Winter in 2003
The first snowfall this morning was beautiful. My first memory flashback was Simone, who used to bring me an XL french vanilla from Tims on his way to school (he worked the morning shift).
Grade 8
Stepping back a couple of years to grade 8, I have two memories: Mr. Sanscousy at the end of the year telling me “a tiger never changes it’s stripes”- in response to me telling him how I’m excited to work harder in high school.
The second memory is a real defining one. I applied to Etobicoke School of the Arts (ESA) for Visual Arts. The interview was intense, and I got in and registered.
I also got accepted into Cawthra Park S.S. in Mississauga, which also had a regional arts program— since my dad knew the head of the Visual Arts program, Mr. Ball, a terrible man to young people who didn’t look like him.
The interview seemed like a formality and I was accepted.
Dad didn’t want me to go to ESA for a lot of reasons; mainly control and making sure I didn’t get into trouble far from his reach.
I decided to go to ESA anyways. Cawthra’s art program sucked in comparison, and Etobicoke School of the Arts was the place to be for art students.
Their Art studios were real, not classrooms.
The interviewers and art teachers were super impressed by my portfolio and spent an hour reviewing it with me.
The art teachers were nice. The students were nice. People were nice.
It was art heaven.
On the first day at ESA registration my dad and me got into a yelling match in front of the lobby of the school and I lost control of a-part-of-my-future that day.
I did not end up completing my registration at ESA. It was insisted that I attend Cawthra, a majority white middle-class school.
It was also ironically the last time my dad would ever set foot inside of any school I attended. Periodtd.
I wish ESA called or wrote to me to ask why I was a no-show.
Cawthra sucked.
High-school
I mostly failed through high-school and by grade 12 formally received a letter removing me from the regional arts program for “not applying myself”.
It was confusing for everyone when I still showed up in OAC regardless.
My classmates would look at my report card shocked; this was an invite only school aside from the locals, and these art majors sharpened their pencils every morning.
I almost graduated in Grade 12, having earned 12 extra credits during my first four years, but procrastination always wins.
By OAC my scheduled look like this:
1st period spare
second period class; I didn’t take Grade 10 gym, and tried to get out but failed Kinese in grade 12, so here I was in brutal OAC gym.
3rd period spare
4th period lunch
5th period class
I applied myself just enough for a 73% average across 6 credits to make it to University.
Queue winter memories
In the winter the only ones outside all day are the kids that hang out in the back, the vice principles that come out to chat, and the police that harassed us. I floated a lot, and I was outside 90% of the time.
I opened up my portfolio to find this photography project. I can’t remember her name. We spent winter hanging out during photography class and spares. I do remember she preferred long slim menthols & that hanging out with her was the best.
Endless winters, and rest in peace to all the family & people in my life that haven’t made it this far with us.
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