Lions Dock

It's so HOT!  I've been weeding in the garden for so long, I feel like I was planted there myself.  Mom says we have to each weed a row of the garden before we can go swimming, which doesn't seem right since it's only Paul and John and Francis and me here in the garden.  I just KNOW that the other boys have already gone swimming, gotten away free without having to do any weeding.  It's not fair, but there's no use whining about it now.  We're stuck here among the beans and carrot tops, the peas and radishes.

I've got a row of carrots to weed, and its hard to tell the weeds from the carrots till I pull some out and see if there's a small orange bit of carrot or not.  If I do, with a quick scrub on my shorts to get the dirt off I have a nice little snack.  Paul has a row of beans, and since they're already good sized plants, he's just zooming through his row.  You'd think that would encourage me to go faster, to keep up with him, but somehow it doesn't - probably because of the way he is teasing me.

"Oh, the lake is going to feel so GOOD, so nice and COOL," Paul says loudly, eyes closed and smiling to himself for our benefit as he reaches the last few plants in his row.

John and Frances are sharing a row of radishes, which I have to admit are at least as hard to weed as my row of carrots.  But their little fingers are making short work of it, and they're just ahead of me.  I think I must be paying too much attention as I try to separate carrots from weeds.

Paul finishes first and makes a mad dash away from the garden, calling over to the house,"Mom!  I'm done! Going swimming!"

He snaps a towel from the clothesline, pins popping up like popcorn with no lid into the air after him.  He slings the towel around his neck like a scarf and hops on his bike.  He's doing loops in the yard though, so I suppose that Mom has called to him  to wait for the rest of us so that we can all go together.

Finally, John, Frances and I finish our rows.  Racing to the house, we pause briefly at the garden hose and take a long, cool drink.  Some days we'll play with the cool water for a while, turning it on and off while another is trying to take a drink, to see if we can make the water go up their nose, but not today.  The beach is waiting!

Although Paul is on his bike, the rest of us are walking.  We don't all have working bikes, it depends on what Peter, Pat or Phil have been able to fix up.  We're like a mini parade on the way to the beach:  John is wearing his towel like a swami's hat, Francis has his towel tied around his neck like a cape, and I've chosen to wear mine the same as Paul's - like a hot scarf.

We walk down the road towards town and the beach, following Paul. I can feel the heat of the pavement through my flip flops. We can smell the tar as the heat waves the scent up from the pavement.  The tar is hot enough in some patches that we leave a print.  Watching the melting tar on the road reminds us to walk carefully; usually at least one of us stubs a toe on this walk.  Once I even stubbed my toe right through my running shoe!

"When I get there, I'm going to run right in without stopping!" says Francis.

"I'm going to run right up the Lions Dock and jump in at the first ladder!" says John.

"Yeah," I say, "And I'm going to run up the dock too, and jump in at the second ladder!"

We've been to the Lions Dock so many times, we know how deep it is at each ladder and where it's over our heads.  We have all taken some swimming lessons, but I'm only at "advanced dog paddle" as my brother Pat would say.  I won't jump in from any ladder past the second one, because beyond there the water is way over my head.

We leave the heat of the road for a trail through the bush.  Paul has waited for us there, in the shade with his bike. The bush trail is a great shortcut that will take us the rest of the way - it comes out at the Trailer Park, right across from the beach.  The shade is so much more comfortable than the bright, hot sunshine and we slow down a little, to cool off.  On the path along the way we see big splats of blueberries that Paul tells us is bear poop! After first checking the nearby bushes for bears, we laugh and laugh, joking about the poor bear with his watery blue poop problem.

We finally arrive at the beach, hot, dry and even more dusty, a quick look both ways before we cross the road then throw our towels down on the sand, kick off flip flops and launch into the water.  Each of us enters the water as planned, with plenty of whooping and laughing along the way - the relief of the cool water evident in our increase of activity.

Lions Dock looks like a big, flat lollypop on the water, with a big diving tower at the end. The big boys like to stand at the end of Lions Dock and wrestle, pushing or pulling each other in, or running and sliding off the slippery boards right into the water, or daring each other to do a flip or dive or something from the top of the big tower. One time I even saw a kid ride his bike right from the beach to the end of the dock and into the lake!  I don't know if he ever got it out.

I once asked my mom why it was called Lions Dock and she said it was named after the group of men who built it, the Lions Club.  I don't really understand why a group of men is called a Lions Club, but it's a neat name for our dock.  I think there should be a sculpture of a Lion at the dock, a Fierce Lion, fierce like the boys that climb up the tower at the end of the dock and are the King of the Dock until they get pushed off by a new King.

I'll go to the end of the dock to watch if my older brothers are there, Pete and Pat usually in the crowd of boys.  Philip sometimes, too.  Paul goes too, but like me is always watching to be sure he has an escape route back down the dock.  We don't want to "accidentally" get pushed in!  I like to think that my brothers wouldn't let that happen, but I know that I'd better take care of myself.  We don't acknowledge each other - there at the end of the dock everyone is on their own.

Once the initial cooling-down period is complete, we settle in to beach activities.  Frank and John do some beachcombing.  I like to do that too, especially if they find anything good, like money.  Most of the time though, they are just chasing minnows, or searching for neat rocks. I do the same, but don't last as long before I have to dive into the water again, then back on to the towel to recharge with the heat from the sunshine.  Tom is here too; he's got his towel spread out and he's busy reading a book.  He is prepared for an afternoon.

Across the road from the beach, there's a little concession stand.  At the concession you can watch as the lady behind the counter makes cotton candy!  It's magical.  As we hang over the counter to watch, we can hear a snapping sound as the candy starts to build on the paper spool. We love the sweet smell of the sugar, the bright pink colour of the candy as she waves the paper spool around and around in the big spinning bowl, slowly building a sticky spider web globe of cotton candy.   That wonderful, sweet taste as the spidery threads melt in your mouth.  We don't get it often, but if we are lucky  enough to find some change on the beach or along the roadside that's how we'll spend it.

As the sun drops a little, my dad arrives there at the beach on Rabbit Lake.  We are all as brown as golden marshmallows from being in the sun all day - in the garden, laughing and playing in the water, and running up and down the Lions Dock.  We run over to see him and try to get him to come in for a swim, but he never does.  He watches as we show off for him, calling out for him to watch this, Dad! as we practice some of our better moves from dock into water.

"Your mother has supper ready," he finally tells us, "Go and let your brothers know it's time to come home."

Paul takes the job as it gives him a chance for one last jump in the water.  I take my dad's hand and we cross the road together, back over to the parking lot near the concession stand and to our big green station wagon.  In no time all of us walkers are in the car, windows rolled down in the hot still air of late afternoon, damp towels spread over sticky hot car seats.  Paul, Pat and Peter have picked up their bicycles and started a race back through the trail to see if they can get home before the rest of us in the car.

They do.

CJ School Part II

On a beautiful June day, the sunshine just seems to last forever.  I'm not sure how we knew it was time; maybe it was just a pause between games when we finally heard the rumblings from our stomachs.  In any case, suddenly the spell was broken and I knew that my amazing afternoon was over.  I walked with all the girls to the edge of the pit where the gravel road leads back up to the main road, and got ready to say my goodbyes.  As I drifted  over to the side, waiting to break away and follow the narrow path leading back to my home, one of the leaders called out to me.

"Hey Monik,  do  you want to check with your parents and see  if you can come back with us?  There's a barbecue for all the kids back at school, and you're welcome to join us if you'd like..."

I can't believe my ears - I look over in astonishment at Dorothy, and she and some other girls are laughing at me - again.

"So go ask!" she tells me.

"Yes!!"  I answer back, "Do you want to come with me and see my house?"

Dorothy nods and, suddenly re-energized, we break into a run - this time with me in  the lead.  We zip along the trail and across Tetroe Road right into my driveway.

"This is my house," I explain, "Oh, and those are some of my brothers.  I'll just find my mom - be right back!"

I leave Dorothy standing awkwardly in the yard.   My brothers glance up briefly from the game they are playing but quickly lose interest.  I'm only gone a second or two and come running back out, the kitchen screen door slamming behind me.  I'm not sure if Mom already knew what was coming, but obtaining approval was quick.

I'm still in running mode, and Dorothy jumps into step beside me.  I'm feeling shy and nervous the farther away we move from the  house.  Dorothy hasn't said much and I wonder what its going to be like over at the school.

"What's it like?" I suddenly ask her, "The school, I mean, is it fun?  My older sisters  got to go to boarding school in Winnipeg when they were little, I wish I got to do that, too.  There would be so many girls to play with all the time, and a uniform to wear so you didn't have to worry about clothes..."

My voice trails off as I realize she hasn't said anything.  She's just kind of looking at me, like something hurts her somewhere, but then it's gone and she's laughing at me again.

"All those brothers, no wonder!" she says.

By this time, we've caught up with the rest of the girls and we walk in little bunches along the road, laughing and talking, all the way back to their school, back to CJ School.

This is the first time  I've been  so close  to the  school, walking up the driveway and past the big chain fence.  There's a bustle of activity today, I don't remember ever seeing so many people out in the yard.  I have about  a million questions, but we've been out playing in the pit all day and running around, and now the lake  beckons - a  lake with a Jumping Rock.  I have truly died and gone to heaven.

We kick off shoes and socks, but into the lake we go with everything else on.  The water is beautiful - although its a small lake, it's very deep and stays refreshing on a hot day.  There's a small jackpine beside the rock with the ragged end of a rope still attached, and I try to jump up and catch it for a bit of a swing.

"That tree would be perfect for a rope swing," I announce, like no-one has ever thought of THAT before, and Dorothy suddenly just pushes me into the water.  I come up laughing and she's in right beside me, frowning.

"We're not allowed to have a rope swing," she explains, but it's lost on me somehow.

Glancing around, I notice one of the older girls glaring at me and I swim unceremoniously back over to the rock.  I climb out and find myself a space on the warm rock where we've lined up like a catch of trout.

"Sorry," I say, not looking anywhere now, not sure where I've found myself.  I realize there's something else going on here, although I'm still not really sure what.  Dorothy looks over at me and she can see now it's my time to feel awkward.

"C'mon," she says finally, "Let's go find out what's to eat."

We peel ourselves off of the rock and as we walk away, I can feel those eyes in my back but when I turn around, I see that those eyes are not angry but sad.  I want to ask what's the trouble, but something inside just stops me.

Back up at the school the barbecues are blazing outside but the food is all inside, in the gym.  Dorothy leads me into the gym and what I notice most is that there isn't much colour around, for a school, and its dark and cool inside.  I realize that there are boys around here too, not just girls at this school.  The boys are ignoring me for the most part, which is just fine with me; I have enough trouble with brothers at home. I also realize that this isn't just a barbecue, this is their dinner - this is the weekend, but all of these kids are here, living here, like I guess they have all year.  I see groups of girls giggling and teasing with some of the boys, and I see some other kids, like the older girl at the lake, just kind of on their own and looking sad.  Not a fresh kind of sad, like something just happened, but more like a worn out kind of sad - the kind of sad that lasts too long and makes your heart hurt.  Dorothy is watching me take it all in, watching me watch everyone.

"Are you sad, too?" I ask her, but maybe it's because I say it too softly or maybe it's because right then, a boy has come over to laugh at us in our wet clothes, but now she's busy laughing with the boy and she doesn't answer and my question is gone, it's floating up over everyone like a cloud, a big, puffy question mark and it's dissolving into the air above our heads in the gym.  Something happens in me then, I don't know what it is, but it feels kind of like a little sliver of something in my heart, and I Know.

We fill our plates and I remember to say Yes Please and No Thanks and we take our dinner outside.  We find a spot along the wall of the school in the sunshine, the rays slanting now through the trees.  The food is good, but not like my mom makes.

Dorothy and one of the leaders walk me back home, and then it's time to say goodbye.  I want to say, thanks for the great day, and thanks for the swim, and thanks for being my friend; but even more I want to ask my Mom if Dorothy can come and stay with us.  Even that's no good though, because I know this is not where she needs to be, she already has a home - somewhere.

"Bye," I say, "And, thanks..."

As they start walking back towards the road, I lift a hand to wave. Dorothy slowly waves back, and then she laughs!

*********

http://www.kenoradailyminerandnews.com/2011/01/19/residential-schools-exhibit-nominated-for-awards

http://www.cbc.ca/thunderbay/interactives/dyingforaneducation/

The Cecilia Jeffrey Indian Residential School closed in 1974, when I was 12.  I never saw Dorothy or any of the other girls or boys again.  I still think of them, and when I do I can still feel that little sliver in my heart.

CJ School - Part I

Saturday afternoon, lunchtime.  Chicken noodle soup, with crackers and cheese and pickles.  What could be better?  Breaking off little bits of cheese and plopping them into my soup to melt and stick to my spoon.  Putting some margarine between two crackers and squeezing them together so the margarine comes like worms out of the holes, but don't use "too much".  I know I don't really NEED that much margarine, but the worms work so much better with just a little bit more.  Its serious work, and once Paul has shown us how it's done, John, Francis and I are willing students.  Peanut butter is good too, but the crackers break too quickly because the peanut butter is too thick.  If we're still hungry, mom might pull out some bread and molasses - yum!  Although that is more of a winter treat and right now it is June, and there's rhubarb out in the garden.  We go out  and pick out our own pink stalk, wash them off with the garden hose, and dip into white sugar before taking a sweet/sour bite.  We sit outside on the step, sharing the cup of sugar as we each nibble on our own rhubarb stalk, checking each others pink tongues along the way.

Pat comes running towards the house; he has been out playing with some of the other big kids down the road.

"Hey, Monik," he calls to me, "There's a bunch of girls playing over in the pit - you should go see!"

"What?  Who?" I don't understand, there aren't many girls in my neighbourhood, at least not ones that like to play outside with me.  Sometimes I play with Barb and Shirley Peterson, when my sister Anne is babysitting them, but they don't like to climb trees and stuff.  Other times I might play with one of the Derouard  girls from across the field, but they aren't really my age and we don't seem to have much in common, either.

Pat goes past me, into the house for his lunch, and laughs at me, "You'll fit right in, they are a bunch of Indians from CJ School!  Wooo - wooo!"  He pats his hand over his mouth, as if he's on the warpath like in the cowboy movies I'm not allowed to watch.  That's not real, it's just like Tarzan - isn't it?

Across the road from my house is a big gravel pit.  I guess there used to be lots of trucks going in and out of the pit, taking out gravel to places, but ever since I can remember there has been nothing happening there.  Mom always tell us to stay away, but we can't help ourselves.  We love to go and explore in the pit and see what we can find - in the middle, there is a big old rusty machine we call "the crusher" because we think it was used to crush up rocks.  We climb in it and all over it - it is our fort, our rocket ship... you name it.  So I totally understand that there might be a bunch of kids playing over in the pit. And if they are all girls... well, I wouldn't care if they are from Venus and have Two Heads, I'm going to check things out.

I run into the house to tell my Mom where I'm going, and without waiting for an answer I'm back out of the house with the screen door slamming behind me.  I run across the road, along the path that takes me to a little road that leads right into the pit.  I'm not sure where to find them, or what I'll say when I do, but I'll worry about that later.

As I reach the bottom of the road where the pit widens, I'm suddenly aware of the inviting sound of kids playing.  I slow down just a little and follow the sounds, and I see them all playing along the edge of the pit, up in and around the bushes where my brothers and I found some clay once.  I slow to a stop and just watch them, nervous and self-conscious now.  They are obviously having a great time; there are about a dozen or so girls, all my age it seems like, and they have dark hair like me.  There are a couple of older girls who are obviously "in charge" and remind me of my big sister, Anne.  They are leading the way; not taking over but making sure that everyone is safe.

I keep standing there, stuck to a spot on the road, waiting for someone to notice me and then I'll know what to do.  It doesn't take too long before one of the girls calls out to me, "Hi!"

"Hi!" I call back, "Can I play, too?"

A few other girls stop, to watch.  They laugh and look at the first girl, who called me - she is laughing too, but I'm not sure... are they are laughing AT me?

"Can you climb up?" she calls back.

"Yep," I answer, and I am already half way up the side before she changes her mind.

It's hard running up the side of the pit; the gravel is loose and fills up your shoes pretty quick if you're not careful.  But I have lots of practice and I know that if I run on my toes, the gravel doesn't have a chance to get into the back of my shoes.  I go right up to the girl who first called out to me.  She's maybe a little bigger than me, but that's hard to tell because she's up higher on the side of the pit.

"Hi, I'm Monik," I say.  "What's your name?"

She smiles, and twists her long dark hair in her fingers.  "Dorothy," she says.

"Can I play too?" I say again, just to be sure it's okay.

"Sure!" she says, and with another laugh, she breaks away from us and runs straight down the hill, back down the way I had just come up, her legs moving like windmills around and around so fast it's amazing she doesn't fall right over.  I hesitate only a second before I follow her, shrieking all the way down, like everyone is now.

Up and down we go - laughing and panting all the way up, and shrieking all the way down.  Sometimes someone will fall, and whoever is close will reach down and pull them back up with no big deal and the game carries on.  I take them to the edge of the pit and show them where some birds are nesting - up too high for us to get to, although we'd like to try, just for a better look.  I show them the spot where my brothers and me found some clay that one time, enough to make a little clay bowl and dry it in the sun, but today there is no clay.  They don't seem to mind.

On and on it goes, one game changing into the next without pause; I never knew it could be this easy to play.
All these girls, going to school just up the road from me and I never knew, never even saw them before.  We're not really even talking, just laughing and running, running and laughing.  These girls are truly amazing, they are a gift to me.  I don't ever want this afternoon to end.

The Easter Bunny

It's getting close to Easter and I have one of my favorite Easter books in my fort, "The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes".  I read it slowly, and look at all of the pictures closely, and think about how the little Cottontail bunny did what she did.  She was small, like me, and from the country, like me, and had lots of kids - well, I have lots of brothers and sisters - and she did Great Things.  Maybe that means one day, I can do Great Things, too?  I promise myself that I will help my mom more, and not complain.

It's a Wednesday night, and that means my Dad is home for supper.  I go into the kitchen to ask my mom if I can help with dinner.  "You can peel some potatoes," she suggests.  So I go to the cupboard under the sink and count out some potatoes.  She keeps them there, mom told me, because it's cooler there and they won't grow their eyes so fast.  I count 10 big fat ones and dump them into the sink, and look for the peeler that works.  There are two, but one doesn't peel as good as the other one and if someone else comes to help, I don't want to get stuck using THAT one!

Sure enough, just after I get started, Francis comes into the kitchen so I get him to help.  He brings in the stool from the bathroom so he can reach up to the sink, and I give him the other peeler.  "You won't cut yourself with this one," I say.  We peel the potatoes, and I show Francis how I can make one big long peel, but I'm not able to do the whole potato without the peel breaking at least once.  (It works better with oranges.) Francis is having a harder time; I tell him it's because his hands are small and we compare our palms.  We hang the twisty potato peels on our ears, like earrings, and laugh!  He reminds me of a little elf when he laughs.  Mom helps us finish the potatoes and puts them on the stove, and then Francis is gone, called back into a game in the living room.

Paul helps me set the table because I go too slow, he says, and because he is STARVING.  Starving to DEATH.  Things get really busy in the kitchen - mom is finishing cooking and getting the high chair set up for Scott; Peter is just coming into the house from somewhere; Philip is looking to see if dinner's ready yet; the phone starts ringing for someone.  Then Dad comes in and suddenly everything settles down.  After a mad dash for a "good spot", everyone moves in around the table and it's time to say Grace.

We always say Grace together, but we don't hold hands or anything too weird like that.  Imagine Paul and I holding hands - ha!  That'll be the day.  Then everything gets passed around and we all dig in.  Well, some of us dig in more than others; Peter and Pat have "hollow legs" my mom says.  We all think Peter uses a shovel instead of a fork or spoon; at least his food disappears as though he's using one.

It's quiet for a bit on the bench where I'm sitting, and I look over at little Scottie on the highchair beside mom.  He must have had a busy day, because as I'm watching him his eyes are rolling and his head is nodding and I stop and watch.  I give John, beside me, an elbow, "Look!" I whisper.

"Ouch, what do you want, geez," says John, complaining about my sharp elbows.

"Look at Scott, he's falling asleep!"

Francis has been watching John and I, and we all turn at the same time to watch Scott's head slowly nod down into his mashed potatoes.  The three of us burst out laughing, and Scott's long eyelashes, now full of potatoes, bat open and he looks at us, surprised.  His little lip starts to quiver, but Mom - who really does have eyes in the back of her head! - saves the day and scoops Scott up into her arms and, I guess, into bed.

The rest of dinner passes uneventfully, and Dad asks us kids to do the dishes... that starts some action.  Peter jumps up and says something about "homework" and heads down into the basement.  Anne starts gathering the plates, Francis and John disappear into the living room (but I hear them being round up to go into the bath tub), so that leaves Pat and Tom and Phil and Paul and me to help Anne.  The clean-up crew.

In our kitchen there are two sinks side-by-side  - one is for washing, the other is for rinsing.  I know that Anne will wash - I like to wash and play in the bubbles but it takes me too long.  Plus, I like to be the Rinser.  I get the clean dishes from Anne, inspect them and if they are clean, give them a rinse and then put them on the dish rack for the dryers.  If they are NOT clean, back they go!  That's fun when you're the Rinser, but not when you're the Washer.  Usually, there are two Driers because Anne is so fast, and not many have to go back in.  Then somebody to bring the dishes over TO the Washer, and someone else to put the dishes away.  This makes me think again of "The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes".  We're just like those good little bunnies in the book, everyone with a job to do.

That's when Paul decides that HE wants to be the Rinser, and he pushes me off the stool.  I push him back, and then we're into it.  Anne keeps her head down at the sink (she's probably got better things to do and just wants to get this over with), but Pat gets into the spirit and starts to flick his damp dish-drying cloth at me and Paul.  We dance around the kitchen trying to evade the "SNAP!" of the cloth.  Philip is cleaning up - his version - he's eating the leftovers so that they don't have to be put away in the fridge.  Tom is rolling his eyes at us as he dries the dishes, and then of course, just as it's getting fun, I get snapped really hard.

"Ouch!" I cry, and, still surprised, just stand there, crying, "That really hurt, you know!  It's not funny!"

They are all laughing at me.  Paul laughs too, "Cry-Baby!" he says to me.

I stomp out of the kitchen, my leg still smarting from the snap, and my feelings hurt by the laughing and name-calling.  My tears feel hot on my cheeks.

"Fine," I say, over my shoulder, "You finish the dishes on your OWN then!" and I march right back to my room and into my fort.

I lay on my bed and squeeze my eyes closed, wiping them with  the sheets. As I calm down, I listen to the house sounds - Pat is still snapping in the kitchen but it sounds like someone else has joined in and is snapping him back; Francis and John are making whale-noises in the tub.  I look over at my book and the Country Bunny is looking back at me with her perfect line-up of little bunny children.  She makes it look so easy.  Why does it always seem so much harder in Real Life?  Well, I guess maybe I won't be an Easter Bunny after all... but who knows, maybe I can still do Great Things one day!

(The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes, by Du Bose Heyward)

Mom & Dad

When my parents had me, they already had lots of kids.  But they like kids and wanted more.  I was born on a beautiful day in May.  My mom sat on the front step in the sunshine, waiting for my dad to get home from work so he could drive her to the hospital.  I was born at supper time; I wonder who made supper that night for the rest of my brothers and sisters?  

In my family, first came 2 girls, then 1boy, then1 girl, then 5 boys, then me, and then four boys after me. I had mostly my brothers around to play with.  I suppose that's why people call me a "tom-boy".  It can be hard for me to play with girls because I don't play the games right, or I hit the ball too hard, or something.  I asked my mom to get a sister for me next time, and she tried but I only got brothers.  That’s okay.

My dad is the oldest of 7 brothers.  He is the handsomest of all of them!  He's a hard worker at the Railway Station and starts work before I get home from school at 4, until midnight every day - except Wednesday and Thursday which is like his weekend.  When he's home, he likes to work in his garden, or read the Sunday papers.  He is really good at playing chess.  In the War he was a sailor; I saw his hat and his nametag in the basement.  He smokes, but I wish he didn't.  

His mom, my grandma, lives in the next town from ours.  She has a huge old house with rooms in the upstairs!  She calls all of us "my pet" and gives big hugs, and puts drops of perfume into the ashtrays so that they aren't stinky.  She doesn't smoke, but maybe she used to.  My grandpa died a month before I was born, so I never got a chance to see him.  I think I would have liked him, although I think he was quiet.  He worked on building roads.  My dad’s brothers all live far away, like in California or Sudbury or Montreal, so we don’t see them or our cousins very much. 

My mom is the oldest of 5 girls and 2 boys.  She likes to bake and to read, and to sew.  She’s always home for us, and the best is when we come in after school and she has been busy baking buns or cinnamon rolls and lets us have one when it is still warm!  She used to be a Figure Skater when she was young, and she would travel around to skate.  She met my dad that way – a lady told me that. 

Her mom and dad, my grandma and grandpa, live in Fort Frances and have a camp up the lake.  I just LOVE going up the lake.  You have to take a boat to get there.  My mom’s brothers and sisters also live far away so we don’t see them or our cousins very much, either.  One of my mom’s sisters was sick and died before I was born, so I never met her, but she's in heaven now.  

My mom's youngest sister, Louise-Anne, is about my oldest sisters age.  She is so fun; when she comes for a visit she always has a new joke for me.  When she visits, she sleeps on the couch that pulls out into a bed in the living room.  I sneak in, in the morning, and she tells me stories and more jokes!  I always like when she  visits.

It’s nice to have a big family.  Even if they are mad at you, even if they go away, they are still your family and they will help you if they can.

The House on Tetro Road

My name is Monik.  I have 10 brothers and 3 sisters.  I'm the 10th kid, the youngest girl.  We live in the second house on Tetro Road.  It never used to have a number (that was just for houses in town), but now it does and it is #4.  

We have 4 bedrooms in our house.  There's my mom and dads room, the boys room, the girls room, and the baby's room.  I used to be in the baby's room, but since two of my oldest sisters are gone, now I'm in the girls room with my big sister, Anne.  I'm in the bottom bunk because I'm little, but it's okay because I can hang a blanket down and then it's not just a bed, it's a fort!  My sister is too old to play with me, so it's just me and sometimes the hamster in my fort.  And books!  Always lots of books.

The boys room is really cool.  There's a bunkbed and a closet, and another bunkbed and a closet, and another bunkbed.  Along the front is a big, long desk so they can do their homework... But usually I see it piled up with laundry and books and stuff.  I'm not really allowed in the boys room, but sometimes I have to go in to bring in their clean laundry for my Mom.  Then I take my time to see what I might be missing.  I think they must have lots of fun with pillow fights and stuff, more fun than just me in my fort.  Sometimes my brothers will shout, "Get out of our room!" and I will race out as fast as I can.  It smells funny in there.

The little kids room has the baby's crib in it and since it is across the hall from the laundry, it usually has a lot of stuff piled in it.  There's a spot to change the baby, and a chair to hold him and rock him to sleep.  I like to tiptoe in to see if the baby is sleeping - sometimes he's not and will give me a big smile!  

My Mom and Dad's room has a nice big bed that I can snuggle in with them if I have a bad dream. They have a big dresser that has so many neat things that I'm not allowed to touch, and books that I'm too small to read yet.  If I go into the room, my Mom always knows and calls, "What are you doing in there?" and I answer, "Nothing!", and scurry out.

We have two bathrooms in our house, which is good because when you have to go, you don't have to wait for too long.  Except if someone brings a book in there, or a Readers Digest to read the jokes.  The one by the kitchen is bigger and also has a bathtub.

Our kitchen has a great, big table with a chair on each end, a bench along one side, and more chairs along the other side. My usual spot is on the bench with my little brothers.  The bench is sort of like a stage; there's enough room to march back and forth behind whoever is sitting there, and the others can't help but watch.  We always have meals together, especially dinner.  There's a radio in the kitchen that sometimes plays CBC, or my dad will switch it to play a Canadian Brass tape.  I love the sound of that, and of hearing my Dad or Mom humming along to the music.

The living room is nice and cosy.  It's got carpet on all the floor so you can sit anywhere, like if there's not enough room on the couch or the chair. Mom has lots of plants in the window, and she is good at getting them to have flowers on them.  We're not allowed to rough house in the living room because we might break a lamp or knock over the plants.  My Mom always says, "Go outside if you want to rough-house!" so we do.  Like on a Saturday morning if we have just finished watching Tarzan and we are pretending to be Cheeta or Tarzan, it's best to do that outside before we get in trouble.

Our house also has a basement, but it's kind of scary and dark.  I keep my skiis down there if they are not outside in the snowbank, or if it's summer.  My big brothers have a room down there that they keep locked so the little kids can't get in and wreck their stuff.  I have peeked in and they have about a hundred records down there, and a nice record player, but they mostly use headphones so no one else can hear.  The rest of the basement has basement stuff like the water pump and chimney, Moms preserves, and other mostly boring stuff.  

It's a nice house and it has a nice, big yard.  It's my home and there is always someone there.  In the summer or the winter, I can find lots of stuff to do, and usually someone to play with, too.  I like my house; it's my home.