My Legendary Story

My great grandfather “Papa Kelly” knew a magician, Bill King, who lived in Glace Bay. Bill King was considered the “Houdini” of Cape Breton. He would always do magical acts around Cape Breton and especially in his hometown, Glace Bay. People would tell stories of him, about how he could constantly make things happen by only using his mind. For example, people say that one night at the Savoy theatre, which is a small theatre in Glace Bay, there was a magician who came in from out of town to perform and while he was on stage trying to hypnotize certain members of the audience he said he was unable to, due to someone in the crowed with greater “mind-strength”, and apparently it was Bill King. I know this because people say to this day that as soon as Bill left the Savoy, the out-of-town magician was able to properly continue his hypnotises performance.   

                Over the years while Bill King was alive, a lot of people did believe he had magical powers, but of course, there were some sceptics. To set the record straight and to prove the sceptics wrong, Bill King declared to people of Glace Bay that the day he dies “the earth is going to shake”. In November, 1929, Bill King died. That same day, after he was found dead, the only known Glace Bay earthquake took place.

My Earliest Childhood Memory

Hopefully my braids are perfect and my bow is clipped in tight, I hope my new dress and shoes coordinate. I can’t believe of all days, Mom is now telling me I have to get rid of my sookie. She tells me that I won’t be able to make friends if I keep it in my mouth. Oh right, now I have to not only walk into a classroom for the first time, I have to learn to make friends on my own for the first time.

            As if I didn’t have enough pressure for my first day of elementary school, Dad decided to provide me with some new shocking information. As he was driving me into the schoolyard, I noticed the kids who were walking to school being escorted through the crosswalk by a crosswalk guard. The guard was an older woman (or what I would consider to be old at that time), probably about 60 years of age, she was hunched over and had a severe limp, her left hand/arm was extremely crippled and turning inward from what I can only imagine to be a serious case of arthritis, and god love the woman but she looked like she was beaten with an ugly stick, and if that wasn’t bad enough her right eye was permenantly closed over. I remember instantly feeling sympathetic for the woman; however I was five years old and just as I was feeling bad I also couldn’t help but notice how much she resembled Igor. Immediately I poked my dad and pointed to the guard and shouted “Oh my god! It’s Igor!”

            Just as quick as the awful comment left my mouth, my dad looked at me and said “Brianna, don’t say that about your mother!” I asked him puzzled “What do you mean, my real mother?” This is when he continued to say something along the lines of “No one knows but me, and you can’t tell anyone, however, I think it’s time you should know that that crosswalk guard is in fact your real mother. Like I said no one knows, and especially not your “mom”, so no one can find out.” I remember sitting there in complete shock because at the time I was too young to understand that it was a prank or a cruel joke, (if you could call it that) I didn’t understand how it would be impossible for my real mom not to know the difference. I am not even adopted and my real mom is definitely indeed my real mom, however, at five years old I was young enough to believe otherwise.

            Yes, sadly and funnily enough, I was gullible enough to believe that the crosswalk guard was my “real” mom. Therefore, until about middle of grade one when kids would make fun of “Igor, the crosswalk guard”, I would stand up for her, and quickly get the kids to stop. Even though I wasn’t allowed to explain why I stood up for her, I would. She was my real mother after all.

            The funniest part is, my first year I was in class telling my friends about this story and they didn’t believe me, so I text my dad “Remember when you used to tell me the crosswalk guard was my real mom,” he replied “Because she is.”

The #2 Reef

Viewing down onto the reef, all that I would see were the bare, dirty backs of the kids from New Aberdeen or better known in Glace Bay, Cape Breton as “Number Two”, due to the number two coal mine the neighborhood is located on. Number Two is by no means a “fancy” neighborhood and the kids that live there are for the most part poor, to say the least. I was one of the fortunate few in Number Two who did not grow up in a low rentals company (split) home because my parents had fairly decent jobs. Although Number Two wasn’t an extravagant place to grow up, it did have some perks.

 The Number Two shore, as we call it, is a large cliff that runs from one end of Number Two to the other. The side of the cliff that is at the end of my street has a large reef protruding from the water and it extends about 20 feet long off the face of the cliff. This was the stomping grounds for kids in Number Two, a place to go hang out and swim during the day and a place to have bonfires during the night.

 Along with the sight of playful kids, all you could hear from the reef were sounds of laughter and the occasional screams of excitement and fear coming from the arrogant Number Two boys who thought it would be a brilliant idea to dive head first into the ocean from the highest points of the cliff. Although being a witness to these dives would bring on a sense of danger, oddly enough being down at the reef would bring a sense of security. I felt fearful and anxious for the kids who would show off, yet I would feel a sense of safety knowing that the kids there were my best friends and there was never any judgment, just simple enjoyment and entertainment.

In terms of smell, the Number Two shore had an ironic name, because flowing into the ocean down at the cliff was the neighborhood’s bathroom sewage. The best way I can describe the smell that came from the shore was like a giant, extremely dirty, fish tank. As you can imagine, this was not a pleasant smell. And sadly enough, that did not stop us from swimming down there. We loved every minute we spent there, despite the awful smell.

 The taste that filled our mouths down at the reef was very similar to the taste when you cry so hard that your tears go into your mouth, similar to licking a stick of course salt. Because of this, we would go home from being at the reef all day more parched than ever, ready to beg our moms for a large glass of Coca Cola (The only thing that seemed to quench the thirst).

Originally the cliff leading to the reef had a wooden staircase that we could easily walk down, however, about eight years ago, people burned the staircase down, and now all that’s left is a steep, narrow path that you have to run so fast down, you feel as though you are flying in order not to trip over your own feet.

Mournfully, due to an unfortunate accidents, right around the same time the stairs were burnt down, within a four or five month span, two kids (about 15 years old), died down at the reef. Due to this extremely unfortunate incident, and the overall danger in general, times spent at the reef are now nothing more than fond, yet distant memories, instead of a popular stomping ground us Number Two kids would get lost in our inner children at.

A work experience I will never forget.

Driving through the narrow streets of Chester with a crumpled map in my lap, no GPS and towing a twenty foot trailer behind the company’s Suburban, I knew my first co-op experience was going to be a difficult one.

Before my first co-op term, which was at Transport Canada as a ‘Boating Safety Student’ I had no sense of direction, my map reading skills were not sufficient to say the least, and my knowledge of boating safety or even boating in general was non-existent. I had absolutely no experience when it came to towing a trailer and the biggest vehicle I had ever driven was a regular sized car.

Unfortunately during my second year of University when the other PR students and I were trying to snag our first co-op, I was one of the last people to find one and I was getting desperate. When I went for my interview at Transport Canada to be a ‘Boating Safety Student’, I knew towing a trailer was a requirement. Right before I went into the interview I called my father and he simply said “Brianna, tell them you know everything there is to know about boats, you’re from Cape Breton (huge fishing community) so they will believe you, and tell them you feel confident in your abilities to tow trailers because oddly enough you had to do so for previous work experiences. I know all of this is pure bullshit but when you get home before the summer starts (when the co-op term commenced) I will make sure you know how to tow a trailer and you will have plenty of time to study up on the importance of boating safety and what it entails.”  

During the interview I discovered I was one of twelve being interviewed for the Boating Safety Student position. As soon as I heard this news I knew there was no way I was getting this job. The funniest part was when they asked me to “properly” lift an enormous box filled with thick heavy books, on any other occasion this would have been fine, but of course this day I was wearing four inch heels.

I must have won them over with my quick wit and charm because within a few hours they called me to tell me I had the job. Although the job requirements sounded fun, they were very difficult to say the least. From Thursday to Monday I had to tow the boating safety trailer (which was filled with boating safety guides that I had to spend two hours loading in) around the Maritimes by myself with a single map to different destinations. During an average day I was given a list of about ten different boating stores where I would have to distribute guides (all I was given was the address and a basic map of each province I visited), I would have about two or three different yacht clubs I would have to visit and do inspections of the club and club members’ boats, in addition, every weekend I would have to go and make people aware about the importance of boating safety at different summer events (usually lasting about eight hours). At these events I would have to pleasure of telling 75+ year old fishermen who’ve been on boats the majority of their lives that they needed to get a ‘Pleasure Craft Operator Card” if they wished to continue boating. Each weekend I would have to stay in different towns, either in New Brunswick or PEI. I believe the worst part was staying in different hotels during my entire work week by myself, and this lasted for four months (the entire summer).

However, despite how awful the job seemed at the time, I have no regrets and I am glad I was able to have such a great experience with so much responsibility for my first co-op term. And I can assure you that working at Transport Canada allowed me to appreciate my last two “desk jobs”. All-in-all, I guess it does pay off to be a bullshitting Cape Bretoner sometimes.

This is what I care about.

I am from a small town in Cape Breton called Glace Bay and I am a fourth year student taking Public Relations at Mount Saint Vincent University, and that fact doesn't even begin to describe or define me. I am not saying that in the sense that I am extremely worldly and profound, I am simply saying that it is what I am taking as my educational route and not what I care deeply about or would use to describe myself.

The majority of my family and friends would define me as being outgoing, passionate, sensitive, spoiled and impatient. They are right in some ways, but only because I have spent the majority of my money earned on clothes, shoes, accessories and things of that nature, my family and friends now have a preconceived stereotype of me as being a “shopaholic” and good to have around for comic relief. 

Yes, I will be the first person to admit that I do love to shop, I do. However what I honestly deeply care about is what I hope to do in the future and that is to change a negative aspect in the world for the better. And not just a simple positive change, I mean a change that will be continual and ongoing long after the day I die.

I know this aspiration is great and all; however, my problem in terms of what I want to do in the future is ironically the same problem I have with shopping, I want too much too soon and it is simply not achievable or attainable.

What I truly care about is to dedicate my life to making the world a better place. I want to stop sex trafficking, stop the war from continuing, help find a cure for cancer and Alzheimer’s, conserve and preserve the environment, and this is just to name a few. Unfortunately, this is no joke. I am not kidding when I say I literally catch myself constantly thinking about how I can make the world a better place, whether it is sitting in class or a movie theatre. And I know that sounds so cliché but it is sincerely how I think and feel. And I know I am nowhere near perfect and I can definitely be nicer to people in my everyday life, but I am still human. I feel as though I will not be satisfied until I make an extremely effective change in the world.

So my family and friends might be right, I am sensitive and passionate because I constantly think about how to help terrible things from happening to others and the environment, I am outgoing because I am not afraid or too shy to offer my help with these areas, and I am spoiled and impatient because I am a big picture thinker and a visionary because I want to change every bad situation in the world into a positive one right away. Even though I know it’s impossible for one person to make these changes a reality, I am hoping that although my PR degree does not define me, it will get me closer to my future goals.