I’ve just spent an hour sitting with Leslie and John from Colorado in the USA.  They live on a mountain surrounded by forest, with their nearest neighbour a kilometre away.  So far from my home on the Oudburg, with its flurry of restaurants and bars.

We’re all in our 70s … and all loving life.  Our conversation flowed among the peaks and valleys of living in the world.  It was a delight.

John’s American football career brought me back to a skinny, 115-pound, acne-covered teen.  I know him well.

It was Grade 9 in 1962, the first year of high school.  I wanted to play football, and was accepted onto the Bantam team.  The Junior team was Grade 10s and 11s, the Senior was Grade 12s and 13s.

During one practice after school, the coach (in his dubious wisdom) decided to have the Bantams scrimmage against the Seniors.  For those of you who know the sport, we young-uns were on defense.  I was middle linebacker. The quarterback across the line of scrimmage called a draw play.  This massive fullback got the ball and ran straight ahead.  Our defensive linemen were brushed aside, and the giant was sprinting right at  …

Me!

Oh, God.

What happened, you ask?  Did I make an heroic tackle, à la David and Goliath?  Was I crushed underfoot?  Did a teammate rush to my rescue?

No

I ran away

(Sigh)

I don’t remember what happened next, how people reacted to me.  Thank God.

***

Isn’t it lovely how one image flows to the next?  Step back only a few months … June of Grade 8, the last year of my time at Bedford Park Public School.

It was Track and Field Day, a celebration of the body (at least for some of us).  Still in the realm of dubious wisdom, the teachers decided it would be fun to have a 100-yard race featuring all of the Grade 7 and 8 students.  If there were three classes of kids in each grade, with 30 of us per class, that would have been 180 would-be-athletes in a long line.  (We had a very large schoolyard.)

The gun went off.  I sprinted, at least my version of the word.  I gave everything.

And I came …

Last

Once again, the mercies of memory have erased what followed.  I can imagine …

Every Grade 7 girl beat you, Bruce!

Yuck.

John, Louise and I laughed at my foibles

They have a few themselves

We human beings are so … human