Between 4:00 am and 6:30 am from about 1998 until 2001 I began a morning routine. When I was twelve I became delivery boy for the Brantford Expositor the local newspaper. I had a large route and was responsible for delivering 320 papers each morning. It was such a large route that I had to enlist the help of my father, I asked him formally, but since it was his idea first, I knew he would accept. We would both deliver about 160 papers each and the profit was split down the middle. It was hard to tell who worked for who.
I would set the alarm, usually at 4:00 am, sometimes 3:30 if it was a Friday. I would get up and brush my teeth. Then I would wake my Dad up and make myself Breakfast, usually a glass of milk and two toasts with peanut butter and jam. My Dad would be ready to leave in ten minutes or less. He wouldn't eat anything.
Under complete darkness we drove five minutes to the downtown depot to pick up the papers. Sometimes we waited in the car for the delivery van to show up, while other mornings our pile was waiting for us when we arrived. Fridays, Saturdays, and sometimes Wednesdays we had inserts, advertisements, catalogs, etc. Depending on how cold it was we would usually put the inserts into the papers on the hood of the car. Our family car was a 1980’s Ford crown victoria, it had a very large hood. I stood on the passenger side and filled my bags, and he on the other. When it was cold I would climb in the back seat to do my half, my dad would do his in the front seat. On insert days we needed three bags each, one at each side, and one on our backs.
We each had our own side of the street, sometimes we covered for each other if one of us fell behind. My dad is 6’2” I was maybe 5’6” then, he walked fast and I had to keep up, unless he had trouble with a mail box he usually covered for me. We walked through snow drifts and rain, sleet, we felt the crisp spring mornings, and the fresh summer dawns. I knew where I was each morning, I knew my task, I knew who’s steps were the slipperiest, I knew how to avoid motion lights, I anticipated each crack in the sidewalks. Most mornings I was very alert, observant and keen, but some mornings I was on autopilot with my head somewhere else.
The route had 4 stages, we did the largest first, carrying the most weight right away. During the spring, by the end of the first stage we would see the morning light peeking up in the East. The end of the first stage was my favorite time each morning, I would run the last three papers to the end of the street and my dad would wait for me at the corner. We would walk back to the car together. We never talked of too much, but we did talk, mostly he drilled me about school and I asked him questions about cars and life, sometimes we complained about the weight of the papers or the weather. Most of the time I was just happy to be there with him, outside, while no one else was awake.
The second stage was a small dead end street. It was also the last street the city would plow during the winter. Which is to say that it never got plowed. There was more than a few mornings when I had to push the car our of a snow drift. I would rock it back and forth while my dad timed in with the gas peddle. I had to be careful not to push on the lights or the front grill. We always got it out.
The seasons then were gradual to me, the light changed slowly, as did the cold. As fall came and winter set in I would need more clothes, then scarves, hats, heavy gloves and then snow pants and long-johns. During the winter we did the route entirely in darkness with just the orange phosphorus streetlights casting gloomy shadows on the fresh snow. After the first five houses my scarf would be frozen solid and my dads beard would be white with icicles and frost. During the third stage the route wound around the east of the neighborhood which bordered a large park with four soccer fields. Here the wind whipped across the fields and built huge snow drifts in front of peoples front doors and up their steps. Due to the weather making us late at every stage, my dad would leave for work, and I had to finish this part of the route myself. These mornings I had to carry double which was ok because I had time before school and could go at my own pace. One blustery morning, more than 12 inches of snow had fallen already and It was looking like I wouldn’t be going to school. I remember this morning because I remember trudging through the drifts and having the wind coat my front white as I walked. I would move forward and the wind would whip behind me, my tracks were quickly blown over and covered, as if I was never there. The papers just magically appeared in mailboxes with no trace of the boy who carried it.
The last part of the route, the fourth stage we would do in the daylight of summer, but in the fall and spring the sun would just be rising and we hurried as not to be seen. We usually wrapped up the third stage at about 6:15 am. We would get back into the car and drive up the hill to the last 6 or 7 houses. If we were done the third stage early we would walk to these distant houses together carrying only a few papers under our arms. When we dove my dad would turn off the headlights as we pulled into the driveways. I would run to the mailboxes while he turned around the car. Some Saturdays after the route we would go out for breakfast, just him and I at the local diner.
He would order eggs and chocolate milk. I would get the same.
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