Nowhere but Up (15 page)

By this time, Justin was playing complicated beats and could easily keep up during a jam session with my friends. He was so good at the drums that I took him for lessons. I’ll never forget the first time I brought Justin to the music studio. We walked through the glass door into the classroom. A shiny drum set occupied one corner. The teacher, Lee Weber, had his back toward us as he shuffled paperwork on a desk in the opposite corner.

“Hi, Mr. Weber,” I said. “Justin Bieber’s here for his first lesson.”

With his back still turned toward us, the teacher let us know he’d be with us in a minute. I hoped the minute wouldn’t be longer than five. Sitting still and waiting? Definitely not Justin’s forte.

Before we even had a chance to sit down, Justin made a beeline toward the drum set. “Justin!” I shouted, just as he hopped on the stool and grabbed a pair of drumsticks. Mr. Weber, still buried in paperwork, heard the commotion. Without looking up he assured us, “It’s fine, Justin can play.” I bet he was expecting to hear some little four-year-old kid bang away on the thing like a toy.

Justin started doing his thing. As he pounded out complex rhythms, he started attracting an audience. Students of different ages gathered around the open door, trying to get a peek at who was playing. When Justin banged his last beat, the teacher had already dropped whatever he was doing and was standing next to me. His mouth stretched to the floor in shock. The kids outside the door went wild. One of them squeaked to Mr. Weber, “That kid is amazing! If you’re his drum teacher, I want you to give me lessons!”

Mr. Weber shook his head and lifted his hands in disbelief. “This is his first day. I haven’t even given him a lesson yet. That’s all him!”

After a few lessons from his first teacher, Justin went on to take lessons on and off for about six years from well-known local musicians including Wayne Brown and Mike Woods and a teacher we called “DLG.” He got his first real drum kit when he was around nine. While Justin already had a hodgepodge of different drums we’d found at garage sales over the years, the young people around town were determined to give him a new drum set. They loved and believed in my son so much and wanted him to have an instrument that reflected his talent.

My good friends Nathan McKay and Leighton Soltys organized an all-day benefit concert in town, galvanizing local vendors, musical talent, and other entertainment to participate for free. People made whatever donation they could afford, and all the proceeds went toward Justin’s drum set, a top-of-the-line Pearl full drum kit. There was so much money left over from the generous donations, the extra funds were put toward six months of drum lessons. It was a gesture (and a day) I’ll never forget.

Justin was a visual learner. He’d watch someone play something and be able to instantly mimic his or her actions, whether they strummed the guitar or pounded out chords on a keyboard. And he played by ear. He could listen to a song and be able to play the exact melody and harmony and beat note for note. He soaked up music every Sunday at church during worship. The entire time the band played, Justin sat on the steps of the stage mesmerized by each band member. His eyes bounced from keyboard to drums to guitar, mentally recording the intricacies of each instrument and player as they produced beautiful and harmonic melodies.

Justin especially loved to experiment with different instruments. When my friends were over, Justin had a ball. Most times he kept the beat for us by playing his mini drum kit or the djembe. I always kept instruments around the apartment, given to us by friends, and Justin would fiddle around with them whenever he wanted. He was amazing at almost everything he tried. Justin even started writing songs as early as six years old.

Music was an outlet, a creative way for us to have fun and keep busy. While I encouraged Justin’s natural talent, I never forced him into anything. I was proud of his talents and abilities, but I was careful not to pressure him to learn music. I always let him decide what he wanted to learn. If he wanted to play an instrument, I got him one. If he asked for lessons, I’d find the money to make it happen.

As good as he was at music, though, it wasn’t his first love. There was one thing Justin loved more: sports. While music was a fun hobby, sports were his life. My little boy excelled at every sport he played. He practically skated before he learned how to walk. From the time he was five years old, he was on the all-star travel team for soccer and hockey each year. After he started playing sports, anytime I asked Justin what he wanted to be when he grew up, his answer was always the same: “A professional hockey or soccer player.”

Justin’s love for music and sports was an interesting marriage. He was both athletic and artistic. One minute he was an aggressive and competitive center forward, dominating the ice, body checking and skating circles around his opponents. The next he was showcasing his natural talent as a musician with a natural charisma and ease.

My son was not just good at sports and music, though; he had a knack for doing so many different things well. Justin could skateboard, solve a Rubik’s Cube in under two minutes, and even juggle. He won regional chess championships and junior golf tournaments. Pardon the proud mama moment, but I was fascinated by all Justin’s talents. He was competitive, bright, and coordinated. The kid could do it all.

Investing my time in Justin’s life was important, especially since I was a single parent. I had plenty of opportunities to work in a factory during the afternoons and evenings, but I never entertained the idea. I held down a few random part-time jobs, like Zellers, when Justin was in school so I could be home by the time he got there. Sure, I could have had a heftier paycheck had I worked the odd hours when Justin wasn’t in school, but it wasn’t worth it. I wouldn’t sacrifice my time with him for any amount of money. Besides, I loved hanging out with him. He was my little buddy.

Faith was a big deal in our home. We went to church on Sundays and Bible study or youth group once a week. I even taught him in Sunday school. I prayed with Justin every night. We had a bedtime routine where I would tuck him in “as snug as a bug in a rug” and we’d pray together and talk about everything. There were times this fifteen-minute bonding session turned into hours. It was our quality time together. Our way of connecting. And we shared most of our laughs during this time. The nights we stretched our routine out, we would be delirious from fatigue and would giggle about the stupidest things. I cherish those memories. And Justin and I still talk about them to this day.

In 1997, Nations in Bloom named Stratford the prettiest city in the world. It’s a fitting accolade considering the beautiful parks that adorn the city. Justin and I practically lived in Queens Park during the spring and summer months. We took long walks along the Avon River, admiring the old Victorian mansions that lined the waterway.

We chased each other up and down the stone pathways flanked by weeping willow trees and raced over picturesque footbridges. We fed the stunning white swans that dotted the lake. I watched Justin Rollerblade for the first time on the walking trails around the manicured gardens. When we were hungry, I set up picnic lunches on the tiny island just over one of the footbridges. Justin always begged me to venture out in the paddleboats, but I couldn’t afford it. I would wistfully watch those boats and feel terrible I never had the extra money to give my boy a ride.

Two of the town’s theaters were right in the park area, so when it was time for the annual Shakespeare Festival, Justin and I joined the massive crowds and people-watched. Because I had performed in this festival as a child, spending time there with Justin had a special place in my heart. It brought back memories. Good memories. Memories of when I dressed up in elaborate costumes and acted my heart out in front of thousands of people. Memories of me as a happy child in a happy place.

When Justin was around six and we moved to what would be our last apartment in Stratford, I was looking for a more permanent job to help support us. I asked my friend Mike (the guy who had paid for Justin’s day care) for advice. Because I was pretty good at computers and was creative, he suggested I look into website design.

I wanted to go to a particular school, but I couldn’t afford it. I heard about a government scholarship program that would pay my schooling costs if a company would guarantee me a job after I graduated. It was a catch-22. I had to find a job first, but no one would hire me without training. But I couldn’t get training without having a job. It seemed an unlikely pursuit, so I put the scholarship program on the back burner and forgot all about it.

Because I still wasn’t sure what specific area of the computer field I wanted to pursue, I decided to do some research. I was pretty determined. I cold-called a few local businesses just to get some information about their company and computers in general. I wasn’t necessarily expecting a job. I was simply trying to open a few doors.

Using the same script every time, I called company after company. In a peppy voice I said, “Hi, my name is Pattie Mallette, and I’m interested in learning more about computers. Do you have a few minutes to answer a couple of questions I have about different computer careers?” Every phone call I made to all but one of the local businesses ended with, “No, I’m busy.”
Click.

My last call was to Blackcreek Technologies, a local consulting company that specialized in computer sales, networking, and custom solutions and also offered computer training. By that point, my expectations were pretty low. After I delivered my pitch, I was transferred to a man named Bill, the owner, who told me to come in the next day. I was in shock when I hung up the phone. It was a pleasant but certainly unexpected surprise.

When I met with Bill, he brought with him a website designer to answer specific questions. I was a bit nervous at first but peppered them with questions. I wanted to know everything I possibly could about computer careers to find a suitable match for me. I needed a good, stable, long-term job that could help provide for Justin and me. Whatever field would give me that stability would influence the kind of classes I would choose, whenever I could find the money to go to school. Somehow or another, I’d find a way to continue my education, even if I had to go into debt to do it.

To be honest, I didn’t even consider asking Blackcreek for a job. It didn’t even cross my mind because I simply didn’t have any experience. I was just excited they gave me the opportunity to pick their brains, especially because after talking to Bill and his colleague (and mulling over Mike’s advice), I decided to pursue website design.

A few days after my meeting at Blackcreek, I got a call from the woman in charge of the scholarship program. Imagine my surprise when she told me, “Blackcreek wants to help you out. They want to take part in the program and offer you a job.” I felt so proud and honored. This was my chance to invest in my future.

In 2002, I graduated from Conestoga College with a degree in website design and joined the Blackcreek team. Outside of doing web design for the company and manning the front desk when necessary, I also subbed for the instructors in the computer classes they offered. If the company needed someone to teach basic computer courses like “Intro to Email” or basic Microsoft programs, I pitched in. I traveled to different schools, senior centers, and even people’s homes for one-on-one consultations.

A couple years later when the company restructured, I was let go, but my superiors believed in me enough to invest in my future. They knew I wanted to start my own business doing website design and gave me a computer to help me on my way. Whenever they found themselves overworked and understaffed, they would also pass on their clients to me so I could expand my web design business and continue teaching computer courses. I was grateful for the support.

Though I worked full-time, I spent a lot of time with Justin when he came home from school. If I wasn’t with him at soccer or hockey practices or games, we’d hang out on the ugly, old, yellow shag carpet in the living room and play board games or music.

We loved being spontaneous and taking road trips to nowhere. It was our special bond. We’d hop in my $700 boat of a car, an early 1980s Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme, and take off on adventures. Driving down long stretches of highway with the windows down, we’d blast the stereo, constantly arguing about what station we should listen to. It was a power struggle, me setting the dial to a country station and Justin wailing in protest and switching it back to a pop one. We’d playfully battle it out between the likes of Faith Hill and Nelly.