Thirty Years Ago this Summer

Peter Rukavina

Summer thirty years ago, 1986.

I was 20 years old.

I’d just completed my first year at Trent University.

I’d moved from Champlain College residence into John Muir’s house at 640 Reid Street in Peterborough.

Did I have a summer job? I can’t remember.

I was hanging out a lot at Trent Radio, I remember that. Listening to a lot of Suzanne Vega. Going to the Shish Kabob Hut. Taking my once-a-week turn at cooking supper for my roommates. Developing a crush on a girl for the first time.

My year at Trent had been neither a failure nor a success. I went in with no particular sense of purpose, and emerged mostly the same.

About this far into the summer I was debating whether to return to Trent or not, a decision that represented an opportunity to stake my own claim on life, but that was also tinged with a large amount of guilt for turning my back on, well, everything.

In mid-July it was all just theoretical. Stirrings.

By mid-August the die was cast.

I announced my decision to drop out by cowardly calling home at a time I knew my parents wouldn’t be there.

“Tell Mom and Dad I’m dropping out of Trent and hitchhiking out to the east coast,” I told my brother Steve when I called.

(In retrospect: what was I thinking?! What a phone message to receive from your son. I’m sorry.)

And that’s what I did. From Toronto to Montreal to Lévis to Rivière-du-Loup to Fredericton to Saint John. Across the Bay of Fundy to Digby by ferry, then by thumb to Pointe-de-l’Église and Yarmouth. Student standby on Air Canada from Yarmouth to Boston, Greyhound to St. Albans, and then hitchhiking to Montreal and back to Peterborough. How long was I gone? A week. Or two.

I must have phoned my parents back at some point. We must have had an animated conversation or two about my plans.

On my return to Peterborough I found that I’d received a partial scholarship for my second year at Trent, but by that time it was too late.

I’d staked my claim.

Comments

Submitted by Oliver Rukavina on

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I had two decades of Summers.
You had 50/50 decades of Summers.
Part of the 50/50 decades of Summers is the two decades of My Summers here on PEI.

Submitted by Oliver B on

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I remember only kind of barely knowing you then, and being a little in awe that you did that...plus the on-air phone call to the Kremlin.

It is the great shame of my broadcasting life that the tape of Calling the Kremlin went missing from the Trent Radio archives. So it must exist only in the imagination of you and me.

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Photo of Peter RukavinaI am . I am a writer, letterpress printer, and a curious person.

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