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40 years ago today, Paul Henderson scored “the goal of the century”, CityTV opened its doors and I was born.
To most Canadians, the first event was pretty noteworthy. It was the final game of the Canada-Soviet Union Summit Series at the height of the Cold War. It was a scrappy fight for both hockey supremacy AND (ahem) democracy. So, you know, a ginormous international peeing match.
So, on September 28 1972, the patients and staff of a hospital in Toronto, like pretty much everyone across the nation, were fixed to the tube, watching the puck careen across the ice in fuzzy black and white.
My mother had taken the pain-relieving meds on offer in the 70’s (good ‘n heavy ones, so I’m told), and was oblivious to the scene beyond her labour experience.
Upon delivering me with success (YAY!), she was wheeled back to her room. It was in that moment that Paul Henderson made THE GOAL. The hospital exploded with cheers and hoots and celebration.
My mother, holding my swaddled self to her chest, looked up beatifically to my father and said, in her elegant but wonder-filled way: how marvelous, but really, she’s just a baby.
God, I love that story.
I love the vision of my stunning Mama, in her own world, bathed in love and in the belief that the world was cheering her (and me) on.
Maybe they were.
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