Albert Franck

19 07 2015

I was brought up in the east side of Toronto. We lived on Galt Avenue. To the west of us was a lumber yard (now Gerard Square Mall). To the north of us were the railroad tracks, to the south Gerard Avenue. Behind our house was a lane way, like many lane ways in the city. People parked their cars in garages that were situated at the back of their lots, and accessed by the lane. One winter I was run over by a car in that lane. When my mother came running out to the lane, screaming, I pretended to be dead. It seemed to be the safest choice. All the way to the hospital my mother held me in her arms and prayed as my uncle sped through traffic. I was aware of everything. At the hospital I had a miracle recovery which my mother assumed was the Lord’s work.

There was also an artist in that lane. My mother said that she had seen him painting. Is this creative memory. I’m not sure. The artist’s name was Franck.


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