February 14th, 2000
Growing up as a military brat, there a few constants that remain throughout one's childhood. Myself, I can narrow it down to four, of which only one now remains. The most obvious constant is that we were always moving. Between the ages of birth and 13, when my Dad left the Forces, my family moved 13 times. (The math is kinda simple, isn't it?) The longest we ever lived at a single address was from early 1969 to July 1971, in Gander, Newfoundland. I've noticed this trend gets ingrained into one's being, and the frequent moving carries over into adulthood. My current address now stands as the single address I've lived at the longest, checking in at 4 years, 3 months. Total number of moves in my 35 years of existance? Depending on the definition of move, it's upwards of 30 times. Where's my steamer trunk?
Hmm, I suppose frequent moving still remains a constant, depending on your point of view. For me, over 4 years at a single address means I've taken up roots. The only constant that remains now is hockey, more specifically Hockey Night In Canada. Apart from the 2 years living in Bermuda, there was always HNIC every Saturday night, glowing out from the television. I remember lying on the living room floor of our pmq in Gander, watching ghosting black and white images of the Montreal Canadiens (only team's broadcast we could get in Nfld) glide up and down the ice to the riveting play-by-play voice of the late Danny Gallivan. To this day, I'm quite content to stay home on a Saturday night and cheer on my Maple Leafs, rather than go out and par-tay. I'm not saying that I'm against going out on a weekend; it's more that I've always got my old friend HNIC if alternate plans aren't made.
The first constant of my childhood to disappear was my Grandma and Pa's house on Corbett Avenue in Port Dalhousie ("Por-dah-lou-zee") now a suburb of St. Catharines. Whether it was holidays or in between moves, we always managed a visit at my grandparents house, regardless of what city, province or country our address was. I can see in my minds eye every detail of the place; the lazy susan cupboard in the kitchen corner under the counter, Pa's O gauge railroad in the basement, the storage room full of canned goods and old comic books serializing classic novels, the backyard garden, Pa's 1967 Dodge Dart (similar to this one), the smell of the place that said 'Grandmas House.' There's so many crystal clear memories of the place I could call up. It was this constant that lead me to adopt St. Catharines as my official 'home-town.' This constant died when my Pa did, back in 1981. Though Grandma lived there for a couple years afterwards, it was never the same. Every so often when we visit St. Catharines, I'll go for a little drive and trundle my way through Port, eventually making my way past the house. It's changed a lot over the last few years. The current owners have added a second floor and altered it so much that it barely resembles the house of my childhood. As I slowly drive past, I can see they have done little to the car port on the side. It still looks like the car port that housed that '67 Dodge Dart for all those years. There's a vestige of you left in that place yet, Pa.
The second constant of my childhood to disappear did so this past weekend, with the simultaneous last strip of Peanuts and the death of Charles Schulz. There were many items of ours that got placed in storage everytime we moved, but one thing that went with me everywhere was my collection of Peanuts pocketbooks. I recall owning a hardcover boxed set of books that were adapted from the 60s tv specials - A Charlie Brown Christmas and such. I still have the pocketbooks, but am unsure as to the whereabouts of the boxed set. It's a little hard to believe yet that there will be no more new Peanuts comic strips. I think I'll dig out a few of the old pocketbooks and chuckle at them, including a drawing I made of Charlie Brown when I was 5 or 6 years old on the inside back cover of one. Godspeed, Charles Schulz. I hope they piped you into heaven with that unforgettable jazz piece Linus and Lucy from all those specials. I'll be humming it today in your memory.