Nowhere but Up

by Pattie Mallette

  Feeling equally relieved and irritated, I grabbed him. I hugged him so hard and so close, he tried to squirm his way out of my embrace. “Don’t you ever do that again,” I said sternly, wiping away the wisps of blond hair that were always covering part of his eyes. My voice softened. “Honey, don’t you ever, ever, ever leave Mommy again.” Finally able to wriggle free from my bear hug, he grinned from ear to ear and nodded his head. “Okay, Mommy! Can I pay on the wide now?”

  Justin had a knack for pushing boundaries. The word no posed quite a challenge for him. Oh, he knew the meaning of the word, all right. He just loved testing me to see how much I really meant it. For instance, Justin knew the VCR was off-limits. He’d walk over to the table where it lay, put his hand a few inches above the VCR, and look straight at me. “No, Justin,” I’d warn. “You can’t touch that.” He’d quickly yank back his hand, his eyes still fixed on mine.

  Not but a few seconds later, he’d slowly reach his hand out again near the VCR. I’d repeat the warning. “No, Justin.” Without blinking, he’d yank back his hand again. When he’d reach his hand toward the VCR for the third time as I said, “No, Justin,” in an I-mean-business tone, he would pause for a second, look at me, then quickly reach out and pound crazily on the VCR with his hand. Then he’d hightail it toward the other side of the room, as far away from me as possible. He knew he was in deep trouble.

  The thing is, Justin was such a cute kid, it was almost impossible to stay mad at him. By the time he was two years old, he’d already seen more than his share of time-outs. When I’d make him sit in a corner for whatever trouble he got into, sometimes Justin would turn around to face me, pouting his cherry lips and innocently blinking his big puppy dog eyes. He’d shrug his shoulders and raise his hands with his palms out. With toddler frustration, he’d whine, “Awww, come on, Mom! But I’m ohneee two!”

  I was thoroughly amused every time and tried hard not to bust out laughing. “If you’re old enough to know that, Justin, you’re old enough to go in the corner,” I’d say, doing my best not to smile. I never let on, but in those moments I’d want to scoop him up in my arms, hold him tight, and tickle him so hard his giggles would be heard in the apartment next door. But I knew I couldn’t. Someone had to keep this force of nature in line.

  When Justin was around three, I started homeschooling him, which I continued up until he was in first grade. It was an honor to be the one to teach him his very first lessons, the basics of which would carry him through life. I taught him how to read and write. Justin soaked up knowledge like a sponge. By the time he was four, he was reading full sentences on his own.

  As a part of the curriculum, I taught him about the Bible and helped him put verses to memory. Friends and family would be amazed at how quickly Justin learned and especially how he could spout off a Bible verse verbatim when prompted by a chapter and verse reference. My son blew me away. He knew by heart at least fifty verses at one time and could recite them without missing a beat. It was impressive.

  I loved homeschooling Justin and being his one and only teacher. If I could have afforded it, I would have done it his entire school career. Working part-time wouldn’t pay the bills, however, so I had to enroll him in public school. Though I started him a year early and he had already completed the first-grade curriculum at home, I wanted to enroll him in a French school, so I let him repeat the year with kids his own age. While he was in school, I worked part-time at Zellers, a Canadian version of Walmart.

  Justin got kicked out of his class the first day for making fart noises with his armpits. The teacher was well on in years, lacking patience, and couldn’t handle Justin. She immediately switched him into a different first-grade class. She was the first of many teachers who would get fed up with my son. Justin wasn’t purposely rebellious. He was a rascal in an unassuming, almost charming way. He sometimes got in trouble for things he didn’t even realize were wrong. Like the time he was suspended from Catholic school.

  Justin loved movies and would often repeat lines from them. When he was around seven years old, he watched a movie called Good Burger, which was based on one of the sketches on a Nickelodeon network show. In one of the film’s scenes, a customer at a burger joint is complaining to Ed, a simpleton who works at the restaurant, about the hamburger he ordered. After his rant, the irate customer storms out of the place and yells over his shoulder to Ed, “See you in hell!” Ed responds good-naturedly, “Okay, see you there!” The scene was cute and funny, meant to make you laugh.

  One afternoon when Justin rode the bus home from school, the Catholic bus driver wished him a good day as she let him off. Justin smiled, waved, and told her, “See you in hell, Bev!” He was suspended the next day. Justin wasn’t trying to be mean, just funny. Unfortunately, the bus driver didn’t appreciate my son’s humor. He was always getting into trouble and pushing boundaries. It almost seemed like Justin would get suspended at least once a year for silly things like throwing snowballs or playing with bang snaps (the mini firecrackers you throw on the ground that make a popping sound).

  A bright kid, Justin got bored easily. As he got older, I noticed his teachers either loved him or didn’t. Some called him a leader. Others, who didn’t know how to handle his contagious energy, were exasperated by his antics. All the kids in his class, however, gravitated toward him. I remember one teacher used to say that she had thirty kids and Justin. If Justin was happy and behaving, the other kids followed suit. If he was being a troublemaker, the other kids copied his behavior.

  I remember one particular occasion when he got in trouble at school and was called down to the principal’s office. Since it was such a common occurrence, Justin was prepared for his usual scolding. His teacher and the principal sat him down, but instead of yelling at him, they had a heart-to-heart with him. They encouraged him and talked to him about how he was a natural leader and what that actually meant. “Justin, the other kids in your class follow what you do and how you act,” they explained. “So when you’re good, they’re good.” These two people made such an impact on Justin. He came home from school that day beaming. “Mom, I’m a leader,” he exclaimed, proud as a peacock.

  I often use this example when I talk to parents of children with ADD or ADHD who get into a lot of trouble. While Justin wasn’t formally diagnosed with either (though one doctor did comment he was definitely hyperactive), the signs were obvious. Justin was always distracted, he was creative, he was always doing several things at one time, and he couldn’t sit still. I’ve learned that these unusually strong-willed kids are usually too smart for their own good. They’re leaders in the making and need to be encouraged and shown how to redirect their energy appropriately. Children have different learning styles and should be taught according to how they learn. Unfortunately, most classrooms today aren’t designed for that kind of individual instruction.

  I’ve found great comfort knowing that many great leaders in politics, science, the arts, and the military had attention difficulties; some were even known for being troublemakers as children. I’ll never forget a quote I heard in a video about a bunch of these greats: “Live long enough to irritate enough people to remember you.”

  I noticed Justin’s musical talent very early on. It was hard not to; the boy had amazing rhythm. Even before he turned a year old, he could clap on beat to any song. When he was one, I’d bang out some beats and Justin would imitate me bang for bang as he sat in the high chair. He was a natural. He’d play the “drums” anywhere he found a flat surface: on pots and pans, chairs, countertops, the kitchen table, the bathroom sink—nothing was off-limits.

  Justin got his musical abilities from both Jeremy and me. While I had grown up in the arts, singing and dancing, Jeremy’s side of the family was also gifted. Kate, Jeremy’s mom, was a very talented singer/songwriter, and others on her side of the family were also musically gifted. Grandma Kate made financial investments in Justin’s music by regularly sending us money for drum lessons when he was younger. Jeremy too wa
s involved with Justin’s music. He always encouraged Justin and would also teach him songs on the piano.

  So music was always a part of our lives. I had a lot of talented friends who would often come over for jam sessions. I loved to write and sing. My friend Jesse and I had many writing sessions at all hours. We actually sang at a couple of open mic sessions at a local hangout. One time we even had someone approach us and ask if we were looking for a manager. We laughed hysterically. No, we were just playing music for fun. We did, however, use Jesse’s multitrack recorder to make home recordings of our songs (which I can’t seem to find anywhere!).

  At home, I’d sing and play on my keyboard, the used Yamaha I bought for $400 when I was ten. I purchased it using money I earned from acting in the Stratford Shakespeare Festival. Ironically, it was also the same keyboard I wrote about in my journal when I was fifteen. I was thinking of selling it for $300 so I could use the money to visit some cute guys I had just met. Thank God I didn’t get rid of it.

  When Justin was two years old, I bought him a mini drum kit. Without any lessons or directions, he picked up the sticks and started pounding away. He played for an hour. My friends and I watched in amazement as this pint-sized kid with tousled hair and half of his lunch splattered across his T-shirt kept a perfect steady beat. With his signature grin plastered on his face, Justin bopped his head up and down, keeping in time with the rhythm. He loved playing the drums so much, when he was four I got him a djembe, a goatskin-covered African drum that had a different type of sound.

  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.