Childhood Dreams at St. Joseph’s
Joe never forgot the square dance. It was a small thing, just another childhood memory buried under years of life. But some moments stick, waiting for the right time to surface.
He was twelve, she was eleven. St. Joseph’s School in East Vancouver. Sister Helen’s square dance.
The boys had a habit of running away when they were paired with the last-picked girl. That day, it was Nelly Furtado. She stood there, hands clasped in front of her, trying to hide the sting of rejection behind a brave face. But Joe didn’t run.
He had heard things about her. Nelly was an overachiever, they said. Smart. Ambitious. But what Joe admired most was the way she read from the Bible in Sunday School. Her voice was steady, clear, and filled with meaning beyond her years. There was something in the way she spoke—the way the words seemed to belong to her, as if she truly understood them.
He never told her that. Until now, he hadn’t even admitted it to himself.
They danced. Her small hand in his, warm and slightly nervous. The music played, their feet shuffled over the old wooden floor, and for a moment, it didn’t matter that she had been picked last. Joe saw something no one else did.
Years later, he listened to Childhood Dreams and wondered if she remembered. If the song was about those days at St. Joseph’s, about Sunday School, about Chrism preparation. He wondered if she still carried that hidden Catholic side, buried under the world’s expectations.
Maybe she did. Maybe she didn’t.
But Joe remembered. And maybe, deep down, so did she.