“Today’s my last day!” Brandon exclaimed when I showed up at the centre to pick up Sam after work. The two of them had been playing on the monkey bars and they both came running when they spotted me. That’s not unusual: Brandon often greeted Sam at the door when we arrived in the morning, to say good morning and to fill him in on the planned activities. In the afternoons, he often came over to show us a craft or homemade book on the go — sometimes even giving them to Sam. But today’s his last day.
I’d seen the For Sale sign on his front lawn a few months back and worried, vaguely, that he might be leaving the neighbourhood and the school, but I somehow didn’t expect that he’d be moving to Newmarket. Tomorrow. He was all smiles when I told him that I was born there and that it was a good hockey town and he’d love it. But his expression changed when it was time for us to leave. With a big hug, he said, “Goodbye, Sam — I’ll miss you” and pulled away choking back tears. Sam, blinking hard, said “I’ll miss you, too” and suddenly I was crying behind my sunglasses as well.
Not wanting to leave Brandon fighting his emotions at the edge of the playground (he had his back to the group, looking skyward, willing the tears not to spill over his eyelids), I told him a quick story about how I never even went to school in Newmarket, how I’d already moved a few times before I started kindergarten in Scarborough, and how I went from there to Winnipeg, where I changed schools twice and then moved back and changed schools two more times before I even finished grade 3 up in Beaverton. He was chuckling at how silly that all sounded and he smiled when I said that I loved all of my schools and I quickly made new friends every time. “It’s tough to leave one place, but it’s exciting to go to another one,” I assured him. Then we left with a final backwards wave.
Sam stayed silent throughout that exchange and lagged a ways behind me across the hardtop to the car. I was lost in my own memories of walking into new classrooms, trying to recall how much I missed the kids in my old schools. When I glanced back at Sam, I could see he was pretty upset. “He had the best ideas for games at recess,” he said, his voice cracking. “The best.” I tousled his hair a little and have him a sympathetic smile, saying “He was a really good friend. I know you’ll miss him.” Then we drove home in subdued silence. This is the latest, and probably the toughest, in a series of school and child care friends who have disappeared: Michael, Derek, Sai, Eden, and now Brandon. Looking into Sam's sad eyes, I realize it’s probably easier to pack up and move on than to be left behind on the playground missing a good friend and his games. The best games.
I’d seen the For Sale sign on his front lawn a few months back and worried, vaguely, that he might be leaving the neighbourhood and the school, but I somehow didn’t expect that he’d be moving to Newmarket. Tomorrow. He was all smiles when I told him that I was born there and that it was a good hockey town and he’d love it. But his expression changed when it was time for us to leave. With a big hug, he said, “Goodbye, Sam — I’ll miss you” and pulled away choking back tears. Sam, blinking hard, said “I’ll miss you, too” and suddenly I was crying behind my sunglasses as well.
Not wanting to leave Brandon fighting his emotions at the edge of the playground (he had his back to the group, looking skyward, willing the tears not to spill over his eyelids), I told him a quick story about how I never even went to school in Newmarket, how I’d already moved a few times before I started kindergarten in Scarborough, and how I went from there to Winnipeg, where I changed schools twice and then moved back and changed schools two more times before I even finished grade 3 up in Beaverton. He was chuckling at how silly that all sounded and he smiled when I said that I loved all of my schools and I quickly made new friends every time. “It’s tough to leave one place, but it’s exciting to go to another one,” I assured him. Then we left with a final backwards wave.
Sam stayed silent throughout that exchange and lagged a ways behind me across the hardtop to the car. I was lost in my own memories of walking into new classrooms, trying to recall how much I missed the kids in my old schools. When I glanced back at Sam, I could see he was pretty upset. “He had the best ideas for games at recess,” he said, his voice cracking. “The best.” I tousled his hair a little and have him a sympathetic smile, saying “He was a really good friend. I know you’ll miss him.” Then we drove home in subdued silence. This is the latest, and probably the toughest, in a series of school and child care friends who have disappeared: Michael, Derek, Sai, Eden, and now Brandon. Looking into Sam's sad eyes, I realize it’s probably easier to pack up and move on than to be left behind on the playground missing a good friend and his games. The best games.
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