Uncle Joe and Aunty Kannah with my brother and I.

Everyone who knows me knows how important my parents are to me—not just my biological parents, whom I adore (and one of whom I now live next door to!), but also the many others who treated me as their own son, seeing something in me that I never saw in myself. In future pieces, I hope to honour as many of them as I can without becoming overbearing.

One couple who have been pressing heavily on my heart lately are Uncle Joe and Aunty Kannah.

From the very first time I stayed with them until the last time I was in Canada in 2023, their home was always home to me.

When I was younger, I spent many weekends there and was thoroughly spoiled. Saturday mornings meant waking up just in time to watch my favourite cartoons while Aunty Kannah prepared breakfast. Sundays were for church together, Vacation Bible School, family meals and countless moments that still bring a smile to my face. Those memories remain among the happiest of my childhood.

But it was during my high school years that Uncle Joe and Aunty Kannah truly helped shape the man I would become.

When I moved to Canada in 2000, I first settled in Two Hills. Dad had been operating the Chronicle and had a home near the water tower. The plan was for me to attend Two Hills School.

The problem was that my heart was still in South Africa.

I missed my family terribly and struggled with the thought of starting over in a new country and a completely different school system. Dad, being the determined man he has always been, tried everything he could to encourage me. Neither of us handled the situation particularly well, and eventually we both realized we needed a little space.

So we drove to Barrhead.

I told Uncle Joe that I wanted to return to South Africa. As always, he listened patiently before offering several options. One of them was simply this:

"Why don't you stay here with us for a while?"

Knowing their home had always been a place of safety, I accepted without hesitation.

Since it was the beginning of summer and Uncle Joe was principal of the Alberta Distance Learning Centre at the time, he explained that because I was entering a new education system without all of my previous credits—and still needed courses like Social Studies and Career and Life Management—I had two choices.

I could enjoy the summer and begin Grade 10 in the fall, or I could complete those courses over the summer and start Grade 11 alongside my cousin, Krean.

To my teenage mind, the mathematics was simple.

Three months now, or an entire extra year later.

The decision practically made itself.

Like most teenagers, however, I spent almost as much time goofing off as I did studying.

Eventually Uncle Joe quietly did the math and realized that at my current pace I wasn't going to finish in time. He sat me down and simply said,

"I believe you can still get everything done."

That was all it took.

With his encouragement and Aunty Kannah patiently helping me whenever I got stuck, I put my head down and worked. Within a matter of weeks, I completed every course and wrote my exams a full week before school started.

Because of that summer, I entered Grade 11 instead of Grade 10.

That one conversation changed the direction of my education.

Of course, being me, I still had a few lessons left to learn.

Canadian schools gave students far more freedom than I had been used to in South Africa. Naturally, I became curious about where the boundaries were.

At first I skipped a class here and there to spend time with friends, drinking coffee around town and convincing myself I had become quite the rebel.

Then I made the brilliant decision to skip an entire week of school.

Every morning I left home exactly as if I were attending classes, carefully planning my days around friends who had spare periods or who were skipping classes themselves.

What never occurred to me was one simple detail.

Uncle Joe was a principal.

And principals talk to one another.

Concerned that something might be wrong, the principal of my school phoned Uncle Joe and asked whether I was alright because I hadn't attended school for several days.

Uncle Joe was understandably confused.

After all, he had watched me leave for school every morning.

When I arrived home that afternoon, Aunty Kannah was sitting quietly at the dining room table.

"Hi Aunty. How are you?" I asked cautiously.

"Son," she said gently, "come and sit down."

My stomach dropped.

"Uncle Joe found out you've been cutting class," she said softly. "He's not happy about it. Just listen to him and apologize. He'll understand."

She wasn't trying to frighten me.

She was trying to prepare me.

I went upstairs and waited.

Every possible lecture ran through my mind. I imagined shouting, disappointment and anger.

Instead...

When Uncle Joe arrived home, he calmly called me downstairs.

"Son," he began, "the principal called today because you haven't been in school."

I searched desperately for the right excuse.

Before I could speak, he continued.

"You know, son, I'm not going to yell at you. God knows you've had enough of that in your life. But I am going to tell you this—you have a beautiful opportunity here, and I would hate to see you waste it. Aunty Kannah and I love you. We love having you here, and we want to see you make something of yourself."

I was completely disarmed.

I expected thunder.

Instead, I received grace.

That conversation changed me.

For the first time, I understood that my self-destructive behaviour wasn't only hurting me. It was hurting two people who loved me as though I were their own son.

From that day forward, I made a conscious decision to take school seriously.

The change didn't happen overnight, but it happened.

My grades improved.

My attitude improved.

More importantly, I began to believe that maybe my life actually mattered.

By Grade 12 I had built enough momentum that graduation was finally within reach.

Then one final obstacle appeared.

Although I had completed Math 20 and was taking Math 30, there was no official record of my Math 10 course because I had completed it in South Africa.

Once again, graduation seemed to be slipping away.

But I hadn't counted on Uncle Joe.

He contacted my school in South Africa, arranged for my transcripts to be sent to Alberta, and suddenly everything fell into place.

I graduated with all the credits I needed.

Looking back now, I often wonder what would have become of me had I never lived with Uncle Joe and Aunty Kannah.

Before that time, discipline was something I resisted.

Afterward, it slowly became part of who I was.

I certainly haven't been perfect, and anyone who knows me can tell you I've made my fair share of mistakes since then. But those years taught me responsibility, perseverance and, above all, the power of unconditional love.

There is, however, one regret that still lingers in my heart.

At my graduation ceremony there came a moment when graduates were invited to dance with their mothers.

Krean and several others encouraged me to ask Aunty Kannah to dance.

But I was shy.

Socially awkward.

Unsure of myself.

So I stood back.

If I could relive that moment today, I would walk over to her, get down on one knee, and ask,

"Ma'am, may I have this dance?"

As the music played, I would tell her what I should have said all those years ago.

Thank you.

Thank you for loving a confused teenage boy who often made life more difficult than it needed to be.

Thank you for your patience.

Thank you for believing in me long before I believed in myself.

You showed me that love is the greatest strength in the world, and that when we choose to lead with love, we rarely go wrong.

As I write these words today, my eyes fill with tears.

There is simply no way I would be the man I am today without Uncle Joe and Aunty Kannah.

Life has given me many gifts, but few have shaped me more than the people who chose to love me when they didn't have to.

I was not given everything in this life.

But in Uncle Joe and Aunty Kannah...

God gave me you.