“…Old man, take a look at my life, I'm a lot like you were …” (Neil Young)

 Introduction 

Jack had always felt a deep connection to his work as an ambulance driver. His days were filled with urgent calls, flashing lights, and the hum of the city rushing past as he carried lives to safety. He often joked with Maureen, his wife and fellow paramedic, that their shared profession was not just a career but a calling. They had met in Toronto in the mid- nineties. At the time both were in prior relationships. It was until after the pandemic when Jack had moved to Peterborough to be closer to his dad that they became closer and rediscovered their mutual attraction and had gotten married. 

Their home in Peterborough, gave them a reprieve from their daily frantic life. The city was less hectic than Toronto where the rhythm of city life often intertwined with unpredictable emergencies. 

At the heart of their family was Old Jack, Jack's father, a retired Gurkha soldier who carried with him a legacy of bravery and discipline. Since living in Canada old Jack had become a peace activist and now in his nineties was moving into a retirement home. Old Jack never mentioned his stories of his days in the mountains of Nepal or his service in the British Army. His past seemed to be locked away as tightly as the mysterious wooden box he guarded with such zeal.

The following are some of their stories. 

Maureen meets Old Jack.

It was on an unusually warm Thursday evening, yet the soft northern wind reminded Jack the autumn is just an introduction to the cold crispy winter. Winter is coming, and then he chuckled remembering the line of a popular TV series from a few years back. These clear nights and the cool breeze made him, almost, believe climate change was a problem too big to think about as he was on his way to meet Maureen. 

When Maureen mentioned she was going to be in Peterborough he invited her to meet him at the pub on Water Street. His first thought was “It’s Thursday and I have to work tomorrow,” but then he remembered his shift on Friday started at eleven in the morning. It was ok to go out on a weeknight. His second thought was that he was no longer a young man and the muscles on his back hurt and his knees had begun to complain. The doctor had told him that it was a matter of time before he would have to think about knee replacements. Walking up the street was a painful reminder of that. Yet he couldn’t avoid thinking about meeting Maureen. 

Since his divorce, he hadn’t been on a date - “Wait a moment, was this a date?” Maureen had been a pal, a colleague. They had worked together in Toronto. He liked Maureen. However, back then, he was married. Now divorced he was interested in a relationship. Since he moved out of Toronto, the communication between him and Maureen had been sporadic, other than the holiday cards, messages on Facebook and the odd phone calls. The excuse he gave himself was “I have to take care of my dad.”  Since he had moved to Peterborough to take care of his ailing father, he hadn’t seen Maureen, except at Tom and Jeff’s holiday dinner last year, but even then, they barely talked to each other. There had been many colleagues at the gathering, and it was impossible to find a corner to chat.

Maureen was in town. She wanted to see him. “Perhaps I should have driven my car, no, better not to as it was irresponsible to drink and drive, especially since it was no longer easy for me to drive at night. If only one could be young again,” he thought.

Maureen had her life in Toronto and he had his in Peterborough. Then invasive thoughts disturbed his walk. The memory of his dad telling him not to get married, “when was that? Over twenty years ago.” He tried to disregard those memories - not all the years were so bad. 

More important, Maureen called him, she was in town, and he was on his way to meet her. Even though he felt tired and old. “C’mon, who at my age is gallivanting into downtown at ten o’clock on a week night? I should had driven - this is a long walk, my knees are not what they used to be.” Then he thought about the phone call.

 “What did she say? ‘Hi hon’ I’m in town, we should meet” and without thinking twice, he suggested meeting her at the ‘Pub.’ Her call excited him and made him think on what could be.

As he turned right onto Hunter Street, he noticed the restaurants had begun to collapse their patios and move their services indoors. Since the pandemic, restaurants, in the summer, offered services outdoors and the patios had even taken over some of the streets. He hardly came to downtown and for him at his age midnight was closer to 9 o’clock. “The summer is over, that is for sure,” he thought. 

As he walked into the Pub, he noticed Maureen was already there. She was talking to old Jack. “Bloody Jack,” he thought. 

She was laughing at whatever old Jack was telling her. “Who does he think he is, flirting with Maureen? How the hell do they know each other? Do they know each other?” All these thoughts overwhelmed him and rushed into his mind. 

Nevertheless, he was able to re-compose himself, as if the flirting had not affected him. 

He thought, “I’m a mature older man after all and I can handle any awkward situation.”

He said hello to both and then kissed Maureen on the cheek, avoiding old Jack’s intent of hugging him. 

Old Jack ordered a round of drinks, Maureen asked old Jack if he was sure about it, “you seem to be a bit tipsy, Jack,” she said. 

Old Jack’s response was a loud “we only live once, besides I have to take advantage of my student discount.” “Senior’s discount” the bartender interjected, pouring old Jack a new shot.

“Jack, how long have you been here?”  his son asked.

“I came to dine, and soon after this beautiful person showed up,” old Jack responded.

Maureen chuckling clarified “C’mon, Jack, I just arrived - you clearly have been here for a while.” 

Old Jack, pretending not to hear her, continued, “One is young only once…and time waits for no one.  When I saw you entering the Pub I left my pals, who are seating at the table over there…” and pointed to a group of men at a table by the window. They waved their hands at them. Old Jack continued “…and I thought, she is beautiful and shouldn’t be alone in a place like this…” At that moment the bartender interjected saying, “Hey, watch it old Jack, what do you mean a ‘place like this’?” Maureen raised her hand and, in a gesture, explaining to the bartender that old Jack hadn’t meant any harm.  

“C’mon old Jack, you have to stop behaving irresponsibly, I have to go to work tomorrow, and you are already drunk - don’t be a mean drunk,” his son said. 

To that, old Jack responded: “Since I earn my own money, you have nothing to say to me. Not even my father can tell me what to do. I have earned my own money since I was 12 years old.”

“Your dad has been dead for nearly fourty years and you are in no position to drive yourself home. How did you get here anyway?” Then in a determined and authoritarian voice said, “Maureen and I are going to finish our drinks, and then drive you home in your car! That is not a question…give me the keys.”

Old Jack looked at his drink, looked at him and responded quietly “Sure, it’s OK - I am not going to argue with you. You are the vivid image of my dad - even your voice sounds like his.”

Then turning his head to Maureen, old Jack said, “He is a bitter old man you know, but he is a good man, he has the responsibility of his mom, the character of my dad and somewhere in there my lack of discipline,” old Jack laughed. “I know he does.”

“C’mon Dad, let us drive you home.” 

Old Jack responded, “Sure, here are the keys” and turning to Maureen, said “it’s a 1967 red mustang convertible. I bought it new and kept it impeccable ever since…a chick magnet, you see” Maureen couldn’t avoid giggling with this young 90-year-old flirting with her.

While walking, Jack hanging from the shoulder of his son began to say, “There is an unopened bottle of scotch in the cupboard. I keep it for special occasions and getting to know you, Maureen, is a very special occasion.”

To that his son responded, “yes, Dad, I know,” and to Maureen, young Jack said, “Don’t worry, old Jack will be asleep by the time we get home… since he got the news that he is moving to a retirement home, he is struggling with it and he keeps driving himself to the Pub. The lads sitting with him earlier called me to tell me where he was. That is why I suggested the Pub on Water St.”

Maureen was enjoying the company of the two Jacks.

The three of them walked outside on the beautiful and unusually warm fall evening. Old Jack was singing an old peace song while young Jack was gently steering him towards the dilapidated old Chevy Nova his father owned.

As they walked toward the parking lot, young Jack felt Maureen taking his arm warmly and all of a sudden, his back and his knees did not hurt anymore.

 Jack and Maureen began a relationship the same evening and got married a few months later.  

Old Jack moves to the retirement home and his arrival to Canada. 

When Jack hung up the phone, he accepted it was time to move to the retirement home. The caller had informed him of an available room at their Chemong Road location. This significant change prompted him to reflect on his life, and he recognized that change had always been a constant. Jack considered that this might be the final change in his life. Now in his nineties, he did not feel old but reminisced about his childhood in the mountains of Nepal.

Jack thought about what to pack and what to discard. At one point, Jack pulled out from under his bed what he called his most precious possession. Retrieving the wooden box brought back memories of his arrival in Canada and the adventures of his bygone youth. The decorated wooden box was just small enough to fit under the bed. The box featured carvings of snakes and strange symbols on its dark wood. Despite never being treated with chemicals, it had a lustrous, smooth surface polished by the passage of time.

The box was a mystery for everyone. It was one of the few things in the house that was always locked. Not even his son, with whom Jack had become very close since they both lived in Peterborough, knew what was in it. 

As father and son began packing the house, young Jack told his dad that the retirement home, where he was moving to might want to know the contents of the box. “It’s a safety reason, Dad” he said. “They need to be aware of whatever is in there to be sure it is not dangerous for you or anyone else,” young Jack insisted.

 “Whatever is in there is not a risk for anyone and they have to trust me about it!” old Jack emphatically responded, ending the conversation. Talking about the box had stressed them both. His son left annoyed with what he perceived as his father’s stubbornness. At the same time old Jack stamped his right foot on the floor showing his frustration.

At home Jack told Maureen about his father’s unwillingness to allow the box to be opened. “You know they will not admit him if he doesn’t show the contents of the bloody box” Jack said. Maureen was much more level headed when it came to old Jack issues and suggested “instead of polarising about the content, why don’t you talk to him about the box itself. Ask him about the box, not its contents. He may tell you why the box is so important to him and why its contents are so secret. Remember the most important thing is to tell him that you don’t need to know what is in there, you just want to know the story of its importance,” she concluded. Jack agreed. 

The following day, young Jack arrived at his father’s house with coffee and pastry from old Jack’s favourite place in East City. 

Despite the cold morning breeze, old Jack was standing on the porch, waiting with a mischievous smile. As they both entered the house, they laughed seeing how they both had the same idea. There was the smell of fresh brewed coffee and recently baked bread. 

The box was sitting in the center of the table. 

“I have not shown this to anyone else since I cleared customs, when I arrived in Canada in 1967,” old Jack said, as he began pulling out of the box an oddly shaped blade. “This is a ‘khukri’ or short sword,” he said. “It is the official weapon of Gurkhas soldiers. Your mother and I decided to not talk about my past. We were trying to protect you” old Jack paused without looking at his son. “Yes, of course, your mother knew about it,” old Jack said, responding to a question that no one had asked. “We agreed it was in your best interest not to tell you. We were afraid if we shared it with you, it might seem as though we were glorifying violence. A life I had left behind.”

“Don’t take me wrong, I am not embarrassed about my past. I served my homeland and the British Empire, but I came to Canada seeking peace. I found that peace with your mother and you.”

Young Jack had his eyes wide open as he examined the sword as is if it was a delicate and fragile piece of crystal. 

“These,” Jack continued, pulling out some medals and documents, “are the orders of the 17th Gurkha Division or as it was called in 1952, the Overseas Commonwealth Land Forces. We saw active service during the Malayan Emergency. This is the medal of bravery I earned then.” Old Jack continued as if he was talking to ghosts of his past and not to his son. 

“These are the deployment orders of the 7th Gurkha Rifles Battalion that was deployed to Brunei at the outbreak of the Brunei Revolt in 1962. The Gurkhas’ Battalion was sent to defend the British sovereign base area of Dhekelia. It was my last deployment. The Canadian peacekeepers arrived the following year. After I got my discharge papers and immigrated to Canada, I met your mother and as the expression goes the rest is history.” 

Young Jack had never imagined this about his father. He was astonished with what he was learning and said promptly, “Wow, this is a lot to take in, Dad. I need to know more about you, mom, and your experiences.”  

Old Jack looked at his son. “I met your mom when I was working in a supermarket in Toronto. We married and we had a son. What else is there to say?”

Young Jack, so curious to hear more, asked, “How about our names? The name in the deployment orders and medals don’t say Jack.”

Old Jack smiled. “When I arrived in Canada, that box and a backpack were my only possessions. The immigration official couldn’t understand my name, Sibapadan Pokhara Deharani, First Lieutenant of the 7th Gurkha Riffles Battalion,” Old Jack said, almost laughing. “Despite the fact that I was traveling with a passport from the British Commonwealth. The official at the airport wrote ‘Jack’ in my entry document. I didn’t want to argue with an authority so when he asked me for my last name I simply responded ‘Lax.’ That’s how I became Jack Lax.”  Young Jack was perplexed learning all the stories he didn’t know about his father. Then, as if something lit up in his head, said, “How about our surname, what does it come from?” 

Old Jack responded, with his eyes looking at the distance. “That is a funny story, the immigration official had forced a name on me. I didn’t want him to choose my surname as well. I wanted to choose my own last name. So, as he asked me for a last name, instead of trying to make him understand Pokhara Deharani. , I saw a little metal box on the surface of his cubicle that read ‘ex-lax.’ When the officer asked me again, I quickly responded Lax, L-A-X.” 

“Now, son, we are putting the ‘khukri’ back into its sheath. Tradition requires that before we do it, we must draw blood. You see this little notch here. It’s called ‘karda,’ and that is what it is for,” Jack, showed his son the notch on the base of the blade where a small nail protruded. As he took the blade from his son’s hands old Jack pinched the base of his right thumb drawing a drop of blood from the same place where an old scar was. 

Young Jack was suddenly overcome with emotion as he realized how brave his father was and what he had lived through. He jumped up and gave him a bear hug and said, “oh Dad I do love you - thank you for sharing this … and now I want to hear more!”

The Musicians and old Jack

In a small apartment overlooking busy George Street, there live two young and ambitious musicians, Danny and Rob. 

Danny’s room reflects his dual passions: music and technology. In the bedroom there is a cherished guitar, a sleek laptop, a vibrant red chair adding a splash of color, and a desk with an ergonomic office chair. Rob’s room is much different than his friend. Rob is a drummer and doesn’t rely on technology for his music. 

Danny dreams of becoming a famous music producer. He spends countless hours strumming his guitar, composing melodies, and experimenting with digital audio workstations on his laptop. His ultimate goal is to create music that resonates with people. He aspires to achieve a balance where his music is not only a creative outlet and a sustainable career but a vehicle to protest social inequities.

The path to Danny’s dream is loaded with obstacles. Financial constraints are a constant challenge, : investing in high-quality recording equipment and software is expensive. The competitive nature of the music industry means that talent alone is not enough. Breaking through requires connections and exposure, which Danny, a naturally introverted person, finds difficult to navigate.

Danny wrestles with self-doubt and the fear of failure. The pressure to succeed often leads to sleepless nights and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. The red chair in the corner is a silent witness to many moments of frustration and tears. 

Determined not to let these obstacles deter him, Danny devises a plan; he starts by leveraging online platforms and social media to share his music, building a small and loyal following. Also, he tries taking on freelance gigs to earn some money. He enrolled in online courses to practice his craft, test his skills and network with other musicians.

Slowly but surely, Danny’s hard work has begun to pay off. His online presence grows, and collaborating with other artists helps him gain experience and exposure. 

One day, the show “Frequencies,” hosted by Errol Nazareth on CBC, featured one of Danny’s tracks, and it went viral. The recognition brought him a surge of opportunities, invitations to perform at local venues and included an offer from an independent record label.

Danny achieved his dream, but not without sacrifices and perseverance. The journey is arduous, filled with ups and downs, but Danny’s solid dedication and resilience ultimately lead to success. He learned an important lesson; while talent is crucial, persistence, adaptability, and willingness to step out of his comfort zone are equally important.

As Danny reflects on the beginning of his success, he is thankful of that mild winter afternoon when he met a new friend, an older man who was sitting on the same bench where Danny was tunning his guitar. They both were enjoying the unusually mild sunny afternoon of that otherwise cold January. How or at what moment they struck up a conversation is anyone’s guess. Danny trusted this complete stranger with his frustrations. The stranger suggested he send a track to the local CBC station and see what happens. Danny did just that. and the rest, as the saying goes, is history . 

Since that day Danny’s songs played on the CBC radio, Danny has been looking for his strange friend whose idea changed his luck. 

As part of their commitment to the community, Danny and Rob often played in retirement homes and shelters. One day, Danny and Rob were playing in a retirement home, on Chemong Road. All of a sudden, there among the audience was an old peace activist that everyone called ‘old Jack’ because his son was also named Jack. He was the same stranger who a few weeks earlier shared a bench with Danny and had suggested that he send the track to the CBC. 

Danny told old Jack of his new-found success and asked what he could do to thank him. Old Jack, who was never ashamed to take advantage of an opportunity, asked Danny and Rob to help him organize a surprise: a “Mexican serenate” with Mariachis for his son’s new wife. 

Unexpected Visitors at Dawn

Maureen was half sleep and a bit confused when she answered the phone ringing beside her on the night table. It was instinctive for her to answer the phone. It was a remnant of another time when she expected emergency calls. As she responded, Maureen, realised it was old Jack calling and without waiting for her to answer said “Hi dear I’m on my way to yours… with some friends… for a nightcap …” Maureen didn’t have time to respond or say anything. She was still half asleep, and old Jack didn’t let her say anything else. Maureen thought to herself “Who calls at five o’clock in the morning. if it is not an emergency…, what am I saying, old Jack of course he would, bloody old Jack.”

“The nerve of your dad” Maureen said to Jack who was getting out the bed and was beginning to dress. “What are you doing? Seriously? Are you really getting dressed? Your dad doesn’t understand the concept of boundaries, does he? and apparently neither do you,” she mumbled. 

Young Jack didn’t respond. Instead, he continued getting dressed and asked Maureen to do the same thing. Maureen, visibly annoyed, grunt something that sounded like “no I’m not!” She turned off the light on her night table and with an exaggerated gesture turned over in bed, pretending to sleep, thinking, “Why on earth did I answer the phone? It’s four in the bloody morning… for crying out loud... and you, Jack, what is it with you and your incapacity to say no to your dad?”

…

In the meantime, on the other side of town, old Jack, who was no longer allowed to drive, was being helped into a mini van by the two PSWs working the night shift at the retirement home on Chemong Road where he lived. He had gotten up early to make sure all the plans he had arranged for that morning were in place and happened without any hiccups.

Danny and Rob, his young friends, and accomplices to his plan, had arrived shortly before to pick him up from what Jack called his “minimum-security prison.”

After a few minutes, all the passengers were accommodated in the minivan and began their trip to Maureen and Jack’s place. The PSWs who had helped Jack to get into the minivan were laughing, watching the van full of festive people moving away. “Too bad we are not going with them.”

By the time old Jack and his companions arrived at Jack and Maureen's, his son was waiting at the door to let everyone in. 

Old Jack asked his son where Maureen was. Jack responded. “Dad, really? …it’s four in the morning …where do you think she is?” His father, with a mischievous smile, responded, “Great, this is going to be so much fun. It will be a real surprise.” Then turning to his companions said, “OK, lads, it’s now or never!” 

His companions were the young musicians Rob and Danny and a quartet of mariachis who set up their instruments. The musicians upon hearing the instructions began to play an old Mexican song. “That music…” Jack said to his son, “…is called <el son de la Negra> and is one of the happiest introductions to a <serenata,> you know a serenade.” Walking towards the bottom of the stairs shouted, “Happy Birthday love...We brought mariachis for you…”

The sound of the music and visitors made Maureen jump quickly out of the bed. Her reaction was initially of confusion. Then she realised the celebration she was hearing downstairs was for her. Maureen promptly put on some clothes and remembered it was her birthday. Then, with a mix of feelings, she went down the stairs where the two Jacks were embracing and, unsuccessfully, trying to sing along to the old Mexican song. Old Jack, up on seeing her, gave her a hug and said, “This time it’s not my fault, Love. This young buck,” pointing at his son, “instructed me to find mariachis for you…needless to say it is something almost impossible here in Peterborough. My musicians’ friendsmusicians friends Danny and Rob found them in Toronto and drove them here to begin the celebrations of your day…did we surprise you?”

Maureen holding backs tears responded, “Had I known I was going to have guests at five o’clock in the morning, I would have tidied up,” to which everyone laughed. Maureen kissed her partner and began hugging old Jack with tears of happiness running down her cheeks as the mariachis played a new song.

St. Patrick’s Day

Maureen was annoyed as she was looking for a new sweater at the end of the season. Jack had asked her to go with him to the Saint Patrick’s Day parade on Sunday and since she didn’t have a green sweater, Maureen decided to get one. She didn’t really want to go as it was going to be a miserable day of rain and wind. Maureen had argued with him about it, but she hadn’t dissuaded him. Since Jack had been reading novels on medieval Ireland, he was into everything Irish. Immersed in her thoughts, Maureen continued sorting sweaters on the rack. “This is so frustrating,” she thought. “It’s the end of the season and soon we will be tossing our winter clothing and looking for shorts.” Yet there she was, doing something to please Jack and his almost new-found enthusiasm to do things. This is something Maureen liked about him. As she checked a green sweater, that unfortunately had a Christmas motif‘ Maureenmotif ‘Maureen began thinking on how Jack’s personality had changed lately. She smiled, thinking about her own contribution to those changes. “As sweet as he was, when we worked together, he was always behaving and sounding older than his age,” she thought. “I like this new Jack. He is not like his father, old Jack, who is over the top. My new husband is a better version of my old friend and colleague,” she thought as she measured a light green sweater against her chest. 

Maureen disliked shopping in big box stores. She missed the little stores on Queen West or Kensington Market in Toronto. “I always liked shopping in local stores,” she thought. “Downtown Peterborough was like that before the pandemic,” someone had said to her. “There were several small cozy stores on George St.” At present the clothing stores in downtown were limited and not convenient. The downtown was taking a bit of time to recover. Even the Peterborough Square was half empty. “A sad sight,” she said aloud without thinking. Frustrated with the lack of variety in the big stores, Maureen decided shopping in the thrift stores. “It’s for a rainy day and likely one-time use,” she thought as she arrived at one of the largest for-profit thrift stores near Chemong Road. 

Maureen began to sort sweaters looking for a green that fit her, when a voice beside her in almost a whisper said, “I need you to listen to me very carefully.” 

Maureen instinctively stopped what she was doing, her body tensed, and all her senses became aware of her surroundings. It was as if she couldn’t control how she reacted to expressions like the one she just heard. A torrent of thoughts came to her all at the same time. “What is it that made me react like that?” she asked herself. “Is it my childhood in the buildings of Scarborough or my training as a paramedic or both?” 

It didn’t really matter - the important thing was that her instincts kicked in as Maureen’s mind went into overdrive, or as old Jack would say, “from zero to a hundred in an iota.”

Reacting subconsciously to violent actions or her perception of potential violence was second nature to her. Her reactions were so ingrained, she functioned as a completely different person. The doctor who she had consulted about her anxiety had said that it was a natural reaction to the stimulation to the amygdala, the part of the brain controlling the “fight or flight” response. “A reminiscence of our reptilian ancestors,” the doctor had said. It was second nature to her to instinctively assess her surroundings and measure levels of threat. 

As Maureen began turning her face to the woman who had talked to her, her mind was already working in overdrive. She automatically counted how many people were around her: three men all wearing jeans and baseball caps and not one younger than sixty. There were five women, three older, including the one who had talked to her, and two younger. One woman was carrying a baby carrier and Maureen watched as a red-headed store employee walked toward them while talking on a walky-talky. Maureen noticed there was an emergency exit at the far end of the store and the main entrances were blocked by some advertising hanging from a rack. All the surveillance Maureen was doing happened in a fraction of a second as she was turning towards the person who had called her attention. 

The phrase had also a secondary effect. It transported her to prior situations, triggered by what the woman had said. It was an instinctive reaction, something she couldn’t control. The memory popping into her head was the night she responded to an emergency in Malvern at the end her shift. Upon her arrival, she had witnessed the aftermath of what the police sergeant in charge of the scene described as an “act of family violence.” “What a contradiction,” she thought. “Those words should never go together.” Then her thoughts came back to the expression she heard seconds before. 

As she turned towards the woman talking to her, Maureen grabbed her keys in her right hand, closing her fist around the largest. A defensive moved she had learned in her youth and taught many times to her young apprentices. Growing up in a big city has taught her to anticipate anything. Her job as a paramedic had only reinforced it. 

As Maureen turned to look at the woman talking to her, an elderly woman elegantly dressed, with short white hair partially covered by a colourful scarf, Maureen deliberately asked her interlocutor: “I’m sorry, did you say something?” Even though Maureen had clearly heard it, it was a technique to gain advantage, manage time and be ready. 

The woman with a benevolent smile responded. “Of course, dear, I said, ‘listen to me very carefully.’ You see, today is ‘Discount Thursday’ - all the items in the store are thirty per cent off and if you are a senior there is an additional ten per cent.” Then looking at Maureen she stated, “but you are too young for that one.” The friendly woman continued, “the workers here never tell you. You must remind the cashier, and she will apply the discount to your purchases.” Maureen thanked her and went back to look for the elusive green sweater, reminding herself to breath, aware of her pulse slowing down to a normal rate.

Celebrating Canada Day in Peterborough 

Maureen, Jack, and old Jack were attending the Canada Day celebrations of 2024. It was celebrating the country’s identity. The celebrations were special because of the new “Canada Day” logo inspired by the maple leaf. The same evening and as part of the celebrations there was a concert in Del Crary Park, a tribute concert to the “Tragically Hip” by a local band.

The Canada Day celebration is a highlight of the summer. The city of Peterborough put on a fireworks display at Little Lake, following the Peterborough Musicfest. 

The sky over the southern part of the city was illuminated by a magnificent display of colours and sounds. The event was attended by hundreds of people who gathered in the park and the surrounding streets to witness the spectacle.

To Maureen, a middle-aged woman who was a paramedic by profession and an artist by dedication, the event was a celebration of colours. She stood awestruck as the first burst of colour painted the evening sky. For her, the fireworks were a source of inspiration and wonder. Each explosion represented the fleeting beauty of creation, a dance of light and colour that ignited her imagination. She marveled at the patterns, the symmetry, and the vivid tones. Maureen was mentally sketching the scenes to later translate on a canvas.

The rhythm of the fireworks resonated with her artistic heart; each sound sent waves of excitement through her. She felt connected to the crowd, united in a collective gasp of awe with each display. The fireworks were not just a visual feast; they were a celebration of creativity, a testament to human ingenuity and the power of art to bring joy and unity. Although it was not her first firework display in Peterborough, it was the first Canada Day she celebrated since her marriage to Jack.

In contrast, Maureen’s father-in-law, old Jack, a ninety-year-old war veteran, stood at the edge of the park, his face pale and his hands trembling, as soon the fireworks began.

Jack had accepted his son and daughter-in-law’s invitation to the Peterborough Musicfest concert at Del Crary Park because he liked the music of the “Tragically Hip.” Going out with his son gave him an excuse to be away from the retirement home where he lived, something he always looked forward to. However, old Jack wasn’t prepared for the effect the firework display was going to have on him. 

The fireworks brought back memories of the battlefield, where the night sky was often lit by violent explosions. Each boom echoed in his mind, transforming the vibrant display into a haunting replay of war. The colours reminded him of flares and tracers, and the smell of smoke mixed with the scent of the park were a vivid reminder of sieges he had endured in his younger years.

For Jack, the fireworks were not a celebration. They were a trigger of past traumas. The sounds and the display of fireworks made him feel isolated even though he was with his son and daughter in law and was surrounded by people. The beauty that Maureen saw was lost on him and replaced by a sense of dread and panic. The event that brought joy to many was, for him, a stark reminder of the horrors he had endured before moving to Canada.

The fireworks display, an event designed to unite and celebrate, was perceived in drastically different ways by, Maureen, and old Jack. Through the eyes of old Jack and Maureen we are reminded that every event is a multifaceted gem, seen differently by each observer .