Late spring, one afternoon after elementary school I walked with a buddy of mine past the public library, through Harwick Park by the meandering creek, onto Harwick Crescent road, the street my young buddy lived. He was convincing me to stop by. His parents weren’t home from work, so we could eat what we want and tune in to watch Gilligan’s Island.
It was a weak moment, I loved Gilligan’s Island succumbing to the bait hook, line, and sinker enjoying every moment of junk food, freedom, Gilligan, Mary Ann, and the rest who were on the island. One hour later I was abruptly in a panic, scurrying out of my buddies house, sprinting all the way home through Lynwood Park. I could run! Grabbing my paper bag, I bolted through our neighbors’ back yards to the corner of Ridgefield Crescent and Cherrywood Drive.
My Ottawa Citizen’s paper bundle was there all by its lonesome. I quickly unraveled the plastic tie cutting into my fingernail bed causing a stinging sensation and a small amount of involuntary blood letting. My mind was centered on quickly distributing the papers on the front porch of each home without anybody stopping to talk, or lecture me. Only two customers took the time to question why I was so late. It made me very uncomfortable, and I never wanted this to happen again. And, well, it did but one more time.
It was a clear winter’s day, snow was hard packed on Cherrywood Drive as I pulled a sled with all the remaining newspapers stacked upon it. I just got out of school, about 4:00 in the late afternoon. At the far end of Cherrywood’s ‘horse shoe’ Drive, neighbor’s were outdoors playing road hockey, a net with mesh on each end of their makeshift rink. Five on four with a goalie in each net. I was drawn to the game in my mind. Hockey is what I loved most of all in the whole world. A couple of the players asked if I would play for a bit making the teams even-Steven.
In front of God, customers waiting for their beloved news, and my conscience I said, “Sure.” Away I went, CCM stick loaned to me with black tape wrapped along two inches of the blade. I played until I heard, “Danny, could you get my paper over here. I’ve been waiting all day to read it.”
Ugh! The second and last time I remember disappointing my customers. I could justify to myself that I delivered the paper on time for about 1,458 days out of 1,460. That is pretty damn good, but the way I was raised never allowed that thought to enter my brain. I intentionally disappointed my patrons for two days due to my neglect. It bothered me which was a valuable lesson. I didn’t like the shame I felt from others or myself. It chipped away at my confidence and integrity which is best learned at a young age.
After four years of delivering the daily sacred news to my clients with dad in and out of the hospital battling colon cancer, I chose to shift my young financial earning potential from the black and white to the green, green grass of homes. I knocked on every customer’s door letting them know I was stepping away from delivering their cherished newsprint and requested my services in becoming their lawn maintenance mule each week, cutting and edging their lawn, weeding, and whatever else they wished to have done around the yard.
Many of my regulars accepted the invitation, negotiating cost, and determining if I would use their equipment or drag dad’s lawnmower rumbling down the neighborhood streets with its 24′ cord wrapped around my neck. I planned two different days to cut lawns each week. One day I serviced the homes using their equipment, having to learn the subtle differences between mower models, electric, gas, or push power. The other day I pulled dad’s mower from home to home raveling and unraveling the cord at each house.
I was still playing hockey in a local competitive league, paying my own fees, and buying my own skates, stick, tape, gloves, elbow and shoulder pads, helmet, etc. I loved owning my own stuff. I took better care it and in my innocence each thing I owned was like a chunk of gold worth a great deal to me. The money earned as a local yard maintenance mule more than covered my expenses with increased savings in my BMO account. In fact, every penny was mine, no longer having to drop off most of my earnings to the Ottawa Citizen van parked in our Catholic church lot. All cash was slipped into my pocket with a little loose change spent on some sweets at the local liquor store. I came to appreciate this very, very much.
Note: Next week’s post will be from yard maintenance mule to aluminum siding on houses.
