There’s something I find a little bit romantic about junk yards, wrecking yards… There’s auto repair shop up near the barren top of Bagot that has that “yard” feel for some reason, at home in. It’s all walled in on two side, double high fences on another others, a great big rolling fenced entrance with a few scraggly trees, one of them a big willow drooping over the old cars laying around the yard in various states of repair; the shop itself, a cement brick wall with a huge rolling shop door forms the end of this gloriously shabby courtyard I’ve just pulled the CAR into… there’s a shed like building, an office with a set of old wooden stairs leading up to a rooftop deck which… I know now is the apartment I’d like to live in one day. Sigh, yet another lottery fantasy.
A mangy cat wanders down the old wooden stairs in advance of three woman, the younger looking one struggling with a huge suitcase and a baby basket, the oldest woman, a bit underdressed in her flowery terry housecoat is tugging on a butt as she gives the younger one a hug goodbye.
“Can I put that in the trunk for you?” I say with a smile, pointing at the baby basket. The patented ice-breaker I use with young mothers… She smiles as I grab her overweight suitcase and chuck it in the trunk while she buckles baby in back and we’re off to the bus station. It would appear today, I’m driving her part way along her freshly baked son’s “introductory tour” across Southern Ontario, Aunts, cousin’s, half brothers n’ step sisters… we talk a bit about, the boy’s name, Elijah, Arthur, “strong names”, and… you know circumstances… Somewhere along the conversation I mutter “…ya know, my mom always told me, if life keeps serving up curve balls the best thing to do is keep swing the bat.”
“…mine said that too.” I was told from the backseat. “Really?”… “Really.”
I found this kind of odd as I’d honestly thought I’d just made this one up on the spot, out the blue. She told me how her mother had played baseball very competitively and was always passing along these baseball related sayings. I admitted to her that my mom never actually told me this, but rather always warned me to “…never fart in the elevator.” Chuckling a bit the new mama in back told me how she always blamed the person next to her when she had, you know an accidental release. I’d already told her I had a young son of my own and told her “…hey, you know, now that you have a kid, you can always blame all your farts and bad smells a weird noises on him.” I explained how all it really took was to flick of one’s glance in the direction of the littler one and all suspicions simply evaporate in an air of good natured, go figure… She thought about this for a while…
As we darted across John Counter and pulled into the Bus Station parking lot… I felt the need to give this nice young lady little something else to think about, something a little nicer perhaps. I thought I’d mention to her that, despite the circumstances, just how blessed she was to have had a boy. “From this point on you’ll have a fella in your life who will love you, adore you, defend and do anything he can for you, for ever… despite your having blamed him for all your farting…” in the elevator or anywhere else for that matter. I couldn’t stress enough how much the little boys I know love their mother and this left me wondering… I wonder what Elijah might say his mama done told him… “don’t pay too much attention to cab drivers.”… perhaps… and my boy’s mama… the same maybe?