Karen graciously sent me a copy of her book in exchange for an honest review. Thank you!
I don’t know how many readers of this blog are Canadian, but I’ve always found that learning Canadian history to be quite sparse. I knew who the first Prime Minister was, I knew about the Mounties (well, I knew a very colonialist-biased view of the Mounties), I knew about the War of 1812 (which isn’t a Canadian thing, because we weren’t Canada until 1867), and I knew we were part of both World Wars before the Americans. But that’s it. Canada was a very rich place before it became Canada, but we know very little about it. I think we recognize very little of our settler history as well. I think it’s important that family stories such as this one get heard, because it’s a small snapshot of what life was like. If it happened to one person, it very well could have happened to another.
In the city I live in, only English-speaking white history was recorded by the “historian”, despite the fact there was a decent Scandinavian populace living there. We are now relying on family stories to fill in some gaps. For instance, I had no idea that folks rode train cars to the west for opportunity. But author Karen Harmon’s father did just that.
I’m grateful for authors for recording these stories, as well as the subjects for sharing those stories. Our history used to be told orally, passed down among the generations. I’m glad that some of these stories are written down for the rest of us.
Frances and Vince certainly had stories to tell. Frances moved to Vancouver because she needed to get out of her town. Her mother and sister both probably suffered from Borderline Personality Disorder (though, no official diagnosis would be made of course) and Frances, and Frances’ father often found themselves on the other end of the stick. It is also hinted at that something awful happened to Frances, perhaps sexual assault that Frances buried down and just moved on from.
Vince’s mother left when he was young, and when Vince was 13, his father remarried a girl only 3 years older than he was. She probably had a cognitive delay, though again, there was probably no diagnosis and no understanding of what that meant. Vince just knew he didn’t like her and that was a catalyst for him to leave his Saskatchewan town.
The two found each other – they were on a double blind date, but not partnered together, though Karen tells us they held each other’s hands under the table during the date. I guess when you know, you know!
I found poor Frances couldn’t catch a break with her family. She left Alberta to be away from them, but found herself sharing a home with her sister, side by side with her parents. Her sister became increasingly erratic and it was clear she and their mother had a very toxic co-dependent relationship.
After Vince died, Frances struggled with her own mental health. It’s a sobering reminder of how many suffered in silence while still trying to maintain this element of “normal.” How much of society has dictated how a person live, in order for them to be of use to that same society. How much do we have to tamper down, carry on our shoulders, or whatever just to march on down the road with everyone else.
This story is not so far removed. Frances and Vince were the parents of Boomers. They and their children shaped a lot of what the world is now, for better or for worse. Understanding our history, personal and global is important to reconciling our present (for some), and changing our future.
I didn’t know these people when I started this book, and they’re not celebrities so people might not flock to take this book off the shelf, nor have I really been to Vancouver to marvel at the old pictures (which I loved to look at and were the perfect addition to the book), but I still felt really engaged with the story; Karen’s writing style is very welcoming and allowed for us to step into both Frances and Vince’s story quite easily.
I enjoyed this book, and I’m glad that more and more people are sharing their stories like this. It’s all a part of the human experience, isn’t it?