Montreal

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Cowboy Kissing Barbie started it all

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It may be 41 degrees here today and Christmas is a long way off both in my head and on the calendar but, some of our family traditions seem to be top of mind today.  Funny what sticks with you and when those memories pop up.  Dad and I have had this tradition for as long as I can remember, in fact, my first memory of it was when I was four years old.  Still to this day, every year, and I mean every year, Dad and I head out on Christmas Eve to choose my Christmas gift.  I’ll take you right back to that first one and the wonder and awe I experienced.  

We had just moved to Montreal from Lahr Germany, I was born there on the Armed Forces base so am considered a Canadian born abroad.  We had moved over the summer, June is posting season for the Military so we had settled into that little crescent in Longueil Quebec.  I had settled in pretty well up until then, had managed to learn a few more French words, I mean  “biscuit” had served me well but I had to evolve.  Of course Mum was our chief Christmas gift shopper but Dad wanted to get in on it too.  That year was born our tradition.  We had this amazing faux fireplace front with our very real Christmas tree surrounded by Mum’s lovingly wrapped gifts, each one of them I know she spent time picking out the right paper and the little tag to go with it.  It’s funny, as I think back now I realize how Mum’s touches and love were what I remember most, not really the gifts over the years.  Anyway back to that Christmas in 1976.  Dad and I were sitting at breakfast that morning talking about Santa, the reindeer and how much snow might fall that night and he says, run get dressed, we have to get mamma a present!  Oh boy was I excited.  Shopping has never been my thing, but the decorations in all of the stores were so pretty especially to a 4 year old in Canada for their first Christmas!  We headed out together, me all bundled up in my snowsuit and feeling fine.  As dad said, we did need to get my mamma a special present, dad also was not a shopper so he like so many men, was a last minute, panic stricken, lets get this done kind of guy.  We picked out the most perfect gift at the time, a very old fashioned phone, just like you see in the black and white movies.  We knew mamma would love it.

So I know you’re wondering how our tradition started from that I’m sure.  Although dad knew mamma had worked hard to make our Christmas a special one, he also knew she had done all the work and he should really put some effort in!  We headed to the toy section at Eaton’s in downtown Montreal.  Oh my, I can’t even describe what it was like to walk into that as a wide eyed 4 year old.  I really just thought we were wandering through.  Dad headed down the middle of the aisle, crouched down and said the most magical words I could ever had heard, “ok Rat, you get to pick one thing, just for you to take home, pick your most favourite thing and we’ll get that”. By the way, I have been little Rat for as long as I can remember, dad was big Rat and still is to this day.  I knew exactly what I wanted, Cowboy Kissing Barbie, yup you read that right, Cowboy Kissing Barbie!  She came with her own hat, fringe satin shirt and cowboy boots.  Imagine all that, but what made her the most amazing was this little button you pushed on her back and she winked and made a kissing sound.  I still can’t wink to this day so you can imagine how impressive that must have been to me all those years ago.  I picked her off the shelf and we headed to the cash, withing a few moments, she was all mine.  The deal was of course that she had to go under the tree until the next morning but just knowing she was there was enough for me.  Shear bliss, I tell ya, shear bliss!! 

We still have that tradition these days, dad and I head out on Christmas eve and shop for mamma and for me. I pick them both out and we wrap hers up and mine goes under the tree.  Dad feels better that way, he knows it’s something we want and he and I get to spend some time together amongst the chaos of the holidays.  It’s funny though over the years, I don’t remember the gifts so much as I do the laughs we had getting them.  I know I’m more fortunate than most, my relationship with both my parents is a wonderful one, built entirely on moments like these ones and I’m thankful for that more than anything they ever could have bought me.

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Everyone has something to teach if we are open enough to see it.

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Montreal was an incredible place to spend those first six years after we moved back to Canada. That little crescent keeps some of my most precious memories.  The largest part of those memories are incredibly positive and joyous.  We were a close family of three and my parents did everything they could to instill the best possible morals and ethics they could.  But more than that really, we spent time together, like actual time exploring, learning and sharing the world and I couldn’t be more grateful for that.  

Mum was  gifted teacher.  She shared that gift with children with special needs for 32 years.   In Montreal she taught for six years at Victoria Park school, a school dedicated to the education of the children who needed someone like my mum and others to teach them all this world had to offer.  I learned there too, after hours, but that school taught me so much that’s stuck with me for all my life.  My very first volunteer opportunity came as a result of the work that mum did there.  She often brought me in after my own school had finished for the day to help her with her prep for the next day, setting her classroom up, cleaning the blackboard, oh my that was a particularly satisfying task to be honest, but really she brought me in to experience her world and her kids.  I remember how she had to crank that old mimeograph machine, with its purple ink, I can still smell it really.  The copies would come out and you had to let the ink dry so you didn’t get it all over yourself.  It actually had a hand crank in order to get it to work, you turned that puppy over and over again to get the pages pumped out and ready for the kids the next day. 

Her kids also taught me in the day to day.  I learned that not everyone learns at the same pace or in the same way.  Some need extra time and some need innovative ways of understanding.  I learned that joy can be found in the simplest of things, like painting freckles on a piano, not probably the most conventional but I remember the smile on that child’s face as he painted them.  I learned that we all have our insecurities no matter who or where we are like the student who had continued to grow far taller than all of her classmates.  I also learned the power of spending time with others, truly spending time, sitting and listening.  I think probably the most important thing I learned was that everyone has something to offer, to share with those around them and you don’t really need to look that hard to find it.  

My first volunteer opportunity came as I said as a result of mum’s work with her kids, we always called her students that, her kids.  Mum volunteered for most of her life and raised me to be the same.  In this case, I got to volunteer at the Summer Special Olympics in Montreal.  What a thrill that was for me, I remember the McDonald’s orange pop in the giant vat, I remember the athletes sharing incredible joy at their own and their teammates accomplishments and I remember being burnt to a crisp out in the hot sun but loving being a part of something so great, even at the ripe old age of six.    

I cherish so many of those moments spent with mum’s kids, what they taught me and how they affected my life as I still live it.  If we look, truly open our eyes to those in front of us, we can learn in ways we never would have expected.  

#2022AdventureIsCalling. 

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One of those milestone moments and a parked car!

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There are some moments, those life milestones moments that stick with you throughout your life.  I don’t think I could ever forget that incredible day when I was 6, that day that everyone waits for with so much excitement and yes I’ll say it fear!!!  I’m sure you all have that idea in your head of what that might be, on the edge of your seat I have no doubt.  So that day for me, was the day my dad came home with my very first bicycle.  

Picture it, me playing in the driveway in front of our little duplex on that little crescent with a couple of my little friends, I’m pretty sure I was playing with Cowboy Kissing Barbie.  I mean what else would an on trend six year old be playing with, come on!!!  So there I was, Dad pulled into our parking spot and popped open the trunk.  I had no idea what wonders would soon be mine.  Dad called my name, by the way, he’s called me Rat since I was born and still does to this day, “Rat”, he said, “Come here for a minute.”  I jumped up and ran, cause I could back then, to see what he needed and lo and behold, a brand new bike appeared out of the trunk like a magical unicorn or a rainbow right out of the blue!!  We had looked at them a few times but to be honest back then, the budget was a little tighter than it is these days so I realize now that Mum and Dad must have saved for quite a while to get me that bike.    

The very next day, Dad set out to teach me to ride my bike.  I was so stinkin excited I could hardly contain myself that morning.  We went out to that crescent, that crescent where so many of my firsts happened and dad helped me climb onto it for the very first time.  Round and around we went as he held the back of my seat, making sure I didn’t fall over.  No training wheels for me, cause I was fearless and a rockstar, obviously.  My friends stood by as Dad spent hours helping me practice getting on and off, putting the chain back on in case it fell off and just learning to find my balance on two wheels.  

Off I went on my first turn alone around the crescent, feeling that rush of wind through my waist length hair.  Oh my, nothing could compare, of that I was so very sure.  I came around that last bend and I could see the pride on Dad’s face.  I did it, I made it all the way, just a few feet from a complete turn.  Bam!!!!! One of the neighbourhood boys jumped out in front of me in what I can only imagine was an attempt at being funny.  What happened next has haunted my dreams since that fateful day, well ok that was a tad dramatic but it did leave an impact, like an actual impact on the door of the parked car I hit.  Yup, you read that right, I forgot all my intense training and more importantly I forgot how to brake and slammed directly into our neighbours car.  The look on Dad’s face was one of complete and total disbelief, he checked on me of course and then got that look of uhm, how much is this going to cost me???  Thankfully I was tiny and not as powerful as I imagined myself to be, so no lasting damage.  It took me a few days to get back on that horse so to speak but I did indeed manage it and spent many a day enjoying going round and round on that bike once again.  Funny how those moments stick in your head even after all these years, the highs and the lows for sure but in this case it was the beginning of my adventurous heart.  Oh I also hit a parked car when learning to rollerblade in my late 20’s, seems to be a thing I do, perhaps I need to evaluate my methods a bit.  

#2022AdventureIsCalling 

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It’s a brave new world – the life of a Military Brat!

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It’s funny, I don’t remember ever feeling different than other kids I went to school with, but in reality as the military “brat” I was in most ways, an oddity.  I didn’t usually go to schools on the base where dad was stationed, so I truly was one of a kind most of the time. 

I remember when we moved to Montreal, we were living in an apartment on the second floor of a duplex, the landlady lived downstairs.  She wasn’t the kindest of souls to be honest.  I remember a lot of yelling and a whole lot of glares coming my way.  I was four years old and an only child, quite the combination really!  I was really good at keeping myself entertained, reading, colouring, playing outside.  From time to time though, she just didn’t like me or even the neighborhood kids playing near the building so the looks would start and then mum would get the talking to.  We moved from Germany where I was born and spent my first adorable years of life.  The move seemed like no big deal really until I realized they didn’t speak German or English most places in Montreal.  End of the world feelings when I went to daycare or “la garderie”, as it was called, for the first time and realized all they spoke was French!  How in the heck was I going to survive it all.  I, in all my cuteness, had no way to communicate with all these strangers.  I remember standing in the little cafeteria during nap time, screwing up my courage just desperate for a snack, what was my first word in French you might be wondering, well I tell you, it was driven by my desire to eat!  I asked in my most powerful four year old little voice, BISCUIT?  That cookie was perhaps the best cookie I ever had, I mean I had crossed the barren desert and overcame the mountain in search of sustenance.  Nothing could stop me now.   

What really sticks in my mind now though is the impact that Early Childhood Educators have on the children in their care.  I went to that garderie for several years and I still remember Marcelle, who worked there.  I can picture her wild curly hair, her beautiful personality and ability to let us all be who we were, even at the tender age of four.  She wore these incredible home made bohemian type skirts and even made me a couple as I longed to feel that freedom and of course I wanted to look just like her.  Marcelle helped us all explore art, music, reading, outside play time and just about everything else our little heart desired.  She taught me French but most importantly she hugged me when I needed it most.  What an incredible gift that was for me at a time when I knew nothing and no one in a great big world that was scary and strange.  She even gave me my first brush with fame!  A newspaper article on daycare in Montreal featured a picture of Marcelle and her “kids” me included, what a rush!  

So many of life’s firsts happened to me in the years we lived in Montreal.  I learned and I lived and I thrived.  Being a military kid has so many advantages and of course some challenges.  I read somewhere that we say goodbye to more significant people by the age of 18 than most people do their entire lives.  We get very good at making friends, keeping ourselves busy or entertained and at saying goodbye, till we meet again.  Of course that means that we say goodbye a lot, to people we hope we’ll see again one day although back then it wasn’t as likely or as easy to connect as it is now.  For some, moving around that much means keeping to yourself a bit more than most other kids out of self preservation, but I will admit all in all I don’t regret that life we lived.  Without it I wouldn’t have all the stories I have to tell and those stories and experiences have enriched my life beyond measure.  Can’t wait to share those with you next.

#2022AdventureIsCalling