Only the fittest survive in the military. Physical imperfections, although conceivably unavoidable, are frequently unacceptable. When his superiors discovered that my father, at the age of thirty, had developed multiple sclerosis, they informed him that after one last promotion he would not be eligible for further promotions and offered him a single posting to anywhere in Canada – should he decide to stay on. With a family of four, soon to be five, to support and only one year of university under his belt, my father had few options, so he took the military’s offer and we moved to Vancouver, his hometown.

My father dragged himself up the stairs of Canadian Forces Base Jericho headquarters to his second-floor office five days a week and frequently on Saturdays. Relocating his office to the first floor was not an option, and the building did not have an elevator. When the day arrived that my father had to crawl up the remaining few stairs and down the hall to his office, retirement was unavoidable. But fit or not, and despite a brutally difficult divorce from my mother, he had managed to work long enough to see all their children through high school.