Originally published February 12, 2012

During the summer of ’64, I spent several weeks helping my dad build our family’s new cottage on Duck Lake, near Orville, Ontario.

My family had been going to Duck Lake for summer vacations for several years, and we always stayed at my Uncle Fred’s cottage.

He was not a real uncle, but we called many people ‘Uncle’ or ‘Aunt’ in those days.

My parents thought it was less formal than using ‘Mr.’ or ‘Mrs.’ (Ms. and bra-burning had not been invented yet).

Uncle Fred was also my godfather, but he wasn’t anything like Marlon Brando’s character in the classic Godfather movie.

Uncle Fred was my dad’s best friend. They had known each other since childhood.

I only have one picture of him, taken in the early ’70s.

He had an artificial leg – he lost it at an early age when a train ran over it while he was playing on the tracks on Ritson Road in Oshawa.

I don’t know if that is why Uncle Fred was a lifelong bachelor, but he was a very influential mentor and friend to me.

My uncle had Playboy magazines all over the cottage (my parents would hide them during our holidays), so I knew that he was an expert on women – and probably also a ‘chick magnet.’

However, I never had a problem finding the magazines; they were under the mattresses in each bed.

I loved and admired my Uncle Fred.

He treated me like a grown-up.

When my dad wasn’t around, he would tell me all about the local girls and their attributes.

He would use descriptive terms, such as:

She is built like a brick shit-house OR stacked with huge cupcakes.

I never understood his first term, but I had no trouble picturing the cupcakes!

In short, my uncle loved women and probably felt obligated to share the benefit of his wisdom with me.

During the week, my dad and I worked on building our new cottage across the lake from Uncle Fred’s cottage.

We ate and slept at my uncle’s place.

Each morning, we crossed the lake by boat.

And we built most of the cabin without power tools!

However, we never worked on the weekend—that’s when Uncle Fred would come up from Oshawa.

Several locals would also show up to have a beer or two, play cards, or do other grown-up stuff.

I spent weekends with my friends Gregg Holmes and Dave Scott, a couple of kids from Parry Sound whose parents shared a cottage on the lake.

We did a lot of swimming, fishing, and water skiing – and had lots of fun.

We also spent a lot of time talking about girls.

I was invited to stay at Gregg’s house in Parry Sound one weekend.

The plan included attending a dance at the Orange Hall (a live band would be playing), and Dave and Gregg assured me there would be many girls!

I had already met his mom and dad – they were very friendly – so I pleaded with my dad to let me hitchhike the twelve miles into Parry Sound.

At my Uncle Fred’s urging, my dad finally agreed.

I remember being very excited as I awoke that Saturday morning. It was going to be a weekend filled with all kinds of adventure.

I could not stop grinning at the thought of finally being freed from the ‘chains‘ of childhood.

After I got dressed, Uncle Fred called me into the sunroom/breezeway and told me he would give me something exceptional to wear for the dance.

No, it wasn’t one of his shirts or shorts – he was twice my size.

It was a bottle of Old Spice Aftershave and a tin of Old Spice Talcum Powder.

He told me that girls loved the smell of both, and I would have to ‘fight them off with a stick.’

The thought of smelling that good and being attacked by a bunch of girls, who were stacked like brick shit-houses and had giant cupcakes, filled my head with excitement and fantasies that I cannot describe in polite terms.

I ran into the bedroom, took my shirt off, and started covering my arms, shoulders, chest, and stomach with the sweet-smelling scent of Old Spice Talcum Powder.

Wow, did I smell great!

And then, I poured a couple of ounces of the Old Spice Aftershave into my hands and splashed it all over my face and neck.

My hands dripped wet with aftershave, so I wiped them off my shirt and pants.

I walked out of the cottage to the cheers of my dad, uncle, and their buddies.

Maybe I reminded them of their own coming-of-age experiences?

I think I heard someone mumbling something about ‘me smelling like a five-dollar hooker,‘ but I took no notice because I was on a mission!

As I walked the several-mile journey toward Highway 69, I wondered if there would be much of a wait before I could hitch a ride.

It was a sweltering summer day, and I did not even know if I could walk to town in one day.

After all, I was only 12 or 13!

Around that time, the first bee started buzzing around my face – and then another.

I have always been terrified of bees, and I still run for cover at the sight of them!

Previously, I had been stung by bees several times, and I wasn’t about to get ‘stung’ anymore, so I began running down the road.

The bees chased after me!

Cars would approach, but I wouldn’t slow down – I couldn’t – I had to keep running.

As I ran, I stuck my arm out, thumb pointing up, and prayed that someone would be kind enough to save me from the nasty bees.

But not one car stopped. 

The drivers probably thought I was some stupid kid trying to race their cars.

I cannot remember how long it took to run to the junction of Hwy 69, but I made it without taking many rest breaks.

And when I did stop, the bees returned – so I just kept running.

When I reached Highway 69, I finally hitched a ride – directly into town.

Gregg and his family were happy to see me.

Later that day, I started vomiting – but I was not sure why.

Maybe it was from all the running, or I breathed too much talcum powder.

So, I spent the night on the couch in Gregg’s house – with his mom giving me lots of maternal care.

Meanwhile, Gregg and Dave danced with girls who were probably built like brick-shit houses at the Orange Hall dance, without me.

So much for Old Spice Aftershave and Talcum Powder.

However, I plan to buy a bottle of Old Spice Cologne after writing this story.

To this day, I am still terrified of bees.

UPDATE: November 28, 2025

My parents sold the cottage in 1988, and they came to Vancouver to visit me. Dad gave me a cheque for $5,000 because I had helped him build the cottage all of those years ago.

I did not want to accept it, but my Dad insisted I take it.

I remember crying because I had a good job and didn’t need the money. Besides, Dad was on a pension, and I wanted him to keep the money.

And one last thing…

I recently bought a bottle of Old Spice, and I was very disappointed because they had changed the fragrance, and it wasn’t even close to the original scent.

So, don’t bother buying what’s now on the shelf, especially if you’re a baby boomer like me.

I am perfectly happy with the cologne I’ve been wearing for the past thirty years, anyway.

Never give up on your daydreams, because they come from your heart.

Dedicated to my Godfather (Uncle) Fred Davey

I hope my stories are a gift to your head and heart.

Hugs,

Danny

Today’s tune from Danny’s library (purchased):

Oh, I could hide ‘neath the wings
Of the bluebird as she sings
The six o’clock alarm would never ring
But it rings, and I rise
Wipe the sleep out of my eyes
My shavin’ razor’s cold, and it stings

Cheer up, Sleepy Jean
Oh, what can it mean
To a daydream believer
And a homecoming queen

You once thought of me.
As a white knight on his steed
Now you know how happy I can be
Oh, and our good times start and end
Without dollar one to spend
But how much, baby, do we really need?

Cheer up, Sleepy Jean
Oh, what can it mean
To a daydream believer
And a homecoming queen

Cheer up, Sleepy Jean
Oh, what can it mean
To a daydream believer
And a homecoming queen

[Instrumental]

Cheer up, Sleepy Jean
Oh, what can it mean
To a daydream believer
And a homecoming queen

Cheer up, Sleepy Jean
Oh, what can it mean
To a daydream believer
And a homecoming queen

Songwriters: John Stewart