September, 1970

September, 1970 is the month that bore witness to the Middle East erupting in near apocalyptic furor that became known as Black September, the Ford Motor Company introducing the Pinto – a vehicle known primary for its penchant for exploding when one tapped the rear end, and the drug overdosed demise of Jimi Hendrix. Closer to home it is the month that saw the first of the family leaving home. My sister is packed and ready to go on a very long trip to start university. She would take the steamer back to our home town, meet up with some former school mates, take the ride to the capital city and from there take a flight that would carry her farther from home than she had ever been before. It is a trip that will take 2 days. In an old family photo she sits on the front steps in her finest peasant blouse with short puffy sleeves, luggage stacked neatly by her side and despite her best efforts to the contrary her smile belies nervousness.

Unlike most provinces, the students here graduated high school at grade 11 so kids leave home for university, if that is their plan, earlier than most. Years later a grade 12 program would be implemented. On one hand this would delay the parental anxiety of kids leaving home for a year. One the other hand it meant parents had to wait an extra year to get the kids out of the house. My father was very excited about his daughter not only excelling academically but also getting accepted into a great school. I would learn later that my sisters always felt extra pressure from my father. For my father, education - especially in his case - was an escape to a better life and one can only assume that he did not want his daughters unable to fend for themselves. Perhaps this is why all my sisters became working professionals. Whether or not my father’s tactics of putting an added onus upon his daughters worked is something to which only they can attest. Sons, as most parents seem to believe, do not need the extra heed.

Today, Sharon is leaving home. Everyone stands on the wharf as the big blue and white ferry pulls up to dock. Men scramble to grab the ropes tossed from the ship onto the concrete platform and pull the much larger mooring lines to secure them to the steel heads. A small gate opens in the gunwale and an aluminum gangway with rope railing is lowered to the edge of the wharf. My father is the first up the gangway carrying the bulk of my sister’s luggage followed by my mother and sister with the rest. A short time later my father returns and later my mother, with crumpled tissue in her hands and red wet eyes, returned to the wharf. The ship’s horn blasts as the ferry edges sideways from its dock and when there is enough clearance the water churns violently at the rear of the ship as it slowly makes it way out of the Bay Roche’s small harbour. My mother continues to watch the boat until it disappears around the steep cliff that marks the entrance, and exit, from Bay Roche.

Number one hit from September of 1970
Rose Garden by Lynn Andersen

19 years later I would get sweaty and overly familiar to this little number heard in clubs almost always located on the wrong side of town. Canadian outfit Kon Kan with I Beg Your Pardon.