Anyone who knows me knows I wouldn't breathe a word of rumour about Scarborough's gang-related violence. Rumours perpetuate stereotypes, and cement norms, but... tonight I could hardly believe what my neighbour M'k told me after I walked over to his driveway to comment on how well his flowers looked despite the mid-August heat.
Max's home was invaded twice in June and July by a gang of youths who held his wife at gunpoint demanding money. Details came out so quickly, and surprisingly matter of factly - his glass door was smashed in and H'a his wife tricked the assailants into going to look for money in the garage while she locked doors and called the police. I felt like a thick miasmic fog had dropped over us as we stood there in the night air.
I'd just come down Markham Rd., from Scarborough Town Centre, watching the cars in the parking lot and remembering a decade ago, my sister and brother and I on our way to pick up a few last minute gifts on Christmas Eve Day. I'd driven past the former City Hall, feeling proud of its sweeping white architecture, dedicated by the Queen in 1979. Now the words of my friend Paul Charbonneau echoed in my mind about all the empty city halls in the GTA that came after the megacity formed...after amalgamation. A bit of an overstatement, but true in some ways.
All I could do while Max talked was listen, and offer optimistically that I hoped he would stay with his family in Scarborough because, "Scarborough needs good people, Max. Like you...and my parents." As he went on with his plans for preparedness, I looked down at the garden, and made the odd wilting comment about guns not being the answer, and taxes for social programs. I figured you can't talk to a man whose wife has just been held at gunpoint about the principles and values of restorative justice. At least I couldn't. Max's solution was an AK47. I'm not kidding, and he talked about India and other places, "Canada is worse!" I said, "well, you do have a beautiful garden."
"My garden is beautiful, my house is beautiful." "Your family." "My family is beautiful. But outside is garbage everywhere. India, Russia, it's everywhere...Canada is worse!" Try to picture Max speaking with a kind of glib intensity and an excitement in his voice, standing in his white prayer clothes on the porch step. He sounded like a man with a game plan - somehow intelligent, simple-minded, and business-like. His Lexus SUV was parked behind us on the patio brick driveway.
The final irony is that my parents had left the door open for two days when they flew to Victoria on Sunday to visit my brother's family. I suppose it's a miracle that in our family's 25 years in this neighbourhood, our home has never been broken into, let alone had a home invasion. I don't doubt that the little white, ten year-old Subarus in the driveway are probably a better security feature than Max's flashing anti-theft keypad.
Scarborough is not a comfortable place to be sometimes, but it's closer to the world than any probably any other city.
Throughout the city of Scarborough, apartment complexes cover the skyline, which have a wide range of prices. Scarborough is a city that is extremely multicultural which allows for great diversity in everything from stores restaurants and entertainment. The city offers a little bit of everything to everybody...it is easy to find a great place to live.
http://www.4torontoinfo.com/community/scarborough.asp
Dark satanic mills of Vaughn White painted cyclist memorial “RIP Bianca” 12/09/06 …very sad, but also... very, um (as my mother completed my sentence) very tacky. [my father had heard of this accident. Apparently… (details)] What have we done to this earth? How can God forgive this? What kind of legacy is this to leave our children? In a city where there were once churches on every corner, there are now car dealerships. Porche, Saturn, glow in the noise and gloom, reflecting on slushy dirty asphalt. Black Mercedes, grey machines crouch in garages and dark show rooms. “Fine cars”. Truck cabs block the sidewalk, idling. Where there was once the sound of running water, there is now the roar of combustion echoing on concrete. And when the water does run, it’s filled with salt and engine oil. Where birds once sang, now an airplane screams…invisible overhead. Where are the human people? All I see are bad decisions.
