never forget it. As a stagehand during a play in Grade 10, it was Ben’s job to lower the backdrop during a scene change. The transition had to be done in total darkness in less than 30 seconds. There was no time to hesitate or make a mistake. Ben had missed his cue and found himself caught out of position when the lights went out. When the lights came back up, Ben was still scrambling up to the catwalk above the stage from where he would lower the backdrop. All of the characters were in place on stage, unsure whether they should proceed or wait. The vice-principal, Vic Parsons, was directing traffic backstage. Parsons ran the stage production like he ran the school: he expected perfection and had little patience with anyone who made a mistake. From the catwalk, Ben looked down, caught Parsons’ eye, and froze in his tracks. In a voice loud enough for everyone in the auditorium to hear, he announced: “I’m still waitin’, Dayton!”. Ben scrambled to lower the backdrop while some members of the audience laughed nervously, unsure whether this was part of the production, or a major gaffe. The rest of the play went off without a hitch, but Ben was never able to live down that moment of infamy. “I’m still waitin’, Dayton!” became everyone’s favourite expression when they saw Ben. Even though it had been over 20 years since he had heard anyone say it, the effect was electric: Ben stopped in his tracks, wheeled around, and found himself face to face with Vic Parsons.
Although Parsons had the respect of almost every student in his high school, Ben didn’t know anyone who actually liked him. This didn’t bother Parsons, though, since it was his job to enforce the rules of the school and it was probably easier to do if you were disliked but respected. A strict disciplinarian, Parsons was bigger than life in more ways than one: as an authority figure, he loomed large in the daily lives of his high school students, but physically, too, he was a large man. Behind his back the students may have referred to him as “Parsnips”, but no one wanted to confront him to his face. That’s why Ben instinctively reeled when he found himself just inches away from his old high school ‘drill sergeant’.
It was unmistakably “Parsnips”, but there was something different about the man who stood before him. First of all, he was smiling, something that Ben could not recall ever having seen him do in all of his years at school. Secondly, this man looked more vibrant, healthy, and quite a bit smaller than when he was running Confederation High School in Ottawa. There was no mistaking those eyes, though. Ben would never forget the power they held over him that night on the catwalk. They were as intense as he remembered, but they no longer instilled fear or apprehension. Still, Ben could have walked right past this man without recognizing him if he hadn’t uttered those four famous words. Ben had seen so many people (including himself) start to decline physically as they aged. Even in high school, Parsons was already an obese pack-a-day smoker who showed no concern for his health. Ben was surprised, first of all, that he was still alive, and, secondly, that he actually looked younger than when he had last seen him a quarter of a century ago.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Dayton,” said Parsons.
“Mr. Parsons,” said Ben. “You’re looking good.” Ben realized that he had never actually had a conversation with this man, and wasn’t sure what to say.
“Thanks. I feel like a million bucks. What a beautiful day. Hey, you don’t look too good, Dayton. Are you feeling OK?”
Ben had the uneasy feeling that Parsons, who had to be 25 years his senior, was probably in better health than he. The old vice-principal certainly appeared more vibrant, upbeat and happy.
“Me? Yeah, I’m all right. Just a bit under the weather. Are you still at Confederation?” Ben asked, realizing that it was a dumb question.
“Hell, no! I left there 12 years ago. Thirty years is long enough in one job. I wanted to make sure that I was able to enjoy at least a couple of years of retirement before the ‘big one’ hit.”
“The big one?” asked Ben, wondering why Parsons would have worried about an earthquake.
“Heart attack. I was lucky I even made it to retirement. I spent most of my life more concerned with my job—keeping guys like you in line—than about my own health. I smoked too much, ate too much, worked too hard, and didn’t exercise. I was a walking time bomb. I was looking at retirement at a relatively young age with a nice fat pension, but I was in such poor health that I wasn’t going to be able to enjoy any of it.”
“Well, I have to tell you, Mr. Parsons, you—”
“—call me Vic,” he interrupted. But don’t call me ‘Parsnips’. I know you guys used to call me that behind my back, but I have to tell you, I hate parsnips, even though they really are quite good for you.”
“Sure. OK. Well, I was just going to say that you look remarkably healthy. When you said that I looked like I’d seen a ghost, you weren’t too far off the mark. I was expecting to see someone else when I heard your voice. I mean, it’s you, but a new and improved you.”
“Well, I have to tell you Dayton, you don’t look new and improved.”
Some things hadn’t changed: Parsons never minced words. You might not like what he said, but you always knew that he said exactly what he was thinking.
“I’ve been under a lot of stress, I guess,” said Ben, fumbling and mincing his words. In truth, Ben was overwhelmed at the remarkable transformation of the man standing in front of him. More disturbing, though, was the realization that he was heading down the same slippery slope that Parsons had been on at that age. He had walked out of his doctor’s office fully aware that he was a prime candidate for ‘the big one’, as Parsons had called it, wondering what he would have to do to turn his life around. Now he was standing on the street talking to a man who might have some answers. Ben had never been a big believer in omens—he put those in the same category as horoscopes—but this was a sign that shouldn’t be ignored.
“Can I buy you a coffee?” asked Ben, gesturing towards a café on the other side of the street.
“I don’t drink coffee anymore, Dayton. There was a time when I couldn’t get through a day at school without a dozen cups of coffee. I thought it was the only way to cope with the stress of dealing with you and all your friends. Turns out it was actually increasing the stress on my systems. No, you can’t buy me a coffee, Dayton, but I’ll take a cup of herbal tea.”
“OK. Let’s go,” said Ben. He wondered what Max would say when he told him that he bought ‘Parsnips’ a cup of herbal tea.
*****
“It was fate, Dayton,” said Parsons as he sipped on his tea. “Fate is what made my car break down just a block away from one of the most unusual auto mechanics in the world. People think Wakefield is nothing but a sleepy little retirement community, but it’s home to someone who could literally change the world, if he wanted to. Look what he did for me.”
“I presume that he fixed your car. But, most auto mechanics have a knack for that type of thing. How could that change the world?” asked Ben, surprising himself with his thinly veiled sarcasm. Back in high school, that would likely have resulted in a detention.
“Not that part. That’s nothing, really. I mean, he’s the best mechanic I’ve ever seen, but I’m talking about his wellness philosophy.”
“Excuse me?” asked Ben. He wasn’t sure whether he should laugh at the thought of a small-town auto mechanic dispensing philosophical advice.
“Wellness,
