The thrilling conclusion of this 30-part nostalgia odyssey, told in a old family snapshots.

Foto Flashback #21: The Damn Dog(s)

Grandpa Wrubell was a funny old guy. By funny I mean cranky much of the time, but still kinda funny. He would put ketchup and mustard in his soup sometimes. And he loved to smoke. Always with a 3 inch cigarette holder. He rolled his own smokes and I loved watching him do it. He would dump a container of Players tobacco on the kitchen table and start rolling away with a practiced, confident rhythm. His movements were hypnotic and I loved the smell of the tobacco.

He also loved his stupid damn poodle, Benji. They were inseparable, Benji always on his lap as grandpa sat in his lounge chair (no one else allowed to sit there), whispering to the dog playfully in his thick Polish accent. Grandpa was born in Canada but everybody in that part of Saskatchewan was Slavic so the accent stuck. He would feed the dog cheese, and it loved him back to the point that it hated all other humans. Try to hug grandpa or even approach him and that damn dog would go into murder mode, barking and snapping at you. I love dogs but that damn dog sucked.

Grandpa taught Benji to smoke. He would put the cigarette holder in the dog’s mouth and it would kind of lap at it, sure enough puffs of smoke came out of the lit end. Grandpa loved this trick. I guess we all did. It was freakish and hilarious. And when it was over I’d go back to hating that damn dog.

After Benji died grandpa got an identical poodle and named it Tippy. If anything, that damn dog was even worse. He had a type, my grandpa. Damn dogs.

Foto Flashback #22: Dwarf Lord

The Jason you see here is very pleased but not very present. He appears to be with his family, cruising smoothly down a highway somewhere in Canada sometime in the summer of 1984, but in reality he is with the valiant defenders of Helm’s Deep, in the year 3019 of the Third Age of Middle-Earth.

This Jason is not holding a cheap wooden hatchet from a frontier gift shop, he is wielding an ancient battle-axe, forged by his legendary forefathers. And this Jason is not quietly sitting shotgun in an Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera (a fine family vehicle!), he is marauding across the battlefield, cleaving skulls with a cry of triumph that strikes fear into the dark hearts of Orcs and Hillmen alike.

This Jason is not a skinny 11-year-old boy from the suburbs but a mighty dwarf lord from the Iron Hills east of Erebor, and since he’s at least 100 years old no one can tell him when to go to bed.

Foto Flashback #23: Brace Face Jace

The first 13 years of my life featured much dental work, and the amount of money spent on my janky teeth was probably insane.

My first dentist was an old school, child-hating monster who instilled in me a decades-long fear of mouth-related medicine. He was not gentle, not friendly, and seemed to loved needles. No doubt he watched Marathon Man every morning before going to work.

Later dentists were a little nicer (anything is better than a sadist), but their work on me still a chilling experience every time. I had many teeth pulled for various reasons, and a complicated program of orthodonture that required a few years of retainers, rubber bands, night time headgear, and big fat braces.

I was worried that the braces would hurt my chances with the girls but just look at me here, happily working away at my word search puzzles. Braces or no braces, I was a gangly dork who specialized in unrequited crushes. Talk about misplaced concern.

Good news is all that work was worth it and by the time high school started I boasted the teeth of a dental Adonis. All the girls said so.

Foto Flashback #24: Grandma

Angeline Wrubell. Born on February 8th. Her first child, my dad, was also born on February 8th. As was I.

Note: Mom went into labour on February 1st but it was a false alarm. As my folks left the hospital the nurses assured them they’d be back the next day. But dad said it’d be on his birthday. And then, as he liked to tell it “We got home and I tied Lois’ knees together for 7 days. Sure enough, Jason was born on my birthday.”

Grandma was a saint. Born in Canada but sounded like she just got off the boat from Gdansk. A sweet and stoic woman, whenever I’d ask how she was doing she would invariably answer, “Oh, you know. Not too good, not too bad.” A bear could be chewing her leg off and the answer would not change.

I loved visiting her house. There was hard candy in an etched glass bowl, fun games to play, and she made hands down the best perogies, cabbage rolls, and borscht. Her garden produced cukes and carrots that she pickled to perfection, and she kept her bounteous raspberry harvest in the freezer, stored in grandpa’s now empty Players tobacco containers. So for dessert, she would serve bowls of thawed out mushy, juicy raspberries with white sugar sprinkled on top. I would kill for some right now.

She hardly ever sat down with us during a big family meal. She’d continue cooking and serving up food, and then when you were too full to keep going she’d serve you some more.

She was dutiful and hardworking, but I’m sure she struggled, raising a family while living with a distinctly hard to live with man. One time, grandpa got drunk, got ornery, then picked up a knife and chased her out of the house. My aunt told me this story like it was a kooky anecdote, not an event that would scar you for life. I was floored.

But that’s dad’s family. I feel like no matter what went on, they just stiff-upper-lipped it. If life weirded out, you swallowed it and moved on. You were “ok”.

There are a lot of people who appear to be ok. Funny, engaging, functional, coping in whatever ways they can. They push stuff back down, keep it at bay. And how are they doing?

Oh, you know – not too good, not too bad.

Foto Flashback #25: My Sister

Sweet Cathie. She is almost 6 feet tall, and whip-smart. She’s a big goof but also a fitness freak who can probably kick your ass.

As kids, we had our share of fun and frivolity together, but Cath is the middle child, has a huge heart, and wears her emotions on her sleeve. This made her an easy target when I all too often teamed up against her with my brother, whom I worshipped.

But after Greg left the house, Cath and I settled into a pretty friendly new dynamic. I was the junior partner but we’re only 3 years apart and as I moved into my teen years we became much cooler with each other.

We shared a million inside jokes, mainly one-liners from movies and wisecracking mimicry of our befuddled parents. All these little code phrases we used to communicate and crack each other up. They still work.

In our adult lives, we’re super tight, and she’s just the most fun to be around. Making her laugh is one of life’s great joys and I recommend it highly. If she thinks you’re funny she really lets you know. And it just so happens that I am the funniest person she knows. When I can get her rolling downhill with laughter the pitch of her voice rises to a squeak, her face scrunches up from the intensity of her enjoyment, the big beautiful smile gets wider and brighter, and she will definitely do some snorting. And the snorting begets more hysterical laughter. Finally, if I’m really good, comes the ultimate validation – the tears of mirth. You see, Cathie is blessed with the good sense to let fun times fill her up and sweep her away. It’s wonderful to witness and a trait her two wonderful daughters have inherited.

When I look at these old photos of her it’s not like one or two memories come to mind, though there are many, it’s more an appreciation for her body of work. Like a lifetime achievement award. And after 48 years of discovering and rediscovering how amazing she is I’m not just her littlest brother, I’m her biggest fan.

PS – I know she would also want me to let you know that she’s an incredibly good driver.

Foto Flashback #26: Mr Big Suit

Part of me wants to leave it at “this is a super sharp, timeless look and there’s not much more to say about it.”

But let’s dive deeper, shall we? Spring 1991, and the end of high school was fast approaching. I wanted to cut a fine figure at the accompanying celebrations so I hit Southcentre Mall and marched into Tip Top Tailors to buy my first ever suit.

You may be asking yourself – Had the salesman given me a bulk discount for all this extra fabric? Did I want something roomy to wear while shoplifting? Was I managing a call center? No, no, and no. I believed I looked good in that suit. Why?

Because, man, I looked good.

Also purchased were two ties that reflected my two sides. Bright, brash blossoms for sassy party times, and a deep, muted floral print for more reverential occasions.

The shoes were basic black but spicy in their own right. Suede wingtip brogues that didn’t shout out loud but when you noticed them, they wowed you.

And did this look serve me well at the graduation dance? How dare you even ask! I became a double-breasted dervish, whooshing my voluminous suit all over the dancefloor, tropical tie jouncing along with my cutting edge, acrobatic moves. I even ended up with lipstick on my lapel, but a gentleman never tells.

Styles have slimmed down considerably since then but I still know this – big suit = big fun.

Foto Flashback #27: The Cassette Is King

See my eyes? That’s the look of an obsessive, a junkie. I needed music, and in my formative years, that meant cassettes. I’d guess this is 1985 so the flash-obscured gem in hand is likely Big Bam Boom by Hall & Oates. Sing it with me, “M-E-T-H-O-D-O-F-L-O-V-E.”

Within the year I would have my first Walkman. Wait, make that a small w, since it was a Sanyo, not a Sony. Paired with that gift was Duran Duran’s live album, Arena. With the cheap, tinny headphones clamped over my ears I was transported to a stadium in some far-flung locale (Tokyo? Paris? Miami?) as the art school popstars enthralled thousands of screaming fans. That’s power.

When waiting for gift-giving occasions wouldn’t cut it anymore I enrolled in the Columbia House Record & Tape Club. For the introductory price of ONE CENT I got 12 cassettes delivered right to my door!!!! From then on I could choose from their catalogue of the best titles in modern music, all I had to do was fill out the order card…and now pay regular prices.

You may scoff but that was how I discovered Miles and Coltrane. But it was also how I procured the debut album by Barney Bentall. Hmm.

Between Columbia House and regular trips to A&A Records, to blow my allowance on the annual Prince masterpiece or my new love for hip-hop, I soon had a mighty stockpile of cassettes. An army of incredible artists, and Barney Bentall, were at my fingertips. So when I finally got a double-deck boombox (a real Sony this time) that allowed me to record tape to tape, it was like I had a home studio.

I was now a selector and tastemaker extraordinaire, able to produce the most powerful music mixes known to man, or at least to my high school friends. I was a god.

Days were spent filling up blank tapes. Whether Sony or Maxell, Type II or Chromium Dioxide, 60, 90, or even 120 minutes, I could assemble the perfect sequence of songs to make you dance, cheer, bang your head, or cry.

And once I got tired of a mix, I’d just paint Liquid Paper over the name on the tape, flip the cardboard tracklist inside out and start again. Like a god!

Foto Flashback #28: Terror Dungeon

I said earlier that I loved visiting my grandparents’ house, and I meant that. But one room in their house was not good. Very not good.

As you can see, this particle board basement chamber was a place the family would sometimes, inexplicably, hang out in.

The furnishings and decorations were old, and the room itself was musty, airless, unfriendly.

There was a little fan-powered organ in that room. It was the most un-merry instrument I’ve ever heard. Each note was a reedy whine that sounded of lamentation. Chilling.

And depending on how the sleeping arrangements played out you could end up spending the night down there. This was bad.

You see, the room had no windows. So at bedtime, after an uncaring parent tucked you into a cot, turned the lights out, and went upstairs to the land of the living, you were left there in suffocating pitch blackness.

Occasionally the coils of the little electric heater would come to life and for a few seconds the murderers hid while the room was bathed in a hellish glow. The sinister orange light threw harsh shadows before dimming back down to nothing, the hot metal housing clicking and tinking in the darkness.

There was no way sleep would come due to the terror gripping your heart. Monstrous evil surrounded you in the impenetrable darkness, creeping closer, reaching out with pale, spidery fingers. You could almost feel the cold hand hovering an inch above your face.

So you pulled the covers over your head, creating a stuffy, overheated pocket of your own gross kid breath, but at least you were protected by the ultimate shield – blanket. And heaven forbid you had to pee in the middle of the night. Leaving the bed was not an option. You’d be torn limb from limb before you made it to the light switch! Bedwetting was by far the better option.

Finally, in the morning a grown up or one of your older siblings would switch on the light and you’d emerge from the basement having narrowly survived the overnight ordeal, knowing the monsters would be waiting for you at the next bedtime.

But other than that their house was excellent.

Foto Flashback #29: This Photo Is A Liar

The dog I grew up with was named Cinnamon, and that’s her in this photo. But it’s not her. Not really. Here she’s sad, gaunt, in pain, and on death’s door. In reality she was a peppy little bundle of fun and just about the best dog you could ever hope to know. Cinnamon was such a good girl.

And while I had something to do with the death of our first dog (see Foto Flashback #2), I didn’t kill Cinnamon, pancreatic cancer did. Although as kids, too often we gave her people food as a treat or as incentive to perform an acrobatic feat, so that probably didn’t help. It was just so fun when she would catch hot buttered popcorn in midair or inhale half a Kraft single in the blink of an eye. We really loved her and she really loved people food. What can you do?

Dietary negligence aside, she had a pretty good life with us. There were 3 energetic kids to play with (which also meant 3 comfy beds to commandeer) and a good-sized backyard to run around in. Cinnamon loved taking trips in the car and going for neighbourhood walks or romping around in Fish Creek Park. We would get her to howl with us and dress her up in funny clothes or make her join us in a ballroom dance. She also got 14 years of head scratches and belly rubs and couch cuddles. And Cinnamon was so much to us; comic relief, a playtime pal, furry shoulder to cry on, and sweet little giver of unconditional love.

So I wish I had a photo that showed Cinnamon as she truly was. Just a great, great dog and we were so lucky to have her in our family. She made my childhood a million times better and I still miss her.

Which reminds me, if you have kids and those kids say they want a dog and you don’t get them a dog…well, someone ought to call Child Services on you.

Foto Flashback #30: The Parents Of A Dumb Boy

Look at these two beauties! Man, they worked their asses off to be good parents and give me a good life, but I was too dumb to realize it most of the time.

They had kinda tough childhoods. Dad spent a couple years in a sanatorium with TB and mom was all but abandoned as a little girl. There were drinkers, harsh punishments, and let’s just say a few “weirdos” around. But they beat the odds and didn’t pass any ills down to us.

Their worst sin was that I found them painfully boring, which was both way off the mark and a massive blessing. They set up a nice, clean family life and let us kids just be kids. I developed good manners and a serviceable personality without most of the lifelong trauma or deep emotional scars they probably had.

They were well-liked, had great pals everywhere they lived, and always found time to lend a hand to family, friends, and strangers. If you wanted to learn how to be a good person, all you had to do was keep an eye on Al and Lois Wrubell.

My brother was their first child and when I realized that from their anniversary in February to his birthday in August is well shy of 9 months I was like ”Ooooohhh, I get it now.” But years later I read letters dad wrote to mom around that time (he was in Sudbury for work) and they were the sweetest. He couldn’t have been more in love. Can’t blame him. And sure, they argued and got on each other’s nerves but they were also cute and funny together. A fine example of a loving married couple. Just, to me, a little boring.

Mom once told me the key to a lasting marriage was that you both commit to show up for work every day. Every day. No matter what. You’re in it together and work your way through life. May sound pedestrian but it’s beautiful to me. And hey it worked for them for 53 years until dad passed away.

So when you look at these normal, square, middle-class parents of a very lucky and very dumb boy, just remember that you’re also looking at two truly extraordinary people.

Foto Flashback Finale: We Thank You

I figure a 30-part nostalgia odyssey is quite enough so I’ll wrap this up. It was nice of you to read along, and I thank you for indulging me. Each iteration of me was lucky to have known you somewhere along the way. We all agree you’re very nice.

And very good looking.

Your pal,

Jason