Even though the idea for this post has been rattling around my brain for a couple of years, I still didn’t get on it to publish it when I wanted to. I did think the date I was shooting for was in July but even so, I still wasn’t ready for that either.

They say that home is where the heart is and even though we left the sticks of Quebec four decades ago; I still think of it as back home.

June 2nd, 2018 marked the 40th anniversary of the Broomfield clan arriving in Red Deer. I was 12 years old, my brother; Kevin, was 11 and my baby sister; Lucille, was 5.

We left our little winterized cottage at Keatley Lake, Quebec on May 26th, 1978. Five of us in a green 1970ish Mercury Meteor heading towards Fort St. John, BC in search of work for my dad.

I don’t really remember much of the actual trip other than it was a lot of sitting in a hot car. I know we stopped in Sault Ste. Marie and English River as our Ontario sleeping spots and Brandon as our Manitoba stop. I don’t remember the other sleeping spots.

I remember seeing the vegetation thin out as we approached Sudbury and the closer we got, the less plants there were. It seemed a bit surreal driving through a city that looked like it should be on the surface of the moon. We saw the giant “nickel” up on the hill and the really, really tall smokestack that was the cause of the lack of vegetation.

I do remember stopping in Lethbridge when we had car trouble and dad was going to look for a job until we saw a group of people sitting in a park passing a brown paper bag around and drinking out of it and mom was “nope”. I remember getting to Calgary as it was getting dark and mom was “too big”.

I remember as we were approaching Red Deer and were coming down Antler Hill my sister really, really had to pee so we pulled to the side of Highway 2 for her to squat. Turns out this would be foreshadowing of her need to learn how to use squat toilets when she moved to Beijing, China in 2012.

We got to Red Deer and drove through town, stopping on the north side near the edge of town at The Bluebird Motel for the night. The motel was torn down years ago and I couldn’t find any photos of it.

When mom and dad went in to register; the desk clerk looked at their last name and said he had some other Broomfield’s there already. “A really tall guy with a really short pregnant woman?” My mom asked.

Turns out my uncle Jerry and aunt Annette who had left about 2 weeks ahead of us had arrived at the same motel the day before us.

Mom liked the look of Red Deer and decided we should see what we could find here for work and housing.

I don’t remember how long we were at the motel but soon we were all moving into a duplex on 63rd Street in the Highland Green neighbourhood. Dad got a job at the Revlestoke lumber yard for $4.50/hr – $2.00/hr less than what he was making in Quebec.

My aunt and uncle only stayed with us a couple of days before deciding to head back to Quebec. My cousin Anita was born down there a couple of months later. They would move to Calgary a couple of years later.

We were only in the duplex for a month or so. We moved a bit north to the Mustang Acres trailer court. That’s right, we were now officially trailer trash.

The park has changed some in the ensuing years (it’s actually trashy now).

I started grade 8 at GH Dawe school that September. Apparently my grades were good enough that I didn’t have to do my grade 7 exams. I remember laughing when people said the K-grade 8 school was big. As a little grade 7 student I was in a grade 7-11 school with over 600 student and an attached French school with around 800 students.

Grade 8 was the best year of my scholastic career. I wasn’t an A student by any means (except in French. It was like my grade 2 Quebec French so it was actually easy.) My new friends and I spent every lunch hour out playing sports and our principle, Don Campbell, came out every day to coach us, no matter the weather. I was part of the “Outstanding Students” group that year. I still remember how mad the brainiacs were at us. Apparently they didn’t base it on grades for the first time ever.

Summer of 1979 saw us all fly back down east to visit everyone and arrange to get some of the stuff we left behind. I really don’t know how my parents managed to have enough money for airline tickets and be able to rent a car for the couple weeks we were there, but somehow they did it.

It was nice to go back as that would be the last time I would see 3 of my 4 great grandparents. I also got to spend a bit of time with my friend Adam Kerr (who I knew as Darren at the time). I haven’t seen Adam since, but FaceBook allowed us to re-connect.

Dad had moved on to work at the Coca-Cola plant and then he was working in the construction field for Bennett and White on the new Normandeau school.

Because we lived north of 67th Street I couldn’t go back to GH Dawe for grade 9. I had to go to Normandeau.

Another year, another school. And what a shitty school it was.  I had an English teacher that was abusive (not to me, but others) and a bit crazy. (He left part way through the year and we drove the substitute out too.) Their replacement was a good guy though. The gym teacher had a bad case of short man syndrome and I’m pretty sure he still does. I did have a couple of teachers that were good. The students were another thing at that school. I think I know what it feels like to attend reform school. I had more bullies in one class than I’d had in my previous 8 years of school and I’d had more than a few over the years.

January of 1980 saw us move to the Belvedere Apartments complex on the south hill. It was a low rental townhouse complex but they were still called apartments.

As much as I hated being at Normandeau School, I hated the idea of going to a new school even more so I refused to switch to West Park Junior High like my brother did. I figured it would be bad enough to that I had to go to high school in the fall and I already knew my school bullies.

I managed to pass all my grade 9 classes with fairly average marks. I had decided not to take French for the first time in my life as it was optional. I took Art instead and was really enjoying it until my pregnant teacher had to leave to have the baby and her substitute and I did not see eye to eye. I managed to transfer into French for 1/2 a semester and apparently got the 3rd highest mark in the City on the final exam. (Something I didn’t even know until someone I beat on the test told me in grade 10.)
I tried band for the 1st and last time in grade 9. I tried to play the trombone because the 2 cutest girls in the band played it. (Turned out I couldn’t read the music but I could kind of follow along. I transferred out of band too.)

September of 1980 saw me start at Lindsay Thurber Composite High School (Later changed to Comprehensive.).

It was the start of my 4 years there. (Yes I know high school is only 3 years but I had some issues and I never really liked being in school.)

Well that is enough early history of the Broomfield clan in Alberta.

And so while a whole lot of my history has happened out here in Alberta I still sometimes miss the quiet life I had in Quebec. I wasn’t happy to leave my friends and life behind to move but as I’ve aged I have come to be thankful that we made the move. While I don’t think I would of been an ignorant hillbilly if we had of stayed, I realized that I learned different things living in the city. And for that I am forever grateful to my parents that we made the move.

I’ve been back 5 times in 40 years and I was hoping to be able to go back this year. There is still time so you never know.