TARA MANDARANO
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Toronto's Broken—and Resilient—Heart

4/24/2018

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We moved to Yonge & Finch when I got pregnant. It was the only area in Toronto where we could afford a three-bedroom apartment, and we needed more space for the baby.

We weren't really familiar with the neighbourhood before renting there. I was lucky to have a good friend living across the road to show me the local gems. Most of our neighbours were Korean or Chinese, or Persian. It was a different world from trendy Yonge & Eglinton, but it woke us up and made us appreciate the United Nations of people we were living amongst. It felt odd to be the minority, but important to experience it at the same time.

Things stick out: Everybody smoked. On the streets. Hanging over balconies. There were lots of false fire alarms in our building. And loads of karaoke bars and great places to eat. They're all still there, of course, but now they're somehow tainted. Marred by what looks to be the hand of terrorism, whether it's a lone wolf or someone tied to a bigger organization.

A place doesn't stay the same once it's been on the news for the wrong reasons.

We lived right behind Yonge Street, a minute or two walk from where the first victim was found. I can't count the number of times I waited at that intersection to cross the street and grab the subway and go to work. The Starbucks at the bottom of the Xerox building was my caffeine home. It was also my haven, especially when I took mat leave way too early.

It's surreal to see your old hood on TV, on stations like CNN and BBC. We lived there for two years and eventually moved on, but Eve spent the first 18 months of her life there. It's where I went into labour at 3:00 am. It's where we took her home from the hospital.

It was our first real home as a family, even if we didn't own the walls or appliances. We loved the little park beside our place. The community centre. The stroll down to Mel Lastman Square on a Friday night in summer. The farmer's market. The relaxed vibe in the air.

I remember vividly the first time I took my newborn daughter out for a walk on my own in the middle of winter. She was dressed in a blue monkey snowsuit and I was terrified to be solely responsible for the little being cradled in my arms. They were shaking so badly. My heart was determined but terrified of bringing her out into the world with me as her only protection. What if something happened?

It was snowing heavily, and I suddenly felt guilty that her little angel face might get wet and cold, so I waited at the intersection and then crossed quickly to the building across the road. The warmth calmed me down immediately, and my breaths came a little slower. After 10 or 15 minutes, I worked up the nerve to leave. I recrossed the road and returned home, having somehow kept my baby alive. It was like a motherhood badge for my soul.

I'll always have fond memories of all our firsts at Yonge & Finch, and my heart goes out to everyone affected by today's tragedy. The horror of it all is keeping my eyes open tonight. As someone who doesn't drive and is a lifelong pedestrian, this type of incident is all the more scary.

I don't often consciously pray or get down on my knees, but right now I think our city and country (and world) need all the positive words and vibes and help we can get. I have to trust that justice will take care of the rest.

Something has to get better, soon. Doesn't it? How can it not? We can no longer live in a world that heaves with this type of everyday carnage and mess. We breathe it in in one city and exhale it out in another. It's an illness. How can we send our babies and children out into it, without their mother's arms, or snowsuits, or anything else to protect them?

When it the next thing happens, will it be to them?

Tonight it feels as if all I have are my anxieties and secret prayers. For the victims, their families, the first responders, the witnesses. The cop who didn't shoot. The mother of the murderer. For someone has to spare a thought for her.

​But mainly I'm praying and sending light and love to Toronto the Good. Because an incident like this can't take our name or our inherent goodness away from us. Something this awful only makes it rise up.

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I Have a Hero. I Call Him Dad.

4/10/2018

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The day starts innocently enough, watching videos under the covers. In my head I am already a bit stressed, since we have to be out the door and do school drop-off early today, in order to make it to a meeting with the vice principal at Eve's potential new school.

It's a week that has already seen me burst into spontaneous tears twice in the last two days, because my hormones are all over the place. So when my four year old with the Calabrese stubbornness refuses to brush her teeth because there's tiny drops of water on the brush, I take it off her and tell her I need some space. Then I lock the door for good measure.

After my shower, I head downstairs feeling slightly more magnanimous, and we hug it out. I am determined to be calm and put together for this school meeting. I make an avocado smoothie and take a satisfying sip. I am being healthy, I am in control. I GOT this.

Then my famous lack of spatial awareness decides to make an appearance. Suddenly the floor is mint green and speckled with glass. I feel those ever-ready tears rise up to the surface yet again, but I will them down and call my husband to help me clean up my mess.

But the vacuuming and blending of a new smoothie is all too much for my girl. She can't hear her Tayo the bus how on the TV, and she is SO not ready to get her coat or shoes on. More mayhem ensues, and then we all practically fling ourselves out the door to escape the negative energy of the house and start the rest of our day. 

But the universe is not done having fun yet. It seems we have another lesson to learn. While Eve screams her head off on the front steps, Michael and I realize something simultaneously. We have closed the door and both forgot our keys. The car keys, of course, are also inside the impenetrable fortress that used to be our house.

It is 8.50 am and we still have to drop Eve off at school and get to Newmarket by 9.30. But it's not going to happen. Michael calls an Uber and we manage to get Eve to school (of course none of this affects her usual routine). But then we are stranded again. It's too much money to take another Uber to Newmarket. We are not going to make the meeting, and we still have no keys.

But someone else does. My dad, that hero of a man who told us to always call on him when he retired (and even before then). Let me know if you need a drive somewhere, he would say. Let me know if I can help in anyway. Well, today we took him up on it, and he drove down to Richmond Hill without even having eaten, to pick us up and bring us home.

That's just who he is. As we sat in our driveway, worn out and still a bit frazzled from the emotional fracas, he asked if we needed anything else. That's just the kind of guy he is. 

Now we are home, the appointment rescheduled, feeling (mostly) settled and back to work, getting on with our different kind of day, and I am just reminded of how grateful I am to have him (and my mother) in my life. They're such a great support system to us, always putting my sister and I (and our families) first. 

So now I will try to get back to my regularly scheduled programming and put this morning's shit-show behind us. And later today we will go get a bloody extra key made to keep somewhere outside our bloody house.

2 Comments
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    Tara Mandarano

    is a writer, editor, and poet. Her writing ​has been nominated for the Best-of-the Net award, and has appeared in The Washington Post, HuffPo, Today's Parent, Los Angeles Review of Books, and Motherwell, among numerous other publications. She is also an advocate in the mental health and chronic illness communities.

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