Sunday, April 18, 2010

My Son and the CFC

Live blogging, eh Becca? Here's the first installment.

I was up this morning at 4 to bid my son adieu. He has made it to the interview round of the admissions process to the Canadian Film Centre. He has applied for the screenwriting program.

He had to submit an original, full-length screenplay, two letters of recommendation and some other information to make it this far. Being shortlisted is such a big deal.

The CFC was established by Governor-General Award recipient and Academy Award-nominated filmmaker Norman Jewison. It is located in Toronto in what I believe is Jewison's former home and lays claim to having "trained an incredibly disproportionate pool of industry leaders whose enormous impact on Canada’s contemporary media environment is immeasurable."

The school foots the bill to fly the short-listed, out-of-town applicants to TO and puts them up at a bed and breakfast in The Annex, a trendy area of the city between Yonge Street and Little Italy.

I am nearly sick-to-my-stomach very excited for my son. Attending this school doesn't guarantee success. No school can do that. But it does provide lots of opportunity to learn your craft and make industry contacts.

My feelings, as usual, are more complex than this.

I am also rather annoyed because, having just come from his bathroom, I can report that he didn't bring his shaving stuff. I mean why shave just because you have what is the single most important interview of your life up till now? Just because you're more than a little hirsute? Just because I said that you should?

And his attire? Well, rather than wear anything nice, he is set on wearing second-hand clothes that he purchased two weeks ago. A rather hideous orange plaid shirt and a kelly-green and brown striped pullover.

"Don't worry. It's really casual," he tells me.

Sometimes the kid makes me nuts.

And I can't believe I just wrote that. I sound like my mother. ARGHHHHHHH!


So, here I sit fretting and wondering and blowing my diet because this is the first night he is away and in 10 days, I'm going to have to get used to this really fast and I'm not ready. Not ready. Not ready at all.

I've eaten four chocolate bars and half a bag of chips. I've eaten potato skins.

Seven months of dieting and a loss of 55 pounds and I've eaten all that crap.

I'm thinking of selling everything, getting rid of the apartment and going to volunteer in Africa.

Sound like a plan?



  1. My daughter is 14. I've dreaded, since the day she was born, the day she would leave.

  2. I know there is something wonderful after this. I know there is. But it's the end of something too and I'm starting to grieve.

  3. Oh I hope he gets in. And I hope you adjust without blowing the diet too badly. Love you!