Long way to become a Man

   While the exact details of the conversation regarding living with my Grandmother are likely incorrect, the arrangement is the same. I lived with my Grandmother for exactly one year to the day. She took me in to her home and let me stay with her to try and save me from myself. I can not relay the deepest sense of gratitude I feel for her. Throughout my life she has been one of a few constants. Always willing to listen, patient and understanding, and always on my side, no matter how right, or wrong I was.

   She was born back in 1915 in a little town called Diamond City. The exact location of Diamond City is unknown to me. I have tried to find it on old maps, but with out success. I suspect it was in the Crowsnest Pass, probably near Coleman. She was the second oldest in a family of three. She did have a brother, but he passed away sometime before his first birthday. Her parents immigrated to Canada in 1902 from Cavedine Italy and ran hotels in a few towns in southern Alberta. The one in Monarch still stands. I'm told that my Great Grandfather had the building moved when the highway was built through town to tap into the commuters on their way to Lethbridge.
 
   I find myself often wondering what life must have looked like that far back. Imagine a place where paved roads were new, communication was either a very basic phone or mail. No answering services. If you weren't home, you didn't get the message.
  
   She left home when she was 16. Something we shared. She went to school at the Marvel College of Beauticians. she met my Grandfather in her twenties, and had two sons. My Uncle Gary, and of course my Father. I was sometimes considered the third son; a title I wear with pride. I honestly think that if I had not the love and support of both Grandparents, I would not be alive today to tell you this story.
  
   The passing of my Grandfather never really showed much strain on my Grandmother. I suspect she was just really good at hiding things. She was more concerned about how YOU were than how she was. I suspect this is common with some Grandparents, especially the Italian ones.
  
   She recently passed on a few months ago. 95 years. An amazing life; one I hope to do justice with in the  time I've been given.
  
   She found employment for me when I came to live with her. I was to work as a dishwasher at the Humpty's family restaurant over off of 37 St. in the south west. It used to be next to the Canadian Tire but I believe the whole area has changed since. I remember the cook made these absolutely amazing sausages. In fact, I think it was what made them famous. "Bangers" they called them. English term. After working there for about a month or so, I was moved to short order cook. I can assure you that while I enjoy cooking, cooking for a living was not my forte. On one occasion a regular customer came in and asked to speak with me. Rather odd I thought. He asked me if I had ever done any sales work. Of course I hadn't but in all likely hood, I probably said I had. He was a sales manager for the Water-bed Warehouse (this was the eighties and water-beds were just on their way out). Since my aspiring career as a cook was going nowhere quickly, I took the job. I remember the manager of Humpty's mentioning that it was for the best, as he was certain cooking wasn't for me. We parted ways, and that was that. I started the following week selling water-beds up off of 32nd Ave. in the north end of Calgary.
 
   It was about this time that my time with my Grandmother came to an end. I had enough money to live on my own and I was still a teenager wanting to live it up a bit. The strict ground rules enforced by my Grandmother; although well intended, were a bit much. If only I had listened. She was visibly upset when I left, even though the place I was moving into was fifteen minutes away. I still find myself wishing I could go back, maybe stay a little longer. Life doesn't work that way, does it.
  
    A week after moving into my new home, just off of Crowchild Trail. I noticed a girl walking across the street. as I drove closer, I realized it was Tracy; a girl I went to high school with. Now, before I get into the story with her, I need to get a few things in order, so you can understand the uncomfortable feeling I had when I saw her.
  
   It was 1986, just before I moved out and left home. One night Jeff (a friend I moved in to Frobisher Towers with) and I were out walking around downtown Okotoks when a mid eighties blue Pontiac station wagon pulls up. It was Tracy. We chatted for a bit and then Tracy asks me if either of us would care to join her for square dancing lessons for the upcoming eighty eight winter Olympics. The people that did the best were elected to be in the opening ceremonies. Jeff was into heavy metal so he just laughed. I'll tell you now, that as far as square dancing was concerned, I'd rather be bull tied a whipped with a stick than square dance. However, I'm sixteen, and a pretty girl is asking me to go hang out and dance for a few nights a week. I was torn, but in the end I went with it. Here is where it gets awkward. When I moved out, I didn't have wheels. Therefore I had no way of getting to Okotoks for the classes. I completely brushed it off and forgot about it. I had bigger fish to fry at the time. What I didn't know was that the people who enrolled in the classes at he start, were guaranteed to be in the opening ceremonies when the Olympics came to town PROVIDING, you kept your partner. Since I bailed, Tracy was automatically disqualified. She was rather upset, putting it mildly. I didn't realize till much later that my parents had received a few angry phone calls form her parents. Luckily for her, she was able to find another partner, and as such was in fact able to go into the opening ceremonies as a square dancer. Looking back now, that would have been actually cool to go be a part of, but try and tell a sixteen year old that, forget it.
  
   Anyway, fast forward to 1989, I'm driving home, and see Tracy. It was almost like the universe had just paid me with a whole bucket load of karma for what was about to happen for the next seven years. She looked across the street at me and our eyes locked. No time to avert my eyes and pretend I never saw her. No, no. Too late for that. She waved and I slowed down, rolled down my window and tried my best to not look like a wanted to drive away quickly. As fate would have it, she just moved in to an apartment four doors down from me. Hormones got the better of me, and the next thing I knew we were dating. Looking back I realize now that when one red flag goes up, it's no big deal, when they go up every day for seven years, you have problems. We had many. I would like to find some reason why we stayed together for as long as we did but I don't think I could do it in a fair manner. I'm still rather bitter (couldn't guess that from reading this). We both were entirely wrong for one another. It ended outside of a 7-11 on center street north. We were sitting in our car after going through our fifth or sixth fight of the day when I finally asked her," What the hell are we doing? You're not happy, I'm clearly not happy and yet here we sit. After this we'll go home and act like nothing happened and tomorrow morning we'll start this all over again."
 
   It was a moment of clarity. Shortly after that, I moved out and took a job up in Red Deer. Such a waste of time, but as Rascall Flatts sings," Every broken road, lead me straight to you." But before we get to Red Deer, there's the matter of my state of employment. Another time.