A Small Stain on the Front of My Pants

July 1972 – Gravelbourg, Saskatchewan

The second-floor loft of my grandparent’s home was seldom used, but when my brother Brad and I stayed with them in the summer, Grandma would make beds for us up there.  

There was a narrow set of stairs in the main floor bathroom, that led to a storage area.  A few steps to the right of the upper threshold, over a creaky wooden floor, was an open room where we slept.  

There were boxes, books and bric-á-brac covering most of the space, some of which had been there since The Great Depression.


My grandparent’s house was warm and welcoming, but I was always a little afraid of our attic accommodation. One night in 1972, my trepidation turned to abject terror!

I had spent the day with a cousin some distance from my grandparent’s place and was dropped off late in the evening.  

Sometime during the day, my uncle Jim had returned home from a posting in the far Canadian North.  Grandma, Grandpa and Jim had gone over to another uncle’s place to have a reunion visit, so the house was empty when I showed up.

I didn’t turn on any lights (Grandma had a thing about wasting electricity), so the stairway was pitch dark as I ascended to the attic room.  There was a glimmer of light coming through a small window at the top of the stairs, just enough to reveal a lunging Polar Bear!

When Uncle Jim returned from the North, he brought a Polar Bear rug with him.  Jim had draped the bear over a chair in the attic, with the gaping head on the seat. The terrifying jaws were at eye level as I emerged from the stairs.  

My first encounter with a polar bear left a lasting impression, and … 

… a small stain on the front of my pants. 



 

4 Responses

    • Russ Paton

      I had to look that one up. The bear in G’ma’s attic story is mostly true. Wiggle Your Worm, now that is purely apocryphal….

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