Tag: family

Re: X

But X is not a word, I hear you thinking. And you are right and I know I’m cheating in my journey of looking at my life through the magic of words. I’ve used one letter before however: The letter I, which is truly a word in a letter, through which I could describe me. When it comes down to it, language is really a bunch of symbols that stand for something. In this case the single letter X conjures up an extraordinary assortment of things for me.

When I was a kid pirates held an oversized fascination. I used to love going on treasure hunts that my dad would design out of obscure clues. Sometimes he would hand me a map with a prominent X marking where my surprise would be hiding. The quest was never easy and most times I sought extra hints which would encourage my father to pretend to be Blackbeard or the dreaded pirate Bartholomew Roberts. My sons have memories of playing with their granddad using the couch as a ship sailing to uncharted islands searching for buried treasure. I can still hear them all giggling excitedly in faux fear as they fell overboard into shark infested waters. We all shared a love for the film Captain Blood, starring Errol Flynn as the swashbuckler. Much later, after my father had died, I thought of him as I watched the exceptionally good movie, The Princess Bride. I hope to share this film with my grandkids.

I have fond memories of some Xrated films I snuck into as a teen. My friend, who looked older than I did, would get the tickets while I hung back down the street. Knowing I would be quizzed by my mom when I got home I had to gather a few facts about another movie playing in the same area. Digital parental locks on computers and other media make it easier for adults to exclude their children from this type of content but I think if there is a will, there is a way. I wonder if the internet makes it easier to lie imaginatively.

Normally I wear a large sized shirt, but recently I’ve noticed that my wardrobe has been shrinking. I could put it down to a laundry excuse; the dryer was too hot for example. That would work if it was only one item. I think I’ve resolved that my Covid girth is to blame so my next trip to the store will find me looking through the XLarge rack. I will not be able to explain my behaviour if I have to purchase an XXLarge. My shriek will echo throughout the halls of the mall, “Nooooo!”

Size is not the only change that comes with aging. Forgetting where you put things, scabs appearing without remembering you banged into something, missing activities because you are just too pooped to carry on. Life is sometimes learning to say goodbye. I know my time is coming. Maybe there will be a marker somewhere: X marks the spot.

Re: Family

I sit perplexed, thinking I have taken up residence in a snow globe. Flakes of white float about me while I remain, a tiny plastic figure, securely fastened. Presently, I feel like life is swirling around me. There are few familiar things to remind me of time or space. My extended family is scattered and I am tethered to a temporary existence that seems destined to be permanent.

Elders in my family are approaching death. At a time when a shared experience is almost mandatory these two souls are turning their backs on reality. We have an apartment nearby the care giving scene. Younger members of the fam have come to visit and offer their unique words of kindness, understanding and support. Friends too, have offered grace, humour and encouragement. These are the times we all look for signs of familiarity.

Family is defined differently from person to person. The word conjures up feelings of warmth and harmony for some, discord and coldness for others. Family was so rigidly defined by my first set of parental in-laws that, when their daughter died, I was written out of the will. Some families have members referred to as black sheep. My mother once wrote off several in her clan, vowing never to have them darken her door again. My father, in contrast, welcomed all as if they were blood relations. My sister and I were bonded only through our DNA. Our characters were as different as night and day, therefore I find the term family is best defined by closeness to another rather than genetic similarities. Blood is thicker than water but so what?

I have felt a soul connection with many, yet my reserved nature holds me back from collecting friends as family. I bristle when a boss in a work environment encourages us all to be like a family. Surprisingly, I can tear up when witnessing signs of a universal family yet it has to be at a certain remove. For example I love marching with crowds committed to a cause yet intimate Christmas gatherings of ‘the whole fam damnly’ put me on edge. On those occasions I keep looking for a singleton to share some meaningful thoughts of quiet reflection. In certain contexts the family collective can generate within me a sense of claustrophobia.

During a recent conversation with my stepson, I remarked how I envied his ability to maintain friendships. Unlike me, he seems able to spread his familial energy to help others feel included. In his company you feel his empathy and willingness to be a part of your life. I am unable to spread myself that thinly. My emotional capacity appears limited to one key person. My head puts Love and Family in the same mental box so I have trouble sorting out the contents. I feel stressed dividing my attention between multiple individuals while reciprocity is paramount in my relationship guidebook. In truth I am a son, father, uncle, nephew, husband and reluctant friend.

My wife understands all this about me and I am blessed. 

Re: Cream

I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream. I have received news that my almost three year old grandson was super excited to get his first cone from a neighbourhood truck. And here I thought those musical chiming vehicles were a thing of the past. On the other end of the age spectrum my mother-in-law still loves a well scooped ice cream in a waffle cone and she currently can’t get enough of cream-style corn either, something I’ve loved for years.

During my first year of teaching in Timmins, Ontario, I lived next to the Eplett’s Dairy plant. Just half a block away, if the wind was right, we could smell a sweetness in the air when they poured the ice cream into large four litre plastic tubs. We bought all our warehouse priced creamery stuff from there. When my kids were little they used the empty tubs for all sorts of woodsy adventures, carrying supplies, picking blueberries or capturing insects. I still have items in my closet that are wrapped in old fashioned branded plastic milk bags.

Ahh, slipping the bonds of time! My first job summer job was delivering creamery products in glass bottles from a truck, directly to people’s doorstep. My boss drove while I ran back and forth across the suburban streets. I was only nine yet my folks were fine with the arrangement as they were friends with the milkman. I was up by five and we finished our route by 9ish. I could drink all the chocolate milk I could gulp between delivery stops. At the end of each week I was paid cash. If I didn’t break any bottles, I was allowed to take home a carton of strawberry ice cream. When I was 12 I developed a passion for creamsicles. I let my first girlfriend take a bite of mine. As our relationship grew later that summer she invited me to her grandparent’s farm for peaches and cream corn, boiled in a huge pot. We could eat as many as we wanted rolled in large blocks of butter. It was likely no coincidence that I creamed my jeans for the first time that day.

My grandmother enjoyed being told that she looked like Queen Elizabeth II. She said she owed her creamy complexion to the British dampness, even as she complained of another rainy day. She always thought cream was best with her tea and loved clotted cream on her pastries. She once effusively congratulated me for graduating university by telling me I was the cream that had risen to the top of the Thompson clan. I thought of her just the other day as I put my coffee cream in the back of the fridge as per her long forgotten instruction. Her personality was prickly but she had a sentimental heart, much like Jean Brodie, the title character in a book by Muriel Spark, who said of her students; “All my pupils are the creme de la creme.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CXA0N55c3iw