Kids and adults have a very different perspective on time. A child waiting 24 days for Christmas at age 5 literally feels like waiting a year. It might also explain why kids on car trips are always asking, "Are we there yet?" Our summers seemed to stretch out forever when we were kids. Conversely, as we have experienced, parents actually see their children grow up much faster than children perceive themselves to be. Growing up means leaving home and being self-supporting, one of the hardest things we must face in life. For the age of home leaving and the age of maturity doesn't always coincide. After spending 17 years being cuddled, pampered and having someone pander to our whims, it's not always easy adapting to the challenges and vicissitudes of a brave new world. There was an overwhelming feeling of anxiety and insecurity as I set out on the uncharted sea of life in the early 1950s. When I unravel the ball of feelings there was emptiness, sadness, excitement, and motivation all bound together. There were two phases to my unheralded adieu: a teacher-training summer school session would be a mere dress rehearsal before the real show started in September. We had not heard of guidance counselors offering career choices, the prospects for gainful employment were slim, and our options few. Teachers were in demand, so many took advantage of the government grant to attend a six-week summer school to gain a "C" License for teaching. I booked a passage on the regular taxi to St. John's through Conception Bay North and South for what should have been a four-hour drive, but because of so many package drop-offs and pick-ups, I disembarked at my aunt's on the South Side after about nine hours. My aunt lived well down the South Side overlooking Job Brothers' premises. Classes were to commence on Monday, June 30, so the previous evening I ventured on my trial run to walk and get my bearings for the big day. My climb up Hutching's Street and Springdale Street brought me to the building on Lemarchant Road, I thought to be the school; I finally got enough courage to ask a passerby who confirmed that it was indeed Prince Of Wales College. I immediately found myself in an untenable situation, a drunk accosted me, threatening to throw me out in the street. I was terrified, powerless and speechless, but somehow managed to wrangle a way out. I don't know if it was innocence or naivete, but I was a rookie in many ways. I felt uncomfortable in social settings, especially if the opposite sex were involved. I could hardly wait for morning lectures to end to get home for lunch and back to the Ayre Athletic grounds for soccer and softball. My most embarrassing class moment occurred when we were to go to the front of the class and tell a little about ourselves. I had never spoken nor asked to leave the room all through my school days, so I was petrified. The instructor came down to my seat and asked a few questions; my responses were mumbled and terse. I used to walk up to Lemarchant Road again at night to where the boys would hang out. To the American Servicemen at Fort Pepperell having such a sudden influx of girls was a bonanza, and with their suave it didn’t take long to ingratiate themselves to the locals. In early September I loaded my trunk on the taxi once again and headed to St. John's to depart on the five o'clock train to South Brook, Pasadena. Fortunately, I was accompanied by an older teacher and enjoyed my first meal on the train. After he disembarked at Notre Dame Junction I was left alone with my thoughts, the pang of loneliness, apprehension and uncertainty. The moments were interminable; when I finally reached my destination, I was so overwhelmed with my plight that I failed to disembark. On reaching Humbermouth, I had to get a taxi back, finally finding my boarding house only to be chastised for not getting off at Pasadena. During the first few months there was wistfulness for home; after school I moped around the house. I had been used to being sheltered, very church-oriented, perhaps taking life too seriously. People there seemed to be free spirits, more fun loving. Christmas finally came and l was taken to meet the train heading East only to be told it was filled to capacity; I was forced to wait another day. On the return trip I was stranded on the Gaff Topsails for 28 hours, time to ruminate on where I was heading; if I should even stay with teaching. After Christmas I felt less alienated. I got involved with the men playing hockey. However, I did not feel comfortable breaking tradition of not playing on Sunday. The gentleman of the house (also Board Chairman), must have sensed my misery, came to my room and said I should go out and play. June finally came with a surprise party at the school where a hat was passed around for my benefit. Another anxious moment, with great trepidation, I managed to offer thanks. Now almost 70 years later I find myself more in tune with John Ed Pearce, "Home is a place you grow up having to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to." Above photo: My parents at the old homestead By Charles Beckett Gambo, NL   Submitted By: NULL