On The Road With Denny D

There was a time when I couldn’t wait to go to school. Of course I'm assuming here because I can't remember a time when  I did. There was also time I couldn’t wait to get home after school. The home part was great getting there was not so great. It was grade six I had just found out that the one thing I was good at was not appreciated. Sister Kinga made that clear. But the sting of the pointer had passed and I was drawing more things. I know I said that I had to draw escape routes for after school, well, not really but escaping the punishment I would receive on the corner of Westminster and Empress was real.  I will not go into detail about how often it happened but I will say it made me shut down even more. At home it was different. At home I could hide. My bedroom was my safe place. I would wash off the hurt and lay in my bed and draw. My parents never knew what hit me and I wasn't going to tell them. It was a different time then.  It might seem strange to say but I'm...

 Forgiveness When I wasn't drawing cartoons or planning my escape routes for after school, I looked out the window at the church across the street. I will not go into detail about how I was bullied but the threat of being bullied found me searching for something outside. My life was different, but I was still upset with God for taking away my friend so early in her life. I was mad enough to shut down and distract myself from the truth. The truth was I was heartbroken in many ways.  Eventually, time heals all wounds and memory fades. At least the power that memory had on me.   Hope One day I was playing strikeout with my brothers. Strikeout is a variation of baseball.  A batter’s box is drawn on brick with chalk, replacing the catcher. All we needed was a pitcher and a kid to play the field. I was the pitcher, and my brother was at bat. The ballpark was between the wall of the gym and Norman Rd. The outfielder came out of left field. The church. Which was more l...

Grade School   Bricks, mortar and windows   Saint Jules looked like every grade school back in the '60s. It was a huge cookie-cutter brown brick building. All the classrooms had large windows, and every window had a smaller window underneath that when opened barely let in any air. Take your seat Our small desks survived generations of abuse. Each one had a hole at the top right-hand corner that once held ink wells.  The writing surface was also a lid hiding the contents inside. My desk contained coloured pencils, a yoyo, a baseball glove with a red, white and blue sponge ball and finally a brown lunch bag, on the days we didn't run home for lunch.  Inside the lunch bag was nothing too special: a PB and J sandwich wrapped in neatly folded wax paper and a red and green Macintosh apple. Sometimes we would have a treat: a few strawberry wafer cookies or ginger snaps. The sandwich I would devour minus the crust but the apple, I would shine up take two bit...

Have you found Jesus? How many times have you heard someone say that? I was at the coffee shop the other day and I saw a lady sitting at a corner table. She was sipping a cup and chatting with a friend. I could have sworn she was my cousin. I didn't want to appear rude, so I walked over. On the way, I noticed she wasn't my cousin, and I apologized for my intrusion. She said, "No problem" and she continued with "Maybe there was a reason why I was sent to her table. Have you found Jesus?"  My response was "Yes I have" We both shared a "God bless you" I knew she wasn't Catholic because she never said" And with your spirit" I politely smiled and walked back to my table. There were other responses I could’ve used for the, have you found Jesus question? I could have used. "I am a believer, but I am no homecoming queen" or "No but I'll let him know you're looking for him if I do” This was from one of many pag...