I can’t believe you found this,” the spectacled new retiree said. – “This is Vancouver’s history from the first days.”
The hunched elder with the cane poked a picture with his calloused finger. “That is my great grandfather standing on a two-hundred-foot cedar logged in this very spot.” Supermarkets, restaurants, fast food hubs, three story apartments and a bank had taken over the forest but the wagon trail snaked up the very hill where a six-lane road opened up the land. The stiffening breeze blew a coffee cup along the curb near the men’s feet.
“What’s he doing?” asked the youngest of the four – a lad barely into his teens. The rain picked up its tempo and the four crowded under the awning of a falafel shop.
The youngest father made way for his father to lean in close. “Looks like he’s waving a Bible and preaching.”
“So he was,” agreed the elder. “He was the first pastor to walk this land. He set up churches not far from here.”
The man’s son stood tall. “I helped tear one of those churches down twenty years ago and replaced it with an officer tower. It felt good to bring that space into the present.”
The youngest father stood back. “Didn’t this old preacher die trying to help the aboriginal people down by the Fraser River? Now that I’m chief surgeon at the General, I could have helped him if he’d taken better precautions.”
“He had a heart for the people.” The old man pointed down the hill toward the river. “Indians used to bury their dead near here. War canoes once filled this whole shore before a raiding party. Fishing, hunting, sweat lodges, potlatches – it all happened near here by the river and my grandfather took his son and got to know those men.”
“What happened?” asked the youngest Weatherly.
“Everything happened – loggers, the goldrush, railwaymen, businesses, taverns, builders, adventurers, sailors and anyone wanting to make a dollar. Indians were taken advantage of with liquor, sickness, and guns.” He flipped a few pages and pointed at a little white schoolhouse. “The government tried to educate and civilize them by outlawing their culture, language, spirituality, governance and other traditions. My grandfather tried to sit with the chiefs in their council to warn them. He treated their sick. He learned their language and taught them the truth of their Creator.”
“How come you never followed your grandfather’s example?”
The old man watched the raindrops bouncing several feet off the tarmac as a small river rushed along the curb, taking the discarded cup with it. “My father was the boy who watched his father give his life for these people. He got angry being left behind and drank a lot. One day he left my mom and I to fight in the war. He never came back.”
The young man jumped to avoid the spray of a passing car. “How come you turned out okay? Owning restaurants is a good thing.”
Again, a pause as the old man looked up and down the street. “My mom worked in a Chinese laundry, knit socks and delivered flowers on a bicycle. She always taught me the importance of trusting God and working hard.” He pointed up the road. “My grandfather taught me to love this land and it’s people. We better get home while we can.”
The rain slowed so the restaurant owner, the builder, the doctor and the student strolled up the busy throughway. The old man paused and looked back down the hill. “I’ve watched a forest and a people torn apart.”
His son rested his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “I’ve seen progress come and build a city the world loves.”
The doctor nodded. “I’ve seen technology revolutionize the way we navigate the world.”
“I’ve seen God disappear,” the youngest said.
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