Glenn Kubish

It is April in Edmonton. A fitting time to report the effect of a pothole. Shooting marbles in the schoolyard was a thrill of spring. The pots we aimed for in those now-buried days were shallow craters dug out of the earth. Cars flowed by on 66 St. Girls jumped in and out of skipping ropes. Peewees were the small marbles. (They were just the right size to go down an alarmed seven-year-old's esophagus once). The regular-sized marbles were the main currency. It took five or so marbles to make a boulder and four boulders to make a jumbo. There were crystals, cat's eyes, creamies, and steelies. These gems all carried different values. Marbles, boulder Steelies (jumbo-sized ball bearings, actually) were curious. They sat outside the exchange system. A steelie was technically worth nothing, but was still valuable and coveted. Like the zero concept. The value of a steelie was what the player trying to win it deemed its value to be. I might put four "jums" and...

I'm sure I learned a lot in grade seven. Some Australian history, some Guy de Maupassant, some wrestling moves in gym class, no doubt. I think I learned how to light a stage in drama class and, in health class, how cows reproduce. I began to learn that some teachers were only a day or two ahead of their students. But I also learned in grade seven how to be alone. And that was a lesson courtesy one of the few great teachers I have had in my learning life. I've never forgotten it. It was Mr. Litwin's science class at St. Francis of Assisi School in wide open northeast Edmonton. It was a time when teachers were known by their first names. Those names were either Mrs., Miss, or, as in Mr. Litwin's case, Mr. Of course, he had a first name. It was Nestor. It was still a few years before I would learn that Nestor was an iconic name, one of those names that might, in fact, indicate one's character, fate. For, Nestor was a Greek commander, counsellor to Agamemnon, kn...