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”.