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NICK'S
NOTES
"Nick's
Notes" will offer a little something different
every
time. I will discuss or share a topic and elaborate on
it. You will
never know what angle, opinion or spin I'll take on
whatever the topic is. From time to time I may even
wander outside the Darlington Impact organization and delve
into other topics surrounding the game of
football. But I'll always be talking about the game or
matters concerning the world's number one sport.
"Nick's Notes" will sometimes take a stand on
certain issues. I may find myself just simply rambling
on about the boys or something that recently happened to
the club. You just never know what to expect next, in
"Nick's
Notes."
Nicholas Paul Harris
I
Remember
Written Tues July 31 07
Phyllis & Victor Harris, My Mom
& Dad, July 31 07
I sat for the longest time
trying to remember the first time we strolled along the
seaside in my push-chair. It was so very long ago back
in England but there are still times today when I catch
a sweeping aroma through the winds or I hear a song from
days gone by and it brings it all back to me. I remember
the day when my mother enrolled my brother and I into
the Cobourg Brookside Training School for juvenile
delinquents instead of C.R. Gummow Public School which
was across the street. I can still remember every
birthday, Christmas and summer vacation from all those
years. I can still remember it all.
Yesterday I pulled into the
Cobourg Hospital and the Complex Care staff transferred
my mother from her wheelchair into my car. We went for a
lovely drive up through the Kawarthas and then back
along the picturesque Cobourg beachfront. We had my
father with us and he sat cuddled up next to her in the
back seat as I chaperoned and commentated pointing out
our old stomping grounds complete with memories and
magic.
I dropped my mother back off at
the hospital after a two-hour outing and as the staff
wheeled her away a tear fell upon my cheek as I knew
there was not a chance in the world she would remember a
thing we just did. Alzheimer's, It's a dreadful,
debilitating and drastic way to go out of this world
after a wonderful fulfilling life of memories and
dreams.
********************************************
The Guy In The Blue Shorts
Written Sat Aug 12 06
(just for Mickey Cryderman and the annoying parents)
Sometimes it just amazes me when I
think back to the days of slavery and the nonsense that
went on in the deep south USA. Oh I know...Nick, it
still can get quite atrocious at the best of times in
isolated pockets. However, we are civilized human beings
in Canada where the melting pot, especially in the GTA
is one of every nationality and race imaginable. My
children spent their early childhood years in what was
classified as the Pickering Projects at that time and we
were without doubt, the Caucasian minority and I know my
three lads benefited from that. I can prove that to you
right now.
I was driving home one afternoon
and my radio was on its regular talk radio station, CFRB
1010. The topic of choice that afternoon was one of
racism and discrimination to others outside one's
circles. The guest was a young African-American whom
spent his last ten years in Toronto. He went on to say
that if anyone (now this was obviously people residing
in big metropolitan places like Toronto, Ottawa and
Montreal) could look back over the period of a one
month/30 day period and count on one hand how many times
another skin colour walked in their house or possibly
ate dinner at their table...then they possibly were
individuals that were either sheltered or did not mix
with other races. Well, I certainly would not agree 100%
with that or specify that as any type of guidelines.
However, I did put myself through the test and realized
after just one week that my household buried that rule
of thumb within days including sleepovers and the full
gambit.
I bring all this up as I witnessed
first hand during our season some very disturbing
comments and gestures towards Dizzy and Yan. I just
simply looked up from the bench and laughed in total
disbelief but when I saw a look on both their faces that
gave me a subtle glimpse of some hurt.....well, I
changed that look on my face and tried desperately to
take some of their pain away. I couldn't though...I was
a middle-aged white man sitting at the Hydros. I had a
few brief words with both of them over these incidents
over the course of the season and let them know that
they have to let me know about that the second it ever
happens again. I have to be honest with all my readers
right now and tell you that Dizzy and Yan both looked at
me as if to say, "Nick, that's nothing bro." And that in
itself, is very sad.
Anyway, on a more positive note
bringing my story full circle and ending it with a bit
of hope. Let me share another true story with all of you
and one I hold deep in my heart. And once again, it
involves an innocent child whom knows no different and
tells no lies.
The chicken in the oven was burning
so I had to leave the fight at a very crucial part.
Geroge Foreman was about to destroy the big Irishman
Jerry Cooney. Wow! It was an incredible fight that had my son
Justin and myself on the edges of our seats. At the time
Justin was 6 years old and probably took in as many
fights as I did. We watched a lot of sports together
back in the day...we still do. Anyway, I cursed under my
breath all the way into the kitchen listening to the
action unfold as I placed the chicken on the plates. I
could not take it anymore so I yelled into Justin, "Hey,
who's winning the fight Juss?" I was about to hear the
most amazing line come out of his mouth which is why to
this day. this lad does not have a racist bone in his
body.
Now, imagine what was unfolding on
the television screen. It was this massive, mean black
as black can be 6'5" monstrous coloured man towering
over this Irishman that has not been in the sun his
entire life and his pinkish white skin showed that. It
was Foreman vs Cooney in front of a capacity crowd at
Madison Square Gardens. "Justin!" I called out again.
"Who's winning the fight?"
My six-year-old's answer:
"Daddy, the guy in the blue shorts
is killing the guy in the red shorts."
"A story needed to be told...and I
told it."
The Bed Across The Hall
Written Mon June 12 06
We sustained (and make sure you
look up the word sustained if you need verification on
what we actually did do last night.) a 1-7 defeat at the
hands of the Azzurri youth in Vaughan last
evening. I think the most difficulty I had to deal with
would come much later after I swallowed my pride and
read the tables. I was sitting at my desk and the clock
struck midnight and I began playing the game through my
head and when the closing whistle sounded I was good to
go and ready for the next pre-game huddle with my lads.
Ah, my lads...there you go. That's my difficulty right
there. I had no way at taking their depression away so
best let it be and let them get on with it; grow and
mature. It would be their faces after the game that
haunted me most throughout the late night thoughts and
theories of what went wrong. I called for our typical
post-game huddle and one could hear a pin drop in that
intimate circle. I glanced up at each and every one of
their drawn faces and one would have thought some one
just died. Now, I know I sound dramatic but just ask any
one of these Impact lads and they will tell you that all
hell just broke loose and their world was about to end.
So much for a wire to wire season? So much for the
unbeaten record? So much for being the best? Every face
read, "Now what?" Well, I have a news flash for each and
every one of you. It's never as bad as one thinks it is
and I will now share a quick true story with you that
explains how far from the truth all of this really is.
Whenever you feel down and out and your entire world
feels like its about to crumble around you.....always
take a look across the hall and there's someone in the
next bed far worse than you ever could be. Now, let me
explain lads.
It was the late winter of 1990 and
I had been a regular patient at the Sunnybrook trauma
unit for as long as I could remember since that dreadful
night. I was looking across my room imagining what it
would be like to one day be able to just get up and use
the bathroom, or pick something up or move my shoes. An
ambulance was coming that morning to transfer me to my
new home which was north up Bayview Avenue into the St.
John's Rehabilitation Centre. The ambulance came and
away I went on a stretcher that weighed more than my 145
pound frame. They moved all my belongings (pictures and
drawings from my children and bibles upon bibles upon
bibles). I was set up in some room on some floor with
some people that were slighter than I with no legs and
some, no arms. Later that afternoon when one of the
charge nurses came into my room to administer my meds I
decided to let my bubble burst right at that moment and
I broke down letting months and months of darkness and
disaster come to a head. I fell asleep and when I woke
up a nun was standing above me. I cannot even begin to
share with you the aura that jumped out at me. She
smiled and asked if I wanted a drink of water. I don't
remember answering her as I took a drink from her and
attempted to sit up. She began speaking in a soft voice
addressing my needs and concerns and comparing my very
situation to many more just like me in every chapter and
verse of different editions in the bible. I listened for
well over half an hour and the morphine sent me off
every so often and every time I woke up she appeared
even more angelic and surreal. I forgot everything she
dictated to me that afternoon, everything, except one
thing. And that one thing has stuck with me for well
over a decade now and last night after our post game
huddle I could not help to remember that line she left
me with.
I remember telling the Sister that
afternoon that I had lost my entire life and now I was
just a lump of nothing lying on the bed having to have
my entire body looked after by nurses and care givers. I
was basically good for nothing and would never have a
chance to walk again, let alone run with my children in
the park. I thought another bubble was about to burst
again but just as I began feeling depressed she touched
my hand and leaned right up close to me and said,
"Nicholas, no matter how bad it seems to be. Always look
in the next bed across the hall and there is someone a
lot worse off than you my son."
I rubbed the tears from my eyes and
the second I removed the tears my vision became that
much clearer. A long story short fast forwards this
story to last night as I sat at my desk pondering what
went wrong and after I cleared the fog away I noticed a
big man walking on canes with an awkward gate. That man
had young men beside him listening, looking and
learning. That same man was blessed with the gift of
having an opportunity to share each and every one of
those lad's lives with them. The only bed that appeared
across the hall was mine and I needed to get into it
soon as tomorrow was almost here and I needed sleep as a
group of Impact lads were waiting for me at the other
end of the rainbow.
When I Was A Boy
/Some Things Never Change October 16, 2002
I remember many years ago now when I was a young boy in
London, England. My father and I were regulars at
White Hart Lane. That was the Maple Leaf Gardens(I guess
I should now say the ACC) for the Tottenham Hotspur
Premier League soccer team in my home town. Season's
tickets did not exsist in those days so it was
first come first serve. We were lining up every Saturday
afternoon to make sure we got in for the game of the
week. One week it was Manchester United. Another week
mayby Liverpool or Newcastle. It was a different colour
and a different chant week after week. Anyway, I
remember those days as if it were just yesterday. I
remember the final day of the season very well.
I remember tugging on my
father's arm all the way back home, and crying all
the way home right into the house. It was over! The
season was all over! No more footy for a long, long
time! I was devastated and did not understand that one
day very soon when the weather changes it will be back
to White Hart Lane again. I did not understand any of
that though. I cried and cried until I fell asleep.
Why, just the other day(well
it's been 6 weeks now) I can remember leaving the Hydros
for the last time for this past 2002 Outdoor
Season. Kyle was sitting next to me so I decided not to
reminisce out loud anyway. So I drove away from the
Hydros as there was not a person in sight. I was the
last one to leave that night. I guess it was deliberate.
I looked back in my rear-view mirror as I drove up
Solina Road away from the pitches and I remembered
tugging on my father's arm way back when.
I looked over at Kyle and
noticed a grin from ear to ear and it was just then that
I knew everything was going to be just fine. It was
right then that I realized that I would be back as soon
as the weather broke in the Spring. I knew it would all
be good again and back to normal. I didn't even know at
the time if he would be back. However, one thing is
definitely certain though- you could never keep me
away. I'm a season ticket holder.
Have a safe and happy autumn
everyone and remember to look out for each
other.
A story needed to be told...and
I told it.
Nick's Christmas
Message
You're Never Alone
December 24, 2002
It was still. The snow outside was gently falling as the
moon-lit sky opened up. One could hear a pin drop. It
was midnight and the church bells from inside the town
echoed out into the out-skirts where our quaint home was
situated.
All the children were tucked in
and fast asleep. My wife- an angel at rest. The clock on
the mantle chimed in the new day as Christmas had
arrived just then.
I turned down the blinds. He
blew out the candle for me. He motioned to the
television so I reached over and turned off
Dickens. I made my way upstairs and I felt his very
escence all over my back and neck. As I turned to say
sweet dreams, no one was there. The chill up my spine
chased me down the hall and into my bed. I closed my
eyes and he said to me, "Have a glorious sleep and
enjoy your holiday season with your loved ones. I am
here."
I opened up my eyes and caught
the shadows and images on the ceiling. It was dark. It
was still. It was Christmas and I was not alone.
Have a happy holiday season and
may the New Year bring all you 88's a healthy
and prosperous 2003. God Bless you all.
Merry Christmas, "A story
needed to be told...and I told it."
Yours Sincerely, 88 Manager, Nick Harris
Remembrance Day
Message
November 11, 2003
Little Wind-Up
Soldiers Mounted On Their Benches
Little
wind-up soldiers mounted on their benches,
Gangrene
bodies, rotting in the trenches.
Little
red men with crosses on their shirts,
Picking
up the bodies from underneath the dirt.
I was 9 years old and I won an
award. That was just one paragraph out of 6 where I
wrote about the war for a Remembrance Day writing
contest. I believe my Mother still has that somehere
amidst the dust and archives. Anyway, please allow me
just a few lines to explain where I gathered my info and
incredible insight from a 9-year old.
The young man left boot camp
with his mates. Now his brothers in arms. Now his soul
mates on the front lines of reality. It was a firm landing
straight into the thick of things...harm's way. It was
the worst place in the world but someone had to do it.
As a matter of
fact....many...several....hundreds...thousands...would
never come home again. Why did this young man pretend to
be older than he really was? Why would any human being
want to enlist and partake in anything like this?
He wondered that himself but it was now far too late for
insight and reasoning.
It was just before dawn when the
Germans attacked. It was a nightmare. Every single one
of his platoon were brutally killed and the majority
burned alive by flame-throwers right in front of his
eyes. He too, was injured badly, but not killed. It was
friendly fire. He took bullets to his foot, leg and
arms. He passed out from the shock and pain. The Germans
came by when the sun rose and placed the dead bodies up
in a pile preparing them for take-away. His body was one
of hundreds on that pile. But he was alive. He
played dead. He did not move. He was still. He did not
breath until all was clear. Hours had passed and
eventually British and Welsh troops came by and picked
up belongings, letters, medals and weapons. It was
then that the young infantryman raised his bloody hands
in aid of rescue.
He was saved and sent over to
Holland where he convalesced and eventually would walk
again. Not only would he walk again...he would go on to
play a professional soccer career, get married and have
his own family of five children. That man still lives to
this day and resides in a modest home in the quiet
surroundings at Rice Lake in Roseneath, Ontario. That
man is 75 years old today and in good health. That
man goes by the name of Victor James Harris. That
man is my father.
Please, I ask you all. It
only takes a mere second out of the day. Let's take
time on November 11th to remember those who
gave us our tomorrow.
Remembrance Day, 2003. "A story needed
to be told...and I told it."
No Leash For This Walk
Mon., May 02 05
Pets can grow on you. They become part of the family.
They almost become human. All true. So very true.
My dog was more than just a pet to me. He gave me a
purpose and a reason to care for him. It was early days
after my release from the hospital and Gill had taken me
for a stroll around the Pickering Town Centre in my
wheelchair. We ventured into the Pet Shop and a Bichon
jumped up onto my lap. 24 hours later we left that same
Shop with Teddy.
Ted never left my side and gave me a real reason to turn
another corner. He lived a full lovely life and earlier
this day I was forced to have him put down. We left the
house at 4:15pm without his collar and without his
leash. He went for a walk from which he never will
return.
An empty basket, an empty house...so much emptiness.
"A story needed to be told...and I told it."
"I Just Want Mom
Back."
Sunday, June 19, 2005
I have spent the last few days
worrying about my sick mother in the hospital and trying
to imagine how my father is going to cope without her.
My parents have been together for over 60 years now and
my father has depended and relied on her from day one. I
drove him home from the hospital and suggested he start
thinking about taking care of himself and for now, just
getting through the weekend. He said he would be fine
and I know for a fact that was far from the truth. I
asked him what his plans were for Father's Day and if he
wanted to visit my mother in the hospital then come back
to our place for the day. He looked at me with a tear in
his eye and replied, "I just want Mom back."
That indeed would be the greatest Father's Day he could
ever imagine but unfortunately this is not a Disney
movie and the happy ending will have to wait and it may
not come for sometime yet.
I would like to wish all 88 Dad's a
very Happy Father's Day and remind each and everyone of
us fathers that we are nothing without our supporting
cast and I for one am deeply satisfied and proud to be a
father. Yes, it is meant to be our special day and all
focus on daddy for the day. I know I will be thinking
about my father all day and if I could make one wish for
him on this Sunday, June 19th..."I just want mom
back."
"Happy Father's Day"...As a story needed
to be told...and I told it.
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