My Family Legend

My family has a very rich and varied history - from my grandfather's beginnings as Captain of the Bell Island Iron Ore Mine in the 1960s to my generation, where all members of my family have made significant contributions to Canadian society through their professions in the medical field. While we are a modern family, we still hold on to the roots that make us what we are - Newfoundlanders. My family is spread across the eastern half of Canada and only my parents remain in Newfoundland. This does not matter, however, because we are all connected through the culture that flows through our blood like the icebergs that come down the Labrador Strait every spring and hug the Newfoundland shore.

There is one story that has been in my family since the 1920s - it happened to my grandmother Elizabeth and great-Aunt Hazel when they were very young children. Telling it now, I can still picture Nan, gone many years now. Withered and wrinkled, she had a voice that was soft as velvet when she was placating a young child's persistent request to hear the story over and over and over again.

One summer day in 1928 my great-grandfather was out tending to his garden. Normally, this would be a mundane daily task, but my great-grandfather had been blind since he was a child, so he required two of his daughters to help him from time-to-time. This gave them the opportunity to get away from the chores inside with their mother, and play like many children did on a beautiful day.

My great-Aunt Hazel was only five, and wanted to play in the vast expanse of meadow that was in front of their two-room home. She was persistent, Nan said, like there was something out there that needed to be done. My great-grandfather was content to let her roam - in the 20s the only concern was that the child did not cross the path of a black bear or be bitten by a mouse. Hazel was a bright child, my great-grandfather used to say, and she had her own mind set before anyone else did.

Hazel skipped off, singing something about meeting her new friend to play. My grandmother always said that she thought it was strange because they lived deep in the woods and it was miles between houses during those times. My great-grandfather thought it equally strange, and he suddenly stood straight up and said in a quick, urgent way for my grandmother to get Hazel and bring her back immediately.

Nan, who was around 12 at the time, questioned her father, who immediately repeated the request with more urgency than before. Nan used to say that her father spoke only two words when necessary when most would use four. Gathering her skirts, she quickly ran to the meadow, calling after her little sister. Nan could see the top of her head and she quickened her pace.

When Nan reached Hazel, she took notice of a second person. "This must be Hazel's new friend that Dad is so worried about," thought my grandmother. Because her eyes were never that great, Nan came closer and realized that this was no friend - or person, for that matter.

She stood at three feet, six inches tall at most, with wiry grey hair and wrinkles deep-set into her tiny face. She wore clothing that Nan had never seen before, and she had many pendants and jewelry on her tiny frame. Her eyes were black as night and they had a gleam in them that made my grandmother shudder. Nan knew what this was, and she reached into her pocket for the piece of hard tack, or hard bread, her mother routinely put in all of her and her sibling's sweaters.

"Remember child, whenever you encounter a fairy, always hold the hard tack in your hand, and they will not be able to touch you," her mother had told her many, many times before.

Hazel was too young to realize that what they were dealing with was a dreaded Newfoundland Fairy. I used to laugh at the idea, and pictured something similar to Tinkerbelle, but my Nan used to scold me, saying that the Fairies were a dangerous kind who used to lure small children from their homes and keep them for 50 years – releasing them at the same spot they had vanished. It was a truly frightening experience to sixty years old with no memory of the past five decades and my grandmother feared these creatures more than any black bear. Only hard tack kept them at bay from taking a child and replacing them with a "changeling" - a fairy that took the shape of the child but was not a child in any sense of the word.

Nan grabbed Hazel and picked her up, hurrying away as fast as she could with a struggling child in her arms. She could see the smile on the fairy's face turn from kind and gentle to a snarl - Nan had taken away her catch for the day, and it was obvious she was not happy.

When they returned to the house, their father was waiting anxiously. As they got closer, calm came over him and he held out his arms for Hazel, knowing she was safe without any of them speaking a word.

That night, my great-grandfather explained to Hazel what had happened, and my great-grandmother made sure to turn all of Hazel's sweaters inside-out and place a piece of hard tack in all her pockets.

Nan said that she was certain that the fairies knew her from that day on, and that they were always causing her mischief because she foiled their plans to take away her little sister. I always used to ask what they did to her to make her so certain, but she’d just smile - that grandmotherly smile that spoke volumes of the life within her and the infinite experiences she had, and said to me, every single time, "That's a story for another time, dear."

I never had the chance to hear that "other” story before my Nan passed away, but I know that this story will remain in my family for generations to come and the lessons are these:

Always listen to your parents and of course, the classic - never talk to a stranger.

You never know what it may be.

A Day In The Life of a Customs Officer

While working at an international airport, the chances of seeing a celebrity would seem to be greater than seeing Harrison Ford walking down the street. But when that airport is in Newfoundland, those encounters are few and far between.

One day while working an international flight I had my first celebrity encounter. All of my co-workers were buzzing with excitement. It was Ron Jeremy. I had seen him on the second season of Surreal Life on MTV, so I was excited at the prospect of seeing someone who was on television. Knowing his previous history as a porn star, I knew that he would be detained and questioned.

Like clockwork, Mr. Jeremy was lead into a back office to be questioned by Immigration officials, as he was planning on working in Canada. When I knew he was in the office alone, I grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen and tentatively walked towards the door.

“Where are you going?” asked a co-worker of mine.
“Oh, I just figured I’d ask if he’d give me an autograph,” I replied casually.
“Really? I figured you’d be too young to know any of his work,” he called back, snickering.

While I was completely embarrassed at the thought, I was still determined to get my slice of the celebrity cake. I ignored my laughing co-workers who had all heard the exchange. As I stood in front of the door, my co-workers imitated 70s porn music behind my back.

Walking in, I saw this 5”6 pudgy little man sitting at the desk with Nintendo hair and mustache that reminded me of Mario from Super Mario Brothers. He was filthy from head to foot, like he had been working in an auto shop for the last 8 hours instead of riding in the lap of luxury on a first-class flight. I had no idea why anyone would want to have sex with that, let alone pay him to do it. But, a celebrity’s a celebrity, and I didn’t care who he was.

He looked up from the papers he was filling out and smiled at me. I blushed and asked him politely that while it wasn’t protocol, if he would mind signing an autograph for me. His grin got bigger, and he looked me up and down while taking the paper and pen from me.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” he asked.
“Heather,” I replied.
“You look a little young to be in law enforcement,” he stated.
“Oh, that’s because I’m a student just working here for the summer,” I answered, pleased that I was engaging in some sort of conversation with someone I religiously watched on reality television.
“A student, really? That’s nice. I don’t get too many young, beautiful girls like yourself coming up to me for an autograph. In fact, you are a little young to be a fan of my work, don’t you think?” he said, laughing.

I could feel the heat stinging my cheeks. He actually thought I watched his other work! I started stammering, trying to shove out an explanation that I had seen him as a has-been celebrity on television, but to no avail – the words just could not leave my mouth. I stood there, helplessly, turning red from the tips of my toes to the top of my ears as he continued on.

“You look good in that uniform, sugar. You ever, ah, allowed to use it outside of work?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, handing me back the cursed piece of paper that had gotten me into this mess in the first place.

“Ah, no. Um, er, thanks for the autograph, it was nice meeting you,” I managed to spit out before turning back. I turned around blindly, and practically ran out of the office.

My co-workers had seen every minute of the exchange on the surveillance cameras, and when I walked back in, the chorus of porn theme songs continued and one of them walked up to me and said, very seriously, “Ma’am, I believe you ordered a pizza, exxxttraa sausage?”

I turned and walked out of the building.

I’ve never asked for another celebrity’s autograph since that day.