Groups have shaped many aspects of my life. I had a fourteen-year career as an Early Childhood Educator caring for groups of children. In my twenties, I became a Katimavik participant and volunteered in three eastern Canadian provinces. And when I was twelve, I joined CGIT. What's CGIT? Well...
CGIT
Linda, Colleen, Susan, and...and... How many of us were there? Maybe eight or nine or maybe even ten. We met at our leader Donna's house each week—she lived in "town", very close to the school. She and her co-leader, Bobbie, always had something fun for us to do.
We began each meeting by reciting our motto, and it was as religious as we got. Or maybe there was a short prayer that followed. We were mostly Protestants, but I think there may have been some Catholics. CGIT is a non-denominational Christian organization.
After the reciting... After the prayer... What exactly did we do?
I remember once Donna or maybe Bobbie presented us with this moral dilemma. We were to imagine that we were stuck on a deserted island and only had enough rations for half the group. We were all assigned roles—some of us were to play senior citizens. Others... Well, the castaways were a diverse group. But I choose, or maybe I was assigned, to play a twenty-something guy. Individually, we were to present our case for why we should be allowed to live. Few got into their roles as much as I did. I used all my creative energy to craft his character. He spoke to me so clearly. It was like he was alive.
"Without me, all the rest of you would die," he told that group of girls—through me.
It was the 70s. The time of women's liberation. So they thought they didn't need him. I can't remember the verdict, but I do remember how hard I defended him.
I remember Donna got this letter from the head office in Toronto. In the letter the CGIT higher-ups explained that we were supposed to buy this uniform—they called it a middy. We all pooh-poohed that idea immediately. A dress? That dress? No! We were modern gals. We put our heads together and designed our own uniform—jeans and a sky blue scoop-neck tee with black felt letters—CGIT—across the front.
"What do the letters stand for?" some asked.
"Cutest Girls In Town," we said.
As a group we went to the CGIT conference in Winnipeg. All the other groups were in middies. They stared at our jeans and tees. We thought we could read their minds. They judged us to be hicks from the sticks.
One of the girls broke away from her group and came over to talk to us. "Your uniforms are so cool," she told us. "Everyone wishes that they thought of it. Instead of having to wear these stupid dresses."
Oh, yeah, and I almost forgot. We also drove to a lodge somewhere close to Eriksdale to camp. I made breakfast but, unfortunately, burnt the French toast. And my friend Susan and I went to CGIT camp in Lake Brereton. It took hours and hours to get there. It was the first time I was away from home. And I wasn't homesick. Well, not much. We had a talent night. My cabin acted out the words to the folk song The Harlem Goat. You know, the song about the goat who ate three red shirts and flagged a train. And-- And-- So much more. But that's enough for now. Except to say that when I had my eighteenth birthday and aged out of the group, Donna asked me to welcome the new girls by reciting our motto. I can still remember standing at the front of the church, behind the pulpit, and leaning into the microphone...
