The Marcy Street Irregulars

Being the experiences of a square peg trying to fit into this world’s round holes.

Many of us spend a lifetime trying to fit in – to NOT be the last one picked for softball or the wallflower at the high school sock-hop that all the girls snicker at behind your back.

At some point though you realize that there is no way you are ever going to fit into that ‘normal’ mold or anything reasonably resembling what your neighbours and colleagues find ‘acceptable’.

And then it happens…

You begin to revel in your ‘uniqueness’, the little quirks and foibles that make you into you, perhaps to the amusement of those around you, sometimes to their annoyance, though certainly neither was your intent in the first place!

As you begin to revel in your uniqueness you become much more observant of those around you – their uniqueness, their sad attempts to achieve normalcy. Perhaps you become a bit cynical, definitely a sarcastic edge appears in your conversations and meanderings on social media.

And life becomes fun after the misery of not wearing the right sneakers for gym, or the right label on your jeans.

* * *

Marcy Street runs from screaming kids to screaming kids – perhaps I should clarify.

Marcy Street stretches poker straight from Sacred Heart School in the west to the Recreational Complex in the east. From skinned-kneed 8 year olds playing foursquare to skinned-nosed over 40’s pretending they are still Guy Lafleur. And ALL at earsplitting volume.

Marcy Street is not a long street, like Yonge or Bloor or even Foul Bay Road, perhaps three blocks west of main street to three blocks east. Nor is it an auspicious street, with wide lawns, magnolia trees and gated entrances. The street is not terribly famous, other than for the toga clad revellers that descend on it every 10 years during Old Boys Reunion or perhaps the local Highland pipers marching up and down on Thursday nights to the accompaniment of half the cats and most of the stray dogs in the county.

No, Marcy Street is just your average small town street, with the odd pothole and even the occasional dead skunk or grackle, run over no doubt by the Person In The White Truck as he attempts atmospheric escape velocity in the vain attempt to reach the LCBO in Wingham before closing time.

Marcy Street, though, is home to some rather irregular people. From the retired butcher at the west end of the street who loves to walk morning, afternoon and evening to the former Emergency department nurse in the east with the no longer teenage son who prefers spending Saturday night drinking beer on the garage roof. Each Irregular is a character, though in a quiet way, with stories kept close to the chest.

Until now…

Enjoy!

Mark


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