My Last Summer as a Toddler

1953

Arnold Machtinger has been living rent free in my brain since the summer of 1953 when we were 5. That was a summer that changed me forever.

At the time I lived on Dynevor Street near Dufferin and Eglinton in Toronto.

Dynevor was and still is a typical inner suburb street rife with the tracks of new immigrant groups moving in and then out when their fortunes improved. We lived in a single family home on a narrow lot with a tiny driveway in front. I remember the house as being tall but I was shorter then. There were duplexes and even some 6-plexes on the street.

The area could have been called rolling hills if it wasn't papered over with housing. Every street had its ups and downs. Our house had 5 stairs from street level to the front door. Even the driveway was uphill.

Just a short diversion to a driveway story. Really every kid who lives in a house with a driveway that slopes toward the street has this story. One day I was sitting in the driver's seat of my dad's Chevy playing race car driver. Fun for a five year old. My kids and more recently my grand kids have played out the same fantasy.

The first moment I remember is sitting in the car, stranded in the street facing north towards Eglinton and crying from the surprise of having backed out of the driveway. I also have a vision of my mother gently dragging me out of the car and lovingly carrying me into the house. My dad litigated all this with me using his immigrant’s interpretation of the law wanting me to know that my death defying acrobatics with his car was not an approved activity.

There's also a story that I once experimented to see what sugar in the gas tank would do. I don’t remember this myself but it’s given the enjoyment of storytelling to many others.

In 1953 near the corner of Eglinton and Dynevor, behind the furniture store, and somewhat hidden behind a fence sat an empty lot. The lot was strewn with garbage, an abandoned cube van delivery truck and discarded construction materials. The van had some writing on it but I had no idea what it said.

These were the summer days when most stay at home moms just threw their kids out front door after breakfast and then started making peanut butter sandwiches to ensure no waiting when they bounced back in for lunch.

The empty lot was one of my playgrounds. Two memorable scenes from my childhood happened there. One was surreal and remains unexplained while the other had a bloody ending  and remains unresolved 65 years later.

The surreal was three spaceman unloading the delivery truck. I guess if I could have read what was on the truck there'd be an explanation. The memory trace I have is three tall, skinny ghost like creatures unloading the truck. They were bereft of features on their heads or bodies. No noses, no eyes, no mouths, no buttons. Blank bodies. They had a creamy off white colouring, more gray than pink or taupe. They looked like those blow ups you see waving in the wind outside car dealerships but thinner. I wish I had been bolder and talked to them. That would have explained a lot.

The other event that I am reminded of every time I see Arnold Machtinger is that one time during some sort of war going on in the empty lot I put a nail attached to a broken board into Arnold’s knee drawing blood. Colour me apologetic and I'm sure I did.

I remember the incident because every time I see Arnold I apologize and he grudgingly accepts my newest apology. I moved away in the next year after the incident. I didn't run into Arnold again until probably 40 plus years later and then intermittently until recently when he turned up as a marshal at a golf club I play at.  He seems to relish seeing me. He always solicits and gets an apology.

So there it is. I entered the summer of 1953 as an aging toddler and then after witnessing intergalactic travel and having drawn blood for the first time I left the summer of 1953 as a boy.