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November 26, 2010
My father used to get up at 5 a.m. and go into the work room, under my bedroom, where he would proceed to scrutinize and cut articles out of the newspaper: snip-snip-snip.

He used the breakfast table as his soapbox for political issues. These were not conversations; they were lectures. My father believed immigrants were taking away Canadian jobs. He doubted that the Holocaust had occurred, and read books written by deniers.

Sometimes I would go upstairs after breakfast and throw up in the toilet. I started dawdling so I could eat after Dad left for work.