Midnight Curfew.

Once the 80's decade began, I was even more determined than ever to get out from under my mother’s roof. For the sake of my own sanity, I just needed to. I was nineteen years old, paying her room and board yet she still had a fuck’n curfew on me. If I was not home by midnight she told me I would need to find another place to sleep and I would not be allowed into our apartment.

She said there would be no exceptions.

She made it crystal clear that even if I was one minute late she would be locking me out for the night. After midnight she would not be taking the chain lock off the door. My mother was so paranoid about her cheap and flimsy chain lock being on our front door every night while she slept. I knew she was serious, if I was not home by midnight I would not be sleeping in my own bed that night. For the most part her curfew was never even an issue; I was always home long before midnight anyways.

However, there were a few late night hockey games I didn't play because I knew I might not be home in time. I had been invited to play at rinks relatively close to our apartment where we would be off the ice at or before 11 pm. Normally that would give me plenty of time to get changed and be back home before my impending curfew. But I knew that whoever my ride back home was with, well he might want to have a couple beers during our dressing room banter after the game. I could not risk getting home after midnight because he wanted to hang around and shoot the shit with our buddies.

Imagine, how dare he even think about being so sociable, so selfish?

There was absolutely no way I could ever tell whoever was my ride that I had to be home by midnight because my mommy had given me a curfew. How fuck’n embarrassing would that have been? So I never played and I always told the guys I was busy, which was a big fat lie.

Although, I do remember spending one night sleeping in the lobby of our apartment building. It actually ended up being the building right beside ours. I will never forget the night my own mother treated me like a piece of trash.

It was the night of my first Collegiate Sports Christmas party. The company would always have one big party for all the staff from all the Toronto area stores at one location. It was usually at a hotel out by the airport. I had been an employee for just over four months and I was so excited about finally attending my first Christmas party ever.

Seriously, I had never been to a Christmas party before.

I had gotten a ride out to the party at the Constellation Hotel with Bruce who lived near me. I also had full intentions of getting a ride back home with him. Our store was very well represented that night and I was sitting at a table right beside Bonnie, the girl who I already had a huge crush on. Her boyfriend Greg was sitting on her other side. The party was such a blast and I was having such a great time. But, as the evening wore on I knew the party would not be ending until well after midnight.

What to do?

I decided I would use the ten dollar bill I had in my wallet for cab fare back home. At around 11 pm I started faking that I was feeling sick and I needed to go home. Everyone at the party felt bad for me because I was sick and leaving early. I assured them I would be fine and would see them all at the store on Monday morning. When I got outside all the cabs that had been there just a few hours earlier were gone. There was not a cab in sight.

Within ten minutes a cab arrived and I told the driver I would give him my ten bucks to drive me home quickly. He told me to hop in, I gave him my ten bucks and he drove me home without the meter running. My focus was now solely on my watch as the stroke of midnight was quickly approaching.

The cab driver drove very fast all the way to my apartment.

At 12:05 am I arrived home and quickly made a mad dash up to our second floor apartment. I unlocked and opened the door, but the flimsy chain lock was already on. My mother refused to open the door and I was furious with her. I could have easily kicked in the door and gotten inside, but I knew that would mean I would be finding another place to live the next day.

Our building lobby had a broken heater that night. It was freezing cold outside so I walked over to our neighboring building and its warm lobby. That is where I spent the night and I don’t remember how much sleep if any I got. Should anyone have asked why I was there, I was prepared to tell them I lost my key and was waiting for my mother to get home.

The next morning my mother let me back into my apartment. She told me how it broke her heart locking me out after seeing me from her bedroom window in the lobby. She said that she needed to teach me a lesson. Otherwise without any consequences, I would be breaking curfew all the time.

It was just another example of how unreasonable my own mother could be. Everything with her was black or white with no grey area in sight. My mother locked her nineteen year old son out of his home. The same nineteen year old son who was now paying her thirty bucks a week to live there.

I now had two things of utmost importance I needed to do as I entered the 80's.

One, I needed to get my own car.

Two, I needed to get out from under my mother’s myopic black and white world. I needed to add some colour into my life.

Within a year my brother was now working and also paying room and board. My mother was now preparing for our move from Lawrence Heights. There was an apartment building on Lawrence Avenue that she really wanted to move to. Many of her friends from her Kingdom Hall were also living there and she was now on the waiting list for a two bedroom apartment. It would be just a matter of time before the three of us would no longer be Jungle bunnies.

My mother had finally become much more lax with all her crazy rules and I was no longer under a curfew. Afterall, I was almost twenty years old. I was coming and going as I pleased and although I never had a curfew, I was always home well before midnight anyways. However, I did get the impression that since we’d soon be moving, my mother was going to need my room and board money more than ever. She would be signing a yearly lease and her rent would be much higher than what it was at Flemington Road.

It took a decade, but I could finally feel my mother’s regime was slowly mellowing.

It would be the spring of 1980 when my mother was notified that a two bedroom apartment was becoming available later that summer. She immediately accepted it and gave her notice that we would no longer need subsidized housing. I was okay with it although it meant I would now have to take a bus and a subway to get to my job at Collegiate instead of the fifteen minute walk I now enjoyed.

I now more than ever needed to get my first car.

Within a couple months after getting my first car, the three of us moved out from our apartment on Flemington Rd. The Jungle was now a much different neighborhood than it was the day when we moved in back in the summer of 1969. The demographics were changing rather quickly and I didn’t like what I was seeing.

Lawrence Heights was now becoming a rougher, tougher neighborhood.

There was never a murder in the Jungle during the ten years while I lived there. However, there have been numerous murders committed over the years following my departure. Sadly, within three decades the Jungle had gone from being a newly built, well maintained subsidized housing project to the ghetto it is today.

Our apartment on Flemington Rd. had served its purpose and did what it was intended to do. It put a roof over the head of a single mother raising her kids until they got back on their feet again. It took us just over ten years and it wasn’t easy, but now we were finally leaving.

Our new sixth floor apartment was much bigger and much nicer than our old apartment. My brother and I still shared a bedroom and we now also had a balcony. The building had indoor parking, but to save money I parked in the free outdoor spot. My room and board as well as my brothers was now fifty bucks a week and my mother also started working full-time.

I was committed to living in our new apartment for at least a year since that was what my mother signed the lease for. Although, I still wanted to get out from under my mother’s roof. Our new apartment along with my freedom to come and go as I pleased made for a much cheaper alternative.

For now, it would suffice.

Update* In 2011 the City of Toronto endorses a 20 year plan for the revitalization of Lawrence Heights. Revitalization at Lawrence Heights includes replacing 1,208 TCHC units and building over 4,000 new market units, along with new parks, retail space, and roads connecting Lawrence Heights to the surrounding community. The plan to revitalize Lawrence Heights reflects input from residents, neighborhood organizations, and the City of Toronto, and will occur in four phases.