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MARCH 16, 1967 TEPRACE BAY Photo by Inez MeCuaig. Rev. Donald of Ethiopia, a recent guest speaker at Schreiver Gospel Mission, shown in front of a snow bank by request. Photoby Inez NeCunig. Back Row - J. Carty, President of this area, 0.2.C.T.A,. unit; J. Bird. of Holy Angels' School, Schreiber. The Schreiber - Terrace Bay branch ot the English Catholic Teachers' Association held their first music workshop in Schreiber March 3. The workshop was conducted by Sister Paschal, Music Supervisor for Port Arthur Separate Schools and Mr. J. Bird, Assistant Supervisor . Sister Paschal and Mr. Bird visited each class room in St. Martin's School, Terrace Bay and Holy Angels' tration lessons on basic techniques in teaching music. The work shop opened at 4.30 p.m. in Holy Angels' Attending the course were the staffs of Terrace Bay Public School, Schreiber Public School and Holy Angels' School and also St. Martin's School, Terrace Bay . School, Schreiber on Friday conducting brief demons- School and following dinner re-convened at 8.30p.m. The buffet dinner was convened by Mrs. Ted Morrow Front Row - Sister Paschal, Sister Timothy, Principe! NEWS BY BILL SMILEY Kim's the greatest My daughter had a birthday this week, her sixteenth. That's quite a milestone in a woman's life. Rather like the fortieth milestone, except in reverse. Life is beckoning, not waving. I'd give my right arm for that girl, even though it's ready to drop off from bursitis, and I've already offered it to the highest medical-research bid- der. And she'd take it. I can still write cheques with it, and it still works well enough to reach for my wallet. Ah, I shouldn't be cynical about*my baby. She's the only one I have. Thank God. She's been causing me pain- ful pleasure since the day she was born. Any normal kid, as you know, is born at 4a.m. Kim popped, literally popped, into the world at noon. And my wife has never forgiven me. The Old Girl began to grunt and groan about 4 a.m., but didn't want to disturb the doc- tor's sleep, and told me it would be about 24 hours before anything happened. She knew all about it, having already had a son, who took about 36 hours getting out of the nest. I knew from nothing. So we drove sedately to the hospital about 9 a.m., and booked in. She suggested I go to work, as there was no point hanging around hang-doggedly. I said, fearfully, but with the utmost relief, "You're sire you don't need me?" She retorted (bitterly, I learned later), "Don't be silly. It'll be hours." This was about 10 a.m. I phoned the hospital at noon to ask if it was OK to drop in on my wife and hold her hand. The nurse chortled, "Congratu- lations! You have a fine baby girl." And the kid has been getting me in dutch ever since. There's nothing basically wrong with Kim. Except that she's too much like her mother, as far as I'm concerned. And too much like her father, as far as her mother is concerned. Aside .from this, she's a_per- fectly normal, infuriating teen- ager. That is, she inhabits the bathroom only about five hours a day. She hates school, but her whole social life is centred there. She loves privacy, with some infernal machine blatting beat-noise. She thinks her par- ents are the square root of two. the only concession she will make to mathematics. She doesn't like liver, oys- ters, mushrooms, vegetables, salad, onions or curry, which makes for a bland diet at our place. She likes steak, imported cheese and any fruit that is out of season, which makes for an expensive grocery bill. Like all teen age girls, she gets along beautifully with her mother. They agree on every- thing. Except just about any- thing you can name. Like all teen age girls, she is | not temperamental. You can rely on her moods. Either fu- rious or radiant. She claims her parents won't even try to "communicate." This invariably occurs just at bed-time. She'd love an extra hour of communication. Pro- nounced gossip. Her choice of apparel is put- ting her mother over the brink. Rather than wear the nice, matching sweater and skirt she got for Christmas, she'll haul out an old turtle-neck I got from the Red Cross when I was overseas, navy blue, match it with pink mesh stockings and an ancient mustard suede jacket that even her brother threw out, and sally to school. Nothing: warnings, threats, and appeals to deity, stop her from waltzing around the house in her bare feet. 'But she still has an endear- ing quality from her childhood; if she reaches for the salt, she spills her milk; if she makes a batch of cookies, it takes three days to clean up the kitchen. What does she want to be? A nurse? Agh! A teacher? Yeuch! I think her secret ambition is to .be a long-haired, shouting singer with a Group. Unfortunately, her hair is so curly that if she let it grow long, she'd look like a Zulu warrior. But she sure as _ hell can shout. Especially when she's in the wrong. As you've probably gathered. I dote on my daughter. I wouldn't trade her for a brand new Cadillac. I'd have to have somebody offer me a_ Rolls- Royce. Speaking of cars, I guess I've no kick. She's been 16 for two whole days, and still hasn't asked me when she can get her driving license. A real scatter- brain. e-sehsiainincnabintaeint