I must have been around three.

Or perhaps four.

At any rate, it was an age when memories start to stick and experiences shape the person you will eventually become. I was in my maternal grandparent’s basement. My mom was deep in conversation au Francais with my grandmother and I tried to distract myself by exploring the space as I waited for them to finish. There wasn’t much; an older, multi-unit dwelling, its basement was unfinished for the most part save a washer/dryer and a cracked concrete floor that I remember being cold on my feet. The lack of decor in the basement was actually in stark contrast to the rest of their technicolour home where I distinctly remember a forest green living room, Peptol-Bismol pink bathroom, and baby blue bedroom. Everything was completely colour-coordinated to precision with matching carpet, furniture and accessories.

But there was one thing I found in the basement that caught my attention: a miniature toy dinosaur.

I was riveted. At the time, no one had told me what a dinosaur was. I don’t even think I’d ever seen a picture of one. I took the small toy with me, constructing adventures in my head on the bus ride home about what it was and where it came from. I probably didn’t stop talking about it as my parent’s eventually got me more toys and some books about cretaceous creatures—I even remember my first one purchased at Woolco, which I’ve kept all these years. I’ve been fascinated ever since.

As he always did, my father cultivated my interests by introducing me to one of the best places to learn about dinosaurs in the world: Drumheller, Alberta, home of the badlands and world-renowned Royal Tyrrell Museum of Paleontology, which I visited this week … taking me back to those childhood days full of wonder and curiosity.