One of His comedy stages was a small fishing village on the beautiful Bay of Fundy coast. I had the good fortune of being raised in this village and consequently being cast as one of His characters in a skit that ran for the first sixteen years of my life.
Though our family lacked most of life’s comfort commodities, we had an overabundance of love and humor. The love sustained us through any sorrow that entered our lives and the humor allowed us to laugh at any misgivings that poverty threw at us.
From sunup to sundown, we lived the adventures life, with never a care or thought for what tomorrow would bring. In our youthful world there was such an abundance of tomorrows, the thought of yesterdays catching up didn’t exist.
From the time we were old enough to understand, our parents instilled in us a respectful fear of the ocean. But still, even with those warnings firmly planted, the ocean played an intricate role in our lives, from digging clams and cooking them over an open fire on the beach, to exploring caves, hewn into the rocky cliffs by centuries of endless tides.
The ocean lured and captivated us in such a gentle manner that we never knew we were captives, sentenced to a life of longing that would forever find us on the road to her shores. Always taking her beauty and splendor for granted, we never realized how lucky we were to be held and raised in her embrace.
Now that my youth is slowly but surely being overtaken by all those yesterdays, I am thankful they are filled with wonderful memories, such as the ones I’m about to share with you.
So pour yourself a friend, sit back in your favorite chair and spend a few hours in my world.
Accompany us through our growing years, laugh at our antics, share in our joys and marvel at the simplicity of our youth. The yarns I spin here are all true, only the names have been changed to protect the guilty.
In 1955 I was introduced to the academic society at the ripe old age of five and a half.
I had been told since early July what a great experience my first day at school was going to be. I eagerly looked forward to all the new friends I was going to make and to all the fun I had been promised.
I spent the long lazy days of summer playing and enjoying the carefree life of a pre-schooler. When the last week before school opening arrived, I was informed I would have to be adorned with a new outfit for the first day of school.
This school thing was getting better and better.
New school clothes fell under the category of shirt, pants, underwear, socks and sneakers. I couldn't believe this was really happening.
In all my five and a half years I couldn't remember getting any new clothes. I was usually attired in hand-me-downs and donations from relatives. Needless to say, size and fashion was not a priority in dressing me.
Now I was going to hit the Mother load. New sneakers!!!
I never had a new pair of sneakers. For that matter, I’d never had a pair of old sneakers. Like everyone else who had poverty for a provider, I spent my summers barefoot, so I was really looking forward to my new footwear.
The only means of employment in our village was the sardine factory. It employed most of the working population except for a few brave souls that chose to fish for a living.
My older sister Edwina worked in the sardine factory. As she was the only working member of the family at the time, the chore of buying me suitable school clothes fell into her lap.
I didn't know at the time this was a chore she would endure through out my school years.
Paydays at the factory were on Thursdays. From Monday to Wednesday I dreamed about school and the fun I was going to have.
I dreamed how spiffy I was going to look in my new clothes and how everyone would like me.
Then came the let down. I was informed I was getting a new pair of jeans.
Jeans were the symbolic attire of poor people. I begged, I pleaded, I cried, "Please get me a pair of cords. Everyone wears cords except the poor people."
As my sister was working with a meager budget and jeans were the cheapest pants to buy, these pleas fell on deaf ears.
Oh, I heard all the old stand by pacifiers. “You'll look great. You won't be the only one wearing them." (I knew that was true, all the other poor kids would be wearing them too). Finally my favorite pacifier, “No one will notice. "
To be continued...
Chapter One
My First Day of School
My First Day of School
In 1955 I was introduced to the academic society at the ripe old age of five and a half.
I had been told since early July what a great experience my first day at school was going to be. I eagerly looked forward to all the new friends I was going to make and to all the fun I had been promised.
I spent the long lazy days of summer playing and enjoying the carefree life of a pre-schooler. When the last week before school opening arrived, I was informed I would have to be adorned with a new outfit for the first day of school.
This school thing was getting better and better.
New school clothes fell under the category of shirt, pants, underwear, socks and sneakers. I couldn't believe this was really happening.
In all my five and a half years I couldn't remember getting any new clothes. I was usually attired in hand-me-downs and donations from relatives. Needless to say, size and fashion was not a priority in dressing me.
Now I was going to hit the Mother load. New sneakers!!!
I never had a new pair of sneakers. For that matter, I’d never had a pair of old sneakers. Like everyone else who had poverty for a provider, I spent my summers barefoot, so I was really looking forward to my new footwear.
The only means of employment in our village was the sardine factory. It employed most of the working population except for a few brave souls that chose to fish for a living.
My older sister Edwina worked in the sardine factory. As she was the only working member of the family at the time, the chore of buying me suitable school clothes fell into her lap.
I didn't know at the time this was a chore she would endure through out my school years.
Paydays at the factory were on Thursdays. From Monday to Wednesday I dreamed about school and the fun I was going to have.
I dreamed how spiffy I was going to look in my new clothes and how everyone would like me.
Then came the let down. I was informed I was getting a new pair of jeans.
Jeans were the symbolic attire of poor people. I begged, I pleaded, I cried, "Please get me a pair of cords. Everyone wears cords except the poor people."
As my sister was working with a meager budget and jeans were the cheapest pants to buy, these pleas fell on deaf ears.
Oh, I heard all the old stand by pacifiers. “You'll look great. You won't be the only one wearing them." (I knew that was true, all the other poor kids would be wearing them too). Finally my favorite pacifier, “No one will notice. "
To be continued...
