21 September 2018

My Father Died Today

My father died today and I am left here, with my keyboard and memories. 

My father was born in Ceylon in the 1930s, but he had no sense of the place or time he landed on this planet. He was always immersed in books -philosophy, the classics and his beloved biology- and he had little regard for the social norms that were simply invisible to him.

My father got his PhD in Biology at Oxford University, at Christ Church College, in the 1950s. When my son asked him about Oxford, my father - one of the few non-whites there - did not comment on the prestige of Oxford, or the lack of diversity. That was not my father’s style. He was unfailing honest, so he talked about what mattered to him: how, as a poor student, he was able to buy so many of his beloved books at second hand stores and how he had his first sexual relationship there. Yes. That is what he said. That sealed the deal for my son - he was going to university.

My father was born into a wealthy family, one of a long line of doctors and scientists. Growing up in Ceylon, a country with a rigid social stratification, he had a servant whom he chatted with and respected. My father took him on collecting trips and was amazed at his fine mind. We knew him only as ‘Dr. Johnson’ because that is what my father called him. Whenever we returned to Ceylon, Dr Johnson would accompany my father on his collecting trips and lectures.  It was not until I was older that I realized that Dr Johnson was not a professor and he was different than the famous scientists that I often met. Dr. Johnson had no qualifications - not even a high school diploma - and as an adult I found out that my father had given him some family land, helped him build a house and sent him money every month to allow him to educate his children and live a life of ideas. ‘Social justice’ wasn't in my father’s vocabulary - he just did what he felt was right. Whether he was sitting with Maasai in the plains of Africa, or world famous scientists in the halls of a university, he was the same - it was people that he loved and he remained blind to the differences that others saw.

He fell in love with my mother, and stayed in love with her for 62 years. In my mother he found someone as oblivious of norms as he was: she was an MD/PhD with a passion for Parasitology. My father - with his eyes on science -  missed the chauvinistic memos of the 1950s. In my mother he saw a mind that he thought was finer than his. He supported her through her career. He also felt he was a better cook, so he cooked for her all his life, leaving her free to do her work. He supported and fought for many women in science in his lifetime - it was their minds, not their sex, that he focused on and championed.

He took our family around the world, through Africa, South East Asia, the Americas and Europe. He felt at home wherever he was, as long as he could talk bugs and fish, eat good food and share stories and laughter.

Deeply moved by democracy and fairness, my father had no tolerance for political despots. I know this not from what he said but from what he did. He took our family - often at young ages - through dangerous countries in search of fish and bugs. He faced men with machine guns and machetes with equal calm. He had a job to do and we simply went with him. Nothing speaks of his boldness as well as when he was in Singapore, on his way to the Philippines. We were not with him but called to tell him that the Philippines was in the middle of a coup. He said: If I stopped my work for every coup, I would never get anything done. My father felt strongly that political despots, dictators, and even civil war, were transient. Science, that careful, meticulous work of men and women around the world, that is what would endure and he would do his small part to contribute. Looking back - he was right. The despots are now dead or overthrown. The work of the men and women of science has lived on.

My father’s sense of fairness, and his support of my mother, occasionally made his life miserable. We were traveling during his sabbatical year, were in Malaysia, and my mother asked my father to bring some samples from chickens when he visited Burma (now Myanmar). In my father’s mind, if you took anything you paid. So, he offered to pay to collect chicken feces - chicken shit -in an isolated village.  As he was depositing samples into carefully labeled bottles of formaldehyde, he looked up to see many villagers, all carry bags, some of them in various states of degeneration, all filled to the brim with various animal feces. The word must have gone around the village that there was an odd man paying for shit. My father could see how poor these people were and so he did what few people would do - he left with his biological van filled with shit and his wallet empty. He told us this story over a meal, coupled with laughter.

Oddly, for a man of science, one thing my father would never accept is the death of people he cared about. He refused to go to any funeral. Ever. He simply could not bear it.

My father taught me to eat a good meal with people I care about and find a good book to read - every day of my life. He taught me to find every person, in every country, as comfortable as home. He understood - ahead of his time - that the world is a very small place. He taught me that chauvinism and racism are to be ignored in the face of larger, more important pursuits.

Unlike my father, I do go to funerals and I will go to my father’s funeral - my second this year. Why? Because my father - literally - gave me the world.


  1. Mary, I'm truly sorry for your loss. But that is a wonderful tribute to your father. You were very lucky to have him.

  2. Beautiful essay about a remarkable man. Thanks for sharing.

  3. What a remarkable man and what a beautiful tribute. I'm sorry for your loss and sorry I never got to know your father, too.

  4. Such wonderful memories. Your father has left you a fine legacy and you have given him a fine tribute.

    You have my deepest sympathy.

  5. Wow. THanks for sharing. And our condolences.

  6. Paul - thank you so much. And yes, I was lucky.
    O'Neil - thank you for reading this.
    Steve-thank you and what a lovely thing to say.
    Janice - Thank you so much. I don't think I did him justice but I just wrote the memories that came up. Such is writing..
    Robert - Many thanks. And thank you for all that you have helped me with. I so appreciate it.

  7. Thank you so much for sharing your father with us, Mary. Your justifiable pride in this fine, fine man shines through in every word of this heart-felt tribute.

    I would have liked to have known him.


  8. What a lovely tribute to a wonderful man and father. I'm very sorry for your loss.

  9. This was a wonderful tribute. Sincere condolences.

  10. A tremendous post of love and loss. My sincere condolences, and prayers for you and your family.

  11. Wow! Your article's tremendous, very moving. What a lovely father.

  12. “If I stopped my work for every coup, I would never get anything done.” (chuckling) I know that feeling.

    “My father felt strongly that political despots, dictators, and even civil war, were transient.” I like to believe that too. I wish my dad could have met yours.

    Mary, what a lovely accolade. Yours is touching, endearing, and wonderful. I’m please you brought this to your friends here.

  13. Brian - thank you. I'm glad that this made you want to know him.
    Elizabeth - thank you
    Barb - thank you - that he was
    John - thank you - i hope he would have liked it
    Eve - huge loss.
    JBL- thank you - he was
    Leigh - I doubt a coup would stop you either. I wish they could have met too and yes, despots always go. Science and ideas change the world.

  14. Mary, I'm so sorry. This hit me hard, as my father has been in Oakville Hospital palliative ward for three weeks now. I couldn't believe it when I saw your post title. I'm facing this in the next few weeks if not sooner.
    It's a beautiful post.

  15. Oh Melodie, I am so very sorry.
    No matter how prepared we are it is so hard.
    I'll be thinking of you

  16. My condolences to you and your family! Thanks for sharing the life and times of your dad!It is a inspiring read!!
    His picture reminds me of my past and parents .My thoughts and prayers for peace and comfort at this time!!


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