One of the places I wanted to go was ‘the bar.’
My father enjoyed going to the bar after work. My brother called it the ‘Old Man Gay Bar,’ but no one was gay there. They were mostly men over the age of 70. The bartenders were mostly women, the same age as my father. The conversations were repetitive – usually about the ‘good old days’ of a city and a time when things were easier, according to them. It never was, but there are always new challenges as we move through life. Throughout my high school years, his bar would change every few years as new places opened and closed. I would go with him to bond over what is going on in my life and his.
Dad worked early in the morning and late in the afternoon or evening when I was in High School. He would get up at 1 or 2 in the morning to pick up vegetables, then take them to the Ontario Food Terminal in Toronto to sell them to grocery stores and small vegetable and fruit stands around the province. The hours made it hard since when he would come home, he’d be tired and worn down. The only time we would talk would be in the bar.
His last bar was J. Taps near the beer store and the Queen Elizabeth Highway that cuts through St. Catharines. I wasn’t sure what to expect after COVID. Many bars and restaurants in Hong Kong have been struggling and closing shop. With the guys, my father’s age, and remembering how much they drank, I wasn’t sure if anyone would be around. It has been in operation since the early 2000s under various names.
Today, it is called Pitchers. It is similar to most Ontario bars I have known—many TVs showing sports at various points in the day. The woman at the back of the bar asks for my order, and I get a Labatt’s 50. It was my father’s beer when I was a child. He would switch through his life, but it was always 50 for me. It’s a pale lager that was popular long ago, but now it’s not as popular. It’s known as ‘old man beer.’
On the bar, there were plaques, and I asked about them. They were long-time customers. I remembered some of the patients coming in wheelchairs. My father held court at a small table at the front, where he would sit with his co-workers who complained about work, the government, and how things used to be better.
When I go in today, there is none of that. The place is quiet except for the bartenders, who look younger. There is one lady who remembers my father. She talks about that ‘crew of guys’ my father ran with. A lot are not around anymore – death, sickness, tough personal lives. The bar is still around and will be for a while.
I’ll keep coming back for a 50
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