For those of you who knew my father, he had a serious side, but he also had a fun loving side. He was a country boy at heart, and when he was in his entertainment mode, he was a lot of fun to be around. When Andy, Charlotte and I were young, he had a knack for inventing games and bedtime stories that would keep us hanging on every word. On family vacations, while killing time at the side of the road, he would have us throwing rocks to see who could hit a targeted tree the most times, or achieve the greatest number of skips as we threw rocks across a lake. Since the majority of our summer vacations were to the Maritimes, he would also entertain us by eating dulse the way most of us munch on potato chips. For those of you who are not familiar with dulse, it is a reddish, brown seaweed, found mostly on the North Atlantic coast. There was always a game or a friendly competition with Dad. When we were assigned dish duty as kids growing up, he created a strategy of separating the tasks into either washing, drying, or having the dubious honour of doing "everything else". So he coined the famous Ed Lank phrase "the washer washes, the drier dries, and the other guy does everything else". You cannot imagine how the "everything else" job deteriorated from being he most coveted to the most despised. Another game we all mastered as kids was darts in the basement. Elma and Ed were very hospitable to the young engineers coming up to Arvida, most of whom were single and eager for a home cooked meal. They were always welcome at our house, but there were conditions. On many occasions we all went down to the basement to throw darts in order to determine who would wash the dishes. So you can imagine how accomplished Andy, Charlotte and I became on the dart board. With Dad, all games took on a life of their own and most always had a championship designation associated with them, depending on how the game was playing out. The first game would be for the "Arvida Championship",and depending on whether or not he thought a second game was warranted, it then became the "Quebec Championship", then the "Canadian", and finally the "World Championship". So for any of you who may at times consider our family a tad on the competitive side, you now see that we come by it honestly. I must stress however, that the games were a lot of fun, and good sportsmanship was always encouraged. Dad was a pretty good athlete growing up and played several sports in university. He translated that talent into a love for golf and curling up in Arvida, and in the process introduced the whole family to these sports, for which we are all grateful. I should add however, that although he translated the love he had for sports into golf, the talent did not necessarily follow suit. In fact, none of the Lanks, with the exception of my cousin Kerry, will dazzle you with their talent on the golf course. Ed was a good curler though, and relished playing in many of the bonspiels at the old Saguenay Country Club. He was never an avid "armchair quarterback", and when he did watch sports on TV, he most always cheered for the underdog. This must obviously explain why he was so passionate about the Blue Jays. A couple of years ago, he and I were discussing the problems of performance enhancing drugs in sports and I asked him if he thought any of the Blue Jay players were on steriods. His answer..."I wish they were". In later years, golf and bridge at Cataraqui became his favourite pastimes and he enjoyed playing with both Elma and many of his good friends. He was always a good sport, and in typical fashion he took the competition seriously, but never the technique. Style and technique were never on my father's radar screen ... his attitude was "let's just play the game". Elma bought his clothes, for you would never catch my father trying on a new shirt, pair of pants, or gleefully anticipating a trip to the shopping mall. He would only fall into line on this front when Elma put her foot down. He could play with the same clubs for twenty years, and only upgraded when we couldn't take the sight of what was in his golf bag any longer and would gift him a new set. Taking a lesson or hitting balls on the range was too boring...let's just play and get on with the game.....that was Dad. I think my father loved golf so much that the only time I can ever remember him complaining was in the last couple of years when he was constantly struggling with cold hands. Even though he had his fair share of other aches and pains, we almost never heard anything about them. The cold hands however, prevented him from getting out on the golf course when the temperature dipped too low. His hands became so cold in fact, that on many days he had to wear gloves around the house. He lived a great life, and maxed out the competition right to the end. One of the amusing stories I heard at Dad's visitation back in February was from his friend Bob Burnett. Bob asked me if I had ever seen my father tap his front tooth and if I knew what it meant. He said that if you ever saw Ed doing that, it meant that he was about to gamble on a bridge hand when he didn't have much to play with, and if you happened to be his partner.... Good Luck! Well Dad, I would say that you played your last hand perfectly. You knew what you were up against, and with the exception of Mom, you shielded us all from the worry and the anxiety. When you were tapping your tooth before the start of the third quarter of the Super bowl, one of your future playing partners came down and gently whisked you away. We know that you are up there now, playing for ten cents a hole, playing for the World Championship and playing with warm hands.