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
I had two decades of Summers.
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.
Technically I’ve had 5
Technically I’ve had 5 decades of summers, not 50 decades.
5 decades = 50 years.
5 x 10 = 50
2010s - 1960s = 50s
2010s - 1960s = 50s
50 years on April 5th, 2016 -
50 years on April 5th, 2016 - 50 decades is 550 years 3 months 10 days
1969 - 2019 = 50
1969 - 2019 = 50
1960 - 2010 = 50
so 50/50
2019 2010
2019 2010
- -
1969 1960
= 50 = 50
____ ____
So the 1960s is 50 decades
So the 1960s is 50 decades from 2010s.
2010 decades - 1960 decades =
2010 decades - 1960 decades = 50 decades
So 1960 - 1969 is 9 years is
So 1960 - 1969 is 9 years is like 2010 - 2019 is 9 years is like 2000 - 2009 is 9 years
I remember only kind of
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
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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