The Foster Home Dad
If there was a word to describe my Father that word would be enthusiasm. As a little girl I remember watching him “hold court.” He was always the largest person in the room-because of his attitude and zest for life. The word Can’t is not in my Father’s dictionary. He goes the extra mile in almost everything he does from researching vehicles or vacations to packing the car for our annual holidays up north. Going the extra mile was his model for life. If we ever wanted Dad’s attention which we did all the time we’d ask him the meaning of a word. Dad would stop, pivot and turn all his attention towards us and describe in lengthy detail what the word means. My Father’s name is Warren Diwell and he’s 84 years old. He grew up in foster homes with his 2 younger sisters Barb and Bev. His parents divorced when divorce wasn’t a thing. His father Bernard Diwell soon remarried and purchased a big two storey home, but the stepmother Margaret didn’t want any kids. My Grandmother, Alic