Once Upon A Summer Long Ago

By Doug Lewars

Long before there were cell phones, IPADs, The Internet, or even personal computers, when music was on vinyl records and television was still often viewed in black-and-white on small screens, there were still young people, starting out on life, exploring new relationships and the world around them. And somehow, against all odds, they managed to have fun. Let these stories return you to a time when life was slower, cars were larger and the future loomed large, a bit scary perhaps, but endless with opportunity. Here you will meet Greg, Jennifer, Ellen and Carol - four individuals as unlike as any four people can be but bound by a sense of caring and camaraderie as they embark on the adventure of growing up.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Doug Lewars
• Release date: Sep 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311775191

Doug Lewars

Although not quite over-the-hill, Doug is certainly approaching the summit. He lives in Etobicoke which is a polite way of saying West Toronto. When not exercising such creative talents as he may possess, Doug may be found gardening or out somewhere fishing. He comes with a large bald spot, a dark sense of humour, and a fondness for chocolate eclairs – or chocolate anything actually.

Book preview

Greg closed his Grade Nine history book, sat back at his desk, and surveyed the rest of his life. It was not promising. In nine years of school he had never once had a mark less than ninety-four percent and had never once received a compliment from his parents unless ‘Oh, okay’ upon seeing a column of hundreds could be considered complimentary. And the time he’d received the ninety-four, one might have thought it was a forty-nine by the way his parents reacted. Greg never wanted to get a mark that low again.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

You’re useless. You’ll never get into medical school with a mark like that!

You’re a failure! I don’t know why we ever had you!

And those were some of the kinder comments. Although that was his worst mark, he’d heard numerous things almost as bad for other marks in the nineties; but at least his parents weren’t screaming their invective – usually. And of course they made the rules.

He rose every morning at eight o’clock, washed, dressed, had a quick breakfast and was out the door sharply at eight-twenty. He arrived at school by eight-fifty; got anything he needed from his locker and went to his homeroom. School ended at three-twenty, and if Greg arrived home so much as one minute later than three-fifty-five; he would spend the next thirty minutes listening to how disorganized he was. So he made a point of being on time. Then he went to his room, sat at his desk, opened his books and got to work doing homework and studying. At six o’clock he was permitted twenty minutes for supper and at six-twenty he was back at his desk. Any bathroom-break longer than three minutes resulted in a lecture. Too many bathroom-breaks resulted in a lecture. His mother used a stopwatch to time him and a pad to note each break along with the time. His day ended at two a.m. when he was permitted to go to bed. On weekends, he was allowed exactly one hour on Saturday and another hour on Sunday for relaxation. In addition, he was allowed to go to bed at eleven o’clock. He could not turn on a radio. The family did not even own a television. Extracurricular activities were forbidden as was visiting friends – not that he had any with his schedule he thought ruefully. If, for any reason he needed to phone a classmate, he had to ask permission from his mother and provide her with a good reason for the call. Then she listened on the extension. Likewise, if anyone phoned him, his mother, frowning heavily, would allow him to take the call, but she was certain to listen in. Needless to say, he kept them short. Other kids got to take the summer vacation off. Greg found himself enrolled in any number of advanced summer school programs so his summers were no different from the rest of the year.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. He got excellent marks and had adapted to the regimen. He was resigned to living without friends. He felt he could live without recreation. Somehow he managed to slog through life on six hours of sleep. Any desire for human companionship or affection was buried in a far corner of his mind, and he was careful never, ever to disturb it. But the worst thing was nothing short of becoming a doctor was acceptable to his parents, and Greg had no interest in medicine. He had a very clear image of living this sort of life through high school, through university, through med school and then working brutally long hours at a profession for which he cared nothing. He would become wealthy, probably live in a luxury apartment, dress well and die young. There would be an impressive estate and no mourners. That, he thought, is my life. What’s the purpose of seeing it through to the end? I might as well slit my wrists now and get it over with. But it was an idle thought. He had no interest in suicide – at least not then. He picked up his geography notes and settled in.

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Okay, chips and pretzels for munchies, and plenty of pop of course, and after the dancing, wadda-ya-think, pizza be enough? Carol was planning her party menu with the help of Ellen and Jennifer.

Yeah, pizza’s fine, replied Ellen, But there’s thirty kids in the class and if everyone comes and has, say two-and-a-half slices on average, that’s … what?

Seventy-five, said Jennifer quietly.

Right, seventy-five, carried on Ellen brightly, So, okay, there’s eight slices to a pizza, so you’ll need eight pizzas.

Nine, corrected Jennifer, Or ten. It depends on how safe you want to be.

Ten, said Carol, My family can handle the leftovers or I’ll invite you guys back the next day and stuff them into you.

What toppings? asked Ellen, You’ll need pepperoni on a lot of them, because just about everyone likes that, and mushrooms too, but olives? Green peppers? Bacon? Sausage?

And of course, grinned Carol, All together now.

They chorused, No anchovies! and giggled.

But you’re right, I’ll have to give it some thought, said Carol.

Do you suppose Greg will come? asked Jennifer.

That’s right, chimed in Ellen, There’s no way he’ll come so you can go with nine pizzas.

Um, that’s still off by half a slice, corrected Jen.

No problem, said Ellen, Anyone who eats slowly can live without a third slice.

No, said Carol firmly, It’s going to be ten pizzas and Greg is going to come. At least I’m going to invite him – personally.

Doesn’t matter how you invite him, said Ellen, He still won’t come. My dad knows his father. He’s very old-school European. You know, all work and no play. Even if he wanted to come his parents wouldn’t allow it.

We’ll see, said Carol, But if he doesn’t come it won’t be because he wasn’t asked. So are you guys going home now?

Not me, replied Jennifer, I’ve got choir tonight.

And I want to run a few laps, said Ellen, There’s a meet this coming Saturday and I missed practice yesterday because of the dentist.

Okay guys, I’ll see you later, said Carol and headed for home.

Rather than taking the more circuitous street route, she cut through the park. It was a long meandering park, part of a ravine making it unsuitable for building, but excellent for conservation. A stream babbled along beside the path; but outside of that and the birds, it was pretty quiet. Carol loved it in the spring, summer and fall. Even in the winter it could be beautiful, particularly if snow had fallen. Sometimes a wet snow fell and the trees would be covered in white.

Hearing footsteps behind her Carol turned to see who was coming. She thought it was probably a dog-walker, but wanted to be certain. Though the park was beautiful it was also isolated and Carol’s parents had advised her to be careful. But it was only Greg, head down and hurrying home. Carol suddenly wondered if she had ever seen his face. Normally Greg spoke only when spoken to and tended to study the floor while talking.

Hi Greg! she said.

Greg started. He had been thinking about how little he wanted to go home when she spoke and it brought him out of his revere abruptly.

Oh, hi, he mumbled.

Oops, sorry to have startled you, she said.

No, that’s okay; I was just thinking. That’s all.

Maybe I should start thinking too if it would get me marks like yours, grinned Carol falling into step beside him. Anyway, I’m having a party at my house for the whole class a week this Saturday and I’m hoping you’ll come.

I can’t, replied Greg automatically.

Why not?

I have to study.

But it’s on a Saturday evening.

Doesn’t matter, I still have to study.

Uh, Greg, what mark did you get on the last math test?

A hundred.

And what mark did you get on the midterm English, History, Geography and French tests?

Hundreds.

And what was your lowest academic mark on the Christmas exams?

Hundred.

So you’ve aced every test on every subject this year. More than aced in fact, you’ve got perfect on all of them. So do you really mean to tell me you can’t take three or four hours off on a Saturday night to come to my party?

Um, sorry, I just can’t.

Carol was stunned. Not for a second did she believe marks were the issue. She could only conclude Greg didn’t want to socialize with the class, and possibly didn’t like his classmates very much. And then another thought hit her. Was it possible he simply didn’t like her? Uh, Greg look, I’d really like you to come; so if I’ve done something wrong and offended you somehow, I’m really sorry, she said. You see I try and be friends with everybody; but I may have said or done something …. Anyway I’m sorry, she faltered, But I do try.

Greg wanted to go to the party so badly he could taste it. But of course he knew it would never be allowed. So having to say no was hard, and having to keep on saying no was harder and harder; but when Carol took it personally, the part of him he thought safely buried, the part craving craved human companionship, came just a little towards the surface.

No it’s not you! he said hurriedly. It’s just … it’s just, well, it’s just … I … I can’t come!

And as he said those words – when every nerve and thought in his body was screaming, ‘Yes, yes, please, I want to come, I want to have a friend!’ two small tears somehow sneaked out and trickled down his cheek.

Carol was the eldest girl in a family of four children. She had one sister aged eight and twin brothers aged five. Because she was so much older, she had done a lot to help her mother look after the little ones; so she was no stranger to tears. Completely without thinking, the big sister in her took over and she gave Greg a hug and said softly, Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.

Perhaps it was the wrong thing to do and say, or perhaps it was perfect. Either way the effect was the same. That part of Greg so carefully guarded, slammed open and all the hurt, pain and frustration rushed to the surface in a flood of grief and Greg completely fell apart. Katalin! he cried as the tears became a torrent and he held onto Carol like a drowning man might grasp a single plank. Pain and humiliation clashed, but he couldn’t stop sobbing and gasping, I’m sorry.

All Carol could do was hold him and try to ride out the storm by murmuring It’s okay Greg, it will all work out. It’s okay, over and over until finally, it subsided and he was able to regain some measure of control. Ever practical, Carol immediately handed him a Kleenex.

Wipe and blow, she said.

He did.

There, she said, It’s good to get it out.

Carol I’m terribly sorry! said Greg who was embarrassed beyond belief.

Look it’s okay, she replied. I know something is really bothering you and whatever it is, is probably none of my business, but I’ll listen if you want to talk.

He looked at her. I want to go to your party so badly, but my parents will never allow it. They don’t allow anything – ever.

Then he proceeded to tell her what his life was like. At first she couldn’t believe it. Then she didn’t want to believe it. Finally she felt numb. But even before she could say anything, in fact, before she could even formulate the first possible idea of what to say, Greg suddenly looked at his watch. Oh no! he gasped, I’m late. If I’m not home by three-fifty-five I’m in deep trouble!

And without so much as a good-bye, he turned and ran as if his life depended on it. And perhaps, Carol thought, it did.

The next day, she made sure she had everything she’d need, so as soon as the final bell rang she could be out the door. That way she was certain to be ahead of Greg, and not merely by accident as had happened the day before. Half way through the park was a park bench where she sat and waited. She didn’t have to wait long. About two minutes later Greg came hurrying along, head down as always, but she didn’t have to say anything before he saw her. Without hesitation he walked over, sat down and joined her. Look Carol, he said, I’m really sorry about yesterday.

Don’t be, she replied. When something’s wrong the very best thing you can do is talk about it.

Yes that, but I meant about the other.

Don’t sweat it, she said. If my life was like that I’d cry too.

Um, actually it’s worse than what I told you.

Oh, God, she thought, it can’t be!

You see, my parents came here from Hungary. When they arrived they had nothing, absolutely nothing. They couldn’t even speak English. Back in Hungary my father was a doctor, but you need special credentials here; and without being able to speak English there was nothing he could do. He worked three jobs and my mother worked two and everything they did was so I would have a chance to be something. Everything! So I can’t let them down. No matter how hard it is and no matter how hard they make me work, it’s nothing compared to what they had to go through. Nothing.

Yes I understand, said Carol.

No, it’s worse. It was back in 1953. You see you couldn’t just leave Hungary in those days, you had to escape. I was only five years old at the time and my sister was twelve. I didn’t really know what was going on, but I knew it was something important and scary. To get to Austria you had to cross a no-man’s land that was mined. It was about two-hundred yards and there were guards and towers; and they shone spotlights back and forth at random over the field. The guards had orders to shoot anyone trying to flee. Anyway we waited until about two a.m. There was no moon and it was pitch black, but we could see some lights in the distance, and we knew if we could make it to them, we would be free.

He paused and continued, Well my parents knew it anyway. All I knew was it was dark and scary. But my sister was with me so I wasn’t afraid. Katalin had always sort of looked after me. You see my mom had to work just like my dad. They make you, so she couldn’t be at home to look after us as much as she wanted. Anyway we started out. Dad and Mom were carrying packs and Katalin had a little pack and me. I held her hand and we started running. The spot lights moved in a fairly regular pattern, so my parents picked a route to keep us in darkness and I guess they just had to hope we wouldn’t step on a mine. Anyway, we were about three-quarters across when someone changed the spot light pattern and it crossed us. We tried to hide but they swung it back and found us again. Then they started shooting. Katalin grabbed and shielded me. Suddenly she staggered and looked surprised. Then it looked like there were red flowers on the front of her dress. I remember thinking, where did the roses come from; and then she fell forward and dad and mom dropped their packs, grabbed my hand and we kept on running. I can still remember the bullets. They sounded like someone was tearing paper. Dad was hit in the shoulder and mom had a flesh wound on the leg, but somehow we made it. I kept crying for Katalin and then suddenly people were pulling us to safety and there was some return fire and everything was quiet except for me crying and someone was saying ‘Quick, get a doctor, they’ve been hit.’ So we had nothing and Katalin was dead. If she hadn’t shielded me when she did, I wouldn’t be alive. She died to save me, so you see, no matter how bad it gets, no matter what, I can’t let them down. I just can’t.

Okay Greg, I see, said Carol quietly, But look, you can’t go on like this. No-one can push himself like you do. I think you should talk to Mr. DiBardo. Mr. DiBardo was the school guidance counselor.

There’s nothing he can do.

Maybe not, she replied still keeping her voice quiet, But he is trained to help and if anyone in the entire school needs help it’s you. So look, maybe he can’t do anything, but at least make an appointment with him and tell him everything you’ve told me. He’s a pretty decent guy and if there’s anything possible that might help he’ll know about it. So, look, will you promise to make an appointment?

Yeah, okay, I’ll do it. Then he checked his watch. Sorry, gotta run.

And once again he looked like he was running for his life.

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Mr. DiBardo was surprised when he saw Greg’s name on his appointment schedule. Normally students wanting to see him were seniors requesting information about university admission or scholarships. For others, it was generally a matter of poor grades and the possibility of imminent failure; but when he checked Greg’s file and saw the marks he couldn’t believe his eyes. Then he checked back through junior high and elementary school, and as far back as numeric grades were given, Greg’s were in the nineties and before that they were all ‘A’s. So he couldn’t imagine any possible reason for this student to want to see him. This being the case, he made the only sort of preparation he could make. He went to the staff lounge and talked to some of Greg’s teachers. The comments were pretty standard.

He’s an excellent student.

Never a problem.

Never misses a class.

His homework is perfect and his notes are unbelievable!

But each added, Awfully quiet though, never says a thing. I figure he’s just shy.

From only one teacher did Mr. DiBardo get a hint of possible problems.

Greg? Oh he’s a great student. Hundred percent on every test and exam this year. Doesn’t seem very happy though. Reminds me of a dog someone’s kicked into the rain.

Greg walked into Mr. DiBardo’s office and sat down. He crossed one leg over the other, folded his arms across his chest and looked down. Mr. DiBardo looked at the closed posture and tense muscles. He had never in his life seen someone so tightly contained. All right, he said affably, If you could wait one second there’s just one little thing I need to confirm with the secretary and then I’ll get to you.

He smiled and stepped out of the office closing the door behind him. Then he said to the secretary in a quiet voice, I may be wrong, but as a precaution I think you’d better cancel my next two appointments.

He returned to the office, sat down and smiled. Greg, I don’t know what’s bothering you, but it’s pretty clearly not marks. I’m guessing you’re not too concerned about university selection yet, so let’s get whatever it is right out in the open so we can fix it. And Greg, here’s a promise for you. We are going to fix it.

The story came out, hesitantly at first and then more and more as Greg unburdened himself. He was still not meeting Mr. DiBardo’s eyes when he finished but at least he wasn’t as closed any more.

But it’s hopeless, he continued, There’s nothing that will change their minds. I’ve got to become a doctor. And I hate medicine.

Greg, what is it that you’d like to do? asked Mr. DiBardo quietly. He was practically in a state of shock after hearing the story and knew he had to proceed very carefully.

Greg looked up then. For the first time Mr. DiBardo saw his eyes. They were a soft hazel color and set in a face that might have appeared in a Renaissance painting. He replied shyly, I’d like to be an architect. I really want to build something beautiful, something people can enjoy, where they live or where they work. And it will be all around them. But I can’t. I know. I’ll never be allowed.

And for the second time in three days, Greg started to cry.

Two hours later Mr. DiBardo sat back at his desk and sighed. He was utterly exhausted. It wasn’t the first time a student had broken down in his office; but in the past it was students facing imminent failure, usually as the result of poor study habits. Never had he encountered a student driven beyond endurance to such an extent. Mr. DiBardo was a naturally compassionate man, readily able to identify with the problems his students were facing, so he felt the pain almost as much as Greg. Although he didn’t know it, when Greg broke down with Carol, it reduced many of the protective walls he’d maintained; so when he faced his unhappiness once again in Mr. DiBardo’s office, he held nothing back. Mr. DiBardo remembered his own words, Let’s get whatever it is right out in the open so we can fix it. And Greg, here’s a promise for you. We are going to fix it. He wondered how he could ever deliver on that promise.

The first thing he did was to call the parents and make an appointment for them to come and see him the following night. He’d told Greg he would do this, although the boy was skeptical it would make any difference. But making the appointment was the easy part. The hard part would be convincing them, first a problem even existed, and second they were the cause and would have to change. Frankly, Mr. DiBardo didn’t think he had the necessary skills. But he certainly knew how to prepare. So he made his second call, this one to his own parents.

Mom, how are you? he asked as she answered the phone.

Tony! she exclaimed, I’m just fine and you?

Great Mom. Look, Bernice has to work late tonight and Eric is staying over at his friend’s house, so I was wondering if I could come by and mooch a home-cooked meal from you?

Fantastic, I’d love you to come. We’re having lasagna tonight.

My favorite! You and Dad still have dinner sharp at six o’clock?

Every day! At least almost every day.

Great, then I’ll come over as soon as I finish up my paper work.

There, he thought hanging up the phone. Tony loved his mother and his mother’s cooking, and he hadn’t been exaggerating when he told her lasagna was his favorite, but what he really wanted was an opportunity to meet with his father. A chat with the old man would be just the thing. Tony senior had been a second generation Canadian, caught between parents with values from Europe, and peers who were Canadian through and through. He knew his father had felt the pressure though he seldom spoke of it. If anyone would know of a way of getting through to Greg’s parents it would be Tony DiBardo senior.

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What did you do!? screamed Greg’s mother, You must have done something terrible! Nobody calls their son’s parents to meet with them for no reason! Did you kill someone?

I didn’t do anything, replied Greg for possibly the fiftieth time, but his parents were beyond hearing him.

If they expel you, I swear I’ll kill you with my bare hands! shouted his father.

How could you be so stupid? yelled his mother.

It might have gone on indefinitely, but they had to leave for the meeting.

You get into your room and study! commanded his father, I’ll settle with you when I get home.

And with a crash they slammed the door and departed. Silence descended. Greg was in shock. Since receiving the call from Mr. DiBardo, it had gone on pretty well non-stop. The insults, the accusations, the curses, had all blended together into a wall of noise leaving him helpless, unable to even distinguish the words. And then the door slammed and everything became silent.

For several minutes he remained motionless. Then he blinked as a sense of awareness returned. He looked around as if finding himself in a strange place. He was in his own house. That much was evident, but there was something different. At last he realized it was quiet. The shouting was gone. All he could hear was the hum of the refrigerator as it went about its business. Then with a click, it stopped and an even heavier silence fell. Usually there was some sound, wind blowing, traffic moving in the distance, but on that evening there was nothing, just stillness. Slowly the shock passed and he realized once again the hopelessness of the situation. Mr. DiBardo would never be able to get through to them. They would come home even more enraged than before. Mind you there wasn’t much more they could do. He supposed they could take away the two hours allowed for recreation on the weekend and maybe force him to work longer hours on Saturday and Sunday, but that wouldn’t make much difference. They didn’t really need to do anything. They could hit him he supposed. It didn’t much matter.

In fact nothing much mattered. The thought came as a surprise, but on thinking it over he realized it was true. There wasn’t anything about his life he liked. He ate, slept whenever he could, and worked. It wasn’t a life. It was barely an existence. And it would go on and on and on forever. Day in, day out and the years would roll by and nothing mattered anymore. It was in that moment it occurred to him he didn’t care about living.

Greg had never before considered suicide. But suddenly it seemed like a possibility. He knew he was in a box. If you force water into a box and keep building the pressure, sooner or later it will break. Everyone has a point, where, possibly they can go on, but it seems no longer worth the effort. He had reached that place.

Suicide. It didn’t even have to hurt. Because of all the extra reading his parents made him do, he knew something about the subject. If he slit his wrists in a warm bath, the water would keep the blood flowing until the pressure dropped, shock set in and eventually death would follow. It would be just like going to sleep. And he knew enough to slit his wrists along the vein, not crosswise. People who don’t know much about suicide cut across their wrists. Those who were serious cut upwards. It didn’t take long that way. There would be a bit of pain, that’s all, and perhaps not even much. Of necessity, his parents lived frugally, so his dad didn’t use disposable razor blades. Greg and his father shared a straight razor. It was made of the finest German steel and his dad kept it honed to perfection. It took some practice getting used to it – and the first few times he’d shaved, he’d acquired the nicks and cuts to prove it – but he remembered they’d never hurt. At least, not at the time. Touching them with antiseptic had been a different story. So all he needed to do was bring the razor