When we got back to Moncton ,after our two week stay at the summer cottage, it was back to business as usual. Both of my parents were still working, so we would spend some days at the babysitters. On days when my father was at home, we got to stay home as well. I rather preferred this to being outside of our house because the babysitters was still a place where there seemed to be a great deal of conflict, especially when the older children were home from school. At times there was a lot of shouting and swearing,and when it was just my sister and I, and her little one, the babysitter spent a lot of time sitting around in the kitchen,smoking and complaining about her nerves. Sometimes her husband would come home during the day and they would get into a bit of an argument. In fact, mostly our babysitter seemed kind of wrung out and neurotic with a lot of things on her mind. She did love children though, and she had some days that were better than others.
When we stayed home, my father would sometimes sleep, after having worked the night shift. If the weather was bad, we got to stay inside and watch television. We had to be quite though. So we would watch The Friendly Giant, followed by this show that was in French, and had this mouse puppet. Later we watched a show called Mr. Dressup. For the most part this worked out well enough. If my mother didn't come home at noon, and usually she did, my father got up and made soup and sandwiches, then we would return to quietly playing or watching the afternoon movie. Sometimes that was alright, because the movie would be an old John Wayne film, or some war movie, or cowboys and Indians, and as long as there was a lot of action, I could watch quietly for hours. The only problem I ever had was one time I got a nose bleed while we were watching television one morning,and didn't know if I should wake my father up. I'd had nose bleeds a lot as a kid, so I knew what to do, and eventually got the bleeding stopped, but when my father awoke, he said if it happened again, I had to let him know right away. It was also about this time that I went to visit the doctor. I have no idea if that was because of the nose bleeds though.
If it was nice outside, and my father was at home, I could go out to spend the evenings with my friend Kenny who lived down the street. I'd been hanging out with him for a while, and he was one of the first kids I ever remember playing with outside my own family. When I visited his place(he never visited our place),my sister never tagged along, so I don't know what it was she did, or how she spent the day. Kenny and I would play Cowboys and Indians usually, or cops and robbers, or war. Some sort of game that involved guns, invariably. For a while, this worked out okay, until we started playing with some of the older kids.
Behind Kenny's house there was a bit of a field. It's before the time that there was a Canadian Tire there, and people used to cut diagonally across the field to short cut from our street, to the lights at Mountain Road and Mapleton Road. As the field receded away from Mountain Road, it narrowed out, as it was kind of pie shaped. By the time it reached Willet Street, it just ended. But, in that field there was a single house. The people who lived there were poor people, and you could tell by one look at the house. Of course one of it's yards was the field. Then, on one side it had a driveway, and between the driveway and the back of Kenny's house, there was another yard. You really couldn't call it a lawn though. It was all hacked up and full of weeds, but there was no real grass. There was a lot of thistles though. The house was pretty much just like the yard. All run down. It wasn't nearly as well kept as most of the houses around it. Mostly it was painted a kind of tan color, but not all of it was painted, and that part that was, was not evenly covered. Not every window in the house had glass either. Some were covered over with clear sheets of plastic,or sometimes even a black garbage bag. There were a lot children around, from very young, right up to teenagers and maybe beyond.And there always seemed to be a dog around as well.
Moncton, as a city has always been divided closely between English and French speaking people. In fact, the same can be said of New Brunswick in general. If you can imagine the province as a square, then divide it diagonally from Northwest, to Southeast,most of the French people would live in the Northeastern part, while the Southwestern part is largely English. Moncton would get divided in two, being located right along that line. So. you could drive just out of the city one way and find communities where hardly anyone spoke English. If you were to drive the other way, you would find places that were nearly one hundred percent Anglophone. But within the city, it was divided right down the middle, and our community tended to reflect that.
The people living in the house behind Kenny's were French. Their family name was Bastarache, and they had a young boy who I met one day when Kenny and I were playing together. As near as I can remember, this kid's name was Johnny. He was likely a year,or maybe even two older that I was, but he wasn't that much bigger. He did go to school though. Usually he wore clothes that were a bit more worn out than ours, but he was clean, and for the most part ,an agreeable playmate. I don't recall us ever getting into any fights, or even any serious arguments. As far as I was concerned, he was an alright guy. The only problem was, I spoke English, and, when you are raised Anglophone, and are only five years old, you can't really say his name, "Bastarache" all that well, without stumbling over it. For some reason, we would often refer to other kids by both their first and last names. So one day, Johnny decided to help me out when it came to pronouncing his name. "It's easy...just call me Johnny Bastard." Well, it might have been easier, but it also presented the five year old version of a moral dilemma, because I knew it was a word we were not allowed to say. Still, if it was actually a persons name, well I ought to be able to say it. For a while, this was never a problem, because I could just call him by his first name only. But then one night, right after dinner, I got on my tri-cycle and started off down the street, looking for some kids to play with before dark. My mother was in the front yard, and asked where I was going, though she must have known, because I only ever went one place. But before I could think, and before I could stop myself I just blurted out, "I'm on my way to Johnny Bastard's house." And that's as far as I got that night. Later, when I told Johnny about this, he seemed to think it was kind of funny. But I still prefer to think that he didn't do that just to play a joke on me, because, really he was a great kid.
When we stayed home, my father would sometimes sleep, after having worked the night shift. If the weather was bad, we got to stay inside and watch television. We had to be quite though. So we would watch The Friendly Giant, followed by this show that was in French, and had this mouse puppet. Later we watched a show called Mr. Dressup. For the most part this worked out well enough. If my mother didn't come home at noon, and usually she did, my father got up and made soup and sandwiches, then we would return to quietly playing or watching the afternoon movie. Sometimes that was alright, because the movie would be an old John Wayne film, or some war movie, or cowboys and Indians, and as long as there was a lot of action, I could watch quietly for hours. The only problem I ever had was one time I got a nose bleed while we were watching television one morning,and didn't know if I should wake my father up. I'd had nose bleeds a lot as a kid, so I knew what to do, and eventually got the bleeding stopped, but when my father awoke, he said if it happened again, I had to let him know right away. It was also about this time that I went to visit the doctor. I have no idea if that was because of the nose bleeds though.
If it was nice outside, and my father was at home, I could go out to spend the evenings with my friend Kenny who lived down the street. I'd been hanging out with him for a while, and he was one of the first kids I ever remember playing with outside my own family. When I visited his place(he never visited our place),my sister never tagged along, so I don't know what it was she did, or how she spent the day. Kenny and I would play Cowboys and Indians usually, or cops and robbers, or war. Some sort of game that involved guns, invariably. For a while, this worked out okay, until we started playing with some of the older kids.
Behind Kenny's house there was a bit of a field. It's before the time that there was a Canadian Tire there, and people used to cut diagonally across the field to short cut from our street, to the lights at Mountain Road and Mapleton Road. As the field receded away from Mountain Road, it narrowed out, as it was kind of pie shaped. By the time it reached Willet Street, it just ended. But, in that field there was a single house. The people who lived there were poor people, and you could tell by one look at the house. Of course one of it's yards was the field. Then, on one side it had a driveway, and between the driveway and the back of Kenny's house, there was another yard. You really couldn't call it a lawn though. It was all hacked up and full of weeds, but there was no real grass. There was a lot of thistles though. The house was pretty much just like the yard. All run down. It wasn't nearly as well kept as most of the houses around it. Mostly it was painted a kind of tan color, but not all of it was painted, and that part that was, was not evenly covered. Not every window in the house had glass either. Some were covered over with clear sheets of plastic,or sometimes even a black garbage bag. There were a lot children around, from very young, right up to teenagers and maybe beyond.And there always seemed to be a dog around as well.
Moncton, as a city has always been divided closely between English and French speaking people. In fact, the same can be said of New Brunswick in general. If you can imagine the province as a square, then divide it diagonally from Northwest, to Southeast,most of the French people would live in the Northeastern part, while the Southwestern part is largely English. Moncton would get divided in two, being located right along that line. So. you could drive just out of the city one way and find communities where hardly anyone spoke English. If you were to drive the other way, you would find places that were nearly one hundred percent Anglophone. But within the city, it was divided right down the middle, and our community tended to reflect that.
The people living in the house behind Kenny's were French. Their family name was Bastarache, and they had a young boy who I met one day when Kenny and I were playing together. As near as I can remember, this kid's name was Johnny. He was likely a year,or maybe even two older that I was, but he wasn't that much bigger. He did go to school though. Usually he wore clothes that were a bit more worn out than ours, but he was clean, and for the most part ,an agreeable playmate. I don't recall us ever getting into any fights, or even any serious arguments. As far as I was concerned, he was an alright guy. The only problem was, I spoke English, and, when you are raised Anglophone, and are only five years old, you can't really say his name, "Bastarache" all that well, without stumbling over it. For some reason, we would often refer to other kids by both their first and last names. So one day, Johnny decided to help me out when it came to pronouncing his name. "It's easy...just call me Johnny Bastard." Well, it might have been easier, but it also presented the five year old version of a moral dilemma, because I knew it was a word we were not allowed to say. Still, if it was actually a persons name, well I ought to be able to say it. For a while, this was never a problem, because I could just call him by his first name only. But then one night, right after dinner, I got on my tri-cycle and started off down the street, looking for some kids to play with before dark. My mother was in the front yard, and asked where I was going, though she must have known, because I only ever went one place. But before I could think, and before I could stop myself I just blurted out, "I'm on my way to Johnny Bastard's house." And that's as far as I got that night. Later, when I told Johnny about this, he seemed to think it was kind of funny. But I still prefer to think that he didn't do that just to play a joke on me, because, really he was a great kid.
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