Don’t forget the less fortunate this season
My late father, Herbert Vincent, was always working — except on Christmas Day
I remember when I was young and my father seemed to be at work every day of the week.
Except for Christmas Day, when he was always home with family and friends.
A skit on the U.S. television comedy “In Living Color” used to spoof the stereotype of Jamaicans juggling multiple jobs to stay ahead. The airplane pilot, Captain Hedley, stands in the aisle and introduces himself to the passengers: he is pilot; baggage handler; ticket agent; and in-flight chiropractor.
In many ways my father, Herbert Leonard Vincent, or “Dicky” as he was known to close friends and family, was the real-life embodiment of that beyond-the-norm work ethic.
After leaving his native Jamaica, he trained as an electrician in London, England. He would later sell Holiday Magic cosmetics door to door to supplement his income while getting his career off the ground here in Canada, where he arrived by steamship with me and my mom in the mid-1960s.
The electrical contracting business he launched on the side in Toronto kept him busy at night and on weekends, while he worked full-time servicing heavy machinery for companies like General Electric and Inglis. All his hard work — my mom’s too — provided a very comfortable lifestyle and home for my parents, my younger sister Wendy and me.
Yet despite the long hours my dad put in, he was lucky to have never worked on Christmas Day. To him that was precious time to spend with his children, grandsons, extended family and friends. A time of fellowship, a time to remember the less fortunate and be thankful for what you have.
My dad was a giving person especially around Christmas. He donated to several charitable causes. He also volunteered tirelessly year-round, including in leadership roles as a Prince Hall mason with the Eureka Lodge #20 in Toronto, a Black and Caribbean organization that among its numerous philanthropic works runs a large scholarship program to assist young students.
He and my mom were always very generous when it came to Christmas presents for me and my sister when we were young.
My Toronto Star colleague Robert Benzie has written about getting Mattel’s Big Jim sports camper from his parents for Christmas.
That’s a gift I also received one Christmas long ago. It was a present I know my father took delight in purchasing himself, fully aware of how much joy and excitement I’d get grabbing it from under the tree and unwrapping it in my boyhood frenzy.
Another Christmas gift my father bought years later is part of our family lore. It was a large green toy called “Rex,” a battery-operated tyrannosaurus rex that walked, growled ferociously through jaws that opened and closed, and had bright red, menacing eyes. It was a children’s toy for my eldest son, Evan, who was about three at the time.
When we put the batteries in, Evan shrieked in terror and ran out of my parents’ living room, much to my father’s chagrin. We kept Rex in a closet for months afterward and slowly Evan worked up the nerve to open the door, take Rex out and play with it. It became his favourite toy.
But every Christmas dinner thereafter, at some point my mom ribbed my dad about “Rex” in front of guests: how he purchased a present that terrorized his little grandson on Christmas Day.
My father’s skills with tools often came in handy at Christmas when there were toys that broke. I remember buying a train set for my son Caleb. I used to run its track all around my parents’ Christmas tree.
One year the battery compartment in the locomotive didn’t work. There was my dad in the basement, smoke rising from his soldering gun as he toiled frantically to reconnect the wiring so Caleb could enjoy it Christmas Day. I can still see the look of delight on my father’s face after he managed to get the toy whirring around the tracks.
I think my dad made such a fuss and smiled so much on Christmas because it wasn’t a time of year that was always easy for him growing up. He was born in Spanish Town, Jamaica, to father Vernon, a police officer, and mother Maude, but they died when my dad was barely a teenager.
His older sister Olive helped him go to London, England, where she owned a successful string of beauty salons. She helped raise him after he was orphaned.
Decades later, my Aunt Olive died close to Christmas Day 2019. My cousins organized a funeral a few weeks later (preCOVID-19). My father asked me to help him get to England for her service.
By this time, my dad was 86. He relied on a cane and was shaky on his feet, prone to falls. The tables had turned — no longer was my father supporting me as he did when I was a child. Now I was the one backing him up, taking him to medical appointments, talking to his physicians, helping him walk, and get in and out of my car, assisting him with errands like shopping or banking.
Before we departed for our long overseas journey, I felt a bit nervous. Would I be able to do a good job taking care of my elderly father during such a lengthy trip? There were a few hitches here and there, but for the most part things worked out well.
When we returned to Canada my dad thanked me profusely for accompanying him.
When he had a massive stroke in late September and died 10 days later in a Vaughan hospital, I was the one who was feeling grateful for having that quality time with him in London.
Still, this coming holiday season will be tough for our family. Interrupted only once — when COVID cancelled our Christmas get-together in December 2020 — my father’s stellar, decades-long string of attendance on Christmas Day has come to an end. We’ll miss his vigorous debates at the family dinner table about politics and current affairs, his quick wit and wry humour.
And we’ll never forget Dad’s warm heart, sacrifices and generosity.
It’s in that same spirit of kindness that the Star is urging readers to donate generously to the Toronto Star Santa Claus Fund, which since 1906 has helped ensure needy children get a gift at Christmas.
The fund was started by To- ronto Star founding publisher Joseph E. Atkinson, who experienced hard times growing up. This year the fund’s goal is to raise $1.5 million so 50,000 children across the Greater Toronto Area can receive a package that includes winter wear such as a hat, mittens, a hoodie and socks, as well as a toy, cookies, and toothbrush and toothpaste.