COME BOLDLY
When I was a young boy in public school, my father supported our family by holding down two jobs. His full-time work was a foreman at the Imperial Oil refinery in Ashbridges Bay, Toronto. But part time he worked as a driver and guard for Brinks Armored Car Service. Occasionally, if a shift was ending early, he would swing by our home in the Brinks truck, and mom would have coffee waiting for dad and the other guards. Once, as my school was only a city block from my home, they stopped the truck at the school yard to give me a lift home. I came out of school and there in the parking lot was the shiny grey armored car, complete with gun-ports, bullet-proof glass and rivet- heads everywhere. Gathered in a respectful circle around it were all the grade three boys, gawking at this mysterious vehicle. I pushed my way through the circle, went up to the truck and clambered…
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