October 7, 2010 As I first started to reflect on Paul’s passing, sorrow was the word that best described my feelings. But now as I put pen to paper, or more accurately, as I put fingers to the keyboard, those feelings are changing to overwhelming joy as I start to remember all the good times. In 1964 our family moved to Birchcliffe Avenue, 2 doors away from the white house with the perfectly pleated white shear curtains in the twin bay windows. I was seven. We were new to Kitchener and I was anxious to get out of our new house to explore our new world. Playing outside by himself was this little guy with jet black hair who seemed to have an unlimited supply of energy. We became instant best friends while at the same time tough competitors. During the sixties we spent endless hours at each other’s house playing ping pong in our basements. Matches would start out as best of 5. They would end with one of us barely hanging on for the win and then the other would decree “BEST OF 9”!, then “BEST OF 13, LET’S GO”! and then “COM’ON DUDE, BEST OF 19”! and so on. Hours would pass before one of us would drag himself home in the dark, having missed family dinner, with the bragging rights for that day. Paul was BIG into cars and music. We would find a street corner where we could see traffic coming from both directions and try to beat each other naming the cars as the appeared in the distance. 66 Pontiac! 67 Camero! 60 Fairlane! Paul was always the fastest. He could listen to a song on the radio once and know every word the next time it played. AMAZING! We played hockey on the same team and would car pool to the games. One game in Mr. Tuffin’s beautiful dark blue Buick sedan and the next game in our family wagon. Mr. Tuffin was always immaculately dressed in a finely pressed, collared shirt and of course his hat. Mrs. Tuffin, the class of the neighborhood, kept a neat house and ran a tight ship. How super cool and progressive she was driving her brightly shined Corvair, now a legendary classic automobile. The perfectly kept light beige décor of the house seemed to be more fitting for raising a prince and a princess than a middle class family in the suburbs……….A princess for sure (…….do I dare mention my childhood crush on Paul’s big sister Wendy?) But definitely not a prince! Paul’s nickname became “Tuffy” in later years but to us he was “Turf”. “Turf Magurf”. I think it was because he played so hard in the full tackle football games we played in the school yard beside St. Paul’s and he always seemed to have grass stains on his knees and elbows. In the seventies our passion changed from ping pong to driveway hoops. Again the matches would be competitive and go on for hours. Paul was a fearless overachiever and played much bigger than his small frame would suggest. He was a proud member of the “Black Aces” on the FHCI basketball team. Coming off the bench and going a hundred miles an hour. We also played lacross together on rep teams for Kitchener. Sometimes you would swear you could hear a Harley Davidson out on the court…..it was Paul making vroom vroom vroom noises as he ran the ball down the floor. He said pretending to be a motorcycle “psyched him up” but I think he did it to scare the bleep out of the other team! Our friendship was so strong throughout high school and we eventually became roommates for a year or so in our apartment at the corner of Westmount and Queen’s Blvd. Our 6th floor apartment was party central during that time. Our infamous toga party with the garbage pail full of yukaflutz was Paul’s idea. The all night games of Risk kept me from my studies at Waterloo, but Paul seemed to be built for all-nighters. He would always be ready for work at Schneiders come Monday morning. Through our late 20’s we drifted in our own directions as life sometimes get’s in the way of old friendships. Paul and Christina’s life became established and I moved to Alberta for school and career. But Paul was Paul, and he easily fitted in with everyone he knew so we never saw a need to keep in close touch. He had his life and I had mine, but we always had our childhood and teen years connecting us. Forgive me for being indulgent. Paul was not only my friend but he was dear friends of all of us. Those who read this might wonder to themselves, “Does this guy think Paul’s relationship with him is any more special than Paul’s relationship with me?”. The truth is that to Paul, it wasn’t any more special because he touched many people the same way….with a FEARLESS attack on life and an easy smile to go along with it. But to me, our relationship is PRICELESS, because it brings such great joy to remember him as a friend for so many years. Recently Paul contacted me and spoke of his kids and how proud he was of them. In turn, I am so extremely proud of Paul for making the effort to reconnect with me and for speaking of his family that way. Rest in peace old friend. Your pal, Todd.