Those that know me know I hate November. I listed the reasons for it here. I'd like to explore another reason on this special anniversary. My first negative November memory occurred when I was nine.
It all started on Wednesday morning, November 5th, 1986. There were events before that, but I wasn’t aware of it at the time. I was an eight-year-old grade three student. I lived outside the small Nova Scotian town that both my father and I had been born in, and that his parents had gone to school in. We lived within a kilometer of cows in several directions. We did not have much money. I know this because the only new clothes I ever got were those made by my aunt. I fell pretending to be a figure skater on black ice behind my little country school. The boy spying on me in the bushes ran out of hiding to get the woman on duty, who called my mom. Mom took me in to see my doctor, who assured me that my arm was not broken. Children did not break their bones in the manner that mine was hurt. I was pretty sure it was. It was very sore. The only thing that would have made up for the pain was a cast to get me all sorts of attention in class, and signatures too.
I didn’t sleep well that night, or the next. I was supposed to use my arm normally, but I was in a lot of pain. Then Friday, Mom took me out of school again around lunchtime. The doctor was at the hospital that day, so we went there to wait for him. We waited for a long time, and after a while we went to McDonalds for lunch. This was great because the Happy Meal toy that week was a little package of Lego. Happy Meal toys have really gone down in value in twenty years. Finally, in the afternoon, I had an X-ray taken of my arm. I remember waiting a long time for the doctor to come and look at the images, and show us. My arm was indeed broken. There was a fracture near my shoulder. I did not get to have a cast, but I had to wear my arm in a sling for several weeks. I was pretty disappointed not to get the cast, but I would still get to tell my friends that I had a broken arm.
We got home late in the afternoon. Mom had purchased an extra Happy Meal Lego pack for my brother, and I was excited to show the Lego to my father and brother, and share my news with them. Dad listened to Mom’s account of our day, but he had news of his own. He had quit his job as a machinist mechanic. He would be starting a new office job in Halifax that month. He would come home on weekends for now, but eventually we would be moving to Halifax area as well. Dad was strangely animated. He was usually quite subdued at suppertime. I would try to talk to him, but he would only say “Um,” in response. On November 7th, 1986, he was pretty excited. He had received a phone call that afternoon at work from a man in Ottawa informing him that he had been chosen for a brand new position in their organization. He gave his notice immediately to his menacing boss.
Dad’s news caused me ambivalence for a while. I liked this new, excited Dad of mine. I caught some of his enthusiasm, but I had trouble processing the idea of leaving our rural home for metro Halifax. We moved just before I turned nine. I had some excitement about a new house and school and new adventures but when we moved, I missed my hometown. I also encountered rather hostile neighbours and classmates. I was an outcast for the next nine years. Throughout my later childhood and teenage years, I looked back on our move to Halifax area as a bad thing. I remembered November 7th as a day that cast doom on the rest of my childhood.
I am far enough removed from my childhood now to see Dad’s November 7th announcement in a different light. I think it was a very unusual thing. My father had dyslexia. This was not recognized in those days, so he did not graduate from high school. He went to vocational school where he learned mechanics. Landing an executive-style job was quite the coup d’etat. I’m fuzzy about the exact numbers, but I believe Dad’s salary doubled when he switched jobs. I know that we became a two-car family, and I know that I no longer lived on hand-me-downs from Mom’s friends’ daughters. We moved from a rather poor, rural area, to a nice subdivision near a lake, with nice big houses. Many of our neighbours were engineers and marine biologists. I was emotionally wounded by my peers, but in other ways I gained a great deal by my father’s career move. It’s mind numbing to imagine what my life would have been like if we’d stayed in the small town. I was accepted there for the most part, so I might not have has the same bullying, but I wonder what influence the small place would have had on me. I love the people that I knew there as a small child, but I’m also grateful for the people I met in the following nine years. My father was also happier than he would have been as a mechanic. We gained a phenomenal health plan, which my family has benefited from greatly over the years. My mother is a very social person. She made a great number of new friends that have enriched our lives.
Upon reflection, it is obvious that I have disliked November since that day twenty years ago. I need to change the way I think about it. It was a very big day for my father. Dad must have been a little uncertain about a job with so much reading and writing. He must have doubted himself as he was pitted against people with several university degrees. Sometimes he has had to work much too hard, but he was done well. My father's career has been a success that I will always be proud of. In some ways I didn’t fare well in our new life, but there were many positive things about it too. I met so many wonderful people as a result of our move. Dad’s decision was a big factor in who I am today, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.
