1981

nineteen eighty one

for my mother, my father,

my sister...

Northern Italy

My father was born in 1937 or '38.

I never remember.

Anyway, it's not important.

What's important is,

my dad grew up during WWII.

When everyone was poor

and in B &W.

Before the war

his family was loaded.

But one day,

for some reason no one remembers,

the Krauts burned down their inn.

They lost everything.

Cause of that,

my dad couldn't buy himself stuff.

It was no big deal,

since in his village

nobody could buy stuff.

Then one day,

maybe somebody was tired of not

having colors or buying stuff,

and pulled one on the Krauts.

It seems that someone

in your gang

stole our radio transmitter.

I know the Krauts must have

spoken German, but...

the way Dad told it,

everyone spoke French.

We'll settle this fast.

I have his name here.

If the guilty party

steps forward now,

the rest can go.

Or we'll shoot someone at random

every five minutes.

Till we find our man.

Which one of you is named

Benito?

Whoever's named Benito,

step forward right now.

Dammitall!

I'll ask one last time.

Benito better shake his butt

and step forward

or the old cow gets whacked.

Jesus Christ!

Don't take me for an idiot.

They didn't take him

for an idiot, but back then

the leader of Italy

was named Benito.

Benito Mussolini was their leader.

If you named your son Benito,

you got a cheque for $ 1.

People were so poor, it worked.

And?

And nothing.

There were lots of Benitos.

But the radio?

What about it?

The thief. Who was it?

An older kid, I think.

Did they kill him?

Who?

The real Benito, who stole the radio.

I can't remember.

Come on, you can't remember?

It's been 40 years.

You forget things.

You never remember

where you left your shoes.

That's so random.

At your age I'd never have dared

ask my dad for a $400 watch.

It was the war.

Nobody ever asked for anything.

One Christmas,

know what my present was?

Soup, you told me.

A small bowl of soup.

Dad came up with a story

every time I asked him

to buy me something.

Without fail.

Mom would tell you

I was always reading this.

I sometimes leafed through it,

just for fun.

I always checked out

the same stuff.

Calculator watches, p. 61.

Electric racing cars, p. 63.

Hockey net, that was p. 75.

Motocross bikes,

I forget which page.

Besides, everybody read it.

Consumer's Distributors was big.

I n '81, my neatest stuff

was Uncle Andr's hockey gear,

my Star Wars bedspread,

a 3-speed with useless brakes...

Ricardo!

Sonic soccer shoes with spikes,

the new album by Kiss,

Dynasty,

two Bdard Movers caps,

Ricardo!

What?

And a Swiss Army knife

I wasn't allowed to touch.

I had no more toys,

I'd pitched'em out.

I was changing.

Getting interested in girls,

except Sis.

I needed some flashy stuff.

I needed a sound system

with giant speakers,

a stroboscope for parties,

to dance robot style,

moon boots, but not this color,

the new Intellivision game,

cause Atari graphics sucked,

the new Cooper SK2001

hockey helmet

with a face guard like Drolet had,

an in-ground pool,

and a Rubik's Cube

for the school bus.

I knew we were Middle Class,

just barely.

We'd nearly been rejected.

Cause my dad didn't go to university.

He didn't work in an office.

With his job, he never had meetings.

The one time he came back

from one it was 4 a. M.

And Mom didn't believe him.

Mom didn't have a degree either.

Grandpa was a logger.

All I know about Gran

is, she liked potatoes.

At one point Mom realized

she was stuck in a poor family.

So she left the boonies

and moved to Qubec City.

S he soon landed a job

in a Chinese restaurant

and could buy

all the smokes she wanted.

Other stuff too,

but she went through lots of smokes.

Mom says she left the North Shore

cause of all the black flies,

but nobody believes her.

My sister had just got a retainer

so we couldn't understand her.

To cheer her up, Mom brought her

a cat from a client

who was getting divorced.

All she thinks about now

is her Caramel.

Oh yeah, she always

answered the phone.

It's long distance!

What's St-Exupry?

The school's name.

Here it is. Come on.

Hello.

Yes?

It's my kids' first day.

Your name?

Benito Trogi.

Wait outside. I'll tell Mr Dagenais.

Nice here, huh?

Dad hadn't gone to university

cause of the war.

The Krauts also

burned down his school.

He didn't finish grade 3.

So he couldn't help me much

with my homework.

He was good in math,

but grammar... Forget it!

Still, he was smart.

He could easily have been a lawyer.

You should apply to be a judge.

I don't like long hours.

I prefer to take my son shopping.

Check this, counsellor!

A calculator watch?

I bought the same one for Ricardo.

Christ, he's loaded!

Hello, children.

Hello, sir.

Michel Dagenais, the principal.

Benito Trogi.

Mr Trogi.

Class, as I told you last week...

If you wondered why Dad

enunciated like that, you'll see.

His name is Ricardo Troggy.

It's Trogi.

Trodgy, with a d?

No, you just pronounce it that way.

I see.

Alright, everyone,

say hello to Ricardo Trogi.

Hello...

Ricardo just moved here,

and that's always hard.

He'll need help getting to know

the school and class.

Now, to get to know him a bit,

who'd like to ask Ricardo

a question?

Nobody's curious?

Then I have a question for you.

What is the origin of the name

Ricardo?

"Origin" means, where it's from.

Which country.

Nobody wants to guess?

Ricardo, tell us

where your name's from.

My dad is Italian.

Italian, that must be neat!

Do you speak Italian?

No, cause Mom's from here.

So, his name comes from Italy.

I think that'd be a great new word.

Ricardo, take some chalk

and write your name in the box.

It'll help us remember.

Aline?

I have a way to remember his name.

You do?

It's like Ricardo Crunchy!

Think you're funny?

Apologize right now.

It was a joke.

Apologize right now!

- I'm sorry.

- Stand up.

- Aline!

- Up, I don't have all day!

I'm sorry.

Anybody else have a funny joke?

Open your math books

to page 31, division.

I know it was just a joke,

but I'd heard that one about

Ricardo Crunchy so often.

I was used to it.

The whole family had heard it.

Someone had told it in 1942.

Someone else in 1912.

It went back all the way to 1894.

Plus, there are no other Trogis.

Someone tried to do our family tree

but they got nowhere.

There were no concentrations

of us, even in Italy.

And that meant

we descended from Gypsies.

And back then,

Gypsies didn't keep track.

They didn't use family names much.

The first Trogi wasn't even a Trogi.

He was some accordionist,

and suddenly it vanished

from his head.

He couldn't remember

his family name.

He must've tried,

but it never came back.

He took any old word.

Trogi!

And that word was Trogi.

What's going on?

Beat it, go play with your class.

I don't know anybody.

Neither do I.

You know me, silly.

That doesn't count.

OK, I overdid it,

but put yourself in my shoes.

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