Re: Bank
from the catchmydrift.blog archives
Where I spent my formative years there was a small river that wound its way to Lake Ontario. Its banks were muddy, with tangled roots grasping for water. I hid plastic toy soldiers amongst these fibrous tendrils, lit small red firecrackers to imitate war. It felt safe here, with my back against the wall of cool earth, watching the creek water smoothly trickle past my feet.
I have Scottish ancestry so I feel a yearning kinship while humming the lilt from ’On the Bonnie, Banks of Loch Lomond’. One of my favourite television shows from childhood was the hypnotic black and white classic, ’Tales of the River Bank’. The creators seemed to imagine exactly what was on my mind as I used small toys to create a miniature world. This idea must have held a magical place for others as a new version of Hammy the Hamster was made into a film.
As a kid, I took to television with an eye for more than entertainment. I wanted to learn so encyclopedias became my first page turners. My mind quickly woke to history and how past events applied to current world issues. I chose stories that spoke of adventuring to different lands on the open sea. I could bank on authors like Farley Mowat to set a pleasing compass course by spinning tales of non or near fiction. His stories of man and nature contrived to inspire and are so relevant to today’s angst over the decline of Earth’s natural resources. In early adulthood, I wept through parts of ‘A Whale for a Killing’ and later gasped at his description of the abundance that once was found off The Grand Banks off Newfoundland in ‘Sea of Slaughter’. In high school my Student Aptitude Test results indicated I was destined to either be a Banker or a Lighthouse Keeper. Hardly occupations for my adventurous spirit! When my mom found out, I clearly remember her show of disappointment while my father made a joke of it by saying, “I wouldn’t bank on it son.”
In the northern Ontario town where I spent my career in teaching, my neighbourhood bank had a history dating back to Gold Rush days. When I first strode in to open an account I was awed by how much it reminded me of the banks depicted in the film Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid: Lots of wood, brass and a mammoth safe standing sentinel in a corner. It was hard to believe that this was in the late nineteen seventies! Two tellers sat behind antique looking arched frames with vertical bars. There was a small safety deposit box room at the very back but the only other room was one accessed by a heavy oak door on which was carved the manager’s name. I could stand in the present while dreaming of the past, as I enjoyed having my bank book stamped and updated by chatting tellers.
When a new bank-branch of chrome and glass was built into a modern mall nearby, some new fangled ATMs were installed to replace human cashiers. My sons taught me how to use these machines. It took time for me to feel comfortable within the walls of this unfamiliar bank. I guess you can’t bank on the future always being friendly.