Memories 15: Post High School

After high school I went directly to college for two years and then spent another three years at University before graduating with a B.Sc. in Biology and Environmental Studies.  There are many stories and many experiences from those years, but one of the most life changing took place during the summer semester of my very first year.

I'm not sure how I worked up the guts to ask my parents (though I remember deliberating for days before I approached them) but I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to participate in a two week, river-rafting field program.  I took courses in environmental biology, environmental chemistry and anthropology for one week each prior to the field study component.  While in the field we had daily work to complete and once we returned home, we had reports to compile and exams to write .  For all of that, we got university transfer credits and a once in a lifetime experience.

We spent two weeks rafting down the Fraser River, following Simon Fraser's journey, testing water, assessing habitat and learning all sorts of in-situ lessons along the way.  There's something so fantastic about seperating yourself from civilization and truly alone (with 15 or so other people) with nature.  For about a week we saw no signs of people, no power lines, no other boats, nothing.  We watched the ecosystem change from the cold and extreme north to the dry interior and back to our cool coastal climate as we travelled the river, camped along the shores and carried our food inside incredibly large coolers and all our personal gear (tent and sleeping bag included) in a single wet bag each; there wasn't a ton of room for clothes and boy were we stinky when we arrived home.

There are so many stories and memories from this trip; the mosquitoes that wouldn't leave me alone and the resulting welts that covered my body, the surprise rain storm when we were exploring the bluffs above our campground, the beautiful 'toilet' locations, always overlooking the most amazing scenery, the first nations potlach and the adorable little girl who tried to teach me to dance while we were there, not to mention watching one of our rafts nearly tip as our guide maneuvered Hell's Gate, which had volumes of 7000m3 of water per second that particular day.

The Fraser River is a silty river, very brown in colour.  Although it seems calm at the surface it is well known for its undercurrent.  It's something to be appreciated, but never to be underestimated. I grew up blocks from the Fraser and spent many childhood hours splashing in the murky waters.  After going on this trip, I knew the Fraser was in my blood.  It's part of who I am and it will forever be special to me.  As morbid as it may sound, if I were to pass, I would want at least some of my ashes spread in the Fraser River - that's how connected I feel to this particular water body.

This is post 15/15 and is part of Mommy's Piggy Tales

Make sure you check out all the other great posts here!

Mommy's Piggy Tales is a great project that will guide you through the process of remembering and recording your youth.  At the begining 15 weeks seemed so far away and now that its here, I'm not even sure I'm done.  I have more stories and more experiences to get from this post to my current reality.

The next session starts October 7th and  Janna creates a wonderful community by creating groupings so you have your own little group of blogs to visit and comment on.  There are so many women with amazing stories to share; if you are considering participating I wholeheartedly encourage you to go for it.  It's been a fantastic journey, well worth the effort!

Memories 14: Grade 12 / Age 17

Grade 12 was a busy year, I took advanced placement (AP) Biology and AP Chemistry, which meant that four days a week I started school at 7am to take extra science classes.  I was definitely a bit of a nerd, I had (in fact still have) a thirst or knowledge.

I hate to be stereotypical, but the truth is my AP classes were composed primarily of incredibly smart students for whom English was a second language.  In general, we didn't have much in common.  Fortunately I made one good friend; Tom and I always joked we became friends by default since no one else in the class wanted us for lab partners and in truth, maybe we did. 

He was the smart type, straight A's, very focused, very meticulous and very hard working.  I remember on unit in AP Chem, for five consecutive weeks we had to perform independent labs and record our observations and results.  It drove Tom crazy that I barely understood the concepts but consistently got better results than him.  I followed the labs like I was baking cookies, leveling my ingredients with a shake of a wrist rather than a precise measurement, a few sporadic shakes of the flask instead of continuous mixing.  Neither of us could explain it, but my results were consistently better than his, it was almost like he tried too hard.

Tom and I spent a lot of hours together that year and there was truly never any feelings between us except friendship, but in the end our relationship made his girlfriend uncomfortable and though we tried, our friendship waned after high school.

I think its normal to lose some friends after high school; losing them a month before grad however, that's a little less traditional.  There were four of us girls that hung out regularly, but only three of us went to one school.  I won't get into the details, but a tiff occurred and our group split in half.  Unfortunately my half didn't go to our school and I was dropped like a hot potato.

My locker mate moved out, my 'friends' ignored me like the plague and I was left with a gloomy looking grad to look forward to.

Fortunately my friend Trevor stepped up and saved my day, my year in fact.  We'd been kind-of-friends for a couple years, but when my girl friends ditched me, he pulled me into his circle of friends.  I attended grad in a limo with eight guys and Trevor's girlfriend at the time and it was amazing.  I felt so grateful to find a friend so caring and special at such a fragile and important time in my life.

Trevor and I are still close.  Our post-secondary friendship flourished, but now I only see him a few times a year as he and his wife live in another province.  The distance doesn't matter though, I love him and I know I will always love him.  And although I hate that I had to experience teenage girls at their worst to discover such a beautiful friendship, I would do it again in a heartbeat, because Trevor is truly a friend worth having.

This is post 14/15 and is part of Mommy's Piggy Tales

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Memories 13: Grade 11 / Age 16

The year I was in Grade 11, Reena Virk was killed.  I didn't know her, but I weeped for her all the same.  Bullying ended her life and what scared me the most about it all, was that it could have been someone I knew.  It could have been my brother.

Reena lived only a few hours from my home, and the same month that she died, my little brother was attacked.  He was surrounded by about 30-35 classmates and although only a few partook in the physical battery that he endured, he recalls only one voice in the crowd that was brave enough to say 'that's enough, leave him alone".

He ended up with a head wound, a concussion and a kneecap that was cracked almost entirely in half.  He can no longer skateboard and snowboarding is now synonymous with pain for him.  It's not my story to tell how and why this all happened, but let me tell you, his life was changed forever that day.  In truth, I suspect the true reason the incident occurred was due to the fact that my brother refused to follow the pack so to speak.

When it was all said and done, even after everything happened, my brother refused retaliation.  He refused to participate when the crown prosecuted the boys that beat him up and he refused to allow my friends to retaliate physically, the way that boys do.  In truth, that's one of the things I've always loved and respected about my brother.  He's always stood up for what he believed in, even if it was to his own detriment.  I truly hope that inner strength is something that the boy can learn from his uncle.

Although I want him to have strength, I don't want him to have to go through such painful experiences in order to embrace it.  My brother's incident was a long time ago, but I have trouble believing that anything has changed, that today's youth is void of bullies and instead are more kind, more caring or more compassionate on the whole.  I know it would be naive to think that the boy could live through his teenage years without experiencing some pain and anguish in his life, but there's nothing wrong with wishing it, is there?

This is post 13/15 and is part of Mommy's Piggy Tales

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Memories 12: Grade 10 / age 15

In Grade10, I went to outdoor education at Strathcona; the program I was in at school, allowed us to go each year between grade 8 and 10.  That meant that it was my last chance not only to attend, but also to try out my my chosen activity, white water canoeing.

While everyone else wanted white water kayaking, and though I would have enjoyed it, I was excited about the companionship of riding two through river rapids, of not being the sole person responsible for my safety.  I was happy to be the person in the front, the one responsible for paddling, for paddling hard, for paddling steady and for paddling enough for the two of us.  The girl in the back, she was responsible for steering.  Seemed like a fair trade off to me.

It was amazing, water spraying in my face, the river roaring beneath me, it was a beautiful, adrenaline-filled serenity.  It made my heart pound and left me feeling vulnerable, strong and connected to the Earth.  I've never been white water canoeing again, but I've also never forgotten the magic of the moment and the power of the river.

I embraced my power in more than one way that year, I also got my first job.  My parents were on a two week cruise and while they were gone, I applied, interviewed and had my first shift working in a retail store in my local mall.

I would work there for about four years on a part-time basis and I loved it every moment of it.  I enjoyed talking to customers, helping them find the perfect outfit, or the blouse that fit their body 'just right'.  I was enthusiastic, but not pushy and I was always empathetic and genuine.  I shared myself with the customers and in exchange they trusted me, and they bought clothes from me.  Over the years, I had some customers that would only come in if I was working. 

I liked having my own money, my own life and my own responsibilities that had nothing to do with my family, in particular my siblings.  It was empowering to work and it still is, though these days are all about family responsibilities and I wouldn't trade it for the world.  Amazing how much we can evolve over the course of a lifetime.

This is post 12/15 and is part of Mommy's Piggy Tales

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Memories 11: Grade 9 / Age 14

Grade 9 was the year I changed from Pathfinders (Girl Guides) to Venturers (Boy Scouts).  I had been involved in Guiding since a very young age but by the time I was a teenager it was far too structured for my tastes.  It seems a drastic move, but my friend's cousin had an all girls Venturer group; both my best friend and I jumped ship.

It was awesome.

We did community service and participated in City-wide events, but what we really loved was the camping.  Throughout the year there is a number of huge Scouting events where groups from all over would get together and camp.  They were super fun events, one camp in particular always had beach volleyball nets set and would always have one big event like sumo wrestling suits or a climbing wall.  But, regardless of the other activities, every camp had a dance on the Saturday night.

There was a lot more boys than girls at these events and the dances were a great way to flirt (or attempt to flirt in my case) with a cute boy or two.  Meeting boys at camp was different than school, I never pretended to be someone other than myself, but at the same time, they never had to witness me in all my dorky glory.  Since we never lived in the same city, I didn't have to live every emotion of high school drama day in, day out; that was saved for the weekends; I liked the separation of these very different aspects of my life.

The earliest teenage years are by far some of the most difficult for a woman, or it was for me at least.  This is only one story, one experience.  From the ages of 13-16 there are so many more tales of discovery, of life and of love.  Unfortunately, like many others, in those years I spent far too much energy concerned with what others thought instead of focusing on discovering who I was, who I wanted to be and how to make the two visions meet, though I suspect the two will never overlap completely.

This is post 11/15 and is part of Mommy's Piggy Tales

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Memories 10: Grade 8 / Age 13

Grade 8 was a memorable year for me, not only did I start a new school, I started a new 'motivated students' program and almost more importantly I learned some very important lessons about boys, life and lying.

In some ways I've always been social.  I find it easy to engage in conversation and am rarely intimidated by other people.  But as a young girl, boys were any exception to the norm.  When confronted with a cute boy, I would suddenly become painfully shy and lose all my sparkle and charisma.  I had no idea how to interact, where to look, what to say, even a friendly smile became difficult when it came to boys.

My gym class was a split grade 8/9 class and right from the beginning, I had a crush on Matt.  He was tall and shy with shaggy brown hair.  We never really talked and I'm not really sure how he knew I was interested or how he got my number, but somehow he did.  And he called.

We went out on two 'dates', the first time we went ice skating, his Mom picked us up and drove us there (this was as awkward as you might have expected).  We chatted, talked and had a good time, though I'm pretty sure we didn't hold hands.  We were both incredibly nervous and although I had hung out with boys while camping in the summer, it was my first real date and I suspect it may have been his too.

The second time we went to a movie at the mall.  Before the movie we were strolling around the mall and while in HMV I ran into one of my Mom's good friends.  I told her I was at the mall with my girl friend, Joanne - I didn't think she could see Matt and figured there was nothing to worry about.  I obviously couldn't tell her the truth, I hadn't told my Mom I was going out with a boy.

I'm pretty sure the movie was "The Ghost and The Darkness"and although I'm sure I enjoyed myself, I don't remember much.  What I do remember is that when I got home, my Mom fully busted me for lying.  She explained that I was old enough to go out with boys, but that I needed to tell her.  She explained the burden of carrying around lies and that eventually all will be revealed and end up far more hurtful than if the truth had been told in the first place.

From that day forward I stopped lying.  I do lie by omission, but rarely (if ever) say something that is not true.  Do Not Lie is grade 8 lesson number one.  Number two has a little bit more to do with asserting yourself and putting yourself out there.

Although we had been on two dates, Matt and I still never spoke at school.  Not in the halls, not in gym class, not anywhere.  We were both so shy.  On Valentines day however, our entire class had a half hour detention and when I finally made my way to my locker, Matt was waiting with a card.  I just about melted and truly thought that meant that our 'relationship' was changing.

He called me that weekend and wanted to go out, but I had to turn him down.  It was Chinese New Year and I had a family dinner.  He asked if I could go out after and I told him that it often went to 9 or 10pm and I wouldn't be allowed to go out after that.

He thought I was brushing him off and never called again.  I never called him, though I had the number.  I was heartbroken, but never did a thing about it.  The worst part is, he was probably heartbroken too.

Grade 8, Lesson number 2: Don't be afraid to put yourself out there and express yourself.  The worst thing that will happen is that you won't have something you already don't have.

This is post 10/15 and is part of Mommy's Piggy Tales

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Memories 9: Grade 7 / Age 12

Where I live, grade 7 is your last year of elementary school, I had been a student at Lord Byng since Kindergarten and it felt like home.  At the end of the year, I was asked to give the Grade 7 farewell speech; I was honoured to be asked and put a lot of time and effort into the endeavour.

My entire family, including my gramma, came to see me speak (or so I thought), which was both exciting and nerve wracking.  Before the speeches, came the awards.  I wasn't expecting to receive any, so when they called my name for the June Chiba Humanitarian Award, I was in complete awe.  Our Principal Mrs. Chiba had passed away a few years prior and the award was intended to honour a student who displayed her loyalty, compassion and goodwill.

After receiving the award, I was on cloud nine.  I felt so proud to stand up before my friends and family, to share my thoughts on graduation. 

Next year the grade seven's will be moving on to Junior High.  Everything is going to change.  The grade six's will become grade seven's.  The grade seven's will move on the grade eight, and most of us will become the little kids in kindergarten again.  Just like our first day of school at Byng, we will be new.

If Junior High is kindergarten, then elementary school is preschool.  Once you arrive at kindergarten, your on your own again.  Most of your friends have moved on to kindergarten at other schools.

Going into kindergarten we were afraid of all those big people at the school.  But we survived, and made friends, and it will happen again.

But there is one difference, going into kindergarten you think about building blocks and dinosaurs, but going into Junior High you think about the future.

Thank you.

Pretty profound for a 12 year old if you ask me.

This is post 9/15 and is part of Mommy's Piggy Tales

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Memories 8: Grade 6 / age 11

My teacher in grade 6 was different, he was passionate in a way that was completely unknown to me.  He approached everything with such gusto and enthusiasm and he was both authentic and inspiring.  In Mr. Hoy's class I felt like I could and would do anything I wanted with my life.  We were in grade 6, and we still had a circle time.  We sat on the floor at the front of the room and talked about current events and Mr. Hoy would read to us, we got minor marks for participation, but that wasn't why everyone participated.

Even the "tough" kids spoke up when it was their turn; one time it was this guy Tim's turn to share a current event and he obviously hadn't prepared, eventually he blurted out "The Blue Jays Won the World Series", even though it had happened months ago.  We all laughed and its actually a fond memory, but my point, he participated.

Mr. Hoy was observant, he was the first teacher to notice that I didn't know my times tables (remember back in grade 3 when all we did was play?) and send me to learning assistance.  Very early in the year, he seated me next to a boy who had downs syndrome.  Jaime was a year older than me and a very sweet guy.  He loved Wrestling (WWF), The Canucks and playing basketball and he loved to chat and tell stories.  He also angered easily and threw chairs on a whim; most of the other kids just seemed to aggravate him.

We sat together for most of the year, although other kids might have, I never saw it as a bad thing.  It made sense to me that I, who enjoyed Jaime's company (for the most part) should sit with him.  When I was around, I was respectful and kind and so was he, which meant far fewer outbursts, which is truly better for everyone.

Jaime taught me about respect, about acceptance and about seeing a person for WHO they are; truly taking the time to try and feel their feelings, live their experiences and understand their perspective.  When you do that, judgment becomes much more difficult.  My Mom started that lesson very young, but Jaime exemplified it for me. 

This is post 8/15 and is part of Mommy's Piggy Tales

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Memories 7: Grade 5 / age 10

As long as I can remember, every other year, my Popo (my dad's mom) has gone to China in December to visit her home in the village. The year I was in grade 5, she decided to take my aunt, her oldest child and myself, her oldest grandchild. My Popo doesn't really speak English and I was scared of going without my family, so my Dad decided to come too.

I got a Nintendo Game Boy for Christmas that year; I remember it clearly because my Mom and Dad gave it to me in the airport parking lot, just before we left. I’m really not much for video games, but when you are the only kid on a bus full of people speaking Chinese (which I don’t speak) there is a distinct need to entertain yourself.

While we were away, my Dad made me wear a whistle on a grungy old rope everywhere I went. If I didn’t have the whistle on, I couldn’t leave the room, even if we were just going downstairs for breakfast. I hated it, but at the same time I was infinitely thankful I never had to use it.

I remember one particular evening, my Dad decided to test me, he should have known that I am always eager to please and always followed instructions. He had to leave me in the hotel room alone for a few moments and he explained to me that if someone came to the door, I was to say “bin guo” (who is it?) and not open the door unless it was someone I knew.

When I heard a knock on the door, I obediently said “bin guo” – the knocking just got louder. After going through this about three times, I dragged the chair over to the door and looked through the little peep hole. All I saw was a thumb coming towards me, covering up the peep hole. I threw the chair out of the way, laughed and pulled the door wide open.

It was my Dad. Things could have gone so wrong if it wasn’t him, but somehow I knew it was. I knew he was testing me and although he gave me a bit of a lecture for opening the door, we laughed about it at the same time.

We went a lot of amazing places on that trip, and in particular I’d love to share photos from Thailand, but the album from my trip wasn’t in my memory box (that I finally dug out), so that will have to wait. Instead, I hope you enjoy this picture of me, at wildlife reserve in Malaysia. The deer was tame, primarily because everyone (myself included) fed them pieces of sugar cane that were sold at little kiosks. It probably wasn’t the healthiest diet for the deer, and I quickly figured out that they actually seemed to like eating the leaves better.

I’m so fortunate to have had the chance to travel internationally so young, although he won't remember much, if anything from the trip, I’m glad I have already had the chance to take the boy to China already.  I look forward to taking him again when he’s much older and much more aware of his surroundings and experiences. I have a hard time imagining that my childhood cultural experiences haven’t enhanced my ability to be open-minded and welcoming to all people, I hope those are traits that he inherits from me.

I’ve added photos to a few of my other posts in this series:

My Perm in Grade 2

A Flower Girl in Grade 3

This is post 7/15 and is part of Mommy's Piggy Tales

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Memories 6: Age 9 / Grade 4

In grade 4, my teacher Ms. Stevens did an exchange program, which meant that for half of the year, I had an Australian teacher named Ms. Walsh.  I really don't remember much of what we did in class, though I remember thinking how incredibly cool it was to have a teacher with an accent. 

I also remember that we didn't do things quite the same way that the other grade 4 classes did, I don't really remember any specifics, but I do remember things were different, my teacher was from across the world after all.

Not to imply that grade 4 wasn't significant, it was.  I believe it was the year that my softball team merged with another team; I would play ball with most of these girls until the time I was 18 and some of them, even longer than that.  Our team was called the Flames (I helped come up with the name) and my dad and my friend's dad Jim were the coaches.

I was a pitcher and first baseman; I'm pretty sure I started on first since I could catch the ball consistently, not that most of us could throw the ball with any regularity.  As for pitching, I started as soon as it was an option, my dad helped train me, I went to pitching clinics put on by the city and our team even payed one of the pitching coaches to come out to our practices to coach us girls.  Now a days that's common practice, but back then it was pretty unheard of.

As a team, we were pretty bad, we lacked both the skills and concentration needed for the game and we lost most of our games that year.  In time, we would come to be a very competitive, but if you'd seen us at the time, it probably would have been very hard to imagine.

Although I love the game, I am even more thankful for what softball gave me.  It gave me friends, from other schools that I would have never otherwise met, it gave me new social skills and taught me about teamwork, that the sum of a whole is worth more than the individual.  Softball taught me about commitment, loyalty and spirit.  All of which I think are skills that have translated into other aspects of my life and continue to benefit me and those around me.  Yay for organized sports!

This is post 6/15 and is part of Mommy's Piggy Tales 
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Memories 5: Age 8 / Grade 3

Grade 3 was a weird year for me; there was a lot of immigration into my City and my class was almost entirely English as a Second Language (ESL).  I think there were less kids that spoke english than there was kids who spoke other languages.

Grade 3 almost felt like full-time recess.  I learned to play recorder; in fact I still remember how to play 'hot cross buns' to this day.  Not an impressive feat I know, but I'm not all that musically inclined so I'm impressed.  Perhaps we learned music in this particular class, because its universal; you don't need to speak the same language when your playing music.  It's about the sound, the soul and the feeling. 

I think my teacher, hoped that she could bring us together with art, with the recorder and with drama.  She wanted to find something to unite us children, for to see that we were truly all just variations on the same, even if we had trouble communicating.  We spent a significant amount of time on drama and I remember we did a play of 'Little Red Riding Hood'.  I was so proud to be Red herself.  I think I was the first (and only) kid to volunteer, but that never mattered to me, I was pretty oblivious.  As an adult I feel uncomfortable doing impressions, accents and other imitations (though the boy is changing that), but it makes me smile to remember how as a child, I embraced the opportunity to become someone else through drama.

I now know that my Mom complained to the teacher that there was too much fun and not enough learning in my third grade class.  She knew that although my class needed tools like drama to learn the English language, I needed more substantive knowledge for my developing brain.  Although I loved grade three, my Mom was right.

Although numbers are consistent across language and culture we rarely did any math.  In fact, when we probably should have been introduced to times tables, we were hatching quail's eggs in an incubator that sat in the front of the classroom.  The chicks were so adorable when they finally hatched but this particular trade off would prove to be problematic as time passed.

In fact, I am a biologist with a university degree and I can't multiply.
Seriously.
It's truly amazing how the experiences of an eight year old can influence the actions of a lifetime.

This is post 4/15 and is part of Mommy's Piggy Tales 
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Memories 4: Age 7 / Grade 2

Although I didn't lose my personal sense of self, grade 2 brought with it a sense of vanity.  I have thick Chinese hair, and it is bone straight, end of story, but it was the 80's and I wanted so badly to have big luxurious hair.  I didn't ask for much, and my Mom must have known how important it was to me, because she let me have a spiral perm, bangs included.  Although it was definitely cute, in no way did it look natural.  (I know, I know, I need to go to my Dad's warehouse and find some pictures)  I loved it, I felt so grown up and cool with my big curly hair.  It's amazing how young the need to "grow up" can set in.

I also remember the need to have beautiful nails in the pursuit of vanity and maturity.  Beautiful was my favourite word by the way.  I wanted long, perfectly shaped nails, but given all the time spent in the playground it was never really meant to be.  That is, until someone taught me that I could make my own "nails" by allowing blobs of white glue to dry in the bottom of my drawer at school and peeling them up and sticking on my nails when they were still tacky.  This NEVER actually worked; they never stuck, they never hardened nicely and mostly ended up making a mess all over my drawer and myself.  I was not easily deterred however, I'm pretty sure that I tried to make "nails" the entire year.

The drawers I'm referring to were actually small plastic totes in a large rectangular unit, very similar to the ones available at IKEA except there were enough bins for the entire class.  In addition to housing my nail salon, that unit beat me up one day.  I remember I was wearing an off-white coloured sweat suit (surprising given m affinity for colour) and I had just been to the pencil sharpener, I wasn't watching where I was going (as per normal) and I walked into the side of the unit jabbing my pencil right into my upper thigh.  A piece of the lead broke off in my leg (I can see the spot to this day) and it hurt so bad, but I held back the tears.  I was so embarrassed, I never told anyone the incident until I was an adult.  Fortunately my doctor assured me that given my age, the pencil wasn't really lead and that there was nothing to worry about.

Grade 2 also happened to be the year that I got to visit Disneyland.  My little brother would have been 5 and my sister, only 2.  I don't actually remember a ton, though I'm sure if I had all my pictures in front of me I would.  I remember the hotel that we stayed at, a continental breakfast with warm croissants and an afternoon swim after a long day at the park.  I remember a photo with Snow White and I remember lots of walking, laughing, pictures and hugs.  What I remember most is family.

I can't wait until the boy is old enough to truly experience Disneyland!

This is post 4/15 and is part of Mommy's Piggy Tales 
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Memories 3: Age 6/Grade 1

I was a big sister to two by the time I was six; my brother was 4 and my little sister was just a year old.  Before my sister was born, my brother and I fought like cats and dogs about whose room the baby was going to sleep in.  We both wanted her.  Of course the obvious solution was that a boy would sleep in my brothers room and a girl would sleep in mine.

As a child, I had no idea what I was in for, I started sleeping in the spare bedroom within a few months of sharing a room with her.  The spare room was the only downstairs bedroom and thinking of it now, surprisingly, I don't remember being worried about that at all.  My point being, I was independent.

I styled my own hair, while the other girls flaunted perfectly parted braids or sleek ponytails, I had my own unique hairstyle.  I would gather my bangs up into a ponytail on the top of my head; my hair is thick and coarse so it stood straight up and I loved it.  I would be so proud to tell the other girls that "I did my own hair".  I remember my Mom begging me on picture day to just wear my hair down - I thought that it was a ridiculous idea, "I wear my hair like this everyday, why would I wear it different for pictures?"

I dressed myself each morning, picking my own clothes and unless it was inappropriate for the weather, my Mom let me wear whatever I wanted.  Apparently I had quite gaudy tastes, lots of bright colours all at the same time; my Mom's motto, "if she doesn't care, why should I?"  There is one particular outfit I remember that I loved.  Tights and a matching sweater all in a purple acrylic knit, I wore it day after day after day.

But then again when I was on mat leave, I sometimes wore the same pants day after day too...

This is post 3/15 and is part of Mommy's Piggy Tales 
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Memories 2: Preschool/Kindergarten

I watch as the teacher carefully pours the smooth, silky liquid into the jar, then seals it up tight.  She tells us its whipping cream, just like we eat at home, but if we are patient, it will become butter.  It seems ridiculous, even to a kindergartner; it looks like milk, not butter.  But as we passed that little jar around the circle, each eagerly awaiting our chance to gleefully shake the jar, it started to transform and we started to believe.

It's so easy to believe when we're young.  We believe in Santa and we believe in the good of the world and we believe in ever-lasting fairy-tale love.  Don't get me wrong, I still believe in those things but when we're young, we have the veil of innocence.

My gramma didn't bake cookies with us, and I never remember being invited over for a sleepover, but I do remember one specific lunch at her house.  It was sunny, and I was at the table.  She must have been bringing lunch to the table because I remember her walking around as I told her I was married.  That I absolutely LOVED a particular boy in my class and that we would be together forever.  I don't remember her response particularly, but I do remember her wise smile as I'm sure she marveled at my naivety.

If you look closely, you might notice that my front teeth look a little shiny in this picture; I have silver caps on my front teeth.  As a result of my sickness as a child, I had no enamel on my teeth and thus they all needed to be capped.  The white caps just didn't stick on those front two teeth and so began my life with silver caps.  They add a certain sparkle to my smile don't you think?

The last memory I have from my preschool/kindergarten years is of art.  I'm not particularly artistic, I like instruction and boundaries but painting with marbles in a tin can, that was amazing.  The freedom and randomness of shaking the cookie tin and hearing the tiny marbles leave their magical trails of colour all over paper circles ready to take home and be hung on the fridge.

Thinking about being so young, so eager to learn and experience life, it excites me.  It reminds me that the hubs, the boy and I have so many adventures to come.  Although I want to hold onto every moment with the boy, I look forward to each and every step in our journey together.

This is post 2/15 and is part of Mommy's Piggy Tales 
Make sure you check out all the other great posts here!

Memories 1: Birth

I felt like this should be easy; but my recollections of the early years aren't really my memories, they're the snippets I've heard recounted, or the photo I've gazed at in the albums.  It makes it hard for this post to be coherent, what follows is a bit of a mish-mash.  Although the stories are about me, they aren't my stories, at least not yet.

First a little context; My parents met in High School, they dated and broke up but ultimately ended up back together.  My Dad is Chinese, and was raised by a widowed immigrant Mother who disowned my Dad when he married my Caucasian Mom.  Within a few years (when my brother was born) my Popo (grandmother) took us all back, and accepted her mixed family.

My Mom tells me that my Dad named me before they were even pregnant, I was going to be Amber if I was a girl and Aaron if I was a boy.  I never understood why I wasn't Erin if I was a girl, but I'm glad I wasn't, Amber suits me much better.

I was a chubby baby, bordering on chunky.  At 9 months I was 26 pounds, but I would lose most of that weight.  I had meningitis; they suspect it was due to ear infections, suspected to be a result of a tumble down the stairs months earlier.  But regardless, by the time I left the hospital, I was back into newborn diapers.  They say I was lucky to survive without brain damage, that if my parents hadn't brought me to the hospital in the middle of the night, well, I wouldn't have been so lucky.  But I was, and for that I'm thankful.  My heart goes out to all those who were not as fortunate as our family.

I talked early and I walked early.  I was about 10 months when I said my first word, "Hi!"  I used to sit in the kitchen doorway in my jolly jumper and everyone would walk by and say "hi Amber".  One day I answered them - I've never looked back.  As for walking, they say that the longer a baby crawls, the better the motor skills later in life; I'm a klutz and I started walking, no make that running at 10.5 months, perhaps there is some truth to those assertions.

In some of my favourite early pictures, I'm in the backyard, I'm wearing a little pink dress and I'm surrounded by Doberman puppies.  We had our doberman, Morgan through my teen years and I will always love and cherish her.  Though she loved us all, we always had a special bond.  I was one of her babies.  I'm a mother now, I understand what that means.

P.S. I'm going to try and scan some pictures from my Mom's house!

This is post 1/15 and is part of Mommy's Piggy Tales 
Make sure you check out all the other great posts here!