On August 12th of this year, I accompanied my 3-½ year old son on a pre-Kindergarten Field Trip to The Toronto Islands for a day of “Center Island Amusement Park”, rides, splashy-pads, play parks, beaches and what-we-will. We had been eagerly anticipating this for several weeks and today would be the day. Such are the joys of being a Stay at Home Dad, outings such as these.

Packing a bag with necessities like a change of clothes for the child, bottles of drinking water and making sure that I had my camera, sun block, a few band aids and all to the whine of the child to “let’s go now!’

And oh yeah, -FOOD! Must bring food. I have to say it, -I love my little boy to pieces and he’s got quite an appetite! That child can hide the groceries at mealtime for sure!

All packed, almost ready. We were rushing to leave and as I was checking my e-mail one last time, -I could smell smoke in the apartment. SMOKE! Not “scorched eggs” or “burnt toast” odor, -I am talking about this funky sizzling manure-like smell was coming in through the screen window. Okay, not panic time yet as we’ve been to this rodeo before with our neighbors and their (illegal) balcony barbecue grills and flaming sirloin before

You Can’t Choose Your Neighbors

We have a “No Barbecue Grills” clause in our Renter’s Agreement but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t abusers that insist that they are exempt. They have their propane and/or charcoal grills and for the balconies above them, the torment is unspoken and not officially recognized.

I love the smell and the taste of a good barbecue but really, -after 4 or 5 hours of smelling the burning flesh of cow, I’m ready to wretch!

Well, I had to go yell at a neighbor on the floor below me, one balcony over. He had something out on his windowsill that to me, looked like a mug of smoke bombs in full bloom. And the smoke was wafting up the side of the building and our window fans were sucking it into the bedroom, computer room and dining room windows.

I got shoes on the child and together we took the elevator down to the third floor, and knocked on his door. The sound of someone putting on his or her pants was apparent and when Mr. came to the door he was a bit surprised to see another tenant, me (again!), trying hard to hold anger in. I asked if there was something burning on his balcony. He said no, that it was “…his coffeemaker (had) messed-up again”, and added that “…it does this 2 or 3 times a week”.

Liar! Only an idiot would keep such a faulty device around after the first “messing up” and, -coffee maker? Hello? What I smelled was no coffee this humble blogger has ever tried.

A smart improvisationist would have said something more believable. A good tie-in with the current Olympiad in Beijing would have been in order. I would have blamed it all on a ‘Chinese incense malfunction’ or some other such quip. It did after all smell more than vaguely like smoldering panda feces might smell…

Anyway, he apologized profusely and genuinely, and the matter was closed. By the time my son and I returned to our fourth-floor apartment, the offending cup of smoldering petulance had been removed, presumably dowsed with water and flushed down the commode. Our apartment fairly stunk when we got back with languid blue-black smoke floating around at chin-height, but no matter, we would be out for day. Never mind that our apartment looked smoky like a billiard hall/smoker’s lounge from the 50s or 60s.

Let’s just hope that the neighbors don’t burn the building down during our absence and on this note, we left for the day.

Waiting for the Bus

We were at the designated school bus pick-up location about a half-hour early, but that would ensure that my son and I got a seat on the expectedly over-crowded school. There were a few last-minute would-be attendees that sadly and necessarily had to be declined. Basically, -if you weren’t on the sign-up sheet you weren’t riding the bus. There would not be enough seats. They could come to the island and assume with our travel group if they commuted via our Mass Transit to the Ferry Boat dock.

One mother and child whom were not on the list, didn’t quite know how to get to the Ferry Boat via Transit, so the organizers were asking people (me, firstly), if I could explain to her how to get to there. I said that I know how to get there but probably could not explain the route effectively. I lied.

Another woman and her child, -whom rightfully should have been on the list and wasn’t, also to be declined. Now this made me feel terrible in the pit of my very being.

Is That Your Armor Shining?

My chivalrous nature almost kicked-in here; I was just about to forfeit my and my child’s seat on the bus for her and her child and WE would just commute down. I was prepared to do that anyway should there not be enough room on the bus for us. That would suffice my good deed for the day, relinquishing my seat for the woman and child. I almost stepped forward to offer, as yet another woman (also, not on the sign-up list) showed up but this time, with TWO children in a doublewide stroller overflowing with wide-eyed childage. They were declined also for having not been “on the sign-up list” and now she too was inquiring about “commuting” option via Mass Transit to the meeting place…

Whoa… I could see myself being the unwilling tour guide-apparent for the moms of this city and their fussy, crying children. I had to shut my heart and bite my lip, and I led my son a few steps closer to the waiting school bus, still awaiting those doors to open and let us on.

My boy is almost four years old, -just old enough to feel empathy and I noticed that he “looked concerned” about what was going on around us. Sad and disillusioned parental faces; a child or two weeping as they were told that they couldn’t go on the bus. -Release my soul, please, from any further thoughts of chivalrous acts!

The bus finally let us board we quickly chose our seats, trying to look fat so as to not have to share with anyone else our hard-fought-for and won seat and right-to-ride. Some chronic over-booking of this outing meant that some riders had to double-up on the seating and those seats could easily accommodate TWO people, but THREE would be uncomfortable.

One child, -I felt sorry for whatever he was clearly suffering from, -separation anxiety, maybe, began to cry for his mother. He had to be removed from the bus when he started yelling, “I can’t take it! I can’t take it!” and he shoved his way for the still open doors

A teacher or aide tried to consol him out on the sidewalk, but it was to no avail and the child was walked away, I presume, back to the school to phone the mom and await her retrieval of the clearly terrified child.

We did finally start out, and it was only a 20-minute ride to the Ferry Boat station, and another fifteen minutes to get to Center Island. We were given our timetable, instructed when and where to re-group, we were “turned loose” upon the Island to explore, play and generally do whatever we wanted. Most fled to the Centerville Amusement Park. My eclectic son and I opted instead to sit by the swan pond and feed friendly swans and ducks morsels of our peanut butter sandwiches that we had brought.

We took photographs of flower gardens, statues, and generally worked out way towards the beaches and the splash pads where we spent the next four-plus hours just doing whatever my child wanted to do! Today, -he was the boss!

It was an exciting, busy day and we had such a good time! Bedtime would come early tonight, and my child didn’t fight it.

In his sleep that night I overheard him laughing, -clearly, reliving some of the events of the previous day School Field Trip to The Toronto Islands. And whoever laughs the most, -wins!