My maternal grandfather, who we called Papa, was a tradesman and loved hockey. He raised two sons who played the game and together they coached many different teams over the years in the Hamilton area.
When his four kids started popping out grandchildren in quick succession, Papa proudly said he had the makings of a starting lineup.
I was the first grandchild in a line of seven. Born when Wayne Gretzky was at the height of his career with the Edmonton Oilers, Papa and my uncles were excited I too would take to the ice. I was given the #99 jersey and the rubber hockey stick.
Alas, it was not to be. I was not a natural born athlete. In fact, my hopeful uncles spent more time lacing up two-year-old Brian’s skates than they did with him on the ice. It took time and maturing to not think I failed them.
I was more of a sedentary kid. I liked watching TV shows and movies, playing office and collecting telephones. I had no interest in hockey, or any sport for that matter, until much later. When I was four, what I really wanted was a kitchen set, and that year Santa Claus delivered.
It was Christmas 1986. My parents had just separated, so Mom and I spent the holiday at Grandma and Papa’s to make it special. I remember so clearly coming down the stairs to find a Playskool kitchen set under the tree. It had an oven (big enough to fit my very patient cat), microwave, sink and even a phone. Alongside it were wrapped gifts that I would soon find included kitchen appliances in toy form.
This was a time when most boys couldn't ask for and get a gendered-gift, certainly not without a lot of teasing. I was aware of this, even at the tender age of 4, and was a little embarrassed of the few girls toys I had. I sometimes hid them.
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Thankfully I didn’t have to worry about that with Papa. He spent that Christmas down on the floor with his first-born grandson putting together a little blender, a coffee maker and a toaster. There wasn't a hockey-related toy in sight.
Likely taking this as a sign I liked cooking, Papa later taught me how to assemble charcuterie plates with cuts of meat, crackers, cheese and vegetables. He had a way of making something simple so special. He was kind, gentle and patient.
Looking back now I see I had a real gift, something not all children have even today. I had accepting and inclusive elders and role models, who embraced whatever I, and my cousins, did. We could be who we were, and being around family was always a safe place to be.
The spring after the kitchen arrived, Papa let me choose my first bike. I wanted something with a basket (like the oven, it was for the cat). Papa let me pick a purple one, complete with a banana seat and streamers. I had no idea most boys wouldn't want a bike like that. I just wanted the basket. Papa paid no mind to the difference. My uncles didn’t either. They all helped me with the training wheels.
My Grandma was the disquieted one, worried I would be teased, which I inevitably was. But I didn’t care what kids said. My home was my sanctuary.Â
I realize I am fortunate. Children and youth lose acceptance from their families every day for many reasons, including their sexual and gender identities, or even for their interests and life choices. The trauma of that experience can endure and heighten. Data from The Trevor Project, a suicide prevention and mental health organization for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer and questioning (LGBTQ+) young people, shows that 73 per cent of LGBTQ+ youth reported experiencing symptoms of anxiety and 58 per cent reported experiencing symptoms of depression. Most staggeringly, 45 per cent of LGBTQ+ youth say they seriously considered attempting suicide.
With Papa his unconditional acceptance never faltered.
I made many fond memories with him and Grandma after I outgrew that kitchen set. One Christmas I flew to Florida where they spent many winters in retirement. The highlight was a day at Kennedy Space Center, a new interest of mine. I can still see Papa taking his motorized scooter around the rocket garden, learning about what I was interested in. I was 15 and there was no one else I’d rather be spending time with.
I was lucky to have them.
On Christmas Eve 1999, Papa’s accepting heart gave out. He was 69.
It was a sad and premature end to a life well lived, where he stood out as a grandparent and dad. He set many examples that I aim to follow. I think others should too.
Let kids be themselves this Christmas. It could help them feel safe and loved, like Papa helped me.Â
In memory of Bill Clark of Hamilton, Ont.
