As an army brat, I was the envy of my many cousins. I lived outside of Montréal: Petawawa, Valcartier, Esquimalt, Germany. And I travelled: New Brunswick, Québec, Ontario, British Columbia, Germany, France, Belgium, Holland and Luxembourg, Denmark, Sweden and Norway, Italy, Switzerland. And I was trilingual: French, German and English.
But I envied my cousins. They all lived in the same city, and were often together. They treated this togetherness so casually. For me, every trip, every stay in Montréal, was magic. At family gatherings – around Easter, Mothers’ Day, New Year’s Day – surrounded by Joanne, Daniel, Diane, Yvan, Denis, Lison, Chantal, Carole, I was immersed in my cousin-ness. It was joyous and transcended temper and moods and childish hurts. I wasn’t the new kid in town. I wasn’t a stranger. I was family. I belonged.
In the summer, we congregated on the city sidewalk in front of the row of triplexes with their postage stamp front yards and their exterior wrought iron staircases curling up to the second storey front balconies. These apartments were sought after, with their three bedrooms, double living rooms, formal dining rooms and large kitchens. Grand-maman Rose’s place was even better because she had a corner apartment on the second floor. That meant each room had a window.
When we got bored with playing cops and robbers or 1-2-3 red light or skipping rope, we would clamber noisily up the staircase, burst through the front door and follow the long corridor that bisected the front bedroom tucked under the third storey stairs and the double living room, exploding into the dining room, and then through the short hall to the kitchen where Grand-maman and the adults assembled with the babies.
They made us wait for meal times, but sometimes there was a treat. The best was getting a dime each for a visit to the corner store to choose penny candy, or two chocolate bars, or five long ropes of red liquorice.
But I envied my cousins. They all lived in the same city, and were often together. They treated this togetherness so casually. For me, every trip, every stay in Montréal, was magic. At family gatherings – around Easter, Mothers’ Day, New Year’s Day – surrounded by Joanne, Daniel, Diane, Yvan, Denis, Lison, Chantal, Carole, I was immersed in my cousin-ness. It was joyous and transcended temper and moods and childish hurts. I wasn’t the new kid in town. I wasn’t a stranger. I was family. I belonged.
In the summer, we congregated on the city sidewalk in front of the row of triplexes with their postage stamp front yards and their exterior wrought iron staircases curling up to the second storey front balconies. These apartments were sought after, with their three bedrooms, double living rooms, formal dining rooms and large kitchens. Grand-maman Rose’s place was even better because she had a corner apartment on the second floor. That meant each room had a window.
When we got bored with playing cops and robbers or 1-2-3 red light or skipping rope, we would clamber noisily up the staircase, burst through the front door and follow the long corridor that bisected the front bedroom tucked under the third storey stairs and the double living room, exploding into the dining room, and then through the short hall to the kitchen where Grand-maman and the adults assembled with the babies.
They made us wait for meal times, but sometimes there was a treat. The best was getting a dime each for a visit to the corner store to choose penny candy, or two chocolate bars, or five long ropes of red liquorice.
We’d slowly walk back to someone’s house, comparing our haul of candy. Then we’d sit on the front steps, and savour that candy. Together. All the cousins with a few neighbours thrown in for variety. But mostly Joanne, Daniel, Diane, Yvan, Denis, Lison, Chantal, Carole. And me.
...and a writer is born! Great story Lynn Marie. More!
ReplyDeleteYou are so complimentary, and I am enjoying it.
ReplyDeleteThere are two follow-up stories to this one, so stay tuned!
(Given the number of family members I have, I think I might run out of HR things to say before I run out of family stories!)
Love it-your story evoked memories for me!
ReplyDeleteI had a lot of cousins, Karin, but I was the fifth grandchild and part of that group: Joanne, Daniel, Diane, Yvan, Denis, Chantal, Lison and Carole. The younger ones were just taggers-on: the brothers and sisters we couldn't always avoid.
ReplyDelete