Eleven days post the Biden Inauguration, and I’m still on a high. It’s not about Joe Biden per se, nor even the wonder of the first black, South Asian-American female vice-president in history in the form of Kamala Harris. It’s not even about the days starting to get a little longer, with the sun coming up a little earlier every day.
No, it’s so much more than that.
Editor’s Note – (I give up.
Been trying to add pictures and media all day to no avail We will have to be satisfied with Peter’s words and story. My apologies).
In a recent column, I mentioned that I could not play minor hockey because I didn’t want to burden my parents with needing to keep buying me new equipment as I grew into the incredibly studly man whom I eventually became a). I accepted that as the price of being in a large family. Let me reiterate that growing up, I got everything that I needed and a lot of what I wanted. Anyway, back to sports. There was an alternative available to me, however. I had a baseball glove and running shoes, I could enrol in the Legion Minor Baseball Program. They would even provide a uniform!
Having progressed from crawling to walking to being regally conveyed in a carriage to riding a tricycle to running, I began to have to address new and more relevant ways of personal transportation as I grew older. I was able to occasionally borrow, however briefly, a bicycle from an understanding friend. Late in August one year, I was riding on the sidewalk in front of Robertson’s house, when I lost my balance and fell to my right. I threw my right arm out to “break” my fall.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 