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When I was young, the family would take an annual trip around the Cabot Trail. We would usually stop at Glendyer, Cape Breton (near Mabou) to visit Mom’s foster family on the way back. One year, we took my grandfather (Maxwell Sears, Grampie) and my Aunt along with us. So there were six in the car, dad was driving, Mom and my brother, who was about 6 or 7, Max and Aunt Shirley and me. I was around one or a bit older so I clearly do not remember any of this. The story was told many times growing up. Apparently, Dad needed to turn around near the top of one of the mountains. The roads in those days were somewhat narrow. So he is backing the car up to get it turned and behind the car is the drop off to what would be a rather fast trip to the base of the mountain. Mom decides to get out and help guide him, handing the baby, me, to Aunt Shirley. Soon she says, “Bill, I don’t think you should back up any further.” Dad says, “Nonsense, there’s lots of room.” As he continues to back up, she warns him again. Finally, my brother gets out of the car and says, “Dad, I don’t think you should back up any more.” But Dad says, “What do you mean, there is plenty of room.” Mom continues to implore him to stop as the car edges closer and closer to the abyss. Finally Max says, “That’s it, hand me the %#*&$ baby, I’m out of here.” For many years after, Mom would tell the story of the day my Father almost backed off a cliff in the Cape Breton Highlands.