(no subject)
"Ten January, nineteen sixty nine. I tracked McClay up through Chilkat Pass. I found him at the top half a mile from the border. His ankle was broken, his ammunition spent. He just sat staring at the horizon. I took his rifle without a struggle. All he said was, 'Don't tell my son' and then he jumped. The man was falling to his death and all he cared about was how his son would remember him. I buried him there this morning. I'll tell Gerard he got away from me. The last time I saw Ben he was barely tall enough to reach my belt. When I said good-bye, he shook my hand. Never a tear nor a complaint. Seven years old and he's already a stronger man than I'll ever be. Someday I'll tell him."
My father... was an extraordinary man. I won't say that he was an extraordinary father-- I'm afraid his sense of duty lay with his job as an officer of the RCMP, not with his family. But he was an extraordinary man when it came to his function in the force.
While gone from me and my mother, and after her death, me and my grandparents, my father kept journals. I found one of them next to my bedroll a few days ago, along with my handgun. It served to remind me of his death, and how he still [...] influences me, even afterwards.
When he died on the 19th of April, 1994, Sergeant Robert Fraser was 57 years old. He may have called me the stronger one in 1969, but I have never felt it that way. Just because he was gone so much, doesn't mean I didn't admire him. Perhaps I admired him as more than a father-- I idolised him. And while certain things have happened to change the idolisation into something else, he is still, in my head, a figure of immense bravery and strength, despite my knowledge of his faults.
Despite his absence, I am honoured to have had him as my father. The loss has not waned in the three years that he's been dead, for several reasons. ...Thank you, dad.
...
I would appreciate some help from the legal department. I appear to have come into possession, or re-possession, of my handgun. Considering the circumstances, I would like to be able to use it legally. Thank you kindly.
My father... was an extraordinary man. I won't say that he was an extraordinary father-- I'm afraid his sense of duty lay with his job as an officer of the RCMP, not with his family. But he was an extraordinary man when it came to his function in the force.
While gone from me and my mother, and after her death, me and my grandparents, my father kept journals. I found one of them next to my bedroll a few days ago, along with my handgun. It served to remind me of his death, and how he still [...] influences me, even afterwards.
When he died on the 19th of April, 1994, Sergeant Robert Fraser was 57 years old. He may have called me the stronger one in 1969, but I have never felt it that way. Just because he was gone so much, doesn't mean I didn't admire him. Perhaps I admired him as more than a father-- I idolised him. And while certain things have happened to change the idolisation into something else, he is still, in my head, a figure of immense bravery and strength, despite my knowledge of his faults.
Despite his absence, I am honoured to have had him as my father. The loss has not waned in the three years that he's been dead, for several reasons. ...Thank you, dad.
...
I would appreciate some help from the legal department. I appear to have come into possession, or re-possession, of my handgun. Considering the circumstances, I would like to be able to use it legally. Thank you kindly.