Post by Rick (Admin) on Aug 11, 2012 18:12:54 GMT -5
I am cautioning all young people out there – eventually, one day, you are going to wake up and say something like “I remember when I was a kid ...” It is inevitable. It just happens – you too will tell stories that make young people roll their eyes — so deal with it.
That’s what I’m doing, because this week, I drove along the highway in Schumacher and that phrase formed itself in my little mind.
I remember when I was a kid, on Friday nights, we used to go and pick up my Mom from work (when she worked at Woolworth’s until 9:00). We would head out to the A&W for milkshakes. They were glorious!
It was great fun because you sat in your car and a waitress came to your window for your order. The trays of food were brought to you and they hung on the car window. The drive through window just doesn’t have the same ring for me today – all business, chop-chop, move along.
I guess working on the 100th anniversary committee got me thinking about some of the other great memories I have of growing up in this community – Wednesday afternoon closings, which allowed us to visit the library every week with my parents, the beach and huge trees at Gillies Lake (that park was beautiful), the original Don Bosco school (O’Gorman High School now occupies that spot), and the bush that stretched from our back yard to the Mattagami River (we lived on Belleview Street, and the “back bush” is long gone, replaced by lovely homes, the Sportsplex, Theriault Boulevard and two high schools).
I also remember the pool in Schumacher, but when we went, it was already covered. Our little posse (Carole, Angele, Linda and my sister Kim) would get a ride to the pool and spend a few hours splashing about with a million other kids.
I also remember the persistent train whistles that you could hear at regular intervals in town. That sound is so intrusive, so burned in my memory, that when I heard it again just a few weeks ago, my heart actually skipped a beat. It’s a haunting tone, one that just sticks with you. And that little sound stands out as yet another trigger for things that have gone past. (I can’t resist the aside – for many other residents in Northern communities, that lonesome train whistle sound will become just a memory ... but I digress.)
Good grief – you’d think I was a hundred years old!
Before this article gets too mushy touchy-feely, I should get to the point (yes, I do have a point!). No matter when you grew up, be it the 1920s or the 1940s or the 1990s, you have and will always carry with you the memories of our young days.
Every older generation wonders what kind of memories kids will have when they grow up – I often wonder what today’s kids will remember about their youth in this community (skateboarding? McDonald’s? texting friends every five seconds?) – but I also know that they will have their own stories to tell, and that they will be as important to them as mine are to me.
We all live very different experiences – I don’t remember milk being delivered by horse, but I do recall putting milk bottles on the front porch with the little metal milk chit stuck in the top (and those little cardboard milk lids that showed up years later as Pogs – very strange).
I hardly think anyone will wax poetic about today’s milk cartons, and picking up a litre at the corner store, but you never can tell.
When you think about it, we are pretty fortunate. If you grew up in this community, your memories, for the most part, have a chance at being positive. We’ve never been invaded, bombed or had our homes reduced to rubble on a regular basis. We haven’t been flattened by hurricanes or tornados (at least not the entire community).
Even during the great world wars, we were insulated from the fighting. Sure, individuals have been through hardships and not everyone had (or has) three meals a day and a happy home, but as a community, we have been fortunate.
Our kids will remember their schools, sports teams, dance recitals and figure skating.
Some kids half way around the world will only have violence and despair to define their childhoods.
I’d say we’re all pretty lucky, wouldn’t you?
— Karen Bachmann is the director/curator of the Timmins Museum and a local author
www.timminspress.com/2012/08/11/historygrowing-up-in-timmins
That’s what I’m doing, because this week, I drove along the highway in Schumacher and that phrase formed itself in my little mind.
I remember when I was a kid, on Friday nights, we used to go and pick up my Mom from work (when she worked at Woolworth’s until 9:00). We would head out to the A&W for milkshakes. They were glorious!
It was great fun because you sat in your car and a waitress came to your window for your order. The trays of food were brought to you and they hung on the car window. The drive through window just doesn’t have the same ring for me today – all business, chop-chop, move along.
I guess working on the 100th anniversary committee got me thinking about some of the other great memories I have of growing up in this community – Wednesday afternoon closings, which allowed us to visit the library every week with my parents, the beach and huge trees at Gillies Lake (that park was beautiful), the original Don Bosco school (O’Gorman High School now occupies that spot), and the bush that stretched from our back yard to the Mattagami River (we lived on Belleview Street, and the “back bush” is long gone, replaced by lovely homes, the Sportsplex, Theriault Boulevard and two high schools).
I also remember the pool in Schumacher, but when we went, it was already covered. Our little posse (Carole, Angele, Linda and my sister Kim) would get a ride to the pool and spend a few hours splashing about with a million other kids.
I also remember the persistent train whistles that you could hear at regular intervals in town. That sound is so intrusive, so burned in my memory, that when I heard it again just a few weeks ago, my heart actually skipped a beat. It’s a haunting tone, one that just sticks with you. And that little sound stands out as yet another trigger for things that have gone past. (I can’t resist the aside – for many other residents in Northern communities, that lonesome train whistle sound will become just a memory ... but I digress.)
Good grief – you’d think I was a hundred years old!
Before this article gets too mushy touchy-feely, I should get to the point (yes, I do have a point!). No matter when you grew up, be it the 1920s or the 1940s or the 1990s, you have and will always carry with you the memories of our young days.
Every older generation wonders what kind of memories kids will have when they grow up – I often wonder what today’s kids will remember about their youth in this community (skateboarding? McDonald’s? texting friends every five seconds?) – but I also know that they will have their own stories to tell, and that they will be as important to them as mine are to me.
We all live very different experiences – I don’t remember milk being delivered by horse, but I do recall putting milk bottles on the front porch with the little metal milk chit stuck in the top (and those little cardboard milk lids that showed up years later as Pogs – very strange).
I hardly think anyone will wax poetic about today’s milk cartons, and picking up a litre at the corner store, but you never can tell.
When you think about it, we are pretty fortunate. If you grew up in this community, your memories, for the most part, have a chance at being positive. We’ve never been invaded, bombed or had our homes reduced to rubble on a regular basis. We haven’t been flattened by hurricanes or tornados (at least not the entire community).
Even during the great world wars, we were insulated from the fighting. Sure, individuals have been through hardships and not everyone had (or has) three meals a day and a happy home, but as a community, we have been fortunate.
Our kids will remember their schools, sports teams, dance recitals and figure skating.
Some kids half way around the world will only have violence and despair to define their childhoods.
I’d say we’re all pretty lucky, wouldn’t you?
— Karen Bachmann is the director/curator of the Timmins Museum and a local author
www.timminspress.com/2012/08/11/historygrowing-up-in-timmins