When we
first moved to Strathroy Ontario Canada ,
it pretty much had the same layout that it does now although the appearance has
somewhat changed. It was much less populated and commercial. Regardless, it
remains a beautiful town, in a beautiful setting. When my family located there
from Toronto in
1976, I was 11 years old. Initially, the move itself did not agree with me. I
felt like an alien, trapped in the land of boring white people. I missed my
friends. I missed the diversity. I missed my neighbourhood. I even missed the
CN Tower. I just wanted to go home. It hit me rather quickly that Strathroy was
now where I lived. I resented it a little. No one asked me whether I wanted to
leave the city. No one asked me if it was okay to uproot us all. Eventually,
things settled and I accepted this prison but only because I really didn’t have
a choice. School started shortly thereafter and I was easily distracted by my
new surroundings. For the longest time, I just couldn’t let go. I wanted to go back
and do it all over. I knew I couldn’t go back. I was destined to die in this
backward, nursing home infested slice of white bread. About a week after school
started, I decided to take a different way home. The direct way was ripe with
traffic and people. I got on my bike and I pedaled through the town. I had
resolved myself to unhappiness. Over time, those bike rides got longer and they
became more frequent. I suppose that exploring the town was a way of embracing
the town. Each adventure was a different kind of adventure than those I had in Toronto . I discovered the
attraction that brought my family here. It wasn’t that my Mom’s family lived in
the area. It wasn’t that the countryside was a better place. It certainly was a
safer place, a quiet place. I had to learn how to adjust to the silence rather
than all the sounds of a metropolis. It took a few more years but eventually I
have come to love Strathroy. It has become my home, even though I no longer
live there. It has become much more of a touchstone than Toronto ever was. I am still pleasantly aware
of this turn of events. I spent the first few months after we moved there
wanting to return from whence we came. It’s ironic, Strathroy is now where I
come from and where I’ve been. I could never have imagined that it would end up
this way. I guess life really is full of surprises.
The
Strathroy Lions swimming pool was a part of my life long before our relocation.
Every summer, my siblings and I spent a few weeks visiting our grandparents. It
was torture but it was worth it. It gave my parents a much needed break but it
gave each of us kids another swimming tag. For a week each July or August, we
registered then received the appropriate
Canadian Red Cross Water Safety Level
Badge. I started early on, at age 6, with my Beginners. In Grade 10, at 15
years, I concluded my stay by achieving high standing with my Bronze. The pool became
somewhat of a second home during the hotter months. With swimming lessons in
the morning and swim time all afternoon, I spent the good part of every
vacation underwater. So did my sister. In the summer of 1978, we were both asked
if we wanted to assist the swim team with workouts and meets. My foot was still
quite weak from an accident that crippled me in January, so competing was not
going to happen. Tracey and I spent a great deal of time setting timers,
cleaning the deck and setting lanes. We usually were responsible for holding
the starting line then raising it as an indication to begin. Honestly, it was a
hell of a lot of work but my sister and I did it free of charge. No one ever
criticised our performance, even if it wasn’t in the blue.
On the
final night of the final matches, we did our jobs like we always did. We stood
with the rest of the team and cheered each other on. When the coach went to
announce most valued team member, I instinctively said to myself anyone but me.
My sister and I almost fell in the pool when they announced our names. Together
we were the most appreciated of all those members. What a surprise. What an
unexpected surprise. When the cheers were done and the goodbyes said, Tracey
and I set out to walk home. It wasn’t that far but the giant life-size trophy made
it seem so. It was almost as big as my sibling. I have to admit I used that as
an excuse to carry the thing home, despite my sister’s complaints. I should
have let her carry it even if I thought she couldn’t. Still, that trophy sat on
the mantle in our dining room for almost a year. We returned it, as instructed,
just before the next swim season. I was unaware just how attached I got to it.
I wanted to keep it. It was nice having a reminder of such a pleasant
experience and such an unforgettable surprise.
Strathroy
was the town where my mother grew up. She returned home with her family many years
later. Throughout my childhood, my grandparents lived on a huge lot just
outside the town’s border. Eventually, they divided the property between my
mother and her two brothers, as well as retaining the land their house sat upon.
I think everyone thought it was a good idea starting out but it soon turned out
to be one very big mistake. Building the house and establishing a home was one
thing, dealing with our new neighbours was another. Just as a warning, never
move next to a family member and never even entertain living near more than
one. Things turned rather sour rather quickly. The details are unimportant but
the consequence is clear. There was no love lost between the three siblings.
Grandma and Grandpa only made things worse. My parents carried on regardless of
the chaos each day seemed to bring. They built a lovely home and the gardens
around the property flourished and spread. Out back, where the pool used to be, there was the vegetable patch. My folks have always
maintained such a commitment since the first summer they moved to Scott Street . Come spring, tomato plants, pepper plants and
onions galore were established in rows and pretty little columns. My Mom and
Dad could be found seeding, edging and weeding the beds. New plants joined cold
soil and formed the genesis that would be, come warmer temperatures. When they
travelled, I watched the gardens,
diligent of frost and the like. One late spring, my family took a vacation in Northern Ontario . Sault Ste. Marie is beautiful, from the
Canadian side. In Strathroy, the warning had been made on the 6:00 PM news. I
went out to cover the vulnerable. I heard the barking right away. When I opened
the garage, I got the surprise of a lifetime. My uncle, the middle child, stood
kicking Nugget, the purebred poodle who had been part of our family since he
was a puppy. It was the shot to his head as I opened the garage door that
shocked me the most. Joe scurried out the back door like a Catholic schoolgirl
caught playing with herself. I checked the dog and he was okay, at least he was
okay physically. I followed the trail. There stood my uncle and my grandmother,
covering pepper plants with small green plastic pots. When I confronted him about the dog, he told
me to shut up and rushed me. The shovel I brought with me was raised in clear
defiance. I even told my grandmother to go fuck herself. When my parents got
home, it was like that schoolgirl had seen someone smoking. Joe ran out of his
home like a wheel on fire. He approached my parents and started cursing me.
Unfortunately for him, I had already acquainted them with the activities of the
night before. Thanks to my mother, the chips fell where they may. We all knew
not to piss her off. She attacked him with the very same energy that he had
attacked Nugget. He may have abused his own dog Pepper, but my mother would not
stand for him attacking our dog. If you get what you pay for, then he sure got
himself a bigger surprise.
The town
eventually swallowed up the area my parents lived in. The tobacco field across
the street eventually turned into half-million dollar homes. The neighbourhood
changed and it changed rather quickly. Where those tobacco plants once covered
the fields, for as far as the eye could see, now stood hundreds of very
expensive and very exclusive homes. When the town tried to add affordable
housing to the mix, the neighbourhood got together and boycotted the idea. I
had long before left Strathroy so it was of little concern to me. I frequently
came back to visit and I even lived there for a few months while my life
transitioned. One Christmas, I decided to go outside and have a cigarette. I
would return to my regular life on the morrow. I stood in my half-length flack army
jacket with black scarf and work boots. I had shaved my head years before and I
will admit I looked rather formidable in this attire. Rather than standing in
the cold dragging on death, I took a walk to see the newest additions to the
neighbourhood. Into the new subdivision I wandered, unaware. I walked down Scott Street to York Street
and headed into the brand new light show. The field across from my parents’
place had always been so dark and looming. It was strange to stand in the place
that I used to pelt frogs and toads with a badminton racket. Now, Christmas
decor flattered the streets and lamps of bright gold illuminated the walkways.
I can’t say that I appreciated what I was seeing. Even the green space set
aside for the town was nothing more than an eyesore. I was not well pleased, to
say the least. As I headed out of town via Parkview Drive ,
I occasionally spotted a few homeowners spying at me through a window or a
door. I thought it was funny, at least for a moment or two. As I reached inside
my coat to grab another fag, a police car sounded its sirens and pulled up
beside me. I was so surprised that I almost pissed myself. Like a lot of people
these days, I have never trusted the cops. I never have and I never will. If
the past is a guide, it has always steered me as far away as possible from
them. This Christmas Night, they came looking for me. Apparently, dispatch had
received numerous calls from people regarding a skinhead who was casing out
homes in the area. I almost joked with them as to whether they had found him
yet but I already knew not to joke with frying bacon. They questioned me and I
tried, with great difficulty, to be pleasant and agreeable. I don’t care if
people thought I was a serial killer walking around, until someone commits a
crime you don’t assume they will. I had to confirm with ID that I was who I said
I was. Luckily one of the officers was rather friendly with my father so I was
dismissed with warning. As I walked back from whence I had come, the police car
pulled past me and disappeared behind a neighbouring church. I was not surprised, as I headed onto my
parents’ property, to see the same vehicle pull off the road up the street. I’ll
assume it was to observe me, to confirm what I claimed was true, rather than
getting a donut. The Tim Horton's is downtown.
The grounds
are still lush with plant life. The landscape is chiselled and there are water sculptures placed throughout the other
scenery. There is peace and quiet all around. The nature is in surround sound. Wildlife
flourishes in every part of the land. The property my parents shaped is a
little different these days but the flavour, the impact of the place can still
be felt every time I come home to visit my father. My mom has been gone over 7
years. I can still see her sitting up by one of the ponds, hose in hand, song
in mouth. I can still hear her calling out to all us kids that dinner was ready
and to get inside or go without. To my surprise, the world has kept turning
even without her in it. I could never have imagined losing her, even though I
knew it was coming. I can’t believe so much time has gone by. I can still feel
her when I go back to Strathroy. Hell, I can still feel her whenever the
sadness chooses to come. As I look back over the time I have spent in
Strathroy, there is a mix of such good things and such bad things. I eventually
fell in love in the stupid little town. I lost my first partner to the hands of
gravity and a nine storey silo in the middle of this stupid little town. They
say you can’t go back and that’s okay because sometimes I don’t want to. Surprise,
surprise, sometimes I can’t help it.
The Tower
circa 1985
The Pool
Lion’s Park, Strathroy
circa 1990
The Trophy
circa 1979
The Back Field
circa 1950
The Way It Was
circa 1981
The Way It Is
circa 2016
Sources
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