Father’s Day is always special as I get a chance to reminisce on the influence my dad had on my brother, myself and countless others.
I am amazed when I think back to the wisdom, class, strength, smarts he had and I believe he was ahead of his time.
I think dad could have been a voice that many could listen to right now in the climate we are living in because of those qualities; but because he cannot speak presently, his actions and what he did were not just to try to help heal the racial divide but they were indeed the human elements we so desperately need now... The moments were/are indeed timeless.
So I can't think of a better way to try and get inside the inner workings of Hubert Mills than to tell stories of some of his life. Maybe in the current climate we find ourselves in, we can be inspired to all be different for the good of us all as we navigate the heavy lifting of coming together as one.
So, A Little Background...
Dad was born on the beautiful island of Bermuda. Dad became a carpenter by trade, was really good with his hands and was an incredible craftsman re: the pieces he created for sale, family and friends.
But his true heart’s desire was to become a minister.
So in 1949, he set out to Toronto, Canada to go to Bible College there.
I can only imagine what it could have been like to step out into this new frontier so to speak to begin walking out the dream.
One of dad’s gifts was to always to present to us growing up the full picture of any subject, issue or problem so that we were completely informed and to learn to be aware of all the angles and not to be triggered easily because most decisions made in an emotional state rarely work out for good.
Things Like:
When dad finally wanted to get an apartment of his own in Toronto and not live in the boarding house any longer, he had a disheartening situation happen.
Answering the ad for a vacant apartment and going to visit only to be told it was rented, going back to check the newspaper, call again, be told that it was vacant, going back to be told it was rented and figuring out that it was more than the story said.
I loved what he said to the man when he comprehended the discrimination; “Sir, you are living your life in the light of eternity!”
“Sir, you are living your life in the light of eternity!”
He did not let the frustration keep him from the ultimate prize and he eventually found an apartment.
But almost in the same breath he told us about an experience a few weeks later that still captivates my imagination.
He got on the trolley car to head to school, putting in his last ticket in the wicket with no idea of how he would get home that evening.
2 blocks down the street, the trolley car stopped, the conductor walks towards the back.
In that era, even though in Toronto there was no law stating that blacks had to sit at the back of the bus, it was the practice.
The conductor got closer as dad started to fidget, wondering what he had done.
Then he noticed the tears in the conductor’s eyes and the conductor stopped in front of dad and said, “I don’t know why I must do this but these are for you!”
He gave dad 3 books of car tickets. 144 tickets that would last dad almost 4 months.
Dad would say the moral of that story was/is to treat people as you find them; not having a bias or grudge in advance. 2 stories; 2 white men, same dad, powerful lesson.
Dad was not afraid to deal with injustice, discrimination, preferences, biases. In fact, I would say that dad had an uncanny ability to point out a person's ignorance, biases but with respect, clarity and authority when the circumstances warranted. 3 Instances that come to mind that bears that up.
1. Dad worked at a major hospital for 30 years and his final 15 years was part of the maintenance administration team and there was a gruff man he worked with who took no prisoners when it came to his mouth.
One day he came up to my dad and said, “Hello “N” man!”
Without missing a beat, dad said, “Hello, My “N” Brother!”
(See below on the “N” issue and how dad showed and taught us valuable lessons on it)
The man was shocked, stunned at first but over time, they became close friends and would anything for the other. Dad had many a conversation with him and relationship won the day instead of anger, fighting and bitterness.
2. We were on a city bus going into town to go shopping one afternoon. (I was probably 8 yrs old)
We were sitting across from another family when the little girl (about our age) said to her mom, “Mommy, those boys are dirty!” there was no correction by the mom so after about a minute or so, dad got up from his seat, walked over, knelt down and took the little girl’s hand in his.
My brother and I were looking at all of this, trying to figure out what was going on.
Dad said, “Little girl, let me tell you something; my boys take a bath every night and they might even be cleaner than you. The color of their skin is dark but that isn’t dirt; your mom can use dial soap to wash you and Tide to clean your clothes; the only thing Dial and Tide can’t clean is sin!” With that, he took a candy out of his pocket, gave it to the girl and sat down.
We were mesmerized because we didn’t understand the magnitude of what just happened then but over time, I realized that dad was speaking to the parents, every adult on the bus within earshot of this moment except the girl.
She obviously was parroting what she had heard but she was the innocent in all of this. As I got older, I asked dad why he did what he did and how he did it.
He said that sometimes, to get the message across, you can’t always go through the same channels and what better way to transmit a new way to engage culture/discriminatory behaviors than through the eyes and life of a child.
Wow is all I could say then and now!
3. Dad was the head usher at our church numerous times over the many years of service and membership here in Montreal.
The Hippie “Jesus” movement in the late 60’s-early 70’s was growing and many of these young people were beginning to come to our church.
Some of the, shall we say, the “religious old guard” were not too pleased which was blatantly hypocritical for which then and now for some of the church’s insensitivity to race and bias, I am truly sorry for.
So one Sunday morning, 4 young, white hippies entered the church and were heading to the front to sit. An old guard usher stopped them halfway down and told them they couldn’t sit in the front and had to sit in the back.
He basically was saying that if they had to have a seat at the table, it would be at the back so to speak. I remember the commotion that it was starting to cause; there was tears in the 2 girls eyes and the guys were getting frustrated.
Dad walked over, told the usher to go back to his assigned door and he would take care of it.
He left with them for a few moments but then came back with them and “He” brought them down to sit in the front rows.
Dad told me later that he spoke to usher and let him know that his behavior towards those precious young people were diametrically opposed to the Gospel and he also spoke to some of the biases this same man had caused Blacks to feel in the church in different encounters.
The Epilogue: After my dad had passed away, a number of these same, “once were hippies” said to me that if it weren’t for my dad, they would have left and never came back but his unconditional love, standing up for them, and over their days of growth, he was a pillar beside them made all the difference to and for them.
That usher: about a month later, I see dad and this man talking. As I walked closer, I could see tears in his eyes and they embraced.
At lunch that day, being the inquisitive one and wanting to know, I asked what was going on. Dad said that the man apologized for his behavior and actions and was committed to change. The process started that day and what had not happened before started to happen: He had our family over for dinner which happened a number of times!
What if dad raged, what if he reacted in a more negative manner?
Some would say, well, that doesn’t work for me; the reality is that dad had this God given ability to see a problem such as a racial inequality or situation and was able to use the appropriate amount of leverage to potentially get a positive outcome.
One time, I was so mad at a school mate for something he did and I wanted to punch something… badly…. Dad heard me going off and when I told him everything and said I wanted to punch something, he said, “Does this guy merit your hand being in a cast for 6 weeks?” “If, yes go ahead; if no, we’ve got to figure out another way to get the hostility out of your system.” I chose the latter….
“Does this guy merit your hand being in a cast for 6 weeks?” “If, yes go ahead; if no, we’ve got to figure out another way to get the hostility out of your system.”
So it was never about suppressing the emotions but rather to harness and gain a measure of control so there could be clear thought as to how to proceed next.
About that “N” word…
I will say more in a segment to come soon regarding more of my thoughts about the “N” word but for today regarding dad……'
When I was 8 or 9 yrs old, I was going out to play and dad said, “Son, you are only to answer to Dave, David or Mills; nothing else.” I said okay dad but then he said it again with more emphasis and again I said okay.
I remember leaving the house wondering if he was thinking I didn’t know my name.
What I didn’t know was that dad was shielding my ears from racist and discriminatory words, comments etc. and beginning the tuning of my ears to only hear my name.
I didn’t even realize that in a clever, brilliant way, dad was helping me to “eliminate” dirty noise from my ear gates early on.
When I was 13, one summer afternoon, we sat on the porch and he was able to explain in greater details why he did what he did early on and then explained to me why I should never get mad for someone calling me the “N” word or any other racist or discriminatory name.
1. The word derives itself as describing something/someone beneath the ground, having lesser quality than dirt, base, no value attached to it.
2. That because we were clean (showers, clean clothes, clean actions), to respond in kind or in anger would mean we agreed that we were beneath the dirt, of no value and whoever would say such garbage were right.
3. It stands to reason as he so expertly pointed out that if the requirements of the word mean that one be dirty, low, base in nature etc., then anyone could be one of any color.
At 13, this was an eye opener. I had seen fights over racist comments, language comments (French-English) in Montreal but having this mind blowing critique that I, Dave Mills didn’t have to even give such garbage any attention because I was and still am Dave, David, Mills, was freeing.
As God is my witness, in 59 years on the planet, I only reacted once to a racially charged comment and that was only because the girls we were hanging out with and liked in grade 11 were in our presence when the student said what he said.
Chivalry was trying to win the day. My buddies who were white got upset because they thought I/we should have dealt with the other dumb guys who made similar comments a long time earlier.
I kept telling them, they’re not talking to me.
Finally, because I could go on but the closing thoughts are about connection and the ability to make positive steps for change.
Dad and mom were all about connections to/for people.
Dad always said that if you got to know him, you may not always like him but you probably would come to love him and he’d reverse it too.
Dad always had a hand out first, always had a good morning to most anyone he would come in contact with. He could defeat even the coldest heart with his smile, warmth, endearing personality and his humanity.
Dad had a monster handshake, slap on the shoulder and hugs; my friend Dale would say that he had to get his shoulder ready for it. He had a warmth that few could resist.
We always had people over at our house.
Some telling comments were that while we didn’t have a lot growing up or a big house (in our eyes that is), my friends, neighborhood kids, people loved to come and spend time at our place and it was, “I feel at home here”, “I don’t want to leave”, “We feel like we are part of the family”.
The friends my parents had were vast and enormous: growing up in Lachine, for a long time, we were the only black family in 3 to 4 sq. mile radius but we didn’t know it.
One of dad’s closest friends as I was growing up until they moved to the country was a French Canadian police officer.
I can’t tell you the times we were over at their house or they were over at our house as they lived just down the street from us.
It’s hard to hate someone when you get into connections and relationships with them; the only thing I didn’t like about dad’s friend was the ride on his motorcycle when I was 7 years old.
Took the joy right out of motorcycles for me but loved that man. He would pick me up after school at times when I was in high school and we would go to the French Fries truck in Lachine.
My friends got jealous so sometimes, I had to share the time with him but what if dad and this man who was a policeman hadn’t decided to step into each other’s lives at a time when it wasn’t cool to do but they did it anyway?
What if dad and this man who was a policeman hadn’t decided to step into each other’s lives at a time when it wasn’t cool to do but they did it anyway?
So what would dad say about today?
I think he’s already spoken but if he had to add anything…..
We all must intentionally make the effort, no matter how awkward it may feel to not only want to connect but put some feet to it so the thought is not a theory but to practice and reach out to someone not like you or I because how could you ever get to know someone if you don’t reach out?
Dad was a student of history and he learned a lot about people long before he ever met them.
It’s time for us to educate ourselves about others, their cultures, legacies, struggles, triumphs.
He would say stop being so quick to virtue signal; be humble enough to admit mistakes, omissions, ignorance, wrong attitudes, anger, even hate and be willing to learn and grow to become better as part of the human race.
We may be tired, exhausted, afraid, fearful, even hopeless but as long as we’re breathing….
Dad speaks.. Even today… Can you hear his voice?
I can! Happy Father’s Day Dad! I sure miss you!!!
Dave
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