Like many teenagers, I had a complicated relationship with my parents- especially my Dad. However, when he encouraged me to learn to curl in Grade 7, I took to the game quite readily. In retrospect, I might have inherited not only Dad’s love for the game, but even a little bit of his experience and talent.
My Dad, John Harvey, was a dedicated club curler. At the Truro, Nova Scotia curling club, he was known as “Captain John”, on account of his legendary impersonations of a Newfoundland fisherman on club variety show nights. He was a large personality. Me, I was a pimple-faced, uncool kid, far away from the In crowd at school.
As fate would have it, the “cool” kids were also very good curlers, and they were selected as our school’s representatives in the provincial high school championship. I was the designated alternate. Our coach rightly assessed I had a lot to learn. At provincials, our Truro team did very well, coming in second. Sadly, I didn’t get into any games, I was very disappointed- no one wanted to give me a chance to shine.
Post-provincials, things resumed to normal at the club, with one exception: I was very keen to prove myself to the cool curlers. Try as I might though, the team I skipped were all juniors, and we never did beat them, coming second in the club high school finals. Oh well, I thought, maybe next year.
Fate once again intervened though. Dad and I had never curled together, so I was shocked (and pleased) when he asked me if I wanted to be Lead on his team in the closing bonspiel. “Sure”, I said although I was kind of nervous about curling with the adults.
Well, despite my inexperience, we made it to the C final. This was curling at a whole new level for my 13- year old self. But best of all, this was a true (and rare) bonding experience for Dad and I. There was no talk or arguments about the length of my hair or the music I was listening to- we just talked about our games. He taught me about ice reading, strategy with and without the hammer, analyzing your opponent’s weaknesses and more. It was great, I never knew my Dad was so smart. He shared curling stories with me: about the time his team beat Ragnar Kamp, former world champion, now curling in Truro. And about the times he made unbelievable shots and club members tapped on the glass in appreciation. My Dad was awesome!
Guess who we were up against in the C final? You guessed it- it was the High school rep team.! Our team was dealt a serious blow though as one of our team had work commitment and couldn’t make the final-we were down to 3 players. For some reason, the ice makers forgot to pebble the ice before our game! It was like a sheet of glass, and neither team curled that well. The game was tied going into the last end, and we had the hammer. For his last rock, Dad was facing three and had to put it right on the pin. I was the lone sweeper. This was the era of brushes, not brooms. We didn’t use stop watches back then. Dad settled in the hack. He gave me a serious look and took a deep breath. He slid out very, very slowly- he was dead light! I got right on it as soon as it crossed the hog and pounded it for all I was worth. When we hit the other hog line, it looked like we had a chance, but I was running out of gas. Our Mate didn’t come out to help- he obviously didn’t think we could make it. I found another gear and when the rock hit the top off the 4 foot, the line looked good. However, I felt that if I let up one bit, the rock would stop. The rock reached the top of the button, I almost stopped but gave it one more sweep. The rock came to rest, covering the pin- we won!
There were two facial expressions I’ll never forget from that day: the look of disappointment and amazement on the other team’s skip. Secondly, and most importantly, the look of pride on my Dad’s face. He beamed at me and slapped me in the back in congratulations. “You made that shot”, he said.
Dad loved to tell stories, especially over a beer or two, and he often repeated the one I’ve related here today. When he was in hospital for the final time, it gave a warm lift to a dark time. It was only a C final, but to Dad and I, it might as well been the Brier. If selected, I can provide a shot of Dad and I.
