1988

I grew up in an environment where showing too much confidence was equated with cockiness, and self-assurance was looked upon more as a sense of superiority than a virtue. Instead of being encouraged to loudly celebrate achievements, we were told not to be a braggart.

"Be careful; your head is swelling so much it might explode" is a comment that I've heard many times, directed at many different people in my extended family.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not suggesting it was abusive or even intentionally demeaning, just my family's style of keeping each other grounded. Perhaps it came from our Catholic upbringing where we were taught pride is a sin and humility is next to godliness. Perhaps it was just our parents passing on the behavior traits they learned from our grandparents and great- grandparents before them.

Either way, the teasing was always said in jest, never meant to be insulting, and always met with laughter. Nobody ever asked the intended target how they felt about it, and even if they did, they would never be told the truth. It was easier just to laugh it off.

Which is precisely what I did when my uncle's response to me telling him I scored 100% in my first exam in college, was "Well, I guess you got nowhere to go but down." I laughed. It was funny, so funny in fact that I still remember that comment more than thirty years later. Haha indeed.

The year was 1987. I had graduated high school a few years earlier, and other than working part-time jobs in a newspaper printing shop and a department store, I hadn't yet decided what I wanted to do with my future.

Except for the six months I spent in Toronto in 1984, and Alberta in 1985, I was still living at home, stagnating in life and responsibility and had very little motivation to change either.

I decided I needed to make a change.

The previous year, I had taken two short night classes in computer programming, and while I enjoyed the classes, I also discovered I was quite good at the subject. My local community college was offering a full-time program. It was a 14-month course, starting in August of 1987, ending in September of the following year. I enrolled, hopeful that completing the course would offer me not only a sense of direction, but also an education leading to a brighter future.

While studying full-time and working part-time at the customer service desk in a department store didn't leave much room for a social life. I did manage to somehow find time for friends and family in between classes and work shifts. I even managed to attend the occasional party.

Everything was coming up roses, as they say – until it wasn’t.

In January of 1988, my maternal grandfather was admitted to hospital for end-of-life care. His hospitalization occurred during the same week I was writing my first term exams.

On exam day, I wrote my test, visited my grandfather, and headed back home to study for the next exam. I have no idea how I managed to hold it together, getting by on nothing but adrenaline and the knowledge that he would have wanted me to.

My Pop passed away about a week after the term ended, and though it was expected, it in no way lessened the pain of his loss. He was one of the most beloved and respected people in my life. I’m sure he would have been proud to know that, despite the difficulty of losing him, I achieved the best grades in the class on my first term exams.

The second term started about a week later. I got back to my routine of daytime classes, nighttime work and study, and spending time with friends and family on weekends. Once again, everything was going great - until it wasn’t.

Six months after my grandfather’s death, my brother picked me up one evening after my shift at the department store and informed me that our father had died.

My grandfather's death, while very painful, was expected. My father's death was an absolute jolt.

We knew dad wasn't well. He suffered from Huntington’s disease and had gone through a gradual deterioration in the previous few years since his diagnosis. Though we were aware that the disease would eventually kill him, we expected that he would live a few more years and continue his decline until the end. We were not expecting that he would have a massive heart attack at 52 years old.

A day or two after his death, while discussing arrangements, my mother suggested that I sing at my father's funeral. I had never sung in public before. My only crooning had come at karaoke or at parties with family and friends strumming guitars, and usually only after a little liquid courage.

It didn't matter that I was told I had a beautiful voice. I never had the confidence to match. My family knew this. My aunt's immediate reaction to my mom’s suggestion was that she thought it was a bad idea. She didn't think I could hold myself together long enough and all but insisted that I not do it.

Her utter lack of faith in me had the opposite effect that she intended. I said yes. I was going to sing at my father's funeral, and nobody was going to tell me that I couldn't.

Well, guess what? I did it, and I nailed it! I held back the tears, and I didn't miss a note. After I was done and safely back in my seat, I fell apart. The grief of losing my father, muddled with the pride I knew he would feel, swelled in my heart and flowed from my eyes like a river.

Due to the shock of my father’s death and the lingering pain from the loss of my grandfather, I decided to take some time away from my computer course to work on my grief. I went back a couple of weeks later, worked extremely hard to catch up, and am happy to say that two months later, when the final exams were completed and the results posted, I graduated with top grades in the course and was presented with the "Award of Excellence" for Computer Studies.

One thing I learned about myself from that year, and that day of my father’s funeral, is that I can do anything when I must. I still have a confidence issue that stems from childhood, and I think I always will. I will never be comfortable trying new things or putting myself out there in public. That’s not to say that I won’t do it. I just won’t be comfortable about it, whatever it may be.

I’ve been a Vocal member for two years. I have had numerous Top Stories and placed in three challenges. Yet, every time I write something new, I question myself before hitting SUBMIT. Is this good enough? Will anyone want to read it? Do I even want people to read it?

My telling you this is not a cry for acknowledgement or me wanting my ego stroked. It wouldn’t matter anyway. My confidence issue has been with me since childhood, and I imagine it always will be. It won’t go away because you tell me my story is good (but feel free to do so).

This is about me accepting that I have this self-doubt, but not letting it stop me.

It’s about me, not only completing, but acing my computer course despite losing two of the most important men in my life in a six-month period. It’s about me, despite my lack of confidence, being willing to share my stories and my poems and my thoughts, and even to bleed on, the pages of the internet for anyone to see.

But mostly it’s about 1988; when on one of hardest days of my life, I smugly grinned at my aunt’s lack of faith in me, gave the finger to my own self-doubt, and sang a song of amazing grace at my father’s funeral.