Scarborough in the Mid-2000s
Eyes on Scarborough back when PJ’s Pet Centre was still a hit at STC.
Commuting home from UTSC. // Photo by Sajda Zahir, THE UNDERGROUND
I’ve always associated Scarborough with part of my childhood. My parents immigrated to Canada in June of 2002 from Pakistan. My Amma was pregnant with me when they arrived in my current neighbourhood, Flemingdon Park, and lived with my uncle and his family for some time. I was too young to remember my first neighbourhood being Flemingdon Park since my family ended up moving to Scarborough sometime afterwards. I can’t recall the exact age I was when we moved, but what I can remember is that it was when Scarborough was still considered a small suburb that consisted of rust-coloured bungalows filled with families of all backgrounds.
The colour of our small bungalow we shared with another family and their tenant was rust red, the bricks separated by beige lining of concrete. It was at the corner of the street which made it easy for me to tell apart from the other houses. On the right of the bungalow was a two-story white house that had another Pakistani family with three kids, and on the left was a small dark coloured bungalow, another South Asian family with two young girls residing there.
In the summer, all the kids would gather in the driveway of my house to spend each day doing something together. Some days we would cover the sidewalk and driveway with chalk, and I always chose pink to draw hearts since it was the only thing I knew how to draw properly (this still applies now). On other days, we would play tag, decide to dress up as princesses and fairies, eat freezies in the sun, or bring our dolls and toys outside to play in the sun. Almost two decades later, it’s hard to remember those summer days; but I can still vividly recall the heat of the sun on my skin, the smell of asphalt coming from the pavement, and how different it was compared to where I live now, house after house as you walked down the sidewalk—at some point I believed that the houses would never end as you walked along.
A little Sajda // Photo by Sajda Zahir, THE UNDERGROUND
My parents would go to Scarborough Town Centre (STC) often, and my most vivid memory has to be the old food court. After shopping around and trying to force myself out of the Disney Store that always hypnotized me with red Mickey Mouse ears, they’d buy me the Filet-O-Fish Sandwich combo from McDonald’s that I usually struggled to finish on my own—I still complained when my Baba would take my fries. Once my food was done, I would run into PJ’s Pet Centre right by the food court, my Baba running after me. Right when I entered the store, there was an enclosed large glass case with either puppies or cats. It was the same routine: I’d beg my Baba for one, being unable to say no to his beloved spoiled daughter, he would tell me “next time” which I would protest against, saying that he said that the last time. This went on for a very long time until I witnessed one of the animals pooping and was absolutely horrified thinking I would have to clean something like that.
The Bluffs were also always affiliated with summer. My family, along with most of our neighbours would often make barbeque trips together. I loved going to the beach when I was younger because there was something about playing in water that used to make me so excited—I think that started because of our frequent trips to Bluffers Beach. I’d often put my feet in the water with the rest of the kids, screaming and laughing as bigger waves would splash against our knees. We would move further into the water until one of the adults caught us and would yell at us to come back out. After we ate lunch, the others would want to play in the park or make sandcastles; I usually stayed in water, waiting for the waves to get stronger and splash me. I’d cry and complain about having to come out as the sun began to set—it was no surprise that I was usually the one who got sick more often.
My Amma took the TTC everywhere which is why I accredit all my transit knowledge from experiences in my stroller with her—traveling from Scarborough to Gerard Street, the Flemingdon Park Community Centre, and Orfus Road. I’d look up at the different advertisements, attempting to read the words and asking my Amma when I stumbled upon sounds I couldn’t pronounce. Riding on the TTC was an adventure for me, and in a way, I think it was the same for my Amma too. She enjoyed being able to go places on her own and exploring things even when my Baba wasn’t with us. We’d leave early in the morning, the beginning of our trip always starting with me snoozing in the stroller and then spending time together throughout the day—my Amma often being guilt-tripped into buying me snacks. We lived close to the Eglinton GO Station, and whenever I would see the GO train pass by, I thought it was absolutely shocking that a train could be that big. I’d ask my Amma if we could go on one day and she would often respond saying we’d plan something with my Baba. I never really ended up using the GO train until I was about 17 years old, not feeling its enormity the same way I did when I was younger, but still feeling the nostalgia.
Never thought I’d end up here, again. // Photo by Sajda Zahir, THE UNDERGROUND
There’s a strange sense of comfort that I associate with Scarborough, despite the infamous comments associated with how there’s “nothing to do in Scarborough, no one really willingly visits Scarborough, and if you do it’s usually out of necessity.”
I think my comfort stems from community. I’ve always felt connected to other people when I was young and used to live in Scarborough. And about more than a decade later I still feel the same—everyone knows each other in some way, and even though my time in Scarborough as a kid was short-lived, there are still familiar faces that I bump into ever so often on campus. And when I pass by each of the places where lingering memories of my childhood remain, encompassed by Scarborough in the mid-2000s, I appreciate how far I’ve come in my life adapting to how everything has changed.
