My father passed away in 2007 at the ripe young age of ninety‑two. In his last few years, dementia settled in, but it never took away his gentle soul. He’s still with me in spirit every day.

When we were kids, Dad would tell us bedtime stories. He had that calm, soothing voice that could settle a whole room. One of his favourites was about Tom Thumb — a fellow so tiny he’d ride around inside the horse’s ear.

Now, the only Tom Thumb I knew back then was an elderly gentleman at our church who went by the nickname Tom Thumb. And, as luck would have it, his whole family had taken on the surname Thumb. Go figure.

So when Dad told the story, I’d be lying there thinking, How in the name of creation could that man at church — wearing the long raglan coat — fit inside a horse’s ear?

Later on, when I met my Lola, I loved telling her the Tom Thumb story. She always laughed at how I said “air” instead of “ear.” So one Christmas, along with a few romantic gifts, I bought her the book about Tom Thumb — a little nod to the story that had followed me from childhood to love.

Now, go take on the day.