The Skates

Michael had learned many valuable things from his parents. How to tie his shoes. How to fix a flat tire on his bicycle. How kindness mysteriously attracts kindness. How gladness to be alive and self-sufficiency could help you overcome just about anything the world might capriciously send barreling your way.

Every Saturday morning, Michael would find his small allowance laying patiently beside the cookie jar: fifty cents a week. This sum had been recently topped up on his tenth birthday. A ten cent increase. In his eyes, it was huge. In return, Michael was expected to help with the dishes, take out the garbage and keep his room as tidy as a young hurricane could reasonably be expected to.

With a little planning, and some judicious delayed gratification, he could make his allowance last the whole week. Following his mother’s advice, he set aside thirteen cents per payday, tucking the funds away in the old Orange Pekoe tea tin he kept hidden on the top shelf of his bedroom closet. He was saving for a new banana seat and monkey bars for his bike. The rest of the cash he blew, a little at a time.

Down to Karl and Anne’s corner store he would ride every day after school to stare at the cornucopia of dazzling candied confections arrayed beside the cash register: blackballs, three for a penny; Kraft caramels, on cent apiece; Swedish Berries; miniature ersatz ice cream cones of pure sugar ecstasy; gummy bears and Turkish Delight. The choices were so difficult, it often took more than ten minutes to choose a nickel’s worth of the dentist’s best friends.

It did not take long for Michael to learn that he could supplement his allowance by using his boundless imagination and a little initiative. In the summers, he would pick blueberries to sell to Mrs. Crockford for more than a very fair price. In the spring, he would hire himself out to wash windows. He would rake leaves in the fall and shovel driveways in the winter. “If you really set your mind to it” he thought “a ten year old kid could live the life of Riley.”

In of the winter of 1965, while exploring the Sports Department in the Canadian Tire store on Cassells Street, he was stopped dead in his tracks. In Aisle 6, without warning, he fell in love for the third time in his life. It wasn’t with Lise Payette or Suzette Tremblay this time. No, this time it was different. There, on the top shelf of Aisle 6, sat a pair of tan and black Bauer Supreme 400’s, skates so beautiful he could already imagine scoring a thousand goals in his first PeeWee season, and then getting drafted, as the youngest player ever, to lead Davy Keon, George Armstrong and the rest of his beloved Maple Leafs to another Stanley Cup.

Michael just had to have those skates. Only one thing was holding him back. The skates, those beautiful skates, carried a price of $32.95, on sale. With a bit of quick arithmetic, he calculated that he needed to supplement his Orange Pekoe fund to the tune of $8.19. He could ask his parents for a loan and it would probably have been granted with an agreed upon repayment schedule.

“I’m going to do this on my own” he concluded. “I will just shovel some extra driveways. Maybe expand to Albert Street.”

Armed with his unconquerable determination, Michael ran home, but not without one last glance at the objects of his desire, as they waited, patiently, for him on the top shelf. He leapt up the back steps of his house, threw off his snow boots and immediately checked the paper for the weather reports. Looked like snow in two days. Nine inches or more. Woo hoo!

Now Michael knew there would be competition in the driveway shoveling market. Any North Bay kid with a little ambition would be out in two days, scouring the neighbourhood for business.

“I know what I’ll do” he mused. “I’ll go out right now and knock on doors. Offer a 10% discount to anyone who will sign up today for my future shoveling services. Beat the competition to the punch. Corner the snow shoveling market.”

Out he went and knocked on every door on Angus Street. Mr. Antrim signed up. He would be out of town for the rest of the week and it would ease his pregnant wife’s mind knowing the driveway and walks would be cleared should the predicted snow come. Then it was off to Terra Incognita, also known as Albert Street. It was just a couple of blocks from his house but Michael had never tried to do business outside his customary bailiwick. This did not deter him. A young entrepreneur must learn to face uncertainty with a smile and persistence.

On his twenty third sales pitch, Michael thought he had found a taker. Mrs. Simms answered her door. She w a seventy five year old widow who lived alone in a tiny well-kept bungalow next to Ste Anne’s school. She still worked six days a week as the short order cooking genius at the Delmar Restaurant on Main Street. She loved her job and her customers loved her. Mrs. Simms needed to keep working even though her tired body kept begging her to retire. Unfortunately, her pension was too miniscule for her to keep up her property and allow her to live independently. To Mrs. Simms, her independence was sacred.
Michael had often seen her, always walking with a slight limp wherever she went. He would have been surprised to know that she spent half her waking hours on her feet so that she would be a burden to no one.

“Good morning, ma’am. It’s a lovely day isn’t it?”

“It certainly is, young man” replied a bemused Mrs. Simms.

“Ma’am, I’m saving up for a new pair of skates. I am hoping to earn what I need, by providing to my neighbours, services of the highest quality. Today, I have for you the best offer in the history of Angus…I mean Albert Street.”

“Yes, dear?” smiled Mrs. Simms.

“Well, it’s supposed to snow on Tuesday. Nine inches. For $1.80, a 10% discount from my regular price, I will shovel your driveway and steps better than anyone ever has. No obligation. If not done to your satisfaction, I will keep returning until you are happy with my work.”

In her mind, Mrs. Simms was thinking how nice it would be to come home from work on Tuesday, knowing she could rest her sore feet and tired shoulders, without having to clear her driveway first. Yet, money was too tight for such an imaginary luxury.

“That is a marvelous offer, dear. But it’s one I can’t afford. Besides, the exercise does me good.”

There was short pause and she continued.

“What is your name, little businessman?”

“Michael. Michael Paynter.”

“I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Michael Paynter. My name is Margaret Simms.”

As she extended her soft hand, Michael took it gently and gave it the requisite three business-like pumps, taking out just enough intensity to ensure no injury was caused.

“If you have moment, come inside, Michael. I’ll be right back.”

Mrs. Simms disappeared for a moment to another part of the house. The kitchen, where he was standing, was immaculate. The smell of fresh bread cooling suffused his hungry nostrils. Soon, Mrs. Simms returned with her purse.

“It’s not much. But put this into your new skates fund. Score your first goal for me.”

Michael did not want to take the shiny dime from someone who needed to be very careful with her money. On the other hand, to refuse her generosity would be terribly unkind.

“Thank you, Mrs. Simms. My first three goals will be for you.”

Off our young entrepreneur went, turning the dime around thoughtfully in his pocket. He kept knocking on doors well into the evening. He had managed to sign up three more customers. He couldn’t wait for the snow to start falling.
Right on schedule, huge flakes of crystalline gold began to fall. Michael squirmed at his desk all day Tuesday, until, at last, the bell rang, releasing him to start earning money for his new skates. He ran home to grab his shovel. First call: Mrs. Antrim’s. He was done in forty five minutes. Without wasting a second, he galloped to Albert Street. By the time he finished his fourth driveway of the day, he was exhausted. And he still had to do the one at home. But the sound of coins clinking in his pocket reminded him it was all worth it.

As he made his way home, he saw Mrs. Simms slowly moving the heavy mess left by the snow plow. How tiny she looked.

“Mrs. Simms. Let me help you.”

“Hello, Michael Paynter. You should head home for supper, dear. I can manage just fine.”

Before she had completed her sentence, Michael started digging. The job was done quickly.

“I’m afraid I cannot pay you today, Michael. I don’t get paid until Saturday.”

“No thank you, Mrs. Simms. This just helps me get into hockey shape. Besides, I owe you three goals. I’m getting my new skates this Thursday and we’re playing the Kiwanis team on Friday. Under the lights at Laurentian Playground. 7pm. My uncle Tom and my parents are coming to watch. Can’t wait. See you, Mrs. Simms. Wish me luck. I’ll let you know how we do.”

After school on Thursday, Michael raced downtown to buy his new skates. What beauties they were. That night, without telling his mother, he slipped them on and carefully slid his way under the covers.

Friday night could not come soon enough. Kiwanis put up a good fight but, in the end, Michael’s team triumphed by a score of 10-9. He and his new skates had scored two goals and hit a post. His debt to Mrs. Simms would surely be paid off by the next weekend. As he walked home after the game, he made a note to drop by Mrs. Simms’ place the next evening, once she had returned from her shift at the Delmar.

At 6:30 pm on Saturday, Michael made his way over to Albert Street to tell Mrs. Simms all about his two goals, the goal post, the big victory and how he would have her third goal by next week’s game.

“That’s odd” he thought. “Mrs. Simms doesn’t own a car.”

He continued up the driveway and knocked on the door. In a few seconds, an unfamiliar face appeared.

“May I help you?” inquired a handsome middle aged women.

“Is Mrs. Simms at home? I’ve come to tell her about the game.”

“The game?”

Michael told the woman about the dime and the promised goals. For quite a while, the woman said nothing.

“Are you Michael?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“My name is Amelia Simms. My mother told me a lot about you. You made quite an impression on her.”

There was another long pause. Michael could tell something was not right. The words were not coming easily to Amelia.

“Michael, my mother passed away last night. A neighbour found her on the path to the playground. She had fallen into the snow and I guess she couldn’t get back up. She had called me from her work on Friday to tell me she wouldn’t be home till late. She told me she was going to see her little Davy Keon dazzle all of Laurentian playground in his new skates.”