My Dad

My Dad passed away February 3, 2023.

His health began to fail at the end of summer last year, resulting in hospital visits in October and November. Ever a fighter, he returned home both times, determined to keep going.

He was able to celebrate Christmas with family and friends. His final days were spend at home, thanks to the wonderful staff at The Manor at Huntington Hills, where he was able to enjoy the company of family thru his final days.

He will be missed terribly.

Obituary

Foster's Garden Chapel and Funeral Home

Robert Keys

July 9, 1931

February 3, 2023

Robert Keys passed away peacefully and surrounded by family at home in Calgary, Alberta on Friday, February 3, 2023, at the age of 91 years.

Bob is survived by Dolores, his beloved wife of 65 years, his sons, Robert (Marie-José), Patrick (Kathy) and Bradley (Janet), and his grandchildren Alex, Devon, Will, Michael, Christine, Daniel and Nicholas.  He was dearly loved by them all, will be deeply missed, and will forever be in their hearts.

Bob was the youngest of three children and was born and grew up in Grande Prairie, Alberta. He attended the Provincial Institute of Technology and Art in Calgary, where he studied aeronautic engineering, and then followed his dreams to Montreal, Quebec where he worked with Canadair. It was there that he met and fell in love with Dolores, who was in Montreal interning as a dietician, and they were soon married and began their life together. They later returned to Alberta, where they started their family while Bob pursued his civil engineering degree at the University of Alberta.  On graduation, Bob joined Calgary Power/TransAlta and stayed almost 30 years before retiring in 1993.

Bob loved to tinker in his workshop and enjoyed many hobbies before and during his retirement. He was fascinated by trains and planes, had a passion for model railroading and was a skilled woodworker, making items big and small for his family and others. Bob was also a talented painter, played the organ, enjoyed sailing and was a resourceful handyman, often making, repairing and upgrading things around the house.

Bob’s family extends their heartfelt thanks for the compassionate care provided by staff at the Manor Village Huntington Hills retirement home, who treated him with dignity and respect to the end.  At Bob’s request, a small family-only Memorial Service will be held on Wednesday, February 8, 2023 to remember and celebrate his life. An online memorial book will be available at www.fostersgardenchapel.ca. for people to provide comments. Given Bob’s love of aircraft, if anyone wants to make a donation in his name, we suggest directing it to The Hanger Flight Museum at www.thehangarmuseum.ca.

Bob - the whistle has blown, and your journey has ended, but you will be forever remembered as a kind, gentle and intelligent man who was a devoted husband and a wonderful father. 

FOSTER'S GARDEN CHAPEL

FUNERAL HOME AND CREMATORIUM

Telephone:  403-297-0888

Honoured Provider of Dignity Memorial

A remembrance was held on February 8, attended by family. After the ceremony, a family dinner was hosted by Dianne and Doris Mae, where more stories and memories were shared.

My mother initially asked me to speak, recalling some favourite memories of Dad. I wrote my remarks the evening he died, after having returned to my hotel room. It felt good to be able to capture the emotions going thru my head as I tried to come to terms with his passing. My remarks are included below.

My Dad

When you’re small, your parents are like super heroes.  They can fight monsters, fix cut fingers and scraped knees, and make you feel better. The relationship naturally changes as you get older.  But if you’re lucky, your parents remain your heroes.  I was, and am, lucky.

A child’s eyes see things differently.  Dad was always “Dad”.  I didn’t realize he had an identity beyond that.  It was many years before I realized, and came to appreciate, that he was more than just “Dad”. 

An early memory that stands out was Dad playing hockey.  I would have been 4 or 5 at the time.  Dad was asked to sub in on a company hockey team.  The game was played at the new arena in Camrose, which was a big deal by itself.  And then, there was Dad, on the ice, wearing a uniform, playing hockey with “real” hockey players!  He could do anything!

Dad could fix anything.  We didn’t have a lot of money in my early years, so I suspect fixing things was as much about saving money as it was about his natural curiosity and inherent skills.  A broken toy?  Dad took it downstairs and it worked when he brought it back up.  Sometimes it was glued, or he made a replacement part, or more amazingly, sometimes it was converted from battery power to AC.  No one else’s dad could do that. 

And he could build things too.  Maybe having him building our bedroom furniture wasn’t the coolest thing – remember the not much money thing?  But some things he built were over the top.  The other neighbourhood kids had sandboxes.  We had a two story sandbox/toolshed/fort that was the envy of all the other kids.  How cool was that?

He was the quintessential 50’s/60’s/70’s TV dad.  He was quiet, calm, buttoned down, conservative just like the best TV Dads.  He even had the cardigan sweater and the pipe!  You could almost hear him dispensing advice – “guess we learned a valuable lesson today, didn’t we?”

Like TV dads, he had the patience of Job.   He taught all of us to drive.  Mom told stories of how her Dad taught her to drive, and they certainly didn’t involve patience.  Having gone thru this as a parent, I know how difficult it can be.  Dad always maintained his calm, regardless of what happened.  In fact, I don’t recall him losing his temper, though he certainly did get mad at us.  Not my finest moments but I have lost my temper and yelled at my kids.  Maybe it’s the passage of time but I only remember his calm manner regardless of what was going on.

Patience was essential when we went to visit Grandma and Grandpa.  Visiting the grandparents must have been the ultimate test.  It was Dad’s job was to go with us whenever we did anything with Grandpa.  At the time, I always thought he was just “joining the boys.”  In truth, he was really there to make sure that whatever we did with Grandpa stayed within the bounds of physics and general propriety.  The things that Grandpa let us do, frankly encouraged, were legend.  Kerosene dipped cattail torches?  Sure thing.  Reed structures set on fire to burn to the ground?  Why not.  Letting 6 year olds cut wood with the axe?  Naturally.  They were exciting experiences for us but I stand in awe as to how he managed to keep it together through some of the things we did.

Like many TV Dads, he whistled simple little tunes when he was thinking.  It was a mindless thing that wasn’t aware he was doing, and it was never anything you could recognize.  It drove some people nuts but it sure made it easy to find him in the grocery store.  Just wander and listen.

He attended all our events – sporting or scholastic.  All of them.  It didn’t matter the weather or the location, Dad got us there safely.  Hockey, in particular, needed superhuman strength.  Ice times in those days were few and hard to get.  Many games were outside, where freezing parents lined up along the boards, standing in snowbanks, to watch the games.  Practices?  For years we had practices in Carstairs, Didsbury, or Springbank, at 6 on a Sunday morning.  While other dads were stilling sleeping it off, my Dad was rousting us out of bed, starting the car in the cold and dark.  These practices were so early that we got back in time to clean up and still have to go to church!  Dad dutifully got up and drove us to each one.

Let’s go back to the pipe.  Everybody else’s dad smoked cigarettes but my Dad smoked a pipe. The pipe gave him a little ritual that I distinctly remember – emptying, cleaning, scraping, blowing it out, checking it was really clean, then filling, tamping and lighting, followed by a couple puffs and often a smoke cloud in our face if we were standing too close  – that probably brought him as joy as much as it did time to consider whatever stupid thing we had done.  Another pipe ritual was only observed when he played golf. All his shirts had pockets so he had a place to carry his pipe.  When we went golfing, prior to swing his club, the pipe would be removed from the pocket and placed on the ground, just a few inches to the right of his ball.  I was so sure that one day he would smack his pipe but it never happened.  Dad quit smoking cold turkey when he was in the hospital.  It was during the early days of smoking restrictions, and you couldn’t smoke in the hospital.  The smoking area was way across the hospital, in a cold, unheated ambulance bay.  My Dad did that once, wearing his draughty hospital gown, and vowed never again.  The pipes were put away and never touched again.

Dad belonged to the Lions Club when we lived in Camrose.  As far as we were concerned, other than a fantastic children’s Christmas party, it meant that he was gone Tuesday nights.  As we got older, he let us help with some of their activities.  I remember their fall fundraiser when they sold crates of apples. I can still remember the excitement, delivering those boxes of apples, because we got to help Dad.

Unlike other kids’ parents, my Dad knew how to do “new math” and could help with homework all the way thru school.  And he was the king when it came to science and shop projects, or making props for school plays.  Our swords weren’t cardboard like other kids when we were pirates.  When we were  toy soldiers for the Christmas play, he made us wooden rifles when all the other kids had sticks.

Inevitably, as we grew older, his magic eventually started to fade.  One of the first times Dad appeared merely human occurred during a Sunday dinner.  Sunday dinners at our house were special.  Every other night of the week we would eat at the kitchen table.  Sunday dinners were always in the dining room.  Mom was a good cook but Sunday dinners were elevated, typically roast beef with potatoes and gravy, a special desert and coffee afterwards for the grownups.  One Sunday, probably when I was 7 or 8, Dad went to pick up the cream and he knocked it over!  That was the sort of thing that kids would do.  Dad never knocked anything over.  It was so unusual it became an inside joke for years – remember the time Dad knocked over the cream?

Dad couldn’t help much with homework by the time I got to university.  It was unfortunate for me, as first year was a tremendous challenge, especially engineering math.  My first term engineering math midterm mark was terrible.  It was so terrible that the Dean’s office recommended I find a more appropriate program.  I later learned that Dad met with the Dean to see what could be done to help me out, and they agreed that, should I commit to a tutor, strict attendance at tutorial sessions, and do extra math problems to monitor progress, I could stay in the program.  The rest of the term was brutal, but I passed all my first term classes, even Math.  Thanks Dad!

Then, something amazing seemed to happen.  Summer jobs thru University, and later my first job after graduating, provided an unique opportunity.  Summer jobs were thru a TransAlta family summer work program, while my first job was with Monenco, an engineering company closely aligned with TransAlta.  Both gave me exposure to the groups managed by my Dad.  Before my first day, Dad warned me that I might have to put up with some bitching from the guys in the field about what he was doing, or the way the department was run.  Expecting the worst, I heard the best. The guys in the field certainly liked to complain about “Management” and how those guys in Calgary couldn’t do anything right.  But they never complained about Dad.  They liked him and they held him in high regard.  They thought he was a good guy that they were happy to work for because he knew what he was doing and he cared.  It was not only a powerful life lesson for my future career, but an eye opener to realize that he was more than “Dad”. 

Dad loved trains, planes, ships and sailboats. All things that I also grew to love.  It was fantastic to be able to suggest to Dad, on a sunny afternoon, or warm summer evening, to “go chase trains” or “go watch planes”.  Building a model railroad with him in the basement was a great experience, and I learned many skills that proved valuable later in life.  Chasing planes or trains became less frequent after we moved to Fort McMurray, but I could always count on him to spend an afternoon visiting hobby shops every time we came to visit.

And then the Grandkids arrived.  I think it goes without saying that he didn’t often show his feelings.  Dad was never a huggy/feely type.  He was always calm, level headed and even tempered.  All that went out the window when the grandkids were around.  Dad loved being a Grandpa, and he loved playing with the grandkids.  There was nothing too goofy, silly or strange for the grandkids.  Blowing bubbles, making funny faces or wearing funny outfits were part of the fun, crawling around on the floor or chasing little ones around the playground.  Soon he was running the trains on demand, playing with puzzles, or flying airplanes in the park, surrounded by little people.  It was hard to tell who was more excited. 

And there was no trip or event that was too far if the grandkids were involved.  Heritage Park, Calaway Park, Columbia Ice Fields were all simply field trips with the grandkids.  Hockey in Edmonton.  No problem, what time and which rink were they playing at?

Now, as I look back, I can appreciate how lucky I have been.  My Dad has always been my hero.