Doors

Dear readers, today, you'll meet my father, Nicolas, a man whose spontaneous decision became the story of how I became an accidental Yorkie.

It was the late spring of grade seven, and the hallowed halls of Little Flower Academy amplified the anxious scribbles of entrance exams. Like my classmates from St. Augustine's, the path seemed set; the Catholic all-girls school was where we were bound. But fate, and my father had other plans.

After the exam, my father, Nicolas, stood outside, a figure cut from a bygone era with his three-piece suit and fedora, chatting up the principal—a conversation I'd only later learn was laced with tension that could slice through steel. Unbeknownst to me, as I answered questions on geography and grammar, my future was being redirected by a principal’s candid admission: “I'd accept three stupid Catholic girls rather than one smart Orthodox one.”

As I emerged from the gym, I saw the familiar crimson wave of anger wash over my father’s face. Without a word, his intention was clear as he gripped my hand and we marched across the street to York House.

York House was a fortress of tradition and academics, but that day, it opened a new door for me. The head of school, a woman of keen insight and sharp wit, listened to my father's account of the morning's ordeal. There was something about my father's earnestness, his impassioned plea, that won her over. Before I'd even spoken a word, she extended her hand in welcome to the school.

I often reflect on that day when - the accidental Yorkie - was born from a clash of principles and a father's indignation. York House wasn't just a school; it became a main character in many of my coming-of-age stories. It's a place that shaped me in ways I’m still unravelling.

If I were to draw a parallel to a character that embodied my father's spirit, it would be Edward Bloom from “Big Fish.” Like Bloom, my father, Nicolas, wove his life with stories, greeted every person as a friend not yet made, and could spin a bad situation into a tale of adventure.

In the vast narrative of life, some might call this turn of events divine intervention. I view it as the opportune moment when my father’s stance against a narrow-minded, prejudice-laden comment charted a new course for his only daughter.

It was in the spirited exchanges in English class, the endless hours spent in the darkroom developing film and photos, and the bonds formed, where I see the impact of that day. The lessons I learned at York House went beyond textbooks; they were about standing up for what's right and one's self, embracing change, and the power of stories well told.

High school was my own “Big Fish” tale, where the protagonist emerges wiser, kinder, and, some would say, more spirited, ready for the world’s vast and unpredictable ocean.

Today, as I share these memories of Nicolas, here on Saints and Cigarettes, they are a celebration of the man who, in his polished shoes and striking suit, taught me the most valuable lesson: when one door closes, have the courage to knock on another.