On Memory-for Marc

I've often joked that if had a super power, it would be my memory. My oldest memories start at the age of two. I remember playing with my sisters, slipping around a yard covered in ice, running through sprinklers naked with friends... and so many more. I have always been grateful for my memory, but recently, when I learned of the sudden passing of a childhood friend, Marc Crozier, I felt more gratitude than ever at the number of memories and moments I could remember that Marc was a part of.

I met Marc at the age of two, at our babysitter Winnie's. There were many kids there of various ages, including my sisters, and Marc and I developed the typically antagonistic relationship of three year olds of the opposite gender. Occasionally, when I was lucky, I could convince the other kids at Winnie's to play 'Kingdom and Castle' a role-playing game that I made up. Given that it was an RPG designed by a four year old, it was rather unsophisticated. Marc was typically cast as a knight, and I was generally a kidnapped princess that needed rescuing (see why it was difficult to convince other kids to play this game?) But, Marc generally seemed pretty happy to act out a character, which was a part of his personality that endured. I loved him for this, and by kindergarten, I had a total kindergarten crush. In response, Marc and the other boys would chase me around the school yard calling me "Ashley King of the Ashes", a nickname I still find strange to this day. In turn, I called him “Marc King of the Markers”.

My Kindergarten French Immersion class was tiny, and over the years, as we grew up, it continued to shrink until only five of us remained. As a result, we all knew each other well, and had many memories together. When we went to Harriston Senior, for some reason my friend Lindsay and I rarely managed to make it to the bus stop in time. Marc would wait at the corner of Toronto and Prospect for us, and would wave at us to run if the bus was coming. There were many mornings that we made it to school only because Marc was looking out for us, and because Bill our bus driver would open the door at the stop sign at the corner).

Marc had an individuality that was unique among kids in puberty. At an age when we were all desperately trying to fit in, Marc continued on, unconcerned about what people thought of him. In grade 9, when someone told Marc that his acid-wash, wide thigh, tight ankle jeans were very much not in style anymore, he shrugged and said they were comfortable. He couldn't have cared less. I envied that in him. To be so unselfconscious at a time when most of us were cringing with embarrassment on a regular basis seemed incredibly brave to me.

In the 10th grade, some friends and I took on the Lawrence Park renovation project. We had many kids in the school participate, and our friends were group leads. Marc took on one of those roles for us, and showed up many times to help us with prep work after school, as well as with taking a leadership role on the days when we had permission to miss school (when it was MUCH easier to find participants). The next year, at the school pep rally, Katy and I were asked to prepare a presentation about the park project. For some strange reason, we decided to adapt the song 'I will Survive' for this purpose. In our version of this song, it was the park that would survive. For this presentation though, we needed people who weren't afraid to sing in front of the whole school. I REALLY was. And of course, I thought of Marc. Fearless, kind, tone-deaf Marc took the lead on our song, because he loved doing things like that. Another great example of Marc’s penchant for dress up and performance was in OAC French when I did my independent study on the evolution of music and society in the 20^th century. For my presentation, I had friends dress up in costumes from different decades. Marc, representing the 50s, dressed as Elvis, and completely hammed it up. It was awesome.

I am so grateful for the countless memories I have of my childhood, and growing up in French Immersion in our tiny town. I am grateful for my memories of Winnie’s, and of Kindergarten, and of riding the bus to Harriston Senior. And of course, I am grateful for every memory I have of Marc, because when someone with a charming, large, kind personality like his leaves us suddenly, the only recourse is in the stories we share, and the memories we keep. By continuing to share and remember, lost friends are never truly lost.

Rest in peace, old friend.