Narrative  12

Successful fishing!

I remember as a teenager, one dinner time, my mother, all kindness, did a gentle caress on my back while I gulped down my meal. What a surprising expression of fondness from mom who usually was very distant and cold in all gestures of affection …

But later what a surprise when right in the middle of a course a student sitting behind me loudly discovered… an April fool that Mom had stuck on my back!

I felt quite embarrassed and somewhat humiliated in front of the entire class.

I remember the smile and laughter she had when I confronted her, telling her that I guessed she was the one responsible for this public humiliation.

Of course, I forgave her in a split second my mother being as charming as mischievous…

Narrative  11

The baseball game:

I remember being a child I hated playing baseball. Mainly because I used to be a “benchwarmer.” Nothing more humiliating and nothing to make me love the game!

More than twenty years later I was taking a walk in the early evening in Lafontaine Park, with a hint of loneliness and melancholy in my heart, when I came across a baseball game played by a small band of youngsters.

There was something in the air that night that decided me to dwell: the shouts of encouragement from parents sitting in the small bleachers; the warmth of this late summer evening; the feeling to suddenly be in an American movie archetype on childhood nostalgia.

Those few minutes I spent watching this joust, which was ending, became one of my most beautiful moments of relaxation and well-being of my life; certainly in the top 10! I so wanted this game lasts and lasts...

Later, resuming my walk, I had a lighter heart; I had the feeling of having touched and "recovered" a part of my youth, my childhood, where I wasn’t able to enjoy this game in all its glory because of the spirit of fierce competition of my coaches of yesteryear.

I was so happy for those few minutes in the park as much as I am now revealing to you, with a colorful of grace, understanding, forgiveness and acceptance, this story which belongs to my childhood memory...

Narrative 10

G.'s raised collar :

I remember G. in high school, grade eleven. She was always dressed to the nines. She very often wore three-piece suits to come to school, almost always blue but in different tones. I always had the impression that she was dressed to go to a wedding ... or a funeral.

She was sitting in front of me in History. One morning she arrived dressed in one of her famous suit, but what was different is that the collar of her shirt was completely raised.

Sitting behind her, I saw this huge raised collar - shirts in those years had gigantic collars - and I decided on the spot to fold it down before anyone notices the "serious mistake "; her collar rose without her knowing! So I leaned on my desk reaching for her big collar and slowly I folded it down into its original position with my hand. I sat back on my chair with a sense of accomplishment.

G. then turned round giving me an interrogator keen eye and in front of the silent class raised her collar mumbling that this is how she wanted it.

Ô Shame! I, who had never dared to speak to this girl, whom I secretly liked, she scoffed at me in front of the class. (Well, in front of myself actually!) I felt so disgraced in front of her for the rest of the school year; an asshole who didn’t know the current fashion was raised collars!

The irony is that five or six years later, I began to raise my collars, not of my shirts, but of all my coats.

G., I have never forgotten you, you know; even today, whenever I raise my coat’s collar, I have a little thought for you...

Narrative 7:

Breakfast:
 

When I was young, Dad woke us up to go to school shortly before leaving for work. I finally got up ... after his fourth visit to my room! I dressed flabbily and I went stomping to the kitchen table to sit down.

There waiting for me was a cup with a base of cocoa, sugar and Carnation milk which dad prepared. As soon as my buttocks touched the chair, dad poured hot water into my mug and voilà my morning hot chocolate was ready!!

 
I then took a toast very soft and dripping with butter on the stack on the plate before me. My delight was to dip my toast in cocoa before taking a bite.

 
Just to describe that breakfast makes me want to make me one on the spot! 

I have long tried subsequently to make me a cocoa and toast breakfast from “Dad’s recipe” to no avail...

Narrative 2

I remember the military parade at the top of the hill, on 1st Avenue, near the former Igloo, the ice cream counter. I was two years old.

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I remember around three, four years old, being at the cabin of a friend, who lived the neighboring house of mine, and trying to look through a hole, below the outhouse, where my friend had gone to the toilet, to see his booty!

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I remember, also, squabbling with a friend and then running to catch him up, when he wanted to leave, angry, to apologise and when I got out of the house, I stumble on the threshold, which was, like, one and a half-inch thick, and although I tried to hang on to the door frame, I fell on the corner of a metal tank, which was upside down, that mom used to soak the linen in, and I split open my right eyebrow and the skin over my nose. I remember crying a lot, blood flowing like water on my face and my mother carrying me in her arms to daddy's big old truck. Then dad in turn carrying me in his arms up the hospital’s staircases instead of waiting for the elevator which was too long to come.

(It’s strange, but I can feel, right at this moment, how they must have been worried for me I’d lose my eye or I’d die. Twenty years later, maybe they would wish I die, after all…)

I remember the doctor putting a sheet over my head, with only one hole for my eye. I remember the needle entering in and out of my skin. I had the feeling that the hand of the doctor was entering along with the needle and going in and out of my head. I remember, later, sitting on our stairs outside the house, my friends coming to see me, and feeling almost proud to show them my stitches. I was about four, five years old.

Narrative


I was born October 2 at 6:55 in the morning.

In my childhood, I remember, when I played outside that my mother attached me with a kind of leather leash with a harness and with which I was attached to the outside bannister. I was between two and three years old.