The Comeback

By Cam Armitage

Take a journey with Cam Armitage as he candidly opens-up and recounts his life in this compelling true story. In addition to being labelled a "high school dropout", he wrestles with substance abuse and a temptation to join the criminal world. During a single life altering moment, Cam decides to reclaim his life. What Cam did not anticipate was the disappointment, failure, and pain that would parallel his efforts to overcome adversity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Jul 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9780228811701

Cam Armitage

Cam Armitage is a Canadian Firefighter, author and speaker. He studied business in the United States and graduated with a degree in business and economics. He lives in Kitsilano, Vancouver, B.C.

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The Comeback

Cam Armitage

The Comeback

Copyright © 2019 by Cam Armitage

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-1169-5 (Hardcover)

978-0-2288-1168-8 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-1170-1 (eBook)

Table of Contents

Dedication

Introduction

How it all Started

High School

The Rough Road

More Life Lessons

From Bad to Worse

Time for a Change

Moving On

The Wind Blows Hard

Living, Loving, Learning

A Hard Decision

What Happens Now?

Reaching for the Impossible

Moving On

Back to School

A Setback

My Dream Comes True

Curveballs

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my parents, Peter and Karen. They are hard-working and wonderful people and I am truly blessed to have them in my life. My wish is that my continued success in life will erase the stress and anxiety I placed upon them in my younger years.

My parents provided me with the best opportunities they could, and always tried to guide me when I needed it. The story of my life does not reflect the quality of my parents but rather it highlights the fact that personal decisions can make or break you. Being from a ‘stable’ environment does not ensure that mistakes won’t be made. They will. But despite all my mistakes, my parents have always been there to love and support me.

I am thankful that my parents taught me that to achieve anything of value in life you must work hard and ‘pay the price’; that they exemplified what it means to give time and energy charitably to benefit others; that they greatly influenced me by their attitudes of service; and that, fortunately for me, the best parts of the values and morals they tried so hard to instill in me are now coming out. Most of all, however, I am thankful to them for being by my side during my trials in the hospital. I will never forget seeing their loving faces when I needed it most. Thanks Mom and Dad. You are amazing people and I love you both.

I also dedicate this book to my two older sisters, Heather (four years older) and Lisa (eight years older). Both of my sisters are incredible people who have stood by me even when I didn’t deserve their respect. Both have influenced me with their incredible life choices and positive attitudes. Heather is a skydiving adventurer who owns and operates her own first aid business. Lisa runs a very successful wedding business and is an awesome mom. When I was struggling with my personal choices, I kept secrets from them. Being closer in age, at times Heather had an idea that I was in trouble but had no idea what kind. I kept Lisa in the dark, however, because I foolishly feared she may be upset with me, even though she was someone I usually went to for advice about life. Looking back, I should have used them as allies in my struggles. Today, I am just grateful to have healthy relationships with both of them. Thank you for your understanding Heather and Lisa. I love and respect you very much.

Introduction

This book is about my life’s journey up until the age of 33. It’s is a true account of how I went from high school dropout, to college athlete and ultimately to professional firefighter. It is not all pretty, and I am putting myself out there by making some private matters public, but the story would not be complete if I did not.

The intention of this book is to help others. I hope the story of my life journey—from my struggles and failures to my success and health—will inspire people from all walks of life and that they will be encouraged, hopeful, and uplifted after reading this book. Even if you have not had similar experiences, I hope there is something you can take away from my story. What I hope to demonstrate is how resolve, perseverance, emotional strength, and the willingness to do whatever it takes is the key to success.

I grew up in the greater Vancouver area in British Columbia, on the west coast of Canada. During my formative years, I was not inherently set back in my life and I had most of the opportunities other average, middle-class kids had. However, by making poor decisions I put myself in many negative, and sometimes precarious, situations. Eventually, I wound up living a negative and dangerous lifestyle. But by becoming self-aware and taking responsibility for what I had done, I was able to turn my failures into success. This book will take you through the highs and lows of my journey.

One very important conclusion I reached while writing this book and reflecting on my life is that my past is what made me who I am today. I also realized is that when you do finally achieve a goal, there is no guarantee another setback is not waiting right around the corner—so, whether your goal is to build a shed in the backyard or to grow a multinational corporation, be prepared for some ups and downs. But remember to respect and, if possible, enjoy your journey, because it is what shapes you. Looking back, I can see how my journey shaped me.

This is how it happened …

CHAPTER 1

How it all Started

I was 12 years old and new neighbors had just moved in next door. When I stepped out the front door, I looked over to see a boy my age sitting on the front lawn with a box of toys in front of him. We looked at each other and smiled. He didn’t hesitate to ask me, Want to play with my toys? Of course I did! I was excited. I could see the box overflowing with G.I. Joe and He-Man toys. What young boy could say ‘no’ to that?

As I sat down next to him, we introduced ourselves. My name’s Cam, I said. He replied, I’m Mark , and just like that, we were fast friends. We were inseparable for the longest time, though we’ve lost touch now.

By the time I met Mark , although not inherently bad, I had started to display some behavioral issues. My energy levels were very high, I had a defiant streak that was probably a cry for attention and like many pre-adolescent boys, I had a temper. For the most part, my potential was to either be very productive or very destructive. Unfortunately for my parents, the destructive side would win at times. But now I had a neighbor who was a friend and maybe we would keep each other out of trouble.

Mark ’s house was immaculate. His Catholic parents kept the house in perfect order, right down to mowing the lawn in a flawless pattern. His dad even went so far as to water the lawn every night to keep it lush. It was something to behold. Their basement was a kid’s dream—well, maybe an adult’s dream—but we were permitted access. It had a full-service bar, a pool table and it and was decorated like an ultra man-cave, complete with a life-sized, carboard cut-out of John Wayne. There was a big screen TV and all the couches were leather, it was awesome. I can still remember the smell of that basement: a combination of cleaning products and cigarette smoke. This would be were Mark and I would discover alcohol and cigarettes for the first time at the age of 12.

As curious, pre-teen kids, we quickly discovered the booze behind the bar, mostly wine and beer. The first alcohol I ever tasted was a pilsner beer, and it was terrible. It was so bitter that I couldn’t believe that people liked it. But we stuck with it. If adults drank it, we could too.

We quickly graduated to trying the wine, and that’s when things got interesting. Not having any concept of alcohol content and how that can affect a person, we devised a game that now seems ridiculous. One of us would lay flat on the ground and the other would fill a tall beer glass to the brim with wine. Then the one laying on the ground would open their mouth and the whole glass would get poured in all at once. In a matter of only 30 seconds, each of us consumed two rounds—an entire bottle of wine each. My little body could hardly handle it. Once I stood up, I could hardly stay standing.

The next discovery for us was the cigarette materials we found in the kitchen cabinet. Back then, it was popular to load your own cigarettes and we thought that was so cool. We used the small loading machine: we put the empty cigarette paper in it, loaded the machine with tobacco and then slid it like a credit card, and—viola—one cigarette ready for smoking.

Smoking for the first time at 13 was like sucking on the end of an exhaust pipe. I remember how badly it made me choke. My thought was, why the heck do people like these things? But even when the head rush kicked in and the room started spinning, that did not dissuade us. We quickly became used to the harshness and dizziness and soon the smoke went down easier and we were practically pros. We noticed the combination of alcohol and cigarettes were made for each other. So, that’s what we did; we drank and smoked, just like adults.

One day, Mark snuck into his older sister’s room and stole a bag of marijuana. Curious as ever, we knew it was for smoking but had absolutely no idea what to do with it. Instinctively, we knew we needed to cut it up, so we did. But then we wondered how we would smoke it. Why didn’t we use the cigarette machine? I have no idea. Because we were kids, I guess. Instead, we decided to use a napkin to roll the stuff. A napkin, that makes perfect sense.

We walked down to the park at the bottom of the street and hid behind a fence as we attempted to smoke our little art projects. A you can probably imagine, it worked terribly. And beside the fact that it’s nearly impossible to smoke anything rolled in a napkin, I was too afraid to inhale because I had no idea what it would do to me, so we wasted what we rolled. But that was my introduction to pot, and it would open the door to years of marijuana abuse as well as a progression to the abuse of much more dangerous substances.

My life was always a contrast: on one hand, I had a defiant nature and displayed risk-taking behavior; but on the other hand, I was also a very talented athlete. The educational part of school didn’t interest me much, as I didn’t enjoy sitting still for too long, but physical education class was always my ticket. In elementary school I developed a reputation for being a good ‘free throw shooter’, often dominating a game we called ‘21’. In 21 you shoot a basketball from the foul line. Each basket is worth two points and when you miss, the other player gets to rebound the ball, which counts as one point. Whoever reaches 21 first, wins.

During lunch hour, kids came from across the schoolyard to try and dethrone me, with little success. I was so good I could often shoot from 1 to 21 without missing a shot, leaving my opponent frustrated and robbed of the opportunity to shoot.

We’re all born with our own skills and abilities. For me, if it involved a round object and hand-eye coordination, I was usually good at it. Whatever that DNA is, I have it. This proclivity was really brought to the fore when I discovered one of my dad’s golf clubs. It was an old Spalding 2-Iron. From the very first swing of that club, I was hooked. For some reason, it was so natural to me; the arc, the swing, and that unmistakable swoosh. When my dad finally took me to a driving range for the first time, we could both see that I was hitting it farther and higher than most people around me. This meant nothing to me at the time—but little did I know that this skill would one day change my life.

A few people at the driving range commented to my dad about my natural swing and suggested he find me a coach and get me some lessons. My Father, being passionate about golf, took this idea to heart and signed me up for my first lessons with a former Ladies Professional Golf Association (LPGA) tour player named Melinda.

From the very first time I met Linda, I liked her. She was cool, and I could tell she had a wild streak. I still remember the first time I hit some shots for her. I had hardly hit two balls before I heard the flick of a lighter. Surprised, I looked up to see her lighting a cigarette. She stopped as if had caught her doing something naughty. Oh, she said, You don’t mind if I smoke do you? I chuckled and said of course I didn’t; in fact, it made me more comfortable with her. After I hit a few shots, I could tell how excited she was to see my natural ability. She smiled and said, You’ve got quite the swing there, kid.

That year, my dad’s work friend got me a caddying spot in a pro-am event on the Professional Golf Association (PGA) tour, which visited our city once a year. I was on the bag for a well known news broadcaster, a very nice man whose name I’ll skip, as he was a much better journalist than a golfer.

We decided to hit the practice green to roll some putts before the round. I was excited; it was way cool to be behind the ropes with the PGA Tour players. There they all were, on the green warming up before their rounds. My player attempted to make some putts and I couldn’t help but think to myself, dear God, this guy is terrible. I glanced up to see his frustrated face looking at me. Here kid, he said, Take this damn putter and show me how its done. Not hesitating a second, I took the putter from him and he passed me a ball. All I could think at that moment was, are you kidding me? I’m about to putt on the same green as the PGA Tour players!

At that age, I was fearless and didn’t have years of memories of missing putt after putt. I dropped the ball on the green and sized up a putt between 20 and 25 feet. Now, 25 feet might not sound like much to a non-golfer, but the average ‘make’ percentage for a professional to make that shot is in the single digits. I’m pointing this out to illustrate how stupidly hard golf can be. But I was either brave or stupid on that day. I lined up the putt, aimed it eight inches or so to the left (as I knew the putt would break to the right) and rolled a perfect 1 out of 20 putt that curled flawlessly into the cup.

As luck would have it, as I looked up, one of Canada’s most decorated professionals was walking past with a big smile on his face. Nice putt, kid, he said. I could hardly speak when I saw who it was. I choked out the words, Thanks, Mr. Weir. That’s right, I had just sunk a 25-footer in front of Mike Weir! Mike would later go on to win the 2003 Masters Tournament and be the first Canadian to ever win a major tournament. I was elated, but I kept my cool. I turned to my player, handed him his putter, and said bashfully, I think that’s what you were trying to do. He just looked back at me with a smile and said two words, Nice one.

After that, we headed down to the practice tee to hit some shots before the round, and the coolest thing happened. It was a foggy morning, very early, and the dew was still on the ground. It was so foggy that while you could hear the pros hitting shots, you could hardly see them. We walked through the ropes and approached the practice tee … and that’s when my eyes fixed on a silhouette of someone I recognized as a golf great. This player was extremely talented and also one of the greatest ambassadors of the game, but he was equally famous for the way he dressed. His knickers and cap were unmistakable, and as that silhouette appeared out of the fog, I knew I was staring at the one and only Payne Stewart.

I was transfixed; he was like a magnet, and I was so attracted by his energy that, without thinking, I walked towards him. However, the fog made it very difficult to judge distance, and in my entranced state I got so close he nearly hit me in the face with his backswing. Thankfully, he caught himself, knowing someone was close to him. I could hardly see his face as he said, Well hello there, young man. Be careful now. I stood there stunned as I watched him go about his business, he was unfazed by my presence.

Payne Stewart was one of a kind. Let me say this, there is a certain sound that only the best in the world can make when they hit the ball, and Payne was no exception. He was so sharp, and the sound was so crisp, it seemed like the fog was moving out of the way of his ball; it was incredible. Unfortunately, not long after my encounter with this great golfer, he was killed in a tragic plane crash. He was an incredible player and an incredible person. I will remember that experience for the rest of my life.

Despite my behavioral issues and discovery of unhealthy substances, this period of my life was fairly trouble-free. However, this was the calm before the storm. I was about to transition from elementary school into junior high school and though I didn’t know it, once I entered a new school with older kids in it, I would be faced with a whole new set of temptations and my life would take a turn for the worse. Having already discovered the allure of ‘grown-up’ substances, I was primed to be influenced in negative ways. In fact, the risk-taker in me welcomed it. The decisions I would make would ultimately jeopardize my future and, at times, my life.

CHAPTER 2

High School

I was now I was in high school. Being the low kid on the totem pole was stressful for all the new grade eights; other kids sized you up and you had to find your place in the pecking order. Every day, I had to walk through what the kids called ‘the smoke pit’ to get to school. The smoke pit was a park across the street from the school where kids gathered to smoke and get into trouble. I remember being a bit fearful as I passed the mass of young people; I kept my head down and just walked. I think a few comments were tossed my way, and maybe a rock or two was thrown, but nothing serious happened; the smoke pit kids just wanted to let me know I was walking through their park.

The kids in the smoke pit seemed way cooler than other kids. They were bigger, they dressed cooler, and the girls whispered and giggled alluringly when I walked by. I didn’t know what to think, but I was interested and attracted to that scene.

The first day was orientation day. Like all the new kids, I went around to my classes for 15 minutes or so just to meet the teachers and other students. Gym class, of course, was the one I was looking forward to the most. I will never forget how that orientation went. The teacher was a young guy named Trevor. He was cool and seemed outgoing. He was doing roll call when he asked for a kid with the last name ‘Burger’.

Anyone know Burger? he asked.

So, being the punk that I was, I put my hand up and said, No, but I know a hamburger.

Everyone laughed, but Trevor did not. Without hesitation, he said, Get out.

I walked out to the hallway and he followed me. I thought … perfect, two minutes into class and I’ve already been kicked out. But he just looked at me with a smile and said, Look kid, I don’t know why, but I like you. But you can’t say shit like that, okay? I agreed, and we shook hands. Trevor and I would soon become close in the class and compete tooth and nail in every sport we played. He was a great guy.

As grade eight progressed, like most kids I had a strong desire fit in and be cool. I loved sports, but sports kids weren’t as cool as smoke pit kids. To be someone, you had to be accepted by the smoke pit kids. That’s where all the action was; that’s where all the trouble and distractions were too.

My first exposure to the harsher side of high school was when, one day when I was leaving the locker room after gym class, I walked out into the gymnasium to see a guy and a girl near the drama stage in the gym huddled together over something. There was no one around but them and me, and they were unaware of my presence. As I watched, they snorted something up their noses. It was my first exposure to hard drug use; they had just used cocaine without noticing my young eyes watching. It took me a while to digest what I saw. Not only did I not understand why they were doing it in a school, but it also seemed weird that they were doing it at just after 10 o’clock in the morning. That image stayed with me for