Survival

The old homestead above.

Well, I survived the reunion. The round trip of 1166.1 km's was worth it. Talk about a therapy session. Walking through the front door of the old high school was liberating. My heart was pounding there was a knot in my stomach and a lump in my throat. Thank god I had two friends (no three) to help me through the process. Cindy and Sylvie were amazing. Funny how when you are younger the world seems so big, and yet going back to that school I realized how small (and dumpy) it really is. When we are born we are a pebble being dropped into a puddle of water, the rings of life start close to the dropping point. As we progress through life the rings move further and further away from that point. I moved far away from Colonel By and Beacon Hill, I have lived life fully and experienced much. But as I walked the halls talking with past school mates I felt sad. Sad that I hadn't formed really strong friendships with the people who were present in that pinnacle time in my life. I faced a lot of demons and came out the other side. I even have the dubious distinction of not being in a single yearbook, I looked through them all, every page, thinking that I might catch a glimpse of the person that I was all those years ago. Nothing. Nada. No candid snapshots of me just being in the library, or on a team, nothing. Not even carnival days. So why not? I thought about this on my home listening to all the Stones songs on my ipod (told ya Jackie!) shed a tear or two, even had to turn down the tune "Wild Horses", and came to my aha moment. My home life was less than stellar. In fact it was total shit. I couldn't wait to escape the confines of the prison known as 1959 Oakdean Cres. My parents were so strict there was absolutely no fun in my teenage years. So I did not want a visual reminder of those days. Even in my private collection of family pics, there are less than two of me. After grade ten I got a job at the Treble Clef record store. I needed to get out of the hood that had so much anger and sadness in it. Not to mention the creep who used to stand in his front window (of a house I had to walk by every day to get to and from school) and "pump" his "organ" if you know what I mean. It was scary. Even more so was that I used to babysit for this family the odd time. I couldn't tell my parents about it, I mean how could you? I was only fifteen years old and you just didn't talk about stuff like that. The man disappeared for a while, don't know if someone reported him or if he got help on his own, just that he was gone and after he came back the curtains were always closed. Friday nights and Saturdays were my days of freedom. Working at the Saint Laurent shopping center or even down on Sparks street at the record store. I learned so much about music and even more about people. I learned to listen and watch and really see what was going on out there. I was glad to find that I was not the only one who found life difficult at times, there were lots of us out there, some with really big problems. Back at school I just found it easier to stay away from the crowds and keep quiet. The last two years of high school flew by. Grad, never went, don't think I was invited. Am I sorry? No, I am glad for path that I have taken. "No regrets" as my father said on his death bed. Going back to Ottawa and Beacon Hill in particular tied up many loose ends for me and gave me a sense of peace. I can look through the year book and talk to all the new/old friends on Face Book and know that I am OK, that I have gained much more than just an education from being at Colonel By High. Reunion, how about revelation?

Chilling till next time, Cheers to Cindy, Sylvie, Tara and all the rest of my ex-cohorts!

Cat x