My father went to Canada as a young man to join the RCAF during the war. He got off the train in a town he had never heard of, nor did he intend to stop there. But he thought it looked so pretty as the train rolled into the station. He got out of the train station and turned right, looking for the armory where he could sign up. He didn't find anything and asked a young man who was passing him on the sidewalk where it was. Turns out, it was right to the left of the station. Had he turned left, he would have found it himself.

The young man he asked ended up taking him there and telling him that if he had no place to stay that night, he could come home with him. That young man then went into the armory looking for my dad and in the end of the afternoon, he too had joined the RCAF.

That night they went to a dance and my father saw my mother across the room. The young man went to England as part of a ground crew and met a beautiful English girl in the RAF.

Right now, from these two men, there are over 50 people on this earth that wouldn't be here if my father had just turned left when he walked out of the train station, or if he had stayed on the train until Toronto.

And though my father died over 30 years ago, that guy he met on the street corner remained a huge part of our lives until he died a few years back. He saw my siblings get married, he saw my sister get her masters and me get my PhD, he celebrated some of my siblings 25th anniversaries, he saw my brother sworn to the federal bench, he held grandchildren my father never met. He was the father-substitute my family needed all those years. Again, all because my father took a wrong turn.