How to Win a Chestnut Fight

It was over in forty-five seconds. That’s it. But when it was over, Big Harv had finally lost a fight. Leading up to that fight, he had been undefeated through twenty-seven epic battles and he hardly had a scratch on him. No cracks either. It was a very sad day, though, when he finally lost—and, in the end, he lost to a little boy too. He had defeated the giants and lost to a measly, little kid, five years younger than me. That just didn’t seem right. I was going home to Rosewater to see my parents for the first time in fifteen years. For a decade and a half I had stubbornly refused to step foot in that town—to be in it, or to be a part of it in any way. I wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. Not even after my daughter was born. Even then, I still made my parents drive to Toronto to see her, or I insisted that they go to my sister’s house in Whitby—neutral territory, middle point, safe ground. My parents adore Gabby, their first grandchild, more than anything on this earth. But I have always made them lug themselves up to Toronto to see her because I couldn’t grow up, couldn’t let go, couldn’t move on. Was I supposed to? And why should I? Staying away from Rosewater hadn’t come without guilt, but I had to be selfish—at least that’s what I told myself. I just couldn’t get myself to face up to returning there. It would break my spirit, maybe destroy me altogether. But there was really no choice for me now. I had to go back there; this time I couldn’t insist that my parents come west instead of me going east. Dad was sick and Mom was terrified. And, both of those things scare the hell out of me. Dad was never sick and Mom was never scared, not that I know of anyway. When Mom had called the week before to ask me to come home and visit Dad, it was clear that she had been crying—I could hear it in her voice. My Mom cried only in the most desperate of times, so this had to be really serious. As much as my childhood memories are filled with my parents arguing (“That’s just the way we talk,” they would always say), I always knew how much they truly loved each other, and it was unimaginable that one of them could continue to exist on this planet without the other. So now, Mom had asked all of the kids—me, my brother Rick, and my sister Lauren—to come home for the weekend. “Please come home and see your father,” had been her simple request. She said it was what would make Dad the most happy—his family together at his home. How could I say no to that?