Before
I get things started with today's story from long ago, I just wanted to take
the opportunity to wish every single mother out there in the world a HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!
Whatever
you do today, I hope you all have a great day filled with lots of love, joy,
happiness - and hopefully sunshine! I
know here where I am, the sun is shining so brightly that I swear we skipped
spring and have moved right into summer!
Anyway,
we've come to a point in the retrospective where we have reached a bit of a
milestone.
The
end of the single digit years.
Yes,
the single digit years were quite nice, but we have to end them
eventually. Year Nine begins now.
And,
what a year nine was! The nineties had
just begun, and I remember so many details about my ninth year on this
earth. I had my birthday party at the
movie theatre where we watched Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - which I have to
admit that at the age of nearly 34 is STILL a guilty pleasure of mine. I went into the fourth grade with eagerness,
and ended up having a great year in school.
For
some reason, I also remember every girl in school having either a Beverly Hills
90210 or New Kids on the Block pencil case...but that was cool. I would wear Simpsons T-shirts to school -
even though my school was considering banning them because they saw The
Simpsons as being a bad influence.
(And
keep in mind we were still six years away from South Park!)
So,
let's have a look at what was going on in the first year of the 1990s - as well
as my last year of being a single digit kid.
First, the snapshot.
For
some reason, I thought I wore a bright neon yellow sweatshirt for my class
picture. Apparently, it was green. It was still bright enough to blind the
camera man though. As for my bedhead
look? Sigh...this was the year in which
I was experimenting different looks.
Needless to say, this one did NOT make the cut.
Now
for the pop culture junk.
#1 SONG THE WEEK OF 5/18/1990
"Vogue" - MADONNA
Okay,
so technically this song hit #1 the day after.
But six of the seven days of that week had this at the top of the
charts, so I'm going with it. It
certainly puts you in a better mood to party than Sinead O'Connor's
"Nothing Compares 2 U"!
#1 AT THE BOX OFFICE THE WEEK OF 5/18/1990
"Pretty Woman"
Now
this is a movie that I did not see for several years after it came out - and on
top of that, I was forced to see it.
Though, I'm not sorry that I did see it. It was a great film, and the soundtrack to the film is probably
one of the better ones available.
#1 TELEVISION SHOW FOR THE 1990/1991 SEASON
"Cheers"
Now,
this is a show that took a long time to make it to the top of the Nielsen
ratings (the 1990/91 season was the show's eighth). Ultimately though, it was worth the wait. In my opinion, Cheers actually got better as
the show progressed.
So,
now we get to the main subject of this blog post. And, well...it's based on a memory that I have of my mother
growing up. And how 1990 marked the
year that a very significant change took place in her life.
I
should set up the story.
As
much as she's probably going to kill me for revealing this information, my
mother turned 45 years old in 1990.
And, up until this point, my mom and dad somehow ended up following the
one child per decade law. They had a
child in the 1960s, a child in the 1970s, and a child in the 1980s. By the time 1990 rolled around, I think my
mom was exhausted!
Way
too exhausted to give me a little brother or a sister, even though I pointed
out that it was the 1990s now and that it was technically time for her and dad
to have another kid.
Needless
to say, I remained the baby of the family.
Much to my chagrin.
But
anyway, my then 45-year-old mother was re-evaluating her looks and she decided
that she wanted to make a drastic change.
She
wanted to cut her hair short.
Looking
back on it, I can see why she wanted to make that decision. For the first 45 years of her life, my
mother always had long hair. In her
childhood photos, her wedding photo, and any snapshots that were taken between
her wedding day and 1990 had her hair styled in a variety of different ways
from shoulder length to chin length to Marge Simpson bouffant.
(Ah...you
thought I was kidding about the Marge Simpson hair, didn't you? Only difference was that it was never dyed
royal blue. Dark brown, yes. Royal blue, no. And right now, I'm thinking that my family is rethinking their
hiding spot for the family album!)
But
I think somewhere along the way, my mother decided that long hair was too hard
to keep maintained, so when 1990 arrived, she made the decision to cut her hair
short.
Now,
she didn't completely shave off the whole thing. She left a little bit of length up on top so that she could take
a curling iron to it if she so desired to.
But I have to say, it was quite a change for her, and quite a change for
the rest of us in the family.
But,
I think as you can see...it turned out beautifully.
But
then, my mother is a very beautiful person.
Inside and out.
And,
well...she's had quite a life.
As
a young woman.
As
a daughter.
As
a mother.
As
a grandmother.
She
truly is one of the best. Love you,
Mom! No matter how short your hair
gets!
Which,
in this recent picture, you have to admit...it's pretty short! But hey.
She still looks fabulous no matter what!
We'll
continue on with the 1990s with the tenth year of life...and I'll have to get
back to you on what I'll be talking about during that time period, because
honestly I haven't decided what to talk about yet.
Well,
here we are. We're at the tail end of
the 1980s in this month long retrospective of personal stories from the brain
and memory of Matthew.
It's
funny how time works. When I was
actually growing up in the 1980s, they seemed like the decade that would never
end. I remember it being a big deal
when the calendar changed over from 1989 to 1990 because as an eight year old
child, it seemed as though 1989 lasted FOREVER! To go from the eighties to the nineties seemed like a milestone
to me! And we weren't even close to
2000 yet!
Sigh. Then again, at the age of eight, I thought
everything was exciting.
Anyway,
welcome to the eighth edition of A POP CULTURE ADDICT RETROSPECTIVE, which
means that I'll be telling a story or two from the year that I was eight years
old. And, to be honest with you, if
seven was a not so lucky year, eight ended up being much better. I was in the third grade with a teacher I
enjoyed, I started to hit one growth spurt after another, and I totally
slaughtered a group of high school students at the local corner store...
...in
Bubble Bobble. What, you thought I'd
actually go after teenagers with violence in mind? Please. Not my style. That, plus they would have kicked my
butt. At least Bubble Bobble was a
safer challenge option.
Confession: I STILL love Bubble Bobble some 26 years
later!
Okay,
so let's see what was happening in the world of pop culture around the time
that I turned eight years old.
Well,
apparently my Ninja Turtle obsession was in full swing. Funny thing is, you could probably buy that
same exact shirt that I am wearing in 2015, with the way they've come back in
style! I still don't know how to
explain the loud shorts and velcro shoes though. Oh, and you probably noticed that I didn't really smile that much
in this photo. Let's just say that
there was a reason why my nickname in '89 was "Gummy". Losing nine baby teeth that year probably
did it.
Okay,
so what else was big in '89 besides the Ninja Turtles?
#1 SONG THE WEEK OF 5/18/1989
"I'll Be There For You" - BON JOVI
Bon
Jovi was one of those artists that I could take or leave. In the case of my sister though, she has
seen him in concert some six times. Or
was it seven? Whatever the case, I like
this one. For some reason though, I
always thought that Paula Abdul had the #1 song this week 26 years ago. Maybe some site was reporting false
information. Wouldn't be the first
time.
#1 AT THE BOX OFFICE THE WEEK OF 5/18/1989
"See No Evil, Hear No Evil"
I
saw not this film, nor have I even heard of this film. But given that Richard Pryor and Gene Wilder
starred in it, I guess it can't be that bad.
Well, barring the poor reviews, that is.
#1 TELEVISION SHOW FOR THE 1989/1990 SEASON
"Roseanne"
Okay,
technically this show tied for first place with "The Cosby
Show". But I've put down the Cosby
Show in this spot for the last four entries!
It's time for a change! And, well...Roseanne
was probably considered the "anti-Cosby Show"!
So,
1989 was one of those years in which I saw two different extremes. I went to both my first wedding, as well as
my first funeral. If I remember
correctly, both events took place only months apart.
Now,
I'll just briefly talk about the funeral, just because I don't want to make
this entry too depressing. But the first
funeral I went to was my Uncle Roy's funeral.
Well, okay, I suppose you could technically call him my
great-uncle. But we just called him
Uncle Roy. I don't really remember
interacting with him a whole lot, but from what I have heard, we got along fine.
The
funeral itself was a small gathering. I
remember that my parents sort of debated whether I should go or not, because at
that time I was still sort of questioning what it meant to die. I knew what death was at eight years old,
but it never really hit me just how final it really was. The funeral was one that was open casket
before the service began, and to an eight year old kid, you think that the
person in the coffin is just having a nap.
The only difference is that the person in the coffin won't wake up ever
again. And once you really process
that, it's quite sobering. When my
grandmother passed away two years later, I completely understood.
The
funeral itself was nice though...well, as nice as a funeral could be, I
suppose. I do remember one really
random part of it though. It was at the
burial site, and we all gathered around to watch the coffin get placed into the
ground. One thing I remember is hearing
my grandmother screeching, and when we turned around, we saw a little snake
slithering around one of the tombstones.
Does
anyone know if that is symbolic in any way?
Please let me know!
Now,
as for the wedding, that was definitely a much happier occasion. Now, I should tell you that the wedding that
I attended was my eldest sister's. And
I should also tell you that my sister happens to be fifteen years older than I
am. So, that explains that. It's not like my sister was in one of those
arranged marriages where she was betrothed at thirteen.
So,
this occasion meant that we all had to dress up. Including me, the person who believed that the only person who
should wear a tuxedo is James Bond.
Have
a look at our family photo taken on September 23, 1989.
Okay,
so that would be my parents, my sisters, and the short kid at the end in the
tuxedo and cheeky grin would be yours truly.
It's so funny, in 1989, I was the shortest one of the family. Who knew that I would inevitably end up
being the only one in my family to surpass six feet in height? Just goes to show you how time flowing can
make the impossible happen.
So,
there were really no major things that I had to do for the wedding. I didn't have to read any passages, I didn't
have to carry the rings on a little pillow.
All I had to do was show up and throw confetti at the end of the
ceremony. That was all. Though, I imagine that during the whole
ceremony I was fidgeting with my bowtie.
I absolutely hate bowties and if I ever get married, I'm getting one of
those ties you can buy at Walmart that all you have to do is pull the tie and
it goes tighter.
(I'm
really lazy when it comes to formal wear.
Can't you tell?)
The
wedding ceremony went well, and the reception was also quite successful, even
though there were a couple of parts that I would like to forget.
For
one, the reception was held at our town country club. It was a good location and had a lot of room, but I've never
really felt comfortable at places in which only rich people really hang around
at. Of course, that could be because
I've never...well...been rich. At least
not monetarily anyway.
Second,
I remember having sore feet at the reception, not because of the fact that I
was wearing ill-fitting shoes, but because the whole family had to stand around
and greet every single guest that showed up at the wedding before we could even
sit down and enjoy the reception. And
to an eight-year-old, it seemed like our entire city was invited to the
reception, even though it was only a couple hundred.
Thirdly,
I thought that my parents were going to absolutely kill me when it came time to
serve desserts at the reception. I had
grabbed some of the chocolate mousse, because it looked like the only dessert
that I would actually like. Did I mention
that I was wearing a RENTED tuxedo?
Chocolate
mousse + rented tuxedo = NEAR DISASTER!
Yep,
somehow I spilled chocolate mousse all over my tuxedo jacket, and my parents
had a major bird about it. It wasn't
until I discovered how much the tuxedo cost that I realized why that was the
case! Fortunately, the chocolate mousse
did not leave behind a permanent stain on the jacket, and it was returned the
next day with every single member of my family not even letting on that
anything had happened that would cause them to get suspicious.
Not
that it really matters much now anyway if they did find out. The tuxedo shop went out of business in the
1990s anyway.
But,
yeah, that's what I remember most about being eight. Going to a wedding and a funeral.
Tomorrow, we're smack dab in the middle of
1990...and because it's Mother's Day, I thought I would tell a Mom related
story.
Come. Walk with me. We're about to take a trip back through time to another memorable
year.
Yes,
we're now entering the year of the great '88.And, I have to say that for the most part, 1988 was a great year.
Well,
with one notable exception.
Anyway,
we'll get to that in a bit. This is the
story of my seventh year, which spanned from 1988 to 1989. The eighties were in their final stages,
pastel coloured clothing was in, and heavy metal was getting competition from
electronic pop music. It wasn't often
you saw Belinda Carlisle and Stacey Q releasing new music alongside Poison and
Guns 'N Roses, I'll tell you that much!
So,
1988 was the year I turned seven. Let's
take a look as see what was happening during the lucky seven year.
Apparently I was really happy to get "Toss Across". The life size tic-tac-toe game was always fun for a laugh!
And,
now let's take a look at what the top pop culture moments were around this
time.
#1 SONG THE WEEK OF 5/18/1988
"Anything For You" - GLORIA ESTEFAN
& THE MIAMI SOUND MACHINE
Aww...what
a nice song this is. For some reason, I
seem to remember ballads being really big on the charts during 1988. Well, ballads, "Kokomo", and Kylie
Minogue's "Loco-Motion".
Still, this hit by Gloria and the Miami Sound Machine is really
good. I'm liking it!
#1 AT THE BOX OFFICE THE WEEK OF 5/18/1988
"Friday the 13th: Part VII: The New Blood"
Obviously
I did NOT see this movie when it first came out. Truth be told, I still haven't seen this one. After the second movie came out, the entire
series got real stupid, real fast.
#1 TELEVISION SERIES FOR THE 1988/1989 SEASON
"The Cosby Show"
Surprise,
surprise. At least they finally redid
their opening titles to look like something completely different.
And
now for my personal stories about my seventh year. I finally escaped first grade and made it into second, where I
ended up having two different teachers!
I recall that I and a couple of other kids in my original grade two
classroom were moved to the class next door, as for some reason my class had too
many kids. I really don't remember the
reason. Either way, I liked Miss
Johnson, my second grade teacher a lot.
And, I think she liked me too, even though I ended up missing a lot of
school that year.
And
when I say that I missed a lot of school that year, I mean I missed closed to
one-third of the school year! I think
the only reason why I passed into the third grade was because I kept up with my
schoolwork during that year.
But
why did I miss so much school?
Well,
turns out that year seven wasn't quite so lucky for me. When I turned seven, it was like my whole
body decided to fall apart on me. I
ended up with the stomach flu twice that year, I probably missed a couple of
days here and there with constant sinus infections, and when you add all those
days up, I ended up missing 50 days of school altogether!
Not
exactly my most stellar attendance performance, let me tell you.
And
it probably didn't make much of a good impression on my teacher when during my
first month of grade two I ended up missing a whole week of school because I
was in the hospital!
Not
exactly a great memory.
I'll
set up the story. It was September
1988, and I had been in school for a couple of weeks by this point. I had gotten a cold during that time, but I
thought nothing of it, as colds were as common in grade two as head lice -
well, okay, head lice wasn't common in your school, but it seemed to be in
mine. We will not discuss further.
The
problem was that the cold was not going away.
And my breathing was not good.
And we can forget about being effective in gym class. I was never a gym rat to begin with, but I
was gasping for air whenever I tried to run a lap around the gym. It was definitely enough of a concern for my
mom to bring me to the hospital emergency room to do some tests on me to find
out what was going on.
And,
let me tell you. Being a patient in a
hospital (especially as a child) is not a fun experience. Having to lie on a hospital slab, having all
of these nurses ask you questions, breathing for them, getting blood work
done. I felt like I was their own
personal science experiment.
And
lemme just get this out of the way first.
I know it's been 27 years since this happened, but to the nurse who
rammed the needle into my arm causing me extreme pain while taking my
blood...you are not a vampire, and I wasn't a dartboard! Be more gentle!!!
Anyway,
after the breathing tests were done, the doctor confirmed that I had
asthma. And anyone who has suffered
with asthma knows that it is not fun.
You have to stop and catch your breath for doing the slightest moves,
and you can't keep up with anyone else.
And
because I had asthma, I also had a bit of an infection deep within my body that
regular antibiotics couldn't heal.
There was no banana flavoured penicillin for me that week. Instead what ended up happening was that I
was admitted into the hospital where every two hours I had to have a mask
strapped onto my face where I would breathe in antibiotics to heal me.
That
meant that I had to spend a whole week in the hospital, and that completely was
not a fun experience.
Then
again, does ANYONE have a fun time at the hospital? With food that may or may not be edible, and spending a lot of
time in bed not doing anything, it's not like I was on vacation at Club
Med.
I
was really upset the day I was admitted to the hospital because we had planned
a movie night where I would watch Dumbo on VHS. And well, that movie night was cancelled. Instead, I spent my first night in the
hospital watching a television that was no bigger than a smartphone trying to
make out the characters on the three channels that I could get. The only consolation was that one of the
channels that I got was PBS, so Sesame Street and other kids shows could
entertain me. And of course, my teacher
sent me assignments to work on while I was in the hospital, so I could keep up
with the rest of the class. Truth be
told, homework was a nice distraction from the scary masks and people that I
didn't know.
Still,
that whole experience was a very scary one.
It was the first time that I had to be separated from my family and I
didn't really handle it well at all.
Once I was released, I was fine though, and it made me realize that if I
could get through that hospital stay, then things would get easier. Who knew that little hospital stay would be
a precursor for a much longer one some twenty-three years later?
Anyway,
that's the one thing that I remember about second grade and my seventh year of
life. Being hospitalized.
To
make matters worse, I was hospitalized during class picture day, and second
grade was the one year that I never had a class photo taken. But I guess it was a blessing in
disguise. Because I had to get my photo
done on class retake day, I had extra time to prepare. And as you can see from the image above, it
turned out beautifully.
Though,
I think my parents were influence by the Cosby Show a little TOO much.
Coming
up tomorrow, my eighth year on this world sees my very first wedding...as well
as my very first funeral.
The
month long feature of personal stories seems to be going quite well, and I hope
that you are enjoying each tale that I tell.
Believe me, they're fun to write.
In
today's edition, we're going to take a look back at the time period between
1987 and 1988 - otherwise known as Year Six.
And,
certainly it was a year that had a lot of ups and downs. But we'll get to that a little later.
In
the meantime, we have some pop culture tidbits to look at first. I turned six years old on May 18, 1987. Let's see what was big that week...
...oh
yeah. I nearly forgot the
snapshot. And, well...all I can say is
that it was the 1980s. Everyone wore
questionable clothing back in those days.
I also have no idea why this photo turned out so red. I guess maybe we had the roll of film
developed at a substandard darkroom.
Who knows really?
#1 SONG THE WEEK OF 5/18/1987
"With or Without You" - U2
I
absolutely loved "The Joshua Tree" album by U2, and every single song
on that album is a genuine classic.
Though my favourite song from that album is "I Still Haven't Found
What I'm Looking For", I admit that this song is a nice runner-up.
#1 AT THE BOX OFFICE THE WEEK OF 5/18/1987
"Ishtar"
Oh,
great. One of the worst movies ever
made during the 1980s. How the hell did
it become the top movie of the week? I
just don't get the movie business. The
sad thing is that the following week, the top movie was "Beverly Hills Cop
II" - which stayed on top for three times as long!
#1 TELEVISION SHOW DURING THE 1987/1988
SEASON
"The Cosby Show"
Even
Lisa Bonet's departure from the show when she launched "A Different
World" didn't keep the show from losing any steam!
Okay,
so my sixth year of life also happened to be a year in which I had to undergo a
lot of changes. I talked about how we
had to make a huge move to a different house in the previous entry, and by the
time 1987 rolled around, I had started to get used to our new home.
I
also had to make the move from kindergarten to first grade. And to say that I absolutely hated first
grade would be the understatement of the entire year. It was mostly because of the teacher, though.
And
really, I've talked about her enough here.
I don't want to give that horrible woman any more attention.
Oh,
and for some reason, I remember my sixth birthday party extremely well. It was a surprise party that my family threw
for me, and I have to say, I was very surprised! They really went all out for me that year! I guess they wanted to make it extra special
since it was my first birthday in a new home.
Oh, I wish I had pictures to show you of that birthday party. Instead, I'll have to show you a picture of
Christmas Day 1987 where apparently I didn't look like I was in a good mood
even though I was.
Oh,
and true story. See the long johns
stocking behind me? That was my
stocking!
But
we're not here to talk about stockings.
We're here to talk about the year that a major obsession of mine
began.
It
was in 1987 that my mother went grocery shopping, as she did every week back in
those days). By this point in time, my
sisters were old enough to babysit me leaving my mom free to do errands (which
leads me to believe that maybe my unplanned birth turned out to be an asset
after all). When she came back from the
store, she had a surprise in one of the grocery bags for me. And at the time, I was thinking that it was
something food related. After all, she
did come from the grocery store.
I
wondered what it was. Was it my
favourite cereal at the time which was "Cocoa Pebbles"? Was it a case of Cherry 7-Up? Was it one of those frozen Sara Lee
chocolate layer cakes?
Side
note: Why in the hell did they
discontinue Sara Lee chocolate layer cakes?
Those things were so good!
No,
it turned out that it wasn't anything that could be eaten. It was one of these.
It
was a Little Archie comic book. #24 in
what would become a series of 48 issues.
And, it was all mine. 128 pages
of jokes, riddles, puzzles - and the occasional advertisement for kids to sell
things to earn money to buy a Nintendo!
Little
did my mother know that one book would begin an obsession that would last 28
years and counting. How that one book
would eventually turn into three thousand and counting. How much of an impact that this book would
have on my life.
I
suppose that it was a good thing that my very first comic book was a Little
Archie comic book. Granted, Little
Archie was a spinoff title from the original Archie comic title, which featured
Archie, Betty, Veronica, Reggie, and Jughead as high school juniors at
Riverdale High. But Little Archie was a
great starter title for me because the characters were all elementary school
aged.
Consider
Little Archie as the stories from Archie and the gang back when they were in
second grade. As someone who was just
about to turn six when he got his first comic book, having the main characters
of the books as seven year olds was nice.
I felt like I could relate to them more even though Little Archie and
his pals and gals were having a lot more adventures than I was.
Now
back in the days in which I started reading Little Archie, there were two main
artists who drew Little Archie. For
comedic stories that usually had a lot of laughs, Dexter Taylor usually drew
those stories. For stories that were
more dramatic in nature, Bob Bolling usually drew those ones. Either way, I found both artist to have
their pros and cons.
But
man, some of the storylines that Little Archie and the gang encountered were
quite outrageous. I seem to remember
them finding hidden pirate treasure, rescuing Miss Grundy from her psycho
housekeeper, swimming with sharks, and having poor Little Archie discover that
hunters shot and nearly killed his dog, Spotty!
I
think the worst thing that happened to me at the age of six was accidentally
swallowing a baby tooth! I mean, Little
Archie and his friends made Chuck Norris look like a wimp!
But
you know, that was a part of the charm that Archie comics had. These were kids that I wanted to have in my
classroom in first grade. I didn't want
the kids who would make fun of me because I walked on my tip toes. I didn't want the kids who would only play
with me at recess to snatch my Oreos and Snoopy fruit punch, only to completely
ignore me the rest of the day. I
certainly didn't want kids who only sat beside me to copy off of my
schoolwork. I wanted to be in a class
where students and teachers treated me with respect. Like I actually belonged in the classroom instead of being
everybody's migraine headache.
That's
what Little Archie did for me. It was a
comic book that allowed me to escape the harsh realities of first grade (and if
you've read any of the stories from first grade, you know how harsh it really
was) and allowed me to visit the perfectly idyllic fictional community of
Riverdale whenever I wanted. I felt
like I was with Little Archie and Jughead trying to catch the Perilous Pike
from Carson's Creek. I felt like I was
hanging around with Betty and Veronica at Pop's Chocklit Shop sharing a
chocolate malted with them. Heck, I didn't
even mind watching Miss Grundy yell at Reggie and give him detention for one of
his nasty schemes because at least Miss Grundy wasn't as mean as the teacher
that I had.
So,
I think that is why I made Archie comics my obsession. They were a gateway to a world that I really
wanted to be a part of. And even though
it was a fictional community, I still felt like I was a part of it. It's really what kept me sane during my entire
school career.
Of
course, the Little Archie title is one that is no longer published. I think the last regular issue of the title
was released in 1998. However, you can
still find an occasional Little Archie story in any random Archie Digest today. Some people dismiss them as being too
juvenile, but considering that Little Archie was my gateway to the wonderful
world of Riverdale, I obviously have a really big soft spot for Little Archie
stories.
And,
to conclude this look back on six years old, I want to pay tribute to the late
Dexter Taylor, who passed away earlier this year. I never met the man, but he was the artist who brought Little
Archie to life so many years ago, and honestly, his passion for Little Archie
provided Archie fans years of memories.
And I am honoured to count myself as one of his fans.
Thank
you Dexter Taylor for the memories.
Tomorrow, we take a look at year seven - which
includes one of the scariest moments that my kid self faced.
It's
Wednesday, May 6, 2015 and the Pop Culture Addict's Anniversary celebration
continues on!
Today
we are going back in time twenty-nine years to the year 1986. Right around this time, I turned five years old. A whole half decade. And yet, my parents never really got sick of
me!
It
was a year in which I officially started school (I skipped preschool and junior
kindergarten and went right on to kindergarten), and it was a year in which I
discovered my love of Muppet Babies and Pee-Wee's Playhouse!
But
the year wasn't exactly all fun and games, to be perfectly honest. It was a bit of a bittersweet kind of year
to be truthful. It was a year in which
you could never be too young to learn about disappointment and unfairness, and
it was a year in which I learned all about how sometimes you had to adapt to
change even if you weren't really ready for it.
But
before we get into that story, I want to go into a few highlights from pop
culture past. I wonder what was going
on during the week that I turned five?
Well,
let's start with a photo.
For
some reason, I don't have a whole lot of photos taken from 1986. The topic of today's blog post might have a
little to do with it, as you'll soon see, but I think that the family camera
had malfunctioned around 1986. So,
here's a repost of my Easter adventures at the mall with the Easter bunny. Don't worry. I have shots for the rest of the decade.
#1 SONG THE WEEK OF 5/18/1986
"Greatest Love of All" - WHITNEY
HOUSTON
This
was one of Whitney's first #1 singles, and it is about the power of loving
yourself because self-esteem is truly the greatest love of all. A poignant hit that should be my theme song
today.
#1 AT THE BOX OFFICE WEEK OF 5/18/1986
"Top Gun"
Ah,
now here's a great movie, made before Tom Cruise reportedly lost his mind. True story.
When my parents got their very first VCR (and yes, I am totally dating
myself here), this was the very first movie that they watched on it. Still holds up nearly thirty years later.
#1 TELEVISION SHOW FOR THE 1986/1987 SEASON
"The Cosby Show"
The
second year in a row that "The Cosby Show" was #1. I wonder if this marks the beginning of a
trend? Oh, well. I guess it makes sense. I used to watch this show back then.
And
now comes the moment in which I realized that life sometimes wasn't fair. And it all stems from one fateful day in
1986.
Now,
I may have spoken about this before in this blog, but I think it is worth
repeating here. My parents have never
been homeowners. Ever. They have always been renters. Oh, sure, they really wanted to be homeowners
once upon a time, but nothing ever worked out.
The
biggest obstacle was of course, financial.
With three kids to raise, and only one parent working, it's fair to say
that life wasn't always easy. But I will
give my parents a whole lot of credit.
When times were tough, they made sure that we were taken care of.
But
it wasn't easy. Before I was four years
old, my family moved in and out of three different homes. Luckily, I don't remember much of that period,
but I imagine the stress of being forced to change addresses was quite high for
the rest of the family.
In
fact, the earliest place of residence that I can remember living in was a house
in town that was by the river. It was
on a little side street called St. Paul Street, and it was located in a really
awesome location. It was just a few
feet away from the St. Lawrence River.
It was just around the corner from the downtown core of the city. It was right across the street from the
local arts centre. And it was a really
big house.
Well,
at least, it SEEMED big to me. Two
stories, a gigantic kitchen, lots of room to move around in, and a gigantic
staircase that was a lot of fun to hang around. That's the one place I used to love in that house the most. The stairs were always the place where I
could be found reading a book or sliding down them on my butt. Mind you, they were also the place where I
slid down the banister even though I was told not to, and paid for my
misbehaviour with a light spanking.
But, I never did it again after that!
I
even remember the actual address of the home we lived in. 35 St. Paul Street. It was such an awesome house to live in, and
despite the fact that the roof needed fixing and that our backyard wasn't
exactly all that big, it was home. And
I truly thought that it would remain my home for years to come.
At
least, that's what I thought until the summer of '86.
You
see, 35 St. Paul Street was a lovely home.
But it technically wasn't OUR home.
It belonged to somebody else. As
did most of the other homes on our side of the street. Now, I wasn't really privy to all of the
political dealings that were going on in our city at that time, as I was only
five years old and the only thing that I was concerned about was trying to
decide whether to watch "Today's Special" or "Sesame
Street" on television. But what
had happened was that my entire neighbourhood had been sold to a real estate
developer in the 1980s by the city. It
was a real sweetheart of a deal, I tell you.
Promises were made by both parties, and those promises were supposed to
guarantee the economic future of the community.
You
see, this developer (who for the sake of me protecting myself and not wanting
to get sued for character assassination I will NOT reveal in this post, even
though there's a part of me that really, REALLY wants to) had big plans. Because the neighbourhood of St. Paul Street
was so close to the waterfront, he had the idea to develop a shopping complex
close to downtown so that it would encourage more people to come downtown to
shop. After all, he had a couple of
businesses downtown already established at that time, and I'm sure that with
his plan to build the strip mall close to the water and close to downtown, not
only would his business benefit, but the rest of the businesses downtown would
benefit financially as well.
And
you know, I can see the argument. I
really can. I absolutely encourage
supporting the local economy wherever possible, and if he felt that building a
strip mall by the river would improve the local economy, I would be all for it.
The
problem was that the location that this developer had chosen to put the strip
mall was...31 St. Paul Street.
The
house two doors down from where my family lived.
And
to make sure that the plaza was built to scale, the entire street, aside from
two houses that were attached to the typewriter repair shop on the corner of
King and St. Paul (it was the 1980s after all) was bulldozed.
Including
35 St. Paul Street.
I
tell you, it was a really sad day for us to be forced out of our home. As far as I could remember, it was the only
home that I had ever really known and become familiar with. I didn't want to leave it, even though we
were basically told we had to in the name of "progress".
I
think we were one of the last families to vacate the street. We were having trouble finding a new place
to live and we had just managed to find a new home at the very last
minute. By the time we were ready to
move, the demolition crews had already begun working on tearing down the
furthest house on the street, some six or seven doors down. I'll never get that image out of my head as
long as I live. I knew the people who
lived in all of those houses on St. Paul Street. Most of them were good people who said hello to me when my mom
and I walked downtown. They didn't
deserve to have their home being knocked down to the ground.
My
family didn't deserve to see our home getting torn down. Especially in the name of
"progress". We didn't care
that this strip mall was going to be built and that it would save the economy
of my town. We still lost our home.
Of
course, that was all in the name of "progress". An entire neighbourhood of people had to be
sacrificed because of a real estate development.
By
the way, would you like to see what the shopping plaza at 31 St. Paul Street
looks like today? I don't have a
picture available, but luckily, Google Maps will allow you to pull up any
location you wish! I took a screenshot
of 31-35 St. Paul Street and I'm going to show you exactly what progress looks
like.
Wait. This can't be right. Let me double check. Yes, I did type in 35 St. Paul Street in the
Google Maps search.
Yes. This is the very reason why seven families
were evicted from St. Paul Street in the summer of 1986.
They
paved our paradise to put up a parking lot.
There's
no shopping carts. There's no
boutiques. There's no shoe stores. There's not even a freakin' Dairy Queen. It's just a great big empty lot. Kind of symbolic for the great big empty
promises that the developer made with no intention of keeping.
The
city took a big gamble investing in this project, and that gamble did NOT pay
off. Nothing was ever built, the
downtown economy continued to fall, and seven families (including mine) lost
their homes. Nicely done, I say to
myself with the bitter taste of sarcasm.
You
know, it's been 29 years since my family was forced to evacuate our home in the
name of "progress".
Twenty-nine years since we were forced to watch the home we had known
get turned to rubble to accommodate the promises made by so many people, only
for those promises to crumble as quickly as the drywall that supported the
houses that once stood on St. Paul Street.
And
what many people don't know is that this incident helps me explain so much
about how I turned out the way that I did.
A
lot of people who I grew up with wondered why I seemed to shy away from getting
involved with my community when I was in my teenage years. Well, if you knew that the city council was
one of the main reasons why your family lost their home, would you not have
trust issues with them? I went through
a period where I didn't get too close to anyone or anything because I was
worried that someone would come in and take them away. That image of seeing part of my street being
torn down still haunts me.
It's
also affected the way that I see living arrangements. Sure, I've lived in places since St. Paul Street, but none of
them have ever really felt like home to me.
Even though the house we would move into after St. Paul Street was one
in which I lived for fourteen years, I never really thought of it to be home,
because I didn't want to feel the pain of losing it. So, I never really allowed myself to have any sort of bond with
any house or apartment that I lived in.
After all, my family always rented places. The home was never really ours to begin with. I just saw it as a place where we were
temporarily staying until we were forced to leave again.
I
guess that's why I feel it so important to have a place that I can truly call
home. A place that is truly mine that
NOBODY CAN TAKE AWAY FROM ME. It's been
a dream of mine for as long as I have been alive, and I think that I'm really
close to making it a reality. It is
just going to take a lot of planning.
I
also think that could be one of the main reasons why I've been so resistant to
change. Having moved to four different
homes in five years would be rough on anyone, and I guess having to move around
so much made me get frustrated and angry.
After we were forced out of St. Paul Street, I guess part of me had
enough, and I didn't want to make any more changes. The problem is, my life became stagnant and depressing.
Oh,
and as for the developer who destroyed an entire neighbourhood to put up his
monument of nothingness? I'll never
forgive him for it. The sad thing is,
he probably doesn't even know who I am or who my family is. We were after all not a part of the town
elite. Honestly, I don't care if he
knows me or not. I know enough about
him to never trust anything he says.
After all, his permanent footprint on St. Paul Street serves as a
reminder of just exactly how much a promise from him is worth.
I
wrote this piece to serve three purposes.
First, I needed to get it out of my system once and for all, and now
that I have vented about it, I feel better.
Second, the loss of my family home was one of the most memorable things
that I remember from my fifth year of life, and it should go to show that not
all of my memories are positive ones.
And lastly, I wanted to pay tribute to all of the families who lost
their homes during the summer of 1986.
None of us deserved it. Truth
is, we all deserved a lot better from the developer who developed nothing, as
well as from the city itself.
NEVER FORGET
ST. PAUL STREET
Coming up in tomorrow's blog, we inch our way
towards 1987, and it is during that year that an obsession began to develop...a
nice distraction to everything else that was happening.