Being chosen last

(This is a subject I suggested.)

When I was in Grade 7 gym class, when we separated into two groups for a game, the teacher would sometimes let the boys choose their own teams. (No doubt progressive educational theory talked about giving children responsibility.) But I say they should pass an Act of Parliament to outlaw the practice.  For yes, it was my lot to be chosen last.  Every single time.  If I'd just been chosen second-last I wouldn't have minded.

At least the guys who did the choosing enjoyed it.  After all, they were being given the power to rate all the others, in order.  One time I was not only chosen last, but both teams insisted that the other team take me, and they both stood their ground.  There always has to be someone chosen last, but this was sheer meanness.  They were simply drunk with power.

Some kids enjoy gym class, but I never did.

Something that was not as it appeared to be

I don't recall being fooled by appearances too often.  There was the time that my family and I were staying at a place in France.  When they served dinner, the host brought out this big fancy soup tureen, and filled it with Campbell's Tomato Soup.

Of course, there have been times when I belied my own appearance.  I remember when I was a Ph.D. student at York University preparing for my comps (comprehensive exams), my sister Moira doubted that I was taking the prospect seriously.  Then when the exam happened, I knocked 'em dead!  Similarly, on the night before my final Ph.D. examination I went out to the movies. (Appropriately enough, it was a German silent film titled Destiny.) But I passed in the end.

A Meetup group

Just thought I'd mention that I started a Meetup group for people to attend these memoir sessions.  At the pre-Thanksgiving session only six people came (at least we had time for a third subject), and Selia was concerned about the group's future.

Since I'm already organizing a Meetup group (for people reading aloud), I can organize a second with no additional fees.  In this way we can appeal to a whole new group of people.  And I enjoy the group this much that I want to guarantee its future.

So I created the new group on Meetup, and it's already attracted about ten people!  At yesterday's session three of the nine people were from Meetup, and a couple more are likely to come next week.  The sky's the limit!

Saturday rituals

(Note:  this is a subject I suggested.)

My big Saturday morning ritual used to be reading the newspaper with the big weekend comics.  I followed Peanuts and Li'l Abner and Dick Tracy. (Mary Worth and Rex Morgan, M.D. I mostly skipped over.) The year we were in Mississauga we got The Toronto Star, whose weekend comics included Mary Perkins on Stage and Steve Roper & Mike Nomad.

I used to watch old movies on Saturday morning TV. (They'd introduce the show with a jazzed-up version of Verdi's Anvil Chorus.) These films included Shirley Temple and Joe E. Brown vehicles, and movies of the comic strip Blondie.

In the afternoon we'd often go swimming at the university athletic center.  The pool would play this Tijuana Brass record on the speaker system, so I've always associated "A Taste of Honey" with swimming.

In the early '70s I'd watch Mission:  Impossible on Saturday evenings.  What a cool show that was! (Especially the music.) I'd often watch the beginning of Hockey Night in Canada, though I was never interested enough to watch a whole game.  Before it came on, I'd watch the closing credits of Hawaii Five-O, with the Hawaiians paddling a canoe to another cool musical theme.

Bad grades

(Note:  this is a subject I suggested.)

I my school years, I usually got very good grades.  But I had difficulties in one year when we moved to Mississauga and I entered Grade 7 there.

In history and geography class the teacher wrote stuff on the blackboard in note form and the next moment I'm hearing, "Write it down, write it down, hurry up!" So I copied the notes into my exercise book, feeling stupid but not knowing what else to do.  Then I got an E in history and a D Minus in geography.  It turned out that I was supposed to expand on these notes, and after this was belatedly explained to me my grades here improved.

In science class we were told to do reports on weeds, so I did a report on chicory.  The science teacher called it "atrocious" and sent a note to my parents. (She had to ask me for their address.)

In art class the first week we were told to paint squares, so I painted some blue squares.  I'd never been in an art class before and thought it was an accomplishment just getting it done.  The following week the art teacher returned my painting with a 1 out of 5 grade and a comment that the edges were messy. (If someone had advised me to improve the edges, I would have been willing to do so.) What bugged me is that she didn't have time to grade each week's work and only graded the first week in order to start out with a show of power.  Which meant that kids like me didn't get a chance to earn a better grade next time.  I ultimately got a D minus in art.

I failed industrial arts class, but who cares?

Not all my courses were troubled.  I've always been good at math, and did somewhat better in English (though I got a D on the Jack London story "To Build a Fire.") I also did well in French, but that was easy because I'd been learning it for years in New Brunswick, while the other kids were only starting on it.

I also failed a swimming course that fall.

Breakfast

I eat a rather austere breakfast:  an apple, an orange, a banana, a carrot, sometimes an extra fruit like a pear or a peach. (Fried foods in the morning I don't care for.) I always eat the orange first, and the carrot last.  And I usually avoid eating the banana second-last:  for some reason,  I don't like eating a carrot when I still have the taste of a banana in my mouth.

My sister Moira likes the big breakfasts they serve in New York City.  She once said that her only reason for visitin New York would be to have a New York breakfast, but she knows places in Toronto that serve it. (There are also places that serve a high-calorie British breakfast.)

I remember the TV commercials for sugar-coated kiddie cereals that called them "part of this nutritious breakfast," and they'd show the cereal next to foods that were nutritious.  It was pretty shameless.

Trips & vacations

My mother was born in Cape Breton, and we'd visit that area most summers.  We'd camp near Baddeck, and some of us attended the Gaelic College and learned things like piping. (That didn't interest me.) We also visited my Aunt Alma near Sydney.  And we'd go up to Cape Breton Highlands National Park, with Ingonish Beach and walking trails.  The scenery there is pretty dramatic.

We'd also visit Prince Edward Island in the summer. (This was before they built Confederation Bridge, when you had to use a ferry.) There was a national park there too with a nice beach at Cavendish.  And we went to Charlottetown's Confederation Center, where they put on musicals like Anne of Green Gables.

We visited the United States a few times.  We happened to be in Washington, D.C., at the time of the Watergate break-in. (Mother spotted it as something important.) We were also in the underground parking lot where the reporters met Deep Throat.

At first we used an umbrella tent, but later we bought a trailer. (We eventually sold it for the same price we'd paid, though there'd been some inflation in the meantime.) Later, after we started our garden, we'd store vegetables in the trailer.

What I remember about farm life

I've never lived on a farm.  But my family had an organic garden starting in 1976. (My brother John was big believer in organic principles.) We'd plowed an area next to our back yard, then bought a big pile of horse poop to put on it.  We also got some seaweed from near our cottage for more fertilizer.  Then we hired a guy to come harrow it with his machine.  Father was out back talking to this guy, who was laughing a lot, and Mother thought Father was telling him stories.  But it turned out he was drunk.

Gardening can be a lot of work.  In that spring of 1976, I was out back digging ditches around the garden, where there hadn't been any ditches before.  It was so exhausting that I ended up in bed in the afternoon.  Then later a friend came around with gardening experience, who said that the ditches had to be wider and deeper.  That got to me.

Success varied year by year.  In 1979 the weeds really took over, and the only thing that grew well was pumpkins.  But other years were better.  In 1986 one of the parents got the bright idea of growing extra peas between the rows of corn, and between rows of potatoes.  The only problem was that these extra rows were hard to weed, and the result was that we had to all go out on the rainiest day of the year and pick weeds.

Even after I moved to Toronto in 1990, I'd come back to New Brunswick in May and plant the garden.  But that ended when my parents moved to Toronto too in 1994. (That last year we only planted peas.) Here in Toronto we only have room for a small garden, but I'm still trying to make a go of it.  It's now time to harvest our potatoes.