32 posts tagged “50x365”

Loving my grandfather-clock (as shop teacher), you scoffed at my career choice (as guidance counsellor), secretly wanting me to pursue woodworking. I made a habit of bothering you at least once a day, because you were an all around great guy and role model. Somehow you put up with me.

On a German student exchange for Logan, you were the result. You were sullen, spoiled, and turned your nose up at our offers of sightseeing, preferring to hide away in your room. I think you were mad you weren’t legal in Canada. At least my brother had fun in Germany.

One of my favourite professors (despite teaching chemistry), we had candid conversations about insanity, long before my diagnosis. I appreciated your honest/truthful nature, and especially your sense of humour. A near-death experience with pancreatitis gave you insight. You played guitar, sang, and LIVED in joy. You still remember The Prank.

The financial advisor at my college, with one click of a button you made a three thousand dollar bursary disappear. Not knowing how to get it back, you shrugged it off and pretended it never happened. I wondered how many other kids you screwed over. I never saw the money.

Though we didn’t meet until I was 5, the emotion associated with you is pure joy. Our four weeks a year together meant everything. I’d ride your shoulders, safe and free. We’d spend hours on the beach, in the water. We laughed, a lot.  Thanks to you, I survived childhood.

The shortest in eighth grade, you bullied people to compensate. After one incident, I lost it; pinned you against the wall, my hands around your throat. When you turned blue, I dropped you. It terrified us both. You never bullied, and I never lost control again. I am so sorry. 

Grade 7, you walked in looking like Tom Hanks on the deserted island. We prayed we wouldn’t get you. The next day, you were clean shaven, professional. I was too loud, too boisterous, and I laughed far too much for you. There is much you can learn from the hallway.

The older brother of my best friend Sarah, you had some unfortunate condition which caused your nose to run, continually. As a result, most kids avoided you like the plague. Truly their loss. You had the best imagination of anyone, ever, and our games were always amazing, original, and inspiring.

You had a laugh that melted my heart. In frustration, when I scrawled I HATE MATH across my notebook, you were determined to help me understand. You kept me in at recess both grade 5 and 6. It really only succeeded in cementing my hate. But, I loved you anyway.

My first ride/ initiation of fear happened the day your horse galloped off, and threw me into a cement wall.  You became too bad-ass for me, when Juvie didn’t seem a good prospect. You simply wanted freedom from over-bearing, God-fearing parents. I wonder if you achieved one without the other.