“No Complaints”: A Family Road Trip to Rural Manitoba

My children have a word-of-the-day calendar, and on April 23rd, 2025, the word was “epithet”. It made me smile, because anyone who knows me knows my go-to response when someone asks how I’m doing: “No complaints.” It’s more than just a phrase. It’s a posture I’ve grown into through experience—especially in the last fifteen years since my release from prison.

That day, as I responded with my usual “no complaints,” My wife was behind the wheel, somewhere along the Trans-Canada Highway with myself and our three young children. We were heading to rural Manitoba to celebrate a special occasion—my mother-in-law’s 80th birthday.

We had mapped this journey out for months, and now it was finally happening. We started at 3 a.m. on a Wednesday, putting in a solid 14 hours of driving that day. The road stretched endlessly ahead, but I couldn’t help reflecting on the immense work it must’ve taken to carve this route through the vast landscape. Massive rock walls lined the highway, some glistening with tiny waterfalls that shimmered in the early sunlight. It was humbling—nature and infrastructure intertwined.

Our halfway point was Thunder Bay, where we stayed the night. That stop turned out to be extra special for my daughter—she had just learned about Terry Fox at school, and we took her to the Terry Fox Monument. Seeing her connect with that piece of history firsthand was a proud moment.

The next morning, after a quick grocery run to stock up for our stay in rural Manitoba, we hit the road again at 8 a.m. We rolled into Grandma’s by 5:30 p.m.—tired, but grateful. My mother-in-law, who I met shortly after meeting my wife, has been a profound presence in my life. From day one, she welcomed me with open arms, and I’ve never taken that for granted. Her kindness and acceptance created a bond that’s only grown stronger over the years.

April is a big month for celebrations in our family. Just days before this trip, we had celebrated my youngest daughter’s birthday, and it was also the anniversary of my release from prison. So, this time of year always stirs deep emotions. Now, it was Grandma’s turn—an octogenarian milestone that deserved every ounce of celebration.

Our children gained what I’d call a “core memory” on this trip. We stayed in Grandma’s cozy one-bedroom senior apartment, along with my wife’s niece. The two girls became instant best friends, giggling and playing like they’d known each other forever.

Grandma’s party was the heart of the trip. It was even advertised in the local township paper. Held at the Friendship Centre, the venue was decorated with love and intention by my wife, her brother, and her sister-in-law. Everything was unfolding smoothly—except for one hiccup: the sandwiches.

Despite confirming the order with three different employees, when my brother-in-law arrived to pick them up, the sandwich shop had no record of it. It was a strange situation, but thankfully, the store was well-staffed that day and managed to fulfill the large order just in time. The sandwiches made it—barely—and the party went off beautifully. When we sang “Happy Birthday,” Grandma was so moved she was left speechless, her eyes brimming with tears of joy. It was a moment I’ll never forget.

The next day, we drove to Winnipeg and checked into the Canad Inns hotel. This wasn’t just any hotel—it had a swimming pool with a full water slide. Our kids couldn’t believe their luck. The shrieks of laughter and splashes were pure joy.

After two nights in Winnipeg, we began the journey home early Tuesday morning at 4 a.m., hoping to reach Sault Ste. Marie by evening. We had already booked a hotel there. But sometimes, the road has its own plans. About four hours from our destination, we learned the road ahead was closed due to flooding. We had no choice but to cancel our hotel reservation and stay in a small town called Schreiber, at the Voy Motel.

Still eager to get home, we woke the children up again at 4 a.m. the next morning and resumed our journey. The unexpected detour rerouted us through Highway 11—an unfamiliar path that, by chance, took us past Fenbrook Institution in Gravenhurst.

I couldn’t help but pause in my mind. Fifteen years ago, that place represented a very different chapter of my life. And now here I was, riding alongside my wife and children, heading home after a soul-filling family trip. In that moment, I felt deeply vindicated—not by perfection, but by the power of perseverance, redemption, and love.

We finally made it home at 7:30 p.m. on Wednesday evening, exhausted but full. The journey was long, unpredictable at times, but rich with meaning. There were no luxury resorts or first-class flights—just hours on the road, shared laughs, minor setbacks, scenic views, and heartfelt reunions.

And through it all, as always: no complaints.

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