My "Perfect" Life - Part 22

I just bought Bobby Orr's book... ORR: MY STORY.

I was going to write about early days of dating my husband but that can wait until next time. I have something else to write about, every bit as romantic. The great thing about blogging is that it can be a sort of 'stream of consciousness' thing where, from one moment to the next, you type what comes to mind, not what you planned to write about the day - or week - before.

Bobby Orr. When I was a kid, "#4 - Bobby Orr" was as popular a chant as any. Northern Ontario was proud of the kid from Parry Sound who'd made good. He was on the Boston Bruins hockey team, my favourite team and the Stanley Cup winners around the (relatively brief) time that hockey mattered to me.

It was 1970. My next door neighbours were mostly boys and the nephews to Pete and Frank Mahovolich - Montreal Canadians players when Montreal won a disproportionate number of Stanley Cups. Now, as blogging is international I'll highlight that the Stanley Cup is the ultimate trophy for hockey, like the World Cup is 'it' for soccer or the Pennant for baseball or the - forgive me I don't know what the ultimate trophy is for cricket, but you get what I mean.

Anyway, my next door neighbours were good friends but we bickered for several years about which hockey team was the best. They usually would win the argument because their favourite team, the team on which their uncles played, was the team that, year by year seemed to win - or get very close to - the cup. But not in 1970. That year, Boston won and I didn't let them forget it.

What makes thinking about it now so romantic? I don't know. Maybe it's that I knew all the players by name. Maybe it's because I liked the big "B" in the middle of an orange and black jersey. Maybe it was then, because I finally won the argument over which was the best team... for that year anyway. At the time, of course I wouldn't have thought any of it romantic. On reflection, I guess what was romantic was that the hype over the good looking Bruins team intrigued me. And that 'my team' won! For me, romance isn't only about dating or marriage. Romance is about idealizing, about intimately and passionately caring about someone or something about which, to your own mind, there is only good. And in that sense, for me, the Boston Bruins was 'it!'

What makes us go crazy over a particular sports team? Or a particular pop singer? Or movie star? What drives us to idolize someone - or something - to the exclusion of all else? And why, after over 40 years, do I discover a hero has written a book and I go and buy it?

Because that which is important in our youth sticks with us forever. And because we all need a sense of romance in our lives; for kids, I suspect it's not so often about a love-interest as about something to be 'in love with'.

Youth is a time to explore the power of our imaginations. It is a time when we begin to see the limitations of our parents and look to other heroes. It is the time when we flex our own muscles to see what we can accomplish, and aspire to heights and depths of significance, either directly, or more commonly, through our heroes.

Youth is about idealism. My "Perfect" Life is not about an ideal life, but about a life which had many perfect aspects but which was highly imperfect because relationships were imperfect. When you have a person (or a team comprised of persons) which you idealize, you are able to fulfill that need to worship, adore, experience romance and there is no threat to your ideal being tainted because there is no interpersonal relationship. Well, at least not 40 years ago, before media became as pervasive as it is now, and celebrity became so easily scrutinized. Today heroes fall, but that was not so common in the past.

Recently, I saw a television interview with Bobby Orr... on the eve of the release of his book.
Bobby Orr is a nice guy. Always has been, always will be. I don't know what makes him tick. Maybe he just is comfortable in his own skin and knows how to live in the present. But in my case, seeing the interview strengthened my appreciation for him and revived good memories about a time and people in my life I loved: my team and my next door neighbours.

In hockey, you have to be ready for anything. And when a play is finished, you can't dwell on it but keep on pushing yourself to help your team. Life - real life - is like that. You have to live in the moment, ready for what is to come, having learned from the past but not living in it - be it a good past moment or bad one - any longer. So, today I seized the opportunity to write, not about my love life but about a love and passion in my childhood, sparked by an interview and the release of a book. That passion had little to do with interpersonal relationship and very much to do with idealized love in the wider sense... which I think, is what romance is all about.

My Son and His Team

My "Perfect" Life - part 17

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..."

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

'How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the height and depth and breadth
My soul can reach when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childlike faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, -- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.'


B and I went out throughout the summer. We saw each other almost daily -- sometimes alone, more often with other friends around us, steadily. We played baseball with the group, he nursed an infected wound on my elbow for weeks until it healed. (It was the result of a fall from my bike, which I think I wrote about in a previous post.) I got to know his family a bit when we'd hang out at his place and have a sauna. I don't remember a single argument. It was an unsophisticated, uncomplicated relationship. We kissed often; otherwise we were as 'innocent as doves'.

Then came the night before moving day, with a drawn-out goodbye. And with the stress of the inevitable departure came our first argument.

Somewhere in my mind, all summer long, there had always been the question of how we'd say goodbye. Wouldn't B and I have to break up because I was moving 400 miles away? Or in our naive optimism and young love, had we somehow believed we could maintain the relationship through letters and (perhaps) occasional long distance phone calls? In those days, there were no such things as 'bundles' and calling long distance was pretty expensive.

I remember sitting outside, past dusk, with my impatient father inside, waiting for me to go in and get to bed. But instead, B and I were sitting at the end of my next door neighbour's front walk and talking about breaking up. I'd just turned 15 and his 15th birthday would be in a couple of months. I think I was trying to tell him we should break up, so that he could go out with other girls... He was popular and he liked girls, so it seemed to me that not having to be faithful to me would be practical for him.

But I offended him.

I'm not sure exactly what I said that made him cross, but all of a sudden he stood up and began to walk away. I called to him. It wasn't until he had walked halfway down the block, that he turned around and came back.

I think I said sorry, and we hugged each other. I guess we said 'goodbye'. I remember watching as he got on his bike and rode away. I remember the scene. I must have cried.

All summer long the knowledge I'd be moving away had been on my mind. But there was no real stress until that week of, and especially the night before, my departure. I must have underestimated his affection. To this day I don't understand it. But how treasured I must have been to him.

Self-image often bares little resemblance to reality. I never understood what cool, popular, attractive B saw in me. It would take me years to discover I was pretty and so I never understood that boys liked me. B had real grace when it came to me. There was a spring prom yet to come, and a another visit years later. We eventually did go our separate ways, but with a bit more maturity we might have stayed friends.

What is it that men see in women, that women can't see?

You see, I think he really loved me. I certainly fell in love with him, but that wasn't really until months later when he visited me in my new home and we attended my school's Spring Prom.

Reflections have a tender quality I enjoy sharing.

Until next Thursday, may you remember some beautiful memories and make some others.

My "Perfect" Life - part 15

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..."

I've always enjoyed male friends. When I was twelve, my best friend was a boy. And I had crushes on boys too, from time to time, my first being Robbie at age six. The winter of grade seven, I remember I had a 'boyfriend', which means we held hands when we, along with several other friends, went skating together. We never saw each other or spoke to each other outside of these experiences. Although there was a mutual attraction, there wasn't really a relationship. So, I was fourteen when I had my first real boyfriend, an exclusive relationship with mutual interest, on-going communication and planned meetings.

This first love was B. B if you're reading this, I look back on my young love for you with appreciation and fondness. I wish you well, wherever and whoever you are now.

I noticed B at school during the spring of grade nine. I guess we knew who each other was in the rag tag-mixed bag of school, but we weren't in the same class, and had met when a group of us would hang around after school in the building. I think of it now and expect that unsupervised groups are probably not allowed. But back then we'd do our homework, hang out and caused no one any harm. I vaguely remember thinking he was a good looking guy and although he was only fourteen, he was over 6' tall. But we didn't personally have any relationship at all, until a chance meeting precipitated it....

One random school evening, a girl friend and I were cycling near our high school (which was not in our neighbourhood). It was May, I had a new 10-speed bike and life was simple and easy. One of us noticed a pathway and said, "Let's go down here." Curious, we both rode down the unfamiliar pathway, and at the other end, there was another street. Suddenly B appeared. Like me, he was with a friend of his.

'What are you doing here?' I think I asked.

'I live here,' he answered.

I thought that coincidence was pretty cool, because by now I really liked him... enough to feel awkward and really want to spend time with him and get to know him.

And although I genuinely had no idea where the guy lived, no one else believed me when, the next day, it was a bit of gossip that B and I had gotten together.

A most poignant moment in that budding relationship was on a day when, after school, B offered me a present: it was the hollow of a broken ball point pen. He said something like, "Here, this is for you."
I took it, said 'thanks' and he turned around and said out loud to no one, "She took it!"

I didn't get why he was so excited, and I probably even thought he was joking, but I did take that pen frame and I think I kept it for some years afterward.

Boys are sweet. B had quite a reputation with girls, before I knew him. But he was sincere, polite, never pushy.... and a good kisser with me. It 'cost' me a lot to date him, because of his reputation. But we were totally innocent and genuinely caring about each other, of that I am sure.

I think kids are innocent. Circumstances can bring them to lose that innocence prematurely. In my case, this first love is worth remembering fondly, and I'm grateful for the first experience as one worth sharing.