A Life Lived

Reflections on a Life

I would imagine it might be a good time to look back on my 65 years on this planet and try and explain, confront, understand what has transpired and how it all has shaped me as a person. I really don’t have a very clear view of what I was like as a toddler, unlike my younger sister (by two years) who seems to be able to recall with ease everything that happened in our large family as soon or soon after she exited the womb. For instance, I do not remember getting my right hand caught in the motorized belt that drove the ringer washer. It did quite a bit of damage to the first two fingers and thumb of my right hand. All I know is that I was crawling and not yet walking. I’m sure I screamed though; including when our family doctor, Dr. Aitkins, stitched me up on the kitchen table with blood flying everywhere; so my mother told me.
Alas, that’s about it for childhood trauma. What followed is a pretty normal, active, although not necessarily eventful youth. My older sister (by two years) had to walk six blocks to catch the streetcar that took her to the elementary school a mile and a half from our home. She was six. I had to be fitted with a harness and tied to the front steps because I tried to follow her to school. I too started school at six (there was no kindergarten then) at the brand new elementary school a mere four blocks distant.
I really enjoyed school, despite the fact my grandparents, on my mother’s side, decided to buy me a brown outfit for my first day. It included a jacket and shorts, yes shorts. I was so embarrassed that I spent my recesses sitting on the north side steps of the school rather than play with the other kids. Teachers thought I was an English kid who was used to wearing a ‘uniform.’ Thankfully my parents realized that I hated my little brown outfit and allowed me to wear regular clothes to school. I quickly and easily left the steps and joined in the play that was so much a part of my education and personal development.
I had a nun in grade one; she was young and we all liked her, but I don’t remember her name. In grade 2 and 3 I had Miss Stewart; we did not get along, but I still liked school anyway. It wasn’t until grade 6 that I had my first male teacher, Mr. Morrison. By this time I was becoming a bit of a pain in the classroom; I think I saw myself as a wise guy, I suppose. Anyway it may also may have been because I had discovered girls, sigh. It amazing what an influence these lovely young ladies have on an eleven-year old kid who was wearing braces. Yes, braces! I was the only kid to have braces in my elementary school. That would appear very strange today where so many kids are wearing the ‘railroad tracks,’ as they were called back in the day.
By high school the braces were gone, but a rather cocky, skinny kid entered PACI, a venerable old building a mile and a half from home. Surprisingly I was really shy, especially around girls, but what I found was my passion – sports! I tried out for all teams in grade nine, except for football – I weighed maybe 130 pounds. Soon enough football would be my downfall as my three shoulder operations and innumerable separations and dislocations were to prove. But that didn’t start until grade 10 when I was probably a robust 140 pounds.
Those 140 pounds spent the next two years either being hurt, in the hospital (I visited every emergency room in the three city hospitals), recovering on the bench from said injuries, or simply trying to contribute to the team effort. I found that my body was much better suited to basketball, a game that I had a lot of success at, even though my shoulder injuries did not go away. At least I didn’t spend too much time away from the game because of these injuries.