I dedicate this Father's Day to my children's grandfather Francesco Chiotti. He was a lovely man, kind, generous and very much a family man. I don't know nearly enough about him and I have not attempted to fill in any details through my genealogy research, mostly because it means delving into French and Italian records. I remember a sort of elegance about him, perhaps because he had old-fashioned manners, always considerate. He welcomed me as his eldest son's wife and made me feel particularly important as the mother of his first grandchildren. I do recall his quiet delight when my eldest son was born and again when my second son arrived. When I broke the news to him that I planned to give birth to my third child at home, he was visibly distressed. I probably could have been more gentle about that. But my daughter's entry into the world was as much a celebration for him as the other two.

Here was a man who had left his Franco-Italian family for a world of adventure and pleasure as a bachelor in Shanghai before the communist takeover. When events turned ominous, he acted quickly to safeguard his new family and make a life in Canada. In his later years, he was baffled by the apparent discrepancy between his ingrained devotion to family above all and the way people actually led their lives. I feel honoured to have known him. I think my eldest son probably bears more of his imprint than the other two. There is a physical resemblance certainly, but more than that, I think they share a stubbornness that is remarkable.