Are you celebrating Father’s Day this weekend? Some people are. They’re going out to brunch, they’re having barbecues, maybe they’re going to the beach. I’m going to celebrate by telling you about my dad’s rock.

He’s very proud of his treasure as it is a family heirloom. It’s the colour of gravel and made up of tiny, column-like threads. It looks like an Escher print is trying to escape from it. He keeps it in a ziplock bag, which he is not able to close because the rock is too big. The reason why he keeps it in the ziplock bag is because it is an asbestos rock.

The rock was hacked out of the earth with a machine that made a grinding and halting sound. My dad’s uncles worked in the asbestos mine, and it wasn’t the dark, buried place that you think of when you hear the word “mine”. The sun shone on the large trucks as they drove up and down roadways that cut through rough steps that led up to the sky. My dad’s rock came out of the mine one day and somehow ended up in my grandfather’s possession. It was at one time bigger than it is now, but it shrunk over the years as Grandpa would occasionally break a piece off to give to various friends and relatives. He eventually gave the whole thing to my dad.

When my uncle found out that my grandfather gave the rock to my dad, he was mad. He wanted the asbestos rock. It should have been given to him. He is the oldest, after all. My dad disagreed with him. He thought that the correct person received the rock from my grandfather. They fought over this cancer-causing substance as only siblings can.

My dad still has the rock. As long as he doesn’t break it, he’ll probably be safe.

My dad is animated as he tells this story to me and my husband, Phil, who removes asbestos from old buildings for a living. He wears a hazmat suit and keeps a close shave so that his mask seals itself to his face properly.