This is the last 'Report' for 2021, folks, and to tell you the truth, I really couldn't think of a proper title for it. So, I got thinking of song titles and I ended up going with the first line in that Garth Brooks hit, 'The Dance'.
In my book, it seemed appropriate. We'll just have to see if you agree by the end of this column, Dear Reader.
When I remember some of my treasured Christmas memories, so many things come to mind. Unsurprisingly, they revolve around my parents, who are sadly no longer with us. Jack and Lynda Ruttle were responsible for so many great Christmases and holiday events throughout the course of my life. Some of those memories are sweet, some are somber, and some are even funny when I look back at them.
Let me take you back to a few of them.
There was 1992, the year that the Ruttle boys got what every sprawl of young children wanted in the early 90's - a video game system. Yup, under the tree that year was a brand spanking new Nintendo system, complete with the first Super Mario game too! We must have had that thing hooked up in mere seconds, albeit with some swearing and some mutterings of "What's the matter with this thing...?" from my dad during the hook-up-to-the-TV process. It wasn't long before we were shooting fireballs and saving the Princess as Mario, or hunting some evasive water fowl in Duck Hunt.
Even Dad got into the spirit of the game on that one. I still remember seeing him blast that Nintendo gun randomly at the screen, dropping a few ducks and sending a few 'bullets' into thin air. Hey, three out of seven ducks ain't bad.
There was 1995, the year that produced one of my most treasured memories that I hold dearly, especially these days. My oldest brother Jim had arrived at the house before any other of my older siblings (Dad's first marriage) and we were sitting around the kitchen table visiting. Jim started pulling out gifts to us boys, and he handed one each to Perry and Brendon, but he stopped at me. He told me that he was sorry, but the gift that he intended on getting me hadn't arrived by mail just yet, but I should expect it just after the holidays. I was cool with that, I said, no problem. I then went into the living room to watch a wrestling tape.
Jack, apparently, was decidedly *not* cool with that.
I was watching one of the matches on our big "box" of a TV when I heard footsteps leaving the kitchen. It was Dad, and he made a point of trying to be quiet as he sauntered toward me sitting on the floor. Getting down on one knee (knowing Dad's knees, that had to hurt), he told me that he too was sorry that there wasn't anything for me to open from Jim, and then he told me what to expect in the mail! Turns out it was a Calgary Hitmen WHL jersey, a team that had taken its name from Canadian wrestling legend and Calgary native, Bret 'The Hitman' Hart, who also was a founding owner of the team. I smiled, knowing what was to come, and told Dad thanks. He smiled, strained getting back on two feet (those damn knees...), and went back into the kitchen.
That was my dad. There have been a lot of things said about Jack Ruttle through the years, but more than anything else, he was a tried and true family man. He was a guy who just had to set things right, and in this case, he thought I'd be better off if I at least knew what was coming, so that I'd have something to anticipate. It paid off too, because at an autograph signing that Bret Hart had in Saskatoon the following May, I wore that Hitmen jersey and he took notice of it right away in the sea of Blades fans. Huzzah!
There was 2005, when I was set to fly home from Victoria for a couple of weeks. I was going to film school at the time out on the West Coast and I was excited to come back home for the holidays. My brother Perry picked me up from the airport, we stopped in at the Peking restaurant to pick up some takeout, and then we headed home. I'll tell ya, friends, I still remember the looks on my parents' faces when I walked through the door. It had been a little over three months since I'd seen Mom and Dad, and the look of pure love on their faces is something that has stayed with me for 16 years. When Dad shook my hand, it was a tight squeeze and he lingered for a bit. I knew what they meant, so I squeezed right back. Mom hugged me hard, just as hard as when she and I parted ways three months earlier in September. I was home. Life was good.
There was 2018, when my family pooled some money together so that we could give Mom the kind of Christmas she'd always envisioned: a cabin getaway up North, complete with a fireplace and a great view of the snow dropping to the ground. The cabin up at Candle Lake - how poetic - was everything we could've asked for and we had an absolute blast. Doing something like that was something I think we all wanted, and it was great crossing that off the proverbial bucket list. We made memories up there, including several wildlife encounters, and that particular Christmas is one we'll remember forever. Mom was happy, and that's all that mattered.
And there was last year, when we just had a simple holiday at home. We didn't know that this would be Mom's last Christmas, but looking back, it was exactly as it should've been. Good food, good games, good music, and good times. We took family portraits in the living room in front of the Christmas tree, and now I'm so ever grateful that we did. We played cards, we lit fireworks, and we enjoyed each other. Family - in the end, they're what's important.
So now, this year, I'm happily waving goodbye to 2021. It wasn't a good year for my family, so I'm hoping 2022 is a much happier one. I'm actually surprised at how much I'm anticipating Christmas because I thought for sure that I'd be feeling much, much lower. Don't get me wrong, it'll be hard, VERY hard as the big day approaches, but we'll get through it together as a family.
From me to you, I wish you all a Merry Christmas, and all the best in the New Year.
For this week, and for this year, that's been the Ruttle Report.
