CATHOLIC CONNECTION
TEACHERS’ AID
QUARANTINE QUESTIONS By Shannon Hogan
“We thought we had such problems. How were we to know we were happy?” Margaret Atwood, A Handmaid’s Tale In the midst of the global pandemic and the seismic shift in how we go about our daily lives, I have found myself returning to memories of life as it was when I was growing up. I am not sure why my mind is timetravelling in that direction, but whenever my inner self guides me to places that I have not chosen, I assume it is for a reason. In this case, I have found one. In the beginning of the physical distancing, when people were fighting over toilet paper and bottled water, I was waiting to enter a store, and I began to think about what we had, and did not have. Noticing the emptiness of the flour shelves and the Kraft Dinner aisle, scenes from my childhood emerged – long forgotten, but still accessible. I was remembering my grandparents. They came from the small Irish towns of Lucan and Clandeboye. They married and moved to Windsor. They never left the city for the rest of their lives. They never owned a car. They lived and died in the house where they raised five boys, and there was one bathroom. The house I lived in was what we needed. As my grandmother surmised, it was a
nice house close to the church. Of course, close to the church also meant that there was a Catholic school next door. Two birds, one stone. If we were needy, we did not know it. In my current understanding of cuisine, I realize how my mother could take the simplest of ingredients and turn them into something “special,” and it was always enough. As kids, we lived at the Detroit River. It was our ocean. We swam, played, fished, and sat gazing at that seemingly endless deep blue for hours. In the winter we played hockey on the rinks that dads made by freezing their backyards. Eaton’s catalogues served as knee pads, and everybody played. The only criteria used for being “allowed” on the ice was that you showed up. Regardless of capacity, ability, or size, we all played. We were all the next Gordie Howe – honest! I am not saying this in order to paint some ridiculous idyllic picture of growing up next door to the major struggles of the union movement, the riots in Detroit, and the sheer invisibility of being a girl child. What I am saying is this little recollection that I have been led to is shining a huge light on my current life, forcing me to ask some probing questions. When did I begin to want more than I need? When did I require three bathrooms? I grew up with only one. When did hockey become this huge financial
sacrifice that meant only a few can play? When did I decide that I need to go away to a beach in winter? I live in the Beaches area of Toronto. From May to October I walk the beach every day – waves crashing in – it is my current ocean. I believe the little girl playing on the Detroit River, her ocean, is the one leading me on my recent time travels. While the images are fresh in my mind, she has led me to my soul. In this journey of remembrance, I have been reminded of who I am. I have been reminded that I have enough – more than enough. I have been reminded that fried eggs with red peppers and a crisp Chardonnay is actually quite special. (Ok, I have found a few creature comforts that I was not acquainted with as a child – no wine-shaming, please!) And I have remembered the sweet illusion – and perhaps a current belief – that we all carry within us the capacity for heroism, in the smallest acts of kindness, and the greatest of courageous actions. Gordie Howe would be proud.
Shannon Hogan is a member of the Counselling and Member Services department at the OECTA Provincial Office.
JUNE 2020 | CATHOLIC TEACHER 27
