ByRyan Craig,
Senior Contributor.
A few years ago, my Aunt Diana Bennett undertook an autobiography to share the story of her exciting life: accomplished artist, teacher, nonprofit executive, board member, and four husbands. It came out so well that I encouraged my mom – her younger sister – to do the same. And she did, last Christmas gifting everyone copies of Brenda Bennett, My Colourful Life: a history of her grandparents and parents; riding horses while growing up in Toronto in the 50s; majoring in sociology at University of Toronto in the 60s, getting dragged off the steps of the U.S. Consulate during a Vietnam War protest; and in the 70s and 80s starting successive families and a successful career as a community college professor.
With four husbands or long-term partners, my mom’s life has been equally colorful. My grandfather John Bennett liked to say it was as though the sisters were in a divorce competition. (In truth, they’ve both been through a lot and remained unfailingly enthusiastic about everything save U.S. politics.) Then again, my grandfather, a Canadian artist of some renown, was in his own competition for mistresses whom he preferred painting with as few clothes as possible. But the book’s most controversial story is less risqué. I must have been 9 or 10 at the time. Here’s how my mom tells it:
