Saudade Summer

By Donald D. Senese

Young Donny experienced a summer like no other: hanging with his buddies, spending time with family, and falling in love for the first time with a wonderful girl. Little did he know how that summer love would play out so many years later.

Reminiscing, if it is perfect, provides feelings of well-being and contentment.

If things turn out badly, you learn from your mistakes and move on.

Saudade (pronounced SAU-da-gee) is a Portuguese word meaning "a type of nostalgia"—an intense and indescribable feeling of yearning for someone or something, and the desire to relive moments that have passed, or may never have happened. The word cannot be translated to English because it has no words to do justice to the deep feelings Saudade conveys. Three years ago, I found myself in this state of mind without an explanation. To uncover the answer I relived my past, drawing on memories from my later years in elementary school, my early years in high school, and beyond. It has been quite a journey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Dec 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9780228860006

Donald D. Senese

Donald lives in Niagara Falls, Ontario, Canada, with his wife Avis, son Logan, mother-in-law Ardeth and their two chihuahuas, Bella and Bentley.

Book preview

Saudade Summer

Donald D. Senese

Saudade Summer

Copyright © 2021 by Donald D. Senese

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-5999-4 (Hardcover)

978-0-2288-5998-7 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-6000-6 (eBook)

Contents

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

Twenty-eight

Twenty-nine

Thirty

Thirty-one

Thirty-two

Thirty-three

Thirty-four

Thirty-five

Thirty-six

Thirty-seven

Thirty-eight

Thirty-nine

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

For Ricky and Tommy. Gone but never forgotten.

Memory is our ability to encode, store, retain and subsequently, recall information and past experiences in the human brain. It can be thought of in general terms as knowledge to affect or influence current behaviour.

Prologue

A passing thought of a girl in the present triggered a flashback, reminding me of a person who subconsciously controlled parts of my everyday life. Everyone remembers their first love, and our memories would take us back to those carefree days of a simpler time in our lives. The memories that evoke such vivid sentiments, the feelings of acceptance, the trust we had for each other, and the bond we shared with that person who meant so much to us so many years ago.

My name is Donald, and my first love occurred in 1968. The year is not significant. The first time I accidentally touched her hand, the innocent hug celebrating a shared victory, the first time our eyes met during a moment of mutual admiration, and the long-awaited first kiss were important. All of this laid the groundwork for what turned out to be an intriguing relationship.

My later years in elementary school and early years of high school proved to be a moral training ground for what was to occur in 1968. Developing strong bonds with both males and females was important and contributed to a stable upbringing. The support from a loving and caring family, through the highs and lows of early adulthood, was extraordinary and I felt blessed to be in such a position.

Inspired by a true story, the mid- to late-sixties memories produced a watershed of emotions. Reminiscing, if it was perfect, provides a feeling of well-being and contentment. If things turned out badly, you learn from your mistakes and move on. Experiencing both, I felt it necessary to delve into my past and understand who I was and my true feelings for my own personal welfare.

The bits and pieces of information I remembered from over fifty years earlier started falling into place. To say this time was the best years of my life would be improper. A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since 1968. The future builds on the foundation of the past, and it is interesting how both can intertwine. I cherish these memories and will hold on to them forever.

Success is going from failure to failure without losing your enthusiasm.

-Winston Churchill

Saudade Summer

One

I was born November 23, 1952, in the City of St. Catharines, Ontario, Canada. It lies in Southern Ontario, thirty-two miles south of Toronto across Lake Ontario and twelve miles inland from the United States’ international boundary. The world-renowned Niagara Falls is a mere ten-minute drive down the Queen Elizabeth Way. Our house, located on Grass Avenue and built in the 1940s, during and after WWII, was referred to as a Wartime House. My cozy home was a maximum of nine hundred square feet on two floors, with one bathroom and no basement.

The driveway consisted of what looked like two separate sidewalks, extending from the street to the backyard. Just enough concrete for the driver and passenger tires to make contact. We exited the house’s back door to a concrete porch; two steps led to the yard. The backyard was large enough to throw around a baseball, play croquet, and toss a football.

The front porch, also constructed of concrete, was covered with a green and white striped aluminum awning. A capital S appeared in the middle of the front screen door, representing our last name’s first letter. Built-in planters surrounded the porch, where Mom proudly planted several varieties of flowers in the spring.

I was born the youngest of four children to Dominic and Margaret. There were four bedrooms, two up and two down. My sister Dolores occupied her own room, and my mom and dad shared the other downstairs bedroom. Dommy, my oldest brother, slept in one upstairs bedroom; Tommy and I shared the other, a single bed for each of us. The age differences were ten years between Dolores and me, eight between Dommy and four between Tommy and me.

Teddy lived right next door and was my best friend growing up. He and I, along with the other kids in the neighbourhood played outside games, from morning to dusk. Games like croquet, marbles, tag, hopscotch, skipping, and my all-time favourite hide-and-seek. Teddy liked to invent games when he was bored, and I being a follower went along with him.

Our moms would hold their traditional Wednesday afternoon card game at our other neighbours’ houses throughout our childhood. The ladies card game must end before 3:15 p.m. At this precise time each day, my dad was in sight at the end of our street walking home from work. Although the ladies were playing for pennies, at the time, the wives were expected to cook and clean house, not take the afternoon to play cards. Perhaps this was their way of rebelling.

Teddy and I were probably six years old at the time, which would be the year 1958. While we were unsupervised on these sacred Wednesday afternoons, Teddy took the opportunity to torment Bryan. Bryan lived near the end of the street and was one of those kids who followed everyone around, wanting to be part of the action. On this particular afternoon, Teddy and I were watching cartoons on television. We spotted Bryan outside my picture window, wandering around looking for anyone to pay him attention.

Donald, ask Bryan if he wants to take a spin in the dryer, Teddy commented, a mischievous look on his cheerful face.

Why do you give him so much grief just to hang around with us?

We need to toughen him up, Teddy replied.

While the ladies played their poker games, Teddy thought it would be interesting to take a ride in my mom’s clothes dryer. He and I would take turns crawling into the drum, shutting the dryer door and taking a few spins.

Hey, Bryan come here, I shouted from the front door. Bryan came running to the step, a look of excitement plastered across his face.

There is no one home. Want to play a game we invented? Teddy asked with a giggle.

What is it this time, Teddy? Bryan asked cautiously, the look of excitement slowly changing to regret.

Teddy and I found it fun to take a couple of spins in my mom’s dryer; come in.

The three of us headed for the kitchen. There was a definite look of apprehension on Bryan’s face.

Okay, you’re first Donald, I went first last week, Teddy stated, barking out the orders.

"Just two spins, Teddy, please," I pleaded.

You worry too much, Teddy smirked.

I never trusted Teddy but thank God, two spins it was. Teddy was next and climbed into the dryer.

Take me for three spins, Donald. One better was Teddy’s motto. Three it was. Teddy climbed out of the dryer with that never-ending proud look on his face.

Okay, Bryan, your turn, Teddy declared.

Bryan had absolutely no faith in Teddy whatsoever.

"Take it easy, just a couple of spins, please, Teddy?" Bryan asked, almost begging. In he climbed.

Teddy was in control of the power button and turned on the dryer. One spin, two spins.

Teddy, he asked for two spins, I said, fretting of how the outcome may result.

Oh, he is going to be all right, Teddy said, with a sheepish grin on his face. Three spins, four spins. You could hear Bryan screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Get me out of here, you idiots!"

One more spin, Teddy shouted. I was overly concerned; Teddy was not. No one had gone five spins. Finally, Teddy hits the power button, shutting off the unit. Bryan rolled out of the dryer, attempting to stand but was so dizzy he fell over two or three times. Finally, getting to his knees and standing, he started to walk, looking like a drunken sailor on leave.

"You guys are terrible!" Bryan yelled, his eyes tearing up, as he turned away and headed for the door.

Don’t be such a cry baby, Teddy exclaimed.

The ladies would be clearing the evidence of the poker games and my dad would soon be home. We exited the house at 3:10 p.m.

From an early age, Teddy and I were shaping our personalities. Interesting when looking back, how similar we are today. Teddy took control of situations; I never disputed his actions. Teddy was assertive; I was passive. Teddy took chances; I felt comfortable in my shoes. Nothing much bothered Teddy or what others thought of him. I desired to gain acceptance. He showed indifference, and I showed empathy. I do not remember ever having a verbal confrontation with Teddy. Our opinions and outlook on life were diverse, but we had a strong mutual respect for each other.

Teddy’s father would drive us to Lakeside Park, located in Port Dalhousie, a small community on Lake Ontario. Along with Teddy and I, Tracy, the family dachshund, would trail along. The dog was obese. Teddy, his Dad, and I would take Tracy for walks along the beach, hoping perhaps Tracy would shed a few pounds.

Port Dalhousie, in the late fifties and sixties, was a hub of activity. Companies held picnics here for their employees and family. My dad worked for McKinnon Industries, a subsidiary of General Motors. Each summer, the annual McKinnon picnic would be held in Port Dalhousie. The venue was perfect for a large gathering with a beach for swimming, a pavilion with hundreds of picnic tables and an amusement park. Port Dalhousie was a big part of my life growing up. A place for fun, heartbreak, romance, and much more.

Two

In September of 1958, Teddy and I started school. We followed different paths. I went to St. Denis, a Catholic separate elementary school. Teddy attended Alexandra, a public elementary school. We continued hanging out in our early years of school.

Time passed quickly, and soon it was the early sixties. Teddy and I maintained our friendship despite the fact we each now had our own circle of friends.

The teachers at St. Denis certainly taught the students discipline. It would have been late in the school year of 1962. I was nine years old and in grade six. Each teacher, including our principal Sister Angelica, kept a strap in their desk drawer. Constructed of leather it was three inches wide and a foot long, and you hoped it would never see the light of day. If a student acted up in class, the teacher would take him or her out into the hallway. Once outside the classroom, the teacher would ask you to hold your hand out, palm facing up. The teacher would strike the palm hard, usually three times. Severe disciplinary action was dealt with by Sister Angelica personally.

Two students with the exact same first and last name were in my class. The teacher differentiated them by their middle initial. Timothy E. and Timothy J. Timothy E. was well-behaved, intelligent, and a gentleman. Timothy J., whom we called Bonesy due to his slim build, was the complete opposite. A crowd-pleaser to his fellow students, a nightmare for the teachers.

My family, Teddy’s family, and my teachers referred to me as Donald. I was known as Donny to everyone else.

Donny, Bonesy whispered. I have my radio in my locker. Let’s meet by the fence at recess and listen to the ball game. There was a strict rule at St. Denis banning radios on the property. That never stopped Bonesy.

Timothy J. I warned you twice already. No whispering in class. Let’s take it outside. The desk drawer opened and Mr. MacNeil removed the strap. Silence overcame the entire classroom. Bonesy’s footsteps were the only audible sound. Mr. MacNeil closed the door behind him. One SLAP, two SLAPS, three SLAPS were heard coming from the hallway, then silence. Each student in the classroom had their eyes focused on the door, awaiting Bonesy’s return. First to step into the room was Mr. MacNeil. Bonesy followed shortly after with this stupid smirk on his face as to say, "Not a chance, he or anyone else is going to make me cry!"

Bonesy would go on to become a legend with his antics, not only at St. Denis but throughout high school.

Ricky, also a good friend, was in our class at St. Denis. Ricky had blonde hair, a slight build, blue eyes, and was an all-around nice guy. Ricky was more responsible and was the friend that kept us on the right track. Ricky, Bonesy, and I shared many good times throughout our years at St. Denis. Attending school together for ten years, we developed a valued friendship, which would continue beyond elementary school and into high school.

Three

It was the spring of 1965, and the school year was coming to an end at St. Denis. I was eleven years old at the time, about to turn twelve in November. The months of April, May, and June were especially memorable. The days were longer, warmer and I was falling for a girl. Mary turned thirteen and would be graduating from St. Denis at the end of June to attend grade nine at the St. Catharines Collegiate in September. Her mom was from Malta and Mary inherited her looks. Dark brown hair, olive skin complexion, and beautiful almond shape brown eyes. She was tall, lean, and very athletic.

It was a sunny and warm Friday afternoon, and I arranged earlier at lunchtime to meet Mary after school in front of the church to walk her home. She mentioned that her mother was making her special lemonade and had asked Mary if I would be at the house after school. I spent the rest of the school day daydreaming about Mary; the final bell could not come quick enough.

At precisely 3:33 p.m., the bell rang announcing the end of the school day. I quickly ran out of the boys’ exit doors to the front of the church. Patiently I waited for Mary on the planter blocks; she finally appeared, exiting the school on the girls’ side. An imaginary line divided the schoolyard in half. Another rule that was strictly enforced was the boys and girls were not to mingle in the schoolyard, ever. None of the kids questioned why the rule was in place. It was just a matter of fact. Teachers monitored the yard at recess and lunch, making sure the boys and girls kept their distance from each other.

Are you all set, Mary?

I am ready. Let’s go.

Are you looking forward to high school next year? I nervously questioned Mary, my voice quivering.

I will miss the gang at St. Denis. Spending time and making friends with so many kids these past nine years has been amazing.

Not quite the answer I sought, hoping she mentioned my name somewhere in her reply. Oh well, I had the rest of the summer to spend with Mary. Mary’s house had a large veranda at the front with a wood railing wrapping around the entire porch. The railing was wide enough to set our glasses, full of refreshing cold lemonade.

Want to go to the schoolyard after dinner? Anne and Kathy are going to meet me around six, Mary asked.

For sure, is it okay if I bring along Bonesy and Ricky?

Yes, the more the merrier; bring your ball and bat and we can play a little pickup.

As with Bonesy and Ricky, Anne and Kathy attended St. Denis with me from kindergarten until we graduated. Anne was taller, had reddish blonde hair, hazel-coloured eyes, and was very athletic. She was a straight shooter. You always knew where you stood with Anne. Kathy was shorter, had long dark brown hair, brown eyes, and was thin in stature. She was more of a nurturing individual. Someone you could confide in and know it would go no further.

Bonesy, Ricky, and I arrived at the schoolyard around 5:45 p.m. Several kids were throwing around a baseball in the field. The one thing about St. Denis, it did not matter if you were in grade six, seven or eight as all the kids played together.

How about the boys against the girls? Bonesy questioned.

You want to win any way you can don’t you, Bonesy, I said laughing, shaking my head. The girls finally showed up at around 6:15 p.m. My eyes were glued on Mary after her arrival. My problem would be letting her go at the end of the summer.

Hey, guys! Anne shouted from the other side of the field. We ran towards the girls. Sitting in a circle, joined by several other kids, it looked as though we had at least nine players per team.

How about the girls against the guys! exclaimed Bonesy with a smile. I couldn’t believe he was begging for this yet again.

"No way, Bonesy! Anne quipped. You are