George G. Kays, 71
Educator, adventurer, voracious reader, foodie, anti-consumerist, loud voice. Born Feb. 2, 1941, in Sunderland, England, died Jan. 15, 2013, in Hamilton, of bone cancer, aged 71.
A letter from one of the brothers of St. John's College, Southsea, where George Kays was schooled, had pride of place on the wall of his office; it explained to his parents that he had been caught kissing a girl at an inappropriate film at the cinema. George was both an anti-authoritarian and a romantic.
Ironically, he spent most of his life as an authority figure. He finished each school day as a principal, first in Canada in the Caledonia area, and then in Bangladesh, with the same instruction, in his mellifluous, but commanding voice, "Go home; somebody loves you."
After years of adolescent romance, George married Heather Bell in 1962 in England, and together they immigrated to Canada in 1964 to spend the rest of their 35 years of marriage. He was adored by his family, but also by the hundreds of students he helped guide through life with his tough but humorous approach. Some of the dozens of letters written by students after he passed away reminisce about watching Mr. Kays, who seemed "a scary giant of a man," as he gently carried the nursery students to and from the school gate on rainy mornings in Dhaka.
With a trademark theatrical style, he was the kind of dad who would pop out of a taxi, having just flown hours for a surprise visit. He made every single school lunch for his three children, committed himself to their school projects (always equipped with bristol board and staple gun) and sent them off to track and field events with marvellous Mars Bar sandwiches (which were only edible when butter was scraped off and bread thrown away).
An original, he would cut the grass in sport socks and dress shoes. His car was always falling apart and he scoffed at people who devoted too much time to their vehicles and not enough to living.
For gifts, he would buy tickets to musicals, later buying his grandson the book Too Many Toys, which not so subtly passed along his anti-consumerist values.
George had a joy for life that made people feel happy. Known to wear a teal panjabi and paisley cravats (though, thankfully, not at the same time), he made the tastiest bread pudding; knew his way around a farmer's market; had a knack for scrapbooking and the ability to cuddle away the pain of earache. His fondness for real black licorice has been officially passed on, as has his love for the cold, clear waters of Georgian Bay.
He would drive, mid-winter storm, snow falling and window wide open, his children Jason, Nathan and Rachel in the back, a little perplexed, but loving it as he sang and whistled. He would spend nights sleeping outside in his hammock in the middle of suburbia, the suburbia he would depart in his mid-50s, perhaps knowing that he had just enough time for one more grand adventure.
In 1997, soon after receiving a 55th birthday card with Dylan Thomas's words, "Do not go gentle into that good night" scrawled by his literature major daughter, he left his family to become head of education at the Aga Khan School in Dhaka, Bangladesh, where he fell in love with its culture, finding a place where he could "Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
George lived boldly and with purpose, daring to make grand mistakes and committed to learning and living out loud. If he had one foible, it was his restless search for something that he already had and was. At the end of his passport, white spaces crowded by colourful stamps from Asia, Canada, Africa and Britain, he wrote: "I could have done more."
Rachel Howison (née Kays) is George's daughter.
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