On Having your Firstborn go off to University

Written a few years ago, this story's a healthy reminder as I prepare for my secondborn's flight of the coop. jennyms

As my baby boy careened into the second term of his last year of high school, he hit the wall of University applications along with all his friends. We parents stood by helplessly as our sons and daughters diligently wrote essays and resumes recounting the best parts of their academic careers. I was struck by how much Matt had done that I had not been a part of. When he was small, I had been at every assembly, school play, and field trip with my camera and notebook; taking pictures and jotting down interesting tidbits for scrapbooks and yearbooks. But now I realized that he’d gone several years actually having had a life of his own. I no longer knew every friend of his and their parent. I wasn’t on a first-name basis with any of his teachers. In fact, I didn’t even know what his teachers looked like. He went off on school trips and events, coldly declining my offers to accompany the band, even when they desperately needed a chaperone for the Ottawa trip. So my baby had gradually drifted out of my line of vision.

As he prepared for university, I realized that my line of vision was now quite blocked by a mound of dirty clothing, a DVD collection that hovered precariously near the ceiling; and guitars, drums, and amplifiers which had quietly migrated into the living room. There was a constant puddle of slippery loose leaf papers and an 800-pound backpack which seemed to have taken up residence under and around the front hall table. As my friends lamented the loss of their darlings, I delighted in the thought of getting my house back. As other parents sadly anticipated the lonely quiet that would descend on their lives, I rejoiced in the anticipation of peaceful co-existence with only one child--and that I would get my house back. I gleefully rubbed my hands together while turning sad eyes to my husband and saying, as ambiguously as I could, “It hasn’t quite hit me yet that he’s actually leaving.” It didn’t matter much which university he chose to attend, so long as he decided to live in residence with all that lovely independence, and all his stuff.

Finally the big day arrived. There had been much packing, but oddly, not much had left his room. It still looked quite full. But the living room was finally free of teenage detritus and the space under the front hall table--well, there was space there now. Remarkable. Even my car seemed more roomy with the massive collection of screaming CDs, sunglasses, and junk food gone. Room for me and my things. And my house back.

As he unpacked in his residence room, I marveled at how quickly Matt filled his space. Posters and pictures, electronic devices, books, binders, bobbing headed dolls, boxes of paper, a bandana collection, and the insidious CDs and DVDs filled every horizontal and vertical surface. It looked just like home. My husband and I drove home in silence. I tingled with excitement. I stood in the doorway of Matt’s room and surveyed the ravaged remains of 18 years of life and laughter, love and light. Then I thought of the possibilities of rats and cockroaches, nests and webs. As I weighed the relative merits of shovel versus vacuum cleaner, maybe a backhoe, the phone rang. It was Matt. “Hi Mum. I just wanted to tell you. Don’t touch anything in my room. I wanna be able to find stuff when I come home. By the way, we’re having band practice this weekend at our house. Can you drive up and bring my guitars and amp back? They’re too big to take on the bus. And my laundry. I won’t have time to do my laundry here. And a bunch of people are coming over to watch a movie on Saturday night. Can you please, please make some of those really soft oatmeal cookies that everybody likes? There’re the best. Thanks Mum. Bye.” I hung up the phone. I sighed. I leaned against the doorframe. I weighed the relative merits of bare flat surfaces in spacious rooms versus light and laughter. I smiled. Maybe next year I’ll get my house back.

Flossing

Earlier this month I read this story at Prana Coffee Bar in the Toronto Beach. It's true, if you keep your eyes and ears open, you see and hear the darndest things. jennyms

From my dark corner of the couch I watched as the noisy party-makers swirled around me. It felt good to hold a cold rye and ginger in my hands and not have to make small talk. I thought about some of the other parties I’d been to and how sometimes it seemed tiresome to be cheerful and chatty all night. I was good at making small talk, but it seemed so pointless. Especially when no one offered me their phone number. That, my friends kept telling me, was a certainty if I didn’t actually ask anyone for their phone number. I didn’t ask because I was discriminating. But I kept going to the parties and the bar hops because I was hopeful. You never know…

A sudden bump on the other end of the couch interrupted my rye contemplation. Long red fingernails pushed back thick black bangs. Almond eyes peered alarmingly closely at me. I blinked. This was a good looking one.

“Hi there, I’m Suzanne,” she said, “Mind if I share your couch?”

“Be my guest,” I said as I moved over. “My name’s Mike. Quite the bash, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” she replied as she settled her shapely self into the cushions, “It’s a bit noisy for me.”

“Me too. That’s why I’m here. Taking a breather.”

I leaned over. “So, Suzanne, how do you know the birthday boy?”

“I work in Norman’s office.”

“Are you an engineer?”

“No, an architect. How do you know Norman?”

“We went to university together.”

“You must have some good stories about him then.”

I returned her smile. “You bet. But I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“I can imagine. Norman’s quite an unconventional kind of guy.”

“Does he still fly the flag of Norman on his birthday?”

“Of course. I was at the raising of the Fruit of the Loom this very morning.”

Some things never change.

“If you went to university with Norman, you must be an engineer too,” she said.

“No, I’m a dentist, actually.”

Usually when I say this, eyes glaze over and my newly met acquaintance sidles away. But this one wiggled closer. My heart skipped a beat at the scent of her perfume.

“Dr. Mike,” she breathed. My heart tap-danced a little. Usually being a doctor only counted if you were a “real” doctor. “Can I ask you a very personal question?”

Oh yes. Yes indeed.

I nodded.

She put her head close to mine and said in a low voice, “Is it really bad to go to bed without brushing your teeth?” She looked up at me and raised her eyebrows hopefully.

I pretended to be shocked. She laughed.

“I floss every night, but I don’t always brush,” she explained.

“Well,” I said in my most professional voice, “in my professional opinion, flossing’s the most important part.”

She looked relieved. “Y’know, I like to floss while I’m watching TV. But by the time I get upstairs, I’m just ready to fall into bed.”

I imagined falling into bed with Suzanne. The whole conversation seemed weirdly intimate. I viewed this as a hopeful sign.

“You know what I do to save time?” I offered. “I brush my teeth in the shower. It doesn’t take any time at all and you don’t get toothpaste on the mirror.”

She looked intrigued. “Naked brushing. That sounds good to me.”

“But only if you shower at night.”

“And, I guess, only if you shower instead of having a bath.”

We both laughed. This was going well. Maybe a phone number was in my future after all. The room seemed lighter, more colourful somehow. The noisy chatter felt warm and comforting. I sat back and gazed at this dream.

She scanned the dim room and waved at someone. “Bradley, get over here.”

Bradley peeled himself away from a very attractive blonde and sauntered over.

“Brad, I’d like you to meet Mike. He’s a dentist. Mike, this is my husband. He’s a pain in the neck.”

I tried to cover my confusion. I stood and we shook hands. Brad sized me up and seemed satisfied.

“So, what’s up, dude?”

“Brad,” Suzanne said with a glare, “the dentist says I don’t have to brush my teeth every day. Flossing’s better anyway.”

“Honey,” he said, patting her head, “It’s not the health of your teeth, it’s the breath of the morning, that I’m concerned about.”

“You’re so selfish, Brad. If you don’t want to come near me, just say so.”
Brad shrugged at me.

“I told her she could brush in the shower,” I offered helpfully.

“Great idea. If she showered on a regular basis.”

This time I didn’t have to pretend to be shocked.

Suzanne glared at Brad again. “I’ve had enough. I’m going to get another drink.” With a toss of her head, she glided off.

“Sorry, man,” I said to Brad.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, “but if I’d known about this personal hygiene thing before…” he turned and wandered back to the blonde.

I sat down and went back to my rye contemplation. My drink was warm now. All the promise was sucked out of the evening. It was hopeless. The good-looking ones were taken and now it seemed they could also be a little grimy under the surface. My heart was suddenly heavy and I felt very sorry for myself. I realized it was probably the effects of the alcohol. I prepared to stand and take my leave.

Just then there was a bump on the other end of the couch. My discriminating taste took in the sassy spiky hair, the short skirt and boots. Promising. But now there was one more test.

I leaned over and sniffed surreptitiously. There was just the hint of soap. I smiled.

She looked quizzically at me and asked, “Did I pass?”

“Sorry, allergies. My name’s Mike, and you are…”

“I’m Hope. So, how do you know the birthday boy?”

Spain in Burlington

hey, there's another story of mine floating around out there in the ether. it's called "spain in burlington". if you'd like to read it, click here.

Susie's First Kiss

By the time Susie hit seventeen, back in seventy-six, she was pretty much convinced that her parents were ignorant idiots. Especially her mother, who didn’t understand anything. She just expected Susie do whatever she was told. And all that entailed was going to school, getting good marks, and staying home the rest of the time, till some nice Chinese guy asked her to marry him. She told Susie she had to do well in school so she could get herself a good smart husband who made lots of money to support her. Susie figured that Mom just wanted to make sure that Mom would be well looked after in her old age.

There was no point in arguing with her, either. Despite her small, slight build, she had a powerful voice and a way of shouting over objections and embellishing with guilt, “No, you can’t go out and run around wild, God-knows-where. Look girl, you think I came to this godforsaken ice-cold country for myself? I’m only here suffering because of you. You’re so ungrateful, all you want to do is gallivant.”

Her brother Daniel came and went as he pleased.

“That’s because he’s responsible. He has a job and knows how to carry himself properly.”

Susie thought Dan got away with everything because he was a boy.

Her little sister Gilly got whatever she wanted by tilting her smile at Dad and cooing, “Please?”

Mom liked to hand out unsolicited advice like, “Concentrate on your studies and make something of yourself.”

Susie tried to point out that Mom and Dad hadn’t finished high school. But Mom just said, “You want to end up like us?”

How could she argue with that? But, they’d done alright. They’d managed to save enough money to move the whole family to Canada. They hadn’t asked the kids what they thought about moving to a whole different country, to a whole different hemisphere. If they had, Susie would’ve told them that she’d be overjoyed. She’d longed to be in a world where boys and girls were treated equally and girls could kiss boys if they wanted. She’d read about such places in Archie comics and books by Enid Blyton.

* * * * *

Susie blasted out of the little back-split house and gently pushed the screen door shut. She only wished she could slam the darn thing. But that would be another argument and her mother might try to ground her. Her mother’s words still rang in her ears.

“If you don’t behave like a proper young lady, you’ll only get in trouble.

She shot down the sidewalk, fuming. Why did she have to end up in a crazy family like this? It was tough enough being a girl, but here she was, an immigrant girl, with a funny accent--that she was trying hard to lose--and funny clothes her mother sewed for her. And, on top of it all, her mother insisted that she act funny like all the other Chinese Caribbean girls she knew.

Mom liked to say, “Cindy comes right home after school and helps her mother make dinner,” and, “I saw your friend Karen at church today. You should come next time.”

This translated into: You good-for-nothing ungodly child, I’m going to make you go to church next week.

* * * * *

Susie felt her efforts at school were underappreciated. Her mid-term report card was met with, “Only an eighty-two? You’ll have to buck up.” She wished her parents could see the envious glances she got when report cards were handed out. Even this made her feel out of place. This year, she had sworn, would be different. She would get involved in something for herself, outside of schoolwork or church, and she was going to be kissed, by a Canadian boy.

Maybe she could meet a boy at church. Mom couldn’t object to a nice church boy. But the only boys there were too young or too old, or too James Dennys. James was in her grade at school and usually managed to find himself in the pew in front of hers. He was short and stocky. His hair was fashionably long and unfashionably greasy, his pants too big, his shirts too small. Whenever the priest announced the kiss of friendship, James would turn around and try to kiss Susie on the lips. At first alarmed, and then later, prepared, she’d quickly turn her head so he connected with some part of her cheek closer to her ear than her mouth. He always left a wet mark which she surreptitiously wiped with a tissue, then scrubbed off with soap and hot water when she got home. He was one Canadian boy Mom approved of.

“Such a nice boy,” said Mom. “You should go out with a boy like him.”

“Ewwww, Mom.”

“And he comes from a good family. His father’s a Sidesman, you know.”

Who could miss that fact? James’ father stood with the collection plate at the ends of the rows of pews every Sunday. Mr. and Mrs. Dennys seemed nice enough. At least they only clasped her hand warmly and gave her a little peck on the cheek for the kiss of friendship. But James was yuck.

Susie signed up for the school play. The thought of acting on stage made her stomach do flips. But she was organized and liked to make lists. She was relieved to be given the job of stage manager. The job was most useful for getting Susie out of the house. Aside from Bible study groups, Mom didn’t seem to understand the importance of extra-curricular activities. “I don’t know why you have to stay so late at school every day. Doesn’t your teacher know you have a family waiting for you? Are there boys in the play?”

When Susie rolled her eyes, Mom fell back on, “You know those Canadian boys only want one thing.”

* * * * *

Susie hadn’t dared tell her mother that she was dating a Canadian boy. She stopped around the corner by the mailbox and pulled open her satchel. Out came her makeup case. Peering at her face in the tiny mirror she examined the heft and sheen of her thick black hair. She applied a liberal slick of pink gloss to her lips and rubbed a dab into each cheek. She checked that her wide-legged jeans sat just so at her waist, and her peasant blouse pouffed perfectly over her belt. For any other Canadian girl, she knew, this would be normal preparation for venturing into the outside world. Perhaps even a homework date with her boyfriend. But for Susie’s mom, such behavior was only evidence of a wanton girl who was someday going to get her comeuppance.

Mind you, Susie was intent on being wanton with at least one boy. Steven was in her English class and he was very smart. She was attracted to the smart ones and he was cute too. She had run to catch up with him after school one day and feigned ignorance. “Steven, can I ask you something? You know those literary devices? Do you remember what metaphor means? He was happy to fill her in. The next day she had another question about similes.

Soon, he waited for her after school and, later, they began to stop at the Burger Pit for a Coke on a regular basis. They discussed poetry together. Susie thought that was romantic. Occasionally, he asked her to come to his house to help him with his Math. On those days, Susie told her mother she had play rehearsal and wore her extra tight jeans. Susie liked to think this was dating. But no matter how much homework they did together, Steven never offered to kiss her.

Happily, she ended up in his group for the Romeo and Juliet project. This required acting out a part of the play. Despite serious stage-fright, Susie was ready to express the depth of her feelings for Steven. Boy, he had nice lips. The scene they were assigned happens to end tragically as Romeo discovers Juliet, apparently dead. He is so grief-stricken that he takes his own life, but only after he speaks the immortal words, “…and so, I leave you with--a kiss.”

Ahh. The kiss. At last, Susie would have her kiss. It wasn’t hard to persuade anyone to let her be Juliet. The only other girl in the group had a boyfriend and if he found out she was kissing other guys in English class, there would be consequences.

It was a good group. They came prepared to the first practice with some lines memorized. Susie knew all of hers by heart. The scene was blocked out and they did the first run through. As the scene drew to a close, she was fetchingly draped over her pretend slab, which happened to be the floor. Her eyes closed in sweet pretend death, she felt Steven’s warmth draw close. He began to speak his soliloquy. She smiled. He placed his hand on hers. She puckered up. He lifted her hand and graciously laid his soft warm lips on it.

“…And so,” he intoned, “I leave you with--a kiss.”

Her eyes flew open. “Hey, I though he was supposed to kiss her, kiss her. You know, on the lips.” She pointed to her own for emphasis.

The others looked at her, faces scrunched up as they digested this new thought. Then Steven said, “That’s just gross. I’m not doing that.”

“Yeah, that’s gross.” The others agreed.

Susie soon found out that Steven’s idea of dating was asking Diana Wilkins to the school dance then afterwards necking with her in his Dad’s car.

When Mom found Susie weeping in her room, she was alarmed. “What’s the matter? Are you sick?”

Susie’s sister, Gilly, said scornfully, “Her boyfriend dumped her.”

Through her tears, Susie shot Gilly a withering look, to no effect.

“Eh, I didn’t know you were seeing boys. Well, it serves you right, going behind my back. You can’t trust those Canadian boys. They only want one thing.”

* * * * *

Susie finished her last year of high school without being kissed. That summer, she decided that she needed a job. Without a regular allowance, she cringed every time she had to ask her father for money. Even though he always gave it, and a little more, she had to endure the questioning. “What do you need it for? Why do you want to go there? Why do you need to buy that?”

She scanned the newspaper want ads and started to make phone calls. She got an interview with a man who wanted her to sell flowers on the street. You bought the flowers from him then sold them at an unbelievable profit. She knew right away that one was a scam.

The next one was with a pizza place.

“Can you work nights?”

She knew she couldn’t so she said, “Yes, but I don’t have a car and I don’t want to take a bus.”

“No problem. I’ll give you a ride home myself. If I’m not here, one of the guys will take you.”

Mom and Dad said, “No.”

Humiliated, she had to call the pizza man and tell him, “I’m sorry, I don’t think the transportation arrangements will work out. Sorry. Sorry.”

The next day, Mom said, “I talked to your Aunt Beth. She has a job for you in the bank. You have to go to Toronto for the interview.”

“Mom I don’t want her to give me a job. I want to find my own.”

“Stupid, she’s not giving it to you. You have to pass the aptitude test and typing test first.”

Susie started in the typing pool of the stock transfer department the following week.

“She didn’t really get me the job. I had to apply like everyone else. Why do I have to thank her?”

“Because she’s your aunt and she told you about the job. And she put in a good word for you.”

Susie phoned and thanked Aunt Beth, who said, “You better behave yourself and do a good job. Don’t embarrass your family now.”

* * * * *

Susie reveled in the freedom of buying whatever she wanted and treated herself to a pair of snakeskin pumps that cost a whole fifty dollars. I’m a woman of the world, she thought. I work in scary downtown Toronto, city of homeless beggars, criminals, and head shops. I take the subway by myself and eat lunch in restaurants. Mom and Dad only ate in restaurants when there was a wedding.

“I can make it better at home,” said Mom.

“There’s never enough food,” said Dad.

They both complained, “It’s a waste of money.”

* * * * *

One evening, Mr. Dennys called and asked to speak to Susie. Her mom handed her the phone with her eyebrows at her hairline.

“Susie,” said Mr. Dennys’ soft voice, “I saw your parents at church on Sunday. They told me that you’re working downtown for the summer.”

“Um… yes.”

It turned out that Mr. Dennys worked downtown too, not far from the bank. And he wanted to treat Susie to lunch. A small congratulation on becoming a working girl.

“Um… sure,” said Susie.

Mom looked hard at Susie and said, “Be careful, you know…” But what could she say? He was from the church. He was a Sidesman, carrying the collection plate from pew to pew.

Mr. Dennys looked much like his son James. He was short and round. But where James had a head full of shockingly oily hair, Mr. Dennys only had a little fringe that grew above his ears. He didn’t look oily at all. He seemed rather smart in his business suit and tie. He met Susie in the lobby of her office building. She had decided that, along with the snakeskin pumps, she would wear her really nice crepe de chine, one of the dresses that Mom had insisted on sewing for her because, “Material is so cheap. I could make that for half the cost.” But dresses made out of cheap material looked cheap. Susie had insisted on, and gotten, the satiny grey fabric for this dress only because it had been sewn for a wedding.

Mr. Dennys held the door for her and walked on the outside of the sidewalk, like Mom said gentlemen do. He asked, “How are things in the big city?” and “Are you liking your job?”

Susie answered the questions as best she could. She tried to feel grown-up and sophisticated, going out to lunch with a businessman in Toronto. But the looks they got from the other people passing by made her feel awkward. He took her to a restaurant in a hotel. It seemed grand to Susie. The walls were wood paneled and the windows covered with heavy dark velvety drapes. The leather chairs and the low tables made it feel more like dining at a coffee table in someone’s living room.

The waiter flicked Susie’s napkin in front of her face and laid it in her lap. She refused a glass of wine and Mr. Dennys said, “Nothing for me either. We both have to work this afternoon.” Then he winked at Susie.

Susie looked at the menu. There were no prices listed.

Mr. Dennys asked, “Do you mind if I order for you?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” she said, with a wave of her hand. She tried to exude nonchalance.

She told the waiter she liked her steak medium. While they waited for the food, Susie played with her water glass. Mr. Dennys chatted about the weather and church events.

She tried to think of conversation and asked, “So, what kind of work do you do?” She didn’t understand a word of what he said. She noticed that he waved his fork around as he talked. Caesar salad, steak and garlic mashed potatoes appeared. That was good because then they could talk about the food. After that there was a long silence in which Susie chewed as quickly as she could so as to finish the awkward lunch and get back to work.

The walk back was hurried. Susie wondered what her manager would say when she returned so late from lunch, on a Tuesday. Mr. Dennys walked her into the lobby and waited with her while the elevator came. The doors opened and Susie stepped in. The small group of people made room for her.

To her surprise, Mr. Dennys stepped in behind her. Susie avoided looking at him and pushed the button for the sixth floor. She wondered what Mr. Dennys would do when they got there. Was he going to walk her to her desk? Two people got off at the third floor and one on the fourth. As the elevator climbed, Susie was alone with Mr. Dennys. He felt uncomfortably close. She remembered James Dennys’ moist slurpy lips on her cheek, and moved away.

In her head, she rehearsed saying, “Thank you for lunch,” as she breezily waved goodbye. The elevator doors opened to the sixth floor and she stepped quickly to the door. As she walked by, Mr. Dennys reached out and put an arm around her. In surprise, she looked up at him and, horrified, met his wet, spongy lips with her own. Instinctively, her lips clamped tightly shut and she pulled away from him.

He didn’t acknowledge the revulsion in her face. He just gave her a small smile and, in his soft voice, said, “Thanks for coming to lunch. I’ll be in touch.”

She didn’t care how late she was. She ran to the washroom at the end of the hall and scrubbed her face and rinsed her mouth, trying desperately to remove every single tiny trace of her first kiss.

She knew she’d never forget it.

.

Hello out there

hello everyone,

in october 2009, i entered a writing contest. an overnight writing contest at the burlington public library. i and 10 other like-minded writers congregated at Central library at 6:00 on a Friday evening and were locked in with 2 lovely library ladies and a bunch of computers until the cold, grey morn.

entries were judged by the estimable lynda simmons, john lawrence reynolds, and jay robb.

the winners were announced at the end of january, and, holy moly, i came in second place. first prize went to karen kachra and maria mcdonald won third. if you want to see a Burlington Post photo of me and the other winners, click here, then click on number 6.

being now of rather swollen head, i've decided that everyone would want to read my wonderful work. therefore, i have posted it here for you forthwith. read on!


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