It can’t be overstated what a profound effect a person can have on a child by simply giving that child their time and their attention.
I grew up in the 60s and 70s, when you’d often hear the phrase “children should be seen and not heard,” meaning they should be well-behaved, but must not interrupt adult conversation and not speak unless they’re spoken to first.
While that notion is largely rejected these days, our busy lives don’t always leave enough time for interaction between different generations. So, when we lose someone like Owen Cameron, who passed away suddenly on October 16, we have to be reminded of the importance of the validation a kid can experience from a simple interaction with an adult.
So, I beg your indulgence this week, as I pay tribute to a man who epitomized what it is to be a friend, a neighbour, a husband, a father and a mentor.
In the weeks since his sudden passing, we’ve seen and heard words and phrases used to describe someone who meant so much to so many people – from “gentle” and “gentleman” to “devoted” and “kind.”
“Ownie,” as so many of us knew him, was all that, for sure. He was also my cousin, and while family and relationships were very important to him, you have to know that I grew up with a couple dozen aunts and uncles, which means I have first cousins I’ve never even met. So, the fact that we were related was almost incidental. But I did grow up next door to him, and so, I was exposed at a very early age to his sense of childlike wonderment, adventure and fun he continued to exhibit right up until his passing at the age of 85.
Always armed with a funny story – or 10 – Ownie fed off human interaction, whether that took the form of his regular Friday night crib sessions with my dad, who passed away almost three years ago, or his relationships with the children in his community.
Ownie and his wife, Marie, lived on the neighbouring farm with their sons, Derrick and Geoffrey, and Marie’s brother, Mack Beaton, who operated the dairy farm before eventually handing the reins over to Derrick later in his life.
For my brothers and I, simply having a working farm so close was as good as living next door to an amusement park. Since Mack’s fields surrounded our property, come haying time we always did our best to be as visible as we could, in case Mack might ask us to help, and he usually did. I turned 62 this week, and those are still among my most cherished memories.
But while Mack afforded us the opportunity to be farmers for a day, it was Ownie and Marie who brought the fun the rest of the year. I consider myself extremely fortunate to have grown up with two loving parents, but I must admit pondering, as a kid, what it would be like to live with the neighbours. Kids don’t always appreciate everything a parent does for them, so I think a 10-year-old can be forgiven for measuring the value of a parent by the number of treehouses or rope swings they construct. In that regard, Ownie and Marie were perennial candidates for parents of the year.
It should come as no surprise that our only “real” vacation as a family occurred in 1976 when we joined Ownie and Marie and their family on a trip to, naturally, “The Land of Fun,” Prince Edward Island. That vacation also carries with it some of my most cherished memories.
But when I look back at my childhood, it’s those moments that an adult – someone other than your own parents – cares to hear what you’ve got to say that mean the most. For someone who had so many stories to tell, Ownie was also a great listener and was always willing to yield the floor to anyone, whether they were two or 82.
It’s been great to see through the social media tributes to Ownie, that the youngest among him continued to have his ear and share in his enthusiasm, curiosity and sense of fun, right up until the day he passed.
Ownie was laid to rest on Friday of last week, and the reception at the Mabou community hall that followed his interment was a fitting tribute to a man who loved a good story shared over a cup of tea, but above all valued the importance of family and friends.
Rest easy Ownie. You should be proud of the job you’ve done down here.