Smells Like Recess

Ball up in sky
like rocket to moon.
Cartwheel exquisite;
polka dot ball.

If I were a spider
on the wall,
I would crawl
into your arms,
jump over the net,
mixed dirt and sweat
stained cap
smells
like recess—

smells like
love.

Bell rings,
time to leave fun;
back to class,
sit up straight.

You have . . .

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A grey, drab, Tuesday morning. Ottawa awoke to a thin sheet of freezing rain coating the streets. By noon, the temperature had risen, the ice had melted and thousands of fans lined Bank Street for a victory parade to cheer on their football heroes and 2016 Grey Cup champions, the Ottawa Redblacks.

We parked on Fourth Avenue between . . .

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The television’s blue-hued light flickered in the dark. “I hear someone coming,” I whispered to my brother. “Turn off the TV and hide!” The stairs creaked as Dad made his way downstairs to get a drink of water. We hid behind the laundry room door.

“Shh … be quiet or we’ll get in . . .

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When my kids were in kindergarten, students took turns bringing home a stuffed animal from class. Parents contributed to a journal, detailing activities their families would participate in with the "stuffy." Below is a poem from that journal.

Ribbon Bear's Excellent Kindergarten Adventure

There is a bear
who . . .

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I learned chess as a youngster. I found the order and strategy compelling. So I was more than happy to teach my sons how to play. There is a rhythm and motion to the game: looking ahead, planning your moves, setting up your opponent for a masterful maneuver—there is something about that.

My boys have progressed to the . . .

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"Hey," I told youngest, aged 6 at the time, "we haven't written a story in a while."

"I know," he replied.

"Do you want to?"

"Not really."

"Aw, come on—it'll be fun. I'll write the first paragraph and you can finish."

"Okay," he mumbled, humouring me.

"Alright, let's do this!" I said, and began the . . .

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