write down as many of my earliest memories from childhood as I can remember

When I was a child, I was utterly captivated by the beautiful, pristine ice princesses of the professional ice skating world. I longed to learn how to skate and begged my father to buy me a pair of skates. It didn’t take me long to wear him down, although I’m sure that my parents could not afford skates for any of us at the time.

My Dad taught me to skate. And he did it at home, in my very own backyard. So, one of my favorite memories of my father is of him getting the back pond ready for skating each year.

My sister, brother and I would get all bundled up in our snow suits and strap on our snow shoes to wade through the waist high snow in our backyard. My Dad would follow behind with a giant snow shovel, clearing a path to the ice covered pond just behind the tree line. That pond was a magical place. Surrounded by a towering ring of evergreens and pine trees, it was perfectly sheltered from the wind. The pond itself was almost the size of a regulation skating rink. My Dad would work for ages, clearing the snow off the top of the pond, to reveal the icy smooth surface underneath. It must have taken ages for him to prep that first winter. Then, we’d drag our picnic table and benches out there, so we’d have a place to lace up our skates and have a rest. Since then, I’ve learned that there are no limits to a father’s love.

My sister and I could hardly wait to lace up our skates and get started. My Dad would tie kitchen cushions to our behinds to soften the landing when we fell and he brought two little baby chairs to push around in front of us, to prevent us from falling. He wasn’t one of those Dads that hung around to catch us if we fell. We took our knocks and got back up again. It’s the only way to learn. He refused to let us skate on our ankles and eventually, we graduated to skating on our own two feet. We’d spend hours spinning and jumping on the ice surface.

We were all devastated when our next door neighbor decided to clear his field one year and dumped rocks in our beautiful skating pond. My dreams of becoming an ice princess came crashing down.

Towards the end of that summer, my Dad started smoothing out an area in our side field for a basketball court. He had every intention of turning the court into a skating rink for us when winter arrived. He never seemed daunted by the overwhelming task of boarding up the area to flood it. He must have spent hours wearing that surface down to something good enough to skate on. He bought a floodlight and I remember him working late into the night, while we were inside watching TV. Our first step onto that smooth, glassy surface was like stepping onto glass. It was incredible.

Shauna and I eventually ended up taking figure skating lessons at our local arena, and my brother took over the rink at home to hone his goalie skills. I continued to dream of ice princesses; never realizing that I had become one long ago, with my father’s loving intervention and generosity. He made that dream come true.

Thanks Dad.

Dear Mom,

One of my first memories is of you and I collecting flowers together. We used to walk in the fields beside our house when I was a child and we collected flowers. You showed me how to press them in Nana’s flower press. You taught me about Black-Eyed Susans’ and Daisies that first year. Every year after that, we always spent some time looking for a little piece of nature. Pussy willows in the fall. Pink Ladies’ Slippers, wild Tiger Lilies and Lily of the Valley. I used to play in the giant bushes of lilac beside our house. They always filled the house with a heady scent. Every year we searched the woods at the end of May for trilliums. That flower, in particular, has never lost its magic for me because of you.

I rememer digging through the rich, dark earth and helping you pull weeds. At first, riding in the wheelbarrow because I was too little to push and later, taking it to the compost heap myself. During winter, we’d work downstairs, potting bulbs and getting everything ready for your spring gardens.

Mom, when I think of you, I’ll always think of all your special flowers and gardens – especially your wild red poppies. You brought home a bunch one year to plant and they quickly overran all of your gardens. Ever year we would try so hard to mow them under to make room for other flowers. But I think they chose you for a reason. They always came back every year, wilder and more beautiful than ever. Wild poppies will always remind me of you, my beautiful and enchanting mother.

Last night, I got some news that everyone fears they will get when they’re so far away from home. My mother called to tell me that a dear, old friend was killed this week by another idiotic drunk driver. Scott and his wife were coming back from their anniversary dinner this week and were hit by a man in a white van. He sacrificed himself to save her by throwing her off the bike at the last minute. Sadly, he leaves behind a three year old and the rest of his family and friends. I feel so helpless over here, so far away from everyone else. I can only find solace with John, who hasn’t met Scott and has only heard stories. I would’ve liked for them to meet. Scott was one of my first friends. He was the boy next year. Although a few years older than me, we often played together. There are photos of us out on walks with the dogs. He taught me about birds and animals. I adored Scott and used to follow him everywhere. He was always so kind and tolerant of me. One day, when I was eight, I went over to his house to help him collect and chop firewood for the oncoming winter. It was the end of summer and I insisted that I was strong enough to carry the wood into the woodshed. I ended up dropping a piece of wood on my foot and I smashed my foot really badly. I was so ashamed. I didn’t want to tell him and have him think I was a wimp. I left quietly and literally hopped home. Scott followed my trail back just in time to jump in the van with us as we drove to the hospital. That day was the worst and luckiest of that year in many ways. Bad, because I started grade four with a huge cast on my foot and was unable to do much of anything. Recesses were a terrible time for those first few months of school. Good, because I could look forward to having Scott carry me on and off the bus every morning because I was too little to negotiate the stairs. My first crush developed that year. Throughout the years, Scott and his family were always there for us. Scott would often stop over to keep an eye on us if my parents were late coming home from work. He never made it seem like babysitting. He was just a kind and wonderful person to be around at all times. When he was 18, he was in a horrific motorcycle accident that almost killed him. It took him years to recuperate from it. I was 13 or 14 at the time and would go over to his house to keep him company. His love for riding never dissapated. He continued to ride his beloved bikes and was a safe driver. I saw him briefly the last time I was in Canada. We chatted for awhile and as usual, he managed to bring a smile to my face. He got married and had a child while I was overseas. I have never met his family. I would’ve liked the chance to meet them. So, it is with sadness that I write my very first entry here about Scott. I don’t know how, but writing about this has still managed to make me smile a little – he has always able to do that.