When I was in fifth or sixth grade, I became obsessed with restaurants. I wanted to own one later in life. Big M and Jack were out a lot in the evenings and on weekends so I was responsible for watching my sister. This is before the house transitioned and we still lived in the rooming house; it started with me putting on plays in our kitchen and serving simple appetizers (like cut up fruit). I would invite all the roomers upstairs to come sit and watch. Looking back, Big M always gave me dirty looks and was very quiet while all the other adults supported my silliness.
I’m sure the plays were not very good, but I was usually humoured by most of my non-relatives.
As time progressed, after dinner, the parental unit would go for rides in the bush to enjoy each other’s company without children in their lives. While they were out, I would haul out every single piece of nice dishes and set the table for a Queen. I would create detailed menus and the middle of my menu always contained “Today’s Special” which was usually Mac and Cheese, Tuna Casserole, or something else rather simple. The important part of my restaurant, at the time, was not the food, but I was practicing proper table etiquette.
Big M is of Irish decent and came over to Canada when she was 9 or 10 on a boat. She had very strict ideas of what was proper from setting the table to the cutlery and knowing your glasses. It took me a long time to learn to fold napkins properly so they fit nicely. I spent more time on the esthetics of my table and presentation in elementary school. In junior high I focused on the food.
Big M HATED it when I did this because it meant that at least once a week, SHE had to do the dishes and put “all that shit away.” Fortunately, I didn’t know she felt this way until years later when she told me herself, but for once, my father indulged me because he thought it was adorable. In truth, this was my way of showing her I loved her and deserved her affection – I could make food, I payed attention when she taught me her important lessons.
In high school, I took Home Economics in 9th or 10th grade and I excelled at the baking portion. I remember I took the class in winter because it was my last class of the day and I would store my baked goods inside my coat so they were still hot out of the oven when I came home. I never once tasted my own baking; I always brought it home to Big M. She absolutely loved my cooking and baking and this was my sole source of positivity in my life. Her compliments were like crack-cocaine and I was addicted… when I created something delicious she could shove in her pie hole I felt like the only important person on the planet for about 20 minutes… or until her sugar-high vanished maybe, I caused her diabetes.
I had finally decided what I wanted to be when I grew up: a Chef and proprietor of my own restaurant. I remember reading that if you choose a career you are passionate about you will never work a day in your life. I wanted that – happiness, independence, and compliments. For three years, I spent my time baking and cooking progressively more difficult dishes – I even mastered hollandaise sauce at age 16.
When I reached grade 13 and it was time to decide whether to attend College or University, I knew I wanted to attend Cooking School – anywhere. I was super excited and had even learned there was a Cordon Bleu in Canada, the US and Mexico. My plan was to complete one year wherever I was accepted and then transfer to Cordon Bleu in France. Once in France I study hard, legally change my name, my Citizenship, and disappear. I had not decided what I would tell my sister but decided I would deal with that later.
FYI: 1989 - 1993 is four years of working… let’s do some math.
52 weeks per year, 4 hours a day after school (if I worked outside the home, I worked 5 hours after school, but let’s say 4 to be conservative)
1,820 hours over 5 years = 9,100 hours
+ weekends ~ 16 hrs to be conservative = 4,160 hours
+ holidays, all of them, for arguments’ sake, let’s just use 10 weeks at 16 hours a day to encompass all stat holidays, sick days, summer vacation, Christmas etc. = 4,000 hours
17,260 hours worked
Minimum wage $8/hour $8 x
17,260 hrs = $138,080
- (less) $ 8,100 earned elsewhere
= $130,000-ish owed to me by my parents
Yes, I had other jobs that paid me but I wasn’t allowed to keep my pay cheques, my cheques went into an account and paid for my apartment in first year university. I PAID IT ($675*12=$ 8,100).
But they said they were paying for my education so I feel this is a good deal. I didn’t have access to my own money, my father put a 2 signature requirement on all withdrawals.
When they told me I wasn’t allowed to go to College, I had no idea what do with my life. I ended up doing a test offered to help determine the right career for you based on your interests. When the test came back I saw that I would do best in law enforcement. Knowing I wasn’t allowed to go to College I decided to apply to University to complete a B.A. in Political Science and then attend Law School. I was effectively following my father’s example but I really wasn’t sold on this career because I legitimately had my heart set on becoming a Chef.
This was a better choice and my parents were ecstatic. Then I found out that they also planned to determine WHICH schools I applied to so they could control everything about my life. In the end, this is how my applications went:
University of Toronto: B.A. Science (I knew I’d never get in, because I finished my Calculus class with a 55% grade point average)
University of Windsor: B.A. Science ^ see above
University of Saskatchewan: B.A. Science to hopefully be a pharmacist later in life
Dalhousie University: B.A. Science – marine biology
University of Ottawa: B.A. Social Science
Toronto, Windsor, Guelph, all schools easily accessible to the people I wanted to run away from forever. I applied to the science program knowing I’d never be accepted and placed all my eggs in my Ottawa basket. Fortunately, I was accepted!
Thank Thor! My entire high school career led to this one event: getting the fuck out of this house, town, family and life and never ever looking back. I had to be nice, play the game while in school but after that, my life would finally be mine. My parents know no one in Ottawa and they had zero desire to go to that city – they both preferred Toronto and that’s where Big M’s medical team of specialists resided. Ottawa was freedom.
The only thing I had to worry about was paying for my own wedding. I’ve know this since I was 9 years old “We will pay for your education but you have to pay for your own wedding.”
No problem. I’m never getting married.
Just joining me? Start at the beginning:
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