Paul is a Canadian boy. My Canadian boy. His family’s cottage on Chesley lake was the background for most of his childhood summer memories. When he was twelve they made the mouse pilgrimage to Disney World in Orlando, which he remembers in great detail.
He was always curious to see more of the world. His first trip to a new culture, if you don’t count Goshen, Indiana, was to Haiti when we were in college, which is where we met. He has many talents I lack.
He taught the kids how to eat Maple Syrup, play hockey, soccer, ski,
and golf.
He’s our family lifeguard, keeping us safe on the beach. This became more of a job once the youngest wild thing came on the scene. Look how his feet are still firmly planted–photo metaphor.
He finds creative ways to transport our family in far away places.
He is our driver-extraordinaire in the crazy driving cities of the world, with signs we can’t read, unfamiliar road rules and driving styles, ugly road conditions, forces of nature, and wild animals surprises. Even when we were lost in Rome for hours, he got us to the Vatican safely and without too many bad word yellow cards.
My coffee companion.
He stays calm and grounded, no matter what kind of daughter-drama (or mama-drama, mama-daughter-drama, daughter-daughter-daughter-drama) is exploding around him…sometimes at a safer distance.
He loves all the crazy the girls bring.
He is fascinated by anything plane.
Southern France is his Happy Place.
He loves a grueling hike that ends with a sweet view.
But, his most significant contribution to our lives as a traveling family, is joining a business when we were in our twenties which now gives us the freedom and funds to travel. Had he not had the vision to do so, and the balls of steel to see it through, we would never have seen as much of the world as we have.