I was born at a time when Madonna’s “Like A Prayer” was top of the charts. I was born in a place that is most famous for two ships colliding and creating the most powerful explosion known to human kind until the Atomic Bomb happened. I was born three months before I was supposed to. Same with my twin brother. All premature births can be complicated. My brother and I have never had a real conversation, and yet we understand each other. To this day, I don’t know why I became any luckier than him. I’m not complaining, it’s just a question I’ll never have an answer to. I have to be ok with that.
Home at that time was in a small community. The subdivision we lived in was essentially a farmers field with houses and driveways on a road that was a loop. My Dad worked as a pastor at a Church in the next town over. My Mom was a piano teacher. They’re both really good at their jobs, and basically anything else they try to do. Mom and Dad have always been a team.
My first vivid memory was of my 4th birthday cake. It was as blue as blue could be. Can’t remember my fifth or 6th. Threw up on my 7th birthday cake in front of all my classmate friends. So, I don’t remember that one either. Pretty sure that party ended early though. Yeah, I do like cake.
The first part of elementary school was interesting. Somehow the girls were under the impression that I had cooties. It’s a strange disease with no symptoms, you never know that you have it until someone else tells you that you indeed have cooties. Almost as if it’s a thing that is decided by other people. Apparently I developed it in grade Primary and never grew out of it til Grade 4. Soon after developing this affliction, I would undergo surgery on booth feet to lengthen tendons in the back of both of my feet. That would keep me occupied for 6 weeks. Girls signed the left cast, guys on the right. I learned how to use a wheel chair, in spite of my fair share of small accidents. “Hey, let’s take it out on the ice. What could go wrong. Oh no! I’ve tipped over.”
Church is where all the action happens. Mom playing piano, organ, and directing the choir. Dad would preach and play guitar during the songs. I would sit between an elderly couple who would look after me. The lady would always give me an elastic band to play with. A different colour each week. One week I did not have their watchful eyes over me. I was hanging out with some friends not paying attention to anything that was going on what so ever. My friend says enthusiastically. “Hey Brian. Do a horse impression!”
I yell out “NEIGH!” …just as the Dad is asking about contrary votes to welcoming a new couple into membership at the Church. It was unfortunate timing. Also, unfortunate that NEIGH is indistinguishable from NAY. Fortunately, I’m five years old and not a member. Nothing I say has any significance. Unfortunately, my parents weren’t happy with me. However, everyone got over it by the time the next Sunday rolled around. I payed a lot more attention in Church after that. I never meant to confuse anyone. At night, when it was time to go to bed, Dad would read to me from the Bible. He would read from all the books except Song of Songs. (I totally get why he skipped that one now that I’m not a kid anymore).
Summers are still the best. In those days, when you’re really young, and time lasts forever, they are even better. My grandfather, “Papa” as he was called, built our family cottage back in 1970. A bunch of his friends also built cottages of their own nearby. A community was formed. There was never a dull moment. Swimming at the lake across the road, boating, biking, campfires, hiking, you name it, it could happen. My thing was hanging out with my cousins, doing all of the above listed activities. Time passed slowly like it should.
Somewhere along the line my two sisters were born. They are pretty awesome people.
There was one time Mom and Dad, and my cousin’s families went camping on Prince Edward Island and my cousin and I got into a silly fight about who had “control” over the most sand at Cavendish Beach. Seems like a silly thing to argue over now, but when you’re eight years old, apparently that matters. In spite of what it seems, I got along well with all my cousins.
School and summer passed back and forth, life was just happening. It was happening so much that one summer I had the misfortune of having Chicken Pox. I spent some time in exhile at Grammy and Papa’s house, Mom was there too, while everyone else was at the cottage deciding whether they wanted to get it from me too. I’m probably one of the last people in the world to get Chicken Pox as now there is a vaccine for that and you never see it anymore. Hello shingles later. Please don’t hurt me!
Trick Or Treating was an interesting thing growing up. I was several things over the years.
- Giant Cardboard Blueberry
- Clown (Too much work before) Had to wear a jacket over it anyway.
- Sheriff (Easier in the later times)
- An Oh Henry Bar (Yellow Garbage bag, construction paper, brown hat. Easier than it looks)
Half the time it was freezing, but I was with my friends so yeah. There was one messed up house with strobe lights that I didn’t care for. Thankfully, they would always turn them off for me so I could see what was going on.
Two Guys
In late 1997 or early 1998 I was in grade three. There was some sort of activity where we had to have a group hug for some reason or another. At some point I say to this other kid, “I can see why he likes group hugs because he’s SO FAT!” Immediately, I knew it was a stupid thing to say and everyone called me out on it as they should have. He was sad, I was sad. I immediately apologized to the kid, who’s name I can’t even remember. Hopefully he was able to have a productive, meaningful life after that. I shouldn’t have said those things. Why does how big or small you are have any bearing on how much you like or don’t like hugs? Sometimes, I still think about that now, which is I guess why I’m writing about it now.
Later that year another big guy, in grade 6 or something, knocked me over at recess splitting my head open. After i got back from getting stitched up at the hospital my teacher wanted myself and the other kid to meet so I could forgive him. He thought I was dead or something. All he knew before was that I was really angry with him for splitting my head open. He was really sad and I was still mad at him during the meeting in front of the whole class. I forgave him anyway. We weren’t going to become friends though. We didn’t even know each other at the time. He just really didn’t want me to be angry with him anymore.
This was before I took Jesus seriously and He changed everything. Now I only get mad at myself instead of other people. I am not perfect at all. There’s still a lot of things I need to work on. When God works on you, He’s not in a hurry. Becoming more like Jesus takes your whole life. I have to remember that when I wish things would work out faster sometimes.
It was during these days that Mom first started to teach me how to play piano. These were the mest times, even though it seemed like a lot of work at the time. I wish I had had a better attitude about it then. Looking back on it, it was an important time in my life. The time where I first liked music.
Mom had many students. Once a month everyone would be put into teams, depending on when your practice day was. Repertoire Runoff is what it was called. You would pick a song you knew how to play and Mom would grade you. The average scores of everyone who played on a Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday were then tallied and that’s how we got a winning team. Sometimes, I was even good enough to not burden my team. There would always be so much trash talk at school leading up to this monthly event. It was a big deal.