I was walking with my mom the other day in the town I grew up in (White Rock, BC), and we happened to go by the property where my dad grew up in a little old house on the now very expensive Marine Drive. There was a large white oak in the front, which is interesting because there aren't a lot of oaks in that region. Now of course the house he grew up in was since demolished and replaced with a high-end home, but the tree remains. I mentioned to my mom how nice the tree was, and it turns out that my grandfather had actually planted the acorn, on the day King George died in 1952. I never met him since he had died when my own dad was just 14. But seeing what he left here touched me in a way, and I felt like I got to meet a part of him.
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