The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.
―Maya Angelou
Chandler Home
Thanksgiving weekend finally arrived. Canadians celebrate the feast early in October when the harvest in mostly in and leaves are just beginning to turn.
The weather had been unseasonably hot at the beginning of October, but now after a binge of summery weather, Fall sobered up, recognized its duty and adjusted the temperature to more seasonable values.
The thermometer read 50 F and there was a chill in the air. It was perfect for our Thanksgiving dinner at the Chandler household.
I'd finally get the chance to spend time with Autumn's parents, along with my mentor, Father Breton, a long-time family friend.
"Are you nervous about meeting my folks?" Autumn asked as we drove through downtown Toronto.
"I'm a bit uneasy," I confessed, "I've only spoken to your dad twice in my two years of being on the faculty and it was entirely about professional matters."
"Well, you know he's not formal and stuffy like that at home," she smiled.
I coloured a little. "Oh, I didn't mean to imply that―I just meant our relationship wasn't personal since our discussions were about curriculum."
"I know what you meant," she grinned mischievously, "but you better be prepared for the inquisition―Mom and Dad will be probing to learn more about you."
"Should I tell them the truth―about being passed from foster home to foster home...or about my time in juvie?"
"Whoa! Take it easy―do you want them to fingerprint you and count the silverware before you leave?"
My jaw dropped and I stared at her helplessly.
"Jake," she said softly, "they know all about you from Father Breton and he extolls your abilities. They don't care about your past―they know you're a quality person. Just relax and be yourself. They'll adore you."
"I'm not so sure about that," I muttered morosely.
"Well, I'm sure about you and I adore you. They have no choice but to do the same."
She leaned across and brushed her lips across my cheek and I felt like crying.
Love and acceptance wasn't something I was accustomed to and I never had a family...
up until now, I mused, and reminded myself that my life was changing for the better.
The Chandlers owned a huge Victorian house in the Annex area of Toronto close to the university.
It was within walking distance of the campus just north of Bloor Street.
I remembered as a child taking a streetcar ride on Sundays to spend the afternoon in Queen's Park chasing chipmunks. I spent a lot of time alone back then and the university grounds were like an oasis for me.
And now I was lecturing in those buildings and coming back as a guest at the Chandler's Thanksgiving dinner. It was a homecoming, nostalgic and poignant, pregnant with meaning.