Life... Lust...Love: The Shattering of Hearts

by Stephen Paul Tolmie

Overview

FOUR SEASONS OF A MANS LIFE

THE SPRING SEASON OF ONES LIFE: Life begins; you walk, talk, and observe all that life throws your way. You experience life and all its challenges.

THE SUMMER SEASON OF ONES LIFE: You are now in your 20s, 30s, ad 40s. You have met and lost relationships. You have enjoyed the bonds of union to a womans body, and you have loved, lost, and shattered their hearts and yours. You have known pleasure, sorrow, love, and pain.

THE FALL SEASON OF ONES LIFE: You are still in your 40s, 50s and 60s. You are still searching, the longing process of commitment to a special lady, that special life bond, security, love and happiness that seems to have passed you by.

THE WINTER SEASON OF ONES LIFE: You are now in your 60s, 70s and 80s. You have at this age the strong hope of a partner in your life. You long for that special soul mate, and best friend. You long for that special lady to be there, to share, to care, the happy moments, and all lifes memories.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781463446970
Publisher:	AuthorHouse
Publication date:	09/21/2011
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	168
File size:	369 KB

Read an Excerpt

LIFE ... LUST ... LOVE

THE SHATTERING OF HEARTS

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By Stephen Paul Tolmie

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 Stephen Paul Tolmie
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4634-4699-4

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Chapter One

When I was a young man at the age of six, I met someone very special. Miss Mills was my grade one teacher, a tall lady with long, shapely legs that accented her lovely frame. She had flowing brunette hair that surrounded her angelic face. Yes, my first impression of this lady was that I had been introduced to a goddess. It was her first year of teaching, having just graduated from teacher's college, and I was in her first group of students. Her challenge was to teach and make our little minds start to grasp the realities of the world and life's paths. It was her duty ... yes, her occupation to have us search for knowledge, awareness, aspirations, and life's goals to obtain the passing report card. It would show that she had succeeded in passing on her knowledge and that her skills were indeed intact.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, this was not to be the case for either of us. I had no desire to concentrate on the studies at hand, but rather to dream childish thoughts of this lady, and just get caught up in the fantasy world of make believe.

My whole day was spent trying to have her spend special time with me; to have me as that one and only student, who was so demanding of her time. To this end I did succeed; but alas, this should not have been my goal. I would bring her apples, treats and roadside flowers ... anything that would let me stand next to her, and drown myself in her presence. I would seek to walk her home, because I thought I was her knight in shining armour and she was my princess, to be protected from all outside factors.

As the year proceeded, this practice continued, and my educational accomplishments declined. It was a disastrous year for me to say the least and in some respects for her as well. My first year of school had been lost and my academic scores were far below acceptable; a repeat was indeed in order.

My "princess" a.k.a. teacher, was in tears as well. How had she not been able to reach this student? Was it her teaching skills? No as she thought, it was only this one pupil. She must have done something right, if all other students were to graduate to the next grade.

She realized that, due to her immaturity, she had not nipped this young lad's fantasy in the bud and pushed him to take a "hard-nosed" approach to the education process at hand.

In all honesty, it probably stemmed from the fact that this was her first teaching job and from the nervousness that accompanied her in trying to do the best possible job with a room full of young minds.

This lady did indeed go out of her way to let my parents know how sorry she was that she had not been able to reach me; to give me the drive to strive for that brass ring ... better known as a passing grade in the further pursuit of educational knowledge.

On the other hand, I held no feelings of sorrow for the failure to pass on to another grade, but relished the thought of another year with this special lady.

Fate held a different approach for me, as she was transferred to a different school to teach, most likely at her request. For me, this was my first awareness that life was not always fair.

The new teacher for the following year was a young male teacher, and hence my learning skills were finally able kick in and a teacher fantasy was but a fleeting thought.

I continued throughout the elementary system, not being touched by flights of fancy, but rather enjoyed a steady climb upwards through the educational process. I returned to that young lad, doing childish things, but more reflective of my age. Life seemed simpler now, and I was content.

It was not until I had reached the eighth grade that I began seeing young ladies as something of interest and as a time to put aside my childish ways. The new problem now faced me. How did I approach the opposite sex? I was naive in the way about connecting to these girls, as most young boys are totally out of their element in these circumstances.

It was probably normal; but I was fumbling in my speech. Subjects of conversation of interest to them were totally unknown to me. How does one go about breaking the ice? Here I think I was like most boys of that age. I would watch them skip rope, play basketball, baseball, ride my bike around them in circles, and even sneak up behind them and scare them ... anything to seek attention, and be in closer proximity to them.

I was in a school system, which at that time period, (the l950's) the girls went in one doorway and the boys the other, never to be in close quarters with one another.

I always asked myself in later years if this was a throw-back to the Victorian era, and it probably was, since there seemed no other logical reason for this occurrence.

In that time period also, the school buildings were usually three to four stories in height, and therefore a fire escape chute was a mandatory piece of equipment that had to be attached to the building.

The children (one boy and one girl chosen at random) from grade eight were given potato sacks to go down the fire escape first, both to clean and then to open the doorways at the bottom. Having done this practice several times before, as it seemed to be almost a weekly occurrence, I could never figure out how the girls got to come out on one side and the boys on the other. I decided that I would take this curiosity of mine, to try and discover the answer.

On my way down the chute on the cleaning mission, I took it slowly, and felt the walls all the way down. I had always been instructed to lean to the right when going down, and discovered quickly, that half way down, there was a split in the chute, one to the left and one to the right; hence the two doorways. I had yelled up that I had completed the trip down the fire escape, and to send the rest of the pupils down. I also had walked back up the fire chute to the point of separation in the chute.

I leaned over to the girl's side and opened my legs for them to go through. You cannot imagine the blood curling screams that came out of the mouths of these young ladies. I did indeed make an impression on these girls (mission accomplished) and a strapping from the principal followed. I had sore hands, but now the girls looked at me some times oddly; but at least they were looking, and the ice had been broken.

The girl I had hoped to impress was indeed interested in this character, so my practical joke was not for nothing. I was still lost for words while in Vicki's company, but for some reason, talking on the phone to her, could often go on for several minutes every night. Both the parents seemed to go along with this practice, (this childish love if you will) and it continued to the end of the school term. I was not too bright as to think to go to Vicki's home, only a few blocks away, or to ask her to go bike riding, or for a walk. In hindsight, I wish I was not so shy, or had the wherewithal to take the first step to make a connection with my real first love.

Fate again would raise its ugly head, and on graduation from public school to high school, Vicki chose one and I chose another school to go to.

From that time on to the very present, I regret that I had not been more vigilant in my quest, as she was lost to me forever.

The high school years here were also un-eventful. I would walk down the hallways trying to be friendly with the girls passing by. I would attend a noon hour dance, called a sock hop, at those times; but was afraid to ask a girl to dance. The girls that were usually dancing were dancing with one another, and it was a rarity rather than the norm, to see a boy and girl dancing together. It also seemed to be the girls of higher grades that were the ones participating in the noon hour dance. I was only in grade nine at this time. This noon hour dance seemed to disappear soon after I graduated from grade nine, whether it was from the lack of participation by the students, or that school work and assignments became more demanding and time became more crucial to their completion times.

There were occasional Friday night dances held at the high school gym. Here too, I was not the brightest guy on the block. The practice for the guys was to walk around in gym, while some of the girls were sitting on the benches above. Others were dancing, and trying to look cool. Occasionally, the guy would stop and try talking with the girl, to see if she would have a dance. Sometimes the guy was successful and other times not. I was not particularly a good dancer and had low esteem, so very often the whole night was spent just walking around and occasionally having a talk with a girl. This you would say was not too interesting a night's fun; but I did try and build up some nerve to ask this one and that one out for a dance. However, I usually left with a heavy head and rejection.

There never seemed to be any special bonding with any particular girl in the high school system. Graduation came, and the sixty-four dollar question was at hand. What was my future aspiration? What were my career goals? Was it work or more school? I am getting a little ahead of myself at this stage, so I must do a little back-peddling and fill in but yet another segment of my life.

Two of my best friends, both in elementary and high school and coincidently brothers, had always talked throughout our high school years about a graduation vacation together. They had said that it would probably be the last time of freedom for all three of us. Joining the work force or further education would soon be changing our lifestyles and having time for the three of us to get together would be difficult.

To this end we made a pact to save our vacation money and every other bit of money we could lay our hands on, to be able to do this great graduation vacation.

My best friends were from Holland and still had many relatives residing there, so they said we could probably live with some of their relatives for a short while, to help cut down on our actual expenses. My two best friend's names were Arend and Rudi and they said they would approach their parents on this whole vacation idea.

I was a usual guest at Arend and Rudi's home, so that talking with their parents was a comfortable, relaxing experience and not one that I was afraid to be involved in. Now the main topic of conversation would be about the three of us going to Holland and working out the details of its possibility.

My friend's parents were very laid back and being from Europe had a totally different outlook on life. The whole idea of us going to Holland didn't upset them and they were very approachable, listened well, and allowed each of us to express an opinion before speaking their minds.

The boys' mother and dad said they would be willing to write to their respective brothers and sisters to see if they would be willing to allow us to stay in their homes. Although they didn't say it directly to us, I have no doubt that they also asked their relatives to sort of keep an eye on us as well.

Once we heard back from the family members in Holland, we would then know more about our costs, when we could plan to go, where we would be staying, and what parts of Holland we would be seeing.

Arend and Rudi said that all European countries are so close that they would take me to different countries close by, and that I would be seeing a lot more of Europe than just Holland.

When I brought up the graduation vacation idea with my parents, my mother was thrilled, but my father was not as enthused, because I thought he was thinking it was going to cost him money. I explained the way it was going to be possible and explained as well that it all hinged on the response from Arend and Rudi's relatives in Holland. My mother convinced my dad that indeed it was a chance in a lifetime, especially with the boys' relatives helping out.

But for the moment it was just an idea. The favourable response was received from the boys' aunts and uncles and the dream was now a reality; our plans were set in motion.

The after-school jobs, gifts of money from birthdays and summer employment and our bank accounts were starting to grow, ever so slowly it seemed; but they were indeed growing. After four years of high school and with all of us passing, the timetable to go on our graduation trip was now at hand.

Because the boys had many relatives, they were going to split us up, in different homes, so as to not be a financial burden of having to accommodate all three of us in any one household. All the relatives that responded lived either in the same village or very close to one another. It would not be a problem for the three of us to together each day to plot out our day's activities.

The big day of departure was soon upon us, and after saying goodbyes to our parents at the airport, we were off to board the plane. My first travel experience was about to begin.

I had never flown before in my life, but the boys were old pros and so they knew what to expect. At this time, there still the existence of the old prop jet, and herein lay the problem. The plane was slow and we encountered a severe storm ... just my luck! The plane would go up and down like a yoyo, depending on the flying conditions. We were either climbing upwards, where cold temperatures greeted us and we needed blankets to keep warm, or we were dropping quickly to avoid a weather situation. This all played havoc with my stomach, and for the thirteen hour flight, all I basically saw was a "vomit bag".

I was so happy to see mother earth that I actually got down on my hands and knees and kissed the ground. Oh my God! I did survive this ordeal!

I wasn't the best looking Canadian citizen to greet Arend and Rudi's relatives because I was totally green around the gills. All I wanted to do was to lie down and get my stomach to settle down and to sleep off the experience.

This I realized was not the best way in the world to start my stay with people I didn't know and was not sure how they would react to my poor greeting performance. Apparently everyone had a good laugh at my expense, although I was not told of this till long after the ordeal.

By the next day I was feeling my old self again and eager to start my adventures. However, I was forgetting my manners and didn't stop to realize that visiting with the boys' relatives was first and foremost, the importance for this day. Something that I had totally forgotten was that there would be a language barrier. I wouldn't know what was being said or even the topic of conversation. This was indeed a total learning experience, as I sat there and watched them laughing and enjoying the conversation at hand, totally unaware of what had been said or for that fact, why it was so funny. I would ask what was so funny, and somehow in the translation, the story lost some of its meaning; so I tried to have the appearance of being interested, although I was totally dumbfounded. I guess in hindsight, the experience would be something like a deaf person not knowing what is going on in the conversation, except that I could hear; but still didn't know what had been said.

The formalities were soon accomplished, and the three of us could now start exploring the freedom that Holland possessed. I was now at the ripe old age of nineteen years and what I was about to see really gave me a reality check. Holland, or for that matter, all of Europe had a totally different "open door policy" on things that were allowed and those that were not, things that weren't even thought of, in Canada.

I saw children going into liquor stores for their parents and purchasing alcohol. In Canada, the legal age for me to do this very thing was twenty-one years of age. How progressive this country and standards seemed to be.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from LIFE ... LUST ... LOVE by Stephen Paul Tolmie Copyright © 2011 by Stephen Paul Tolmie. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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