theMediaman.com

Everyone has those little clips of memory from childhood that they still hold on to. Often they’re of significant events - my mom’s amazed that I remember pulling up to our “new” house in Barrie, even though I was three and a half years old. However, there are memories that have no real significance, but are just programmed so deep into the brain that all the beer in my 20’s can’t find those memory cells. I have one such insignificant memory of running from the front door of our house in Winnipeg to the back door.

So I’m not surprised when I have memories that resurface every month or so that have no real connection to anything. Recently, I’ve drawn a line between one such memory and a “complex” (for lack of a better word) of mine.

When I was young, something like six or seven, I tended to lie a lot. I don’t know if it was more or less than an average child, but I did. Where my family failed was letting me know my “tells“. Since then, I have become a very convincing liar when I want to be. However, most children don’t master their “tells” by six, and neither did I. Instead, I wound up learning the morale of the story in “The Boy Who Cried Wolf“.

One day, my mom brought home a six-pack of Mmmarvelous Mmmuffins - a kind of alternative to donuts. I can’t remember when, but shortly afterwards, my mom came to me and asked, “did you eat one of the muffins?”

Not knowing what she was talking about, I simply said, “no”.

That’s when things went wrong. My mom started into the “Stephen, I want you to tell me the truth”, and “Stephen, I won’t be mad, just don’t lie to me”, and finishing off with a “you’re grounded. Do you know why?”

“No”.

“It’s not because you took the muffin. You’re grounded because you lied to me”.

Now what was I supposed to do? I’m six, and my debating skills were at least a good decade off. As a believer of Good and Truth, I didn’t understand why I should throw myself into the fire and accept responsibility for something I didn’t do. A comparable situation would be to plead Guilty to a lesser charge when you’re accused of Grand Theft, you have opportunity and motive, and you don’t have any alibi. But again, I’m SIX. I hadn’t seen enough episodes of L.A. Law to see Jimmy Smits pull that rabbit out of a hat.

John admitted to me later… months or years, I can’t remember… that he took the muffin.

……………

When some people see a police car on the road, they slow down. They make complete stops at red lights before turning right. They turn down a different road…

…or maybe that’s just me.

I’m a very safe driver (no Rain Man joke intended). Since moving to the GTA I’ve become more aggressive, but I’m still pretty aware of my surroundings. I slow down at stop signs more than most drivers do, and I almost NEVER go more than 10 km/h over the speed limit. It’s more than just that “The one time I drive fast, I’m picked off by a cop”-type paranoia. I really feel that the York Region Police are watching me, looking for a reason to give me a ticket.

Such a complex was probably enriched when I was pulled over for expired tags on my licence plate, and he proceeded to dump two more non-moving violation tickets on me. Cops will tell you that they don’t have “Quotas”, but I’ve heard that they have “Expectations”.

The reason this event really pissed me off was that I was cut off three times on the drive that day, and one of those drivers nearly caused an accident. Yet I get pinged for over $300 because my paperwork wasn’t in place.

On the other hand, it might just be another memory, filed in my brain under “Miscellaneous” beside the one where I’m playing in the backyard at Grandma and Grandpa Jordon’s.