We are born I think,thinking our parents are invincible,able to do anything.Mostly it's because we are small and there are very few things we have learned to do.We depend upon parents for everything in our early years.
And in my early years it seemed my father could do everything.Read a newspaper or a bedtime story.Write things in letters that were still a mystery to me.He could teach us to write too:words like cat and hat,or even cow and dog.He could drive a car,a machine that was impossibly big and dangerous,yet he could take us anywhere we wanted to go safely.It was truly a miracle,for it resulted in us being able to see others,such as our grandparents,or in us being able to bring food home from the store.And he knew all about the places we were passing and told us all about them,be they an old building or a barn or a road.He could even fly a plane too,though I only saw him do it once.But he knew all about any sort of car or plane.Moreover,he was tall,good looking,fast and strong.He could run or push a swing or carry my sister or myself if we tired of walking.He was powerful enough to protect us from whatever dangers might come to the point that we were never aware that there were dangers.He knew,too that we needed to learn to be good people,to do right rather than wrong.He read us all the Bible stories about Adam and Eve,Noah,David,Jonah and Moses.He told us about Heaven and Hell.Heaven,to him was a place good people go and we should want to go there.So we needed to tell the truth,and not steal or swear and to honor our parents.And he made the flames of Hell seem so real that I wanted very much to do only what was good,though I didn't know if I could ever be good enough to avoid burning.But I knew that my father was there to teach me,and,being small I placed my confidence in him.His discipline could be swift and harsh or very subtle.
But we grow,and eventually discover that our parents have feet of clay.We start to see that our parents may not always tell all of the truth all of the time,that they may take things that don't strictly speaking belong to them,or that they don't always talk kindly about their own parents.And sometime they tell us"don't do as I do,do as I say."Then they fall back on that commandment about honoring your parents, and God,and Hell with it's burning fires is a very big stick.But if my father were so invincible,why the need such a powerful weapon.The truth is,and we soon start to see it, is that there are thing happening that have command over our parents too.They are very powerful things and in many instances they are so powerful that they cannot be resisted.
Such was the way my fathers life was.He had his weaknesses,while trying hard to do well and to move his family forward.One of the first things I noticed regarding his fallibility was that he never went to church with us,and so I never knew what he believed,or why.For a few Sundays when I was perhaps ten,he came to church and I believe it must have been at my mothers urging,as I was getting to be of an age where I didn't want to go to church either.My reasoning consisted solely of"if Dad doesn't go,why do I have to?"At home he never spoke of God and for that matter,neither did my mother to any great degree.Church belonged mostly to Sunday morning and we were not a greatly religious family aside from that.I came to know in later years that the Father should be the spiritual head of the household,and my father simply wasn't.For one reason or another he simply wasn't able.I don't hold this against him in any way,though I do believe that I was not subject to the parental example I needed to have at the time.
As I grew older,my father began to be more obvious in some of his weaknesses.He seemed angry much of the time,for reasons unknown to me.He didn't seem to associate much with men his own age,and it may well have had to do with his having only a grade eight education and being perhaps self conscious of that reality.Because of this he seemed subject,more than he should be to the influence of others.When a neighbor began spending more time around our house and making political pronouncements to the effect that the French people in our midst were trying to take over our country and cause us English people disadvantage socially,my father bought in to the idea.And so did I.And it's always been a matter in which I wished I'd had more of the right kind of guidance so that I would not have had to unlearn a lot of bigotry.My father could be civil to anyone,and was far from being hate filled like our neighbor.I think he truly believed in the goodness of people.But he allowed our neighbor to be a greater force in his home than he was himself.At those time he just seemed to swing in the wind,though I saw a different side to him when we were alone.I wasn't necessarily able to define what that side of him was though.
Throughout all of my childhood my father liked to drink beer.I never really though much about it until I reached my teens.I knew beer could make you drunk,but I'd never seen my father drunk,and wasn't sure what the significance of drunkenness was in any event.I'd never viewed my father as an alcoholic,and in fact still don't.But I may be wrong about that.When I was a teenager my father and I would make many short trips away from home,usually to the cottage,or Springhill or some such place.Almost all of those trips involved a trip to the liquor store for a six pack of beer.Six didn't seem very many and hence the idea in my head that because he didn't drink much,he couldn't be an alcoholic.The problem was that it didn't take much to make my father quite silly,though he never became mean when drinking.But still,nothing functioned normally after he had had six beers.No conversation seemed to make sense and whatever we had come to do never seemed to get done.If we were putting a new roof on the cottage,it would remain unfinished.Sometimes we would go to town and I would end up driving home when I was just learning to drive.I still trusted my father at these times but cognitive dissonance could take up a big space in my life then too.
My father I think was having a hard time hanging on.He still went to work everyday,and still provided for us,but his life must have been uncommonly difficult.But as always he sheltered us from all that,believing,I suppose that it was a good thing to do.But as I entered my last year or two of high school I realized the my father was in decline.When I moved to Alberta it became more noticeable every time I returned for a visit,or every time my parents would visit me.At some point he began having strokes and his decline was long and difficult to watch.Because we did not see each other everyday I could see how far he had slipped every time I did see him.It was very obvious when viewing it that way.
Saturday 16 June 2012
Friday 15 June 2012
Fathers Day Part III
I said my father was an enigma.There were truly some things that confused me about him.I guess in that I am hardly alone.Most people I know say the same thing,and to a greater or lesser degree it seems true of most people too.Partly it's necessary,I think that we not know all there is to know about our parents.I often think of the Biblical story of Noah.Not the flood,but the story of his sons discovering his nakedness and what each of them did about it.It is not,on the one hand,good for children to know of all things in a parents life.It can diminish respect.On the other hand,parents are there to be role models.Children,though don't always understand what is being role modeled to them.I wish I knew more about my father,my whole family in fact.But they were not the type to boast,so I was not raised immersed in family history and so I'm left to the damnable state of drawing my own conclusions.
My father was ever one to sacrifice for his family.He drove eighty miles each way to work so,as he once told me,we would not have to go to school in rural northeastern New Brunswick,where some of the worst funded schools in the entire country were located.In Moncton we would have a lot of conveniences not available to us if we had lived closer to where my father worked.All very true,and so he drove,eighty miles to work and eighty miles home,day after day,year after year.It took a toll,for he often seemed tired,not just as a hard working person might,but as someone more weary than normal more of the time.I've no doubt that it weakened him and ultimately shortened his life.And it's difficult not to admire the sacrifice,for it truly was a good one in terms of what our quality of life was.
A few years ago I found out something about my fathers sacrifice that I did not know.And this is where the enigma rears it's head.I'd met Steven Wright here in Calgary more than a decade ago now and of course we fell into talking about people in New Brunswick,including my father.Steven is related to people on my mothers side of the family.During this conversation,he related to me that my father could have had a transfer to a military installation in Moncton,just a ten minute drive away.The only stipulation was that he would have to learn to speak French,at the governments time and expense.He refused,for whatever reason.I,of course was not aware of this at the time.At the time relations between English and French in Moncton were not always the best.But I truly did not believe that my father would have been motivated by hatred to the point of not wanting the opportunity to improve himself.This seems now to be especially inane in view of the fact that he traveled all the way to Chilliwack,British Columbia,in the fall of 1968,for upgrading that his employer also required.And so,the sacrifice continued,eighty miles,twice a day.But I really don't understand the nature of sacrifice,I think.How necessary was it?I can accept it as being one of those difficult choices that adults sometimes have to make.
It's so difficult to fully describe my father and to say nothing of his health,and the effect it must have had upon him.I can never recall him being in really good health for a long period of time.When I was young he had the bigger part of his stomach removed because of ulcers,and I had no idea how serious such an operation was in those days,or of how it must have worried my mother.He had a gall bladder removed when I was a bit older too.
Of course,in his later years he was ravaged by strokes,one after another,until he was dependent on others for his care.All of this had a great effect on how I viewed my father,and on how our relationship went during most of my adult life.But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Physical health was one thing,but I believe my father had some mental health issues he struggled with as well.Still he went on providing for us,and,I believe,sheltering us from the state of his health.Another sacrifice.Aside from the view of having very little power within himself,there was at least on incident I recall that would cause me some concern,if I had only knew then what I know now.Our street was in a residential area and was posted as a no truck route.Still the trucks took a short cut through and this made my father angry.So angry in fact that he backed his car out on the street on morning and blocked a truck from going past.During the incident,the truck drove into the side of his car,and the police were called.As the years passed,my father spent a lot of time at home sleeping.Far more time than normal.He spent a lot of time away at the summer cottage too.I never though much about any of this at the time,but in looking back it seems my father had a lot of occupations that might have been though of as a means of avoiding...something.I wonder now what that something could have been
Sometime after returning from British Columbia my father took a second job selling cars.I should mention that he always regarded British Columbia very fondly,and at times talked of transferring there.It seemed to me that the time right after he got back was a very happy time for him and he was very enthusiastic about life in general.Never have I seen him look more happy and natural as he did in a photo of himself with a couple of fish he caught in the Vedder River during that trip.So,it was likely that vigor that motivated him to take his second job.He worked at it for a few years,maybe ten or so,then quit,but his boss always remained a friend.
It was my fathers second job that caused a number of people to come into our life,and our home,and to bring about another part of his enigmatic nature.He seemed to like mentoring young men.He sold a number of these men their first cars,and at least two of them became friends of the family.Dana Weaver and Lawrence Wilbur,then later,Lawrence's brother Phillip.My father was best man at Dana Weavers wedding,and during the mid to late 1970's he and the Wilbur boys became good friends.They were often out doing things together.And this troubled me somewhat.Not that I could articulate that at the time.I suppose there was a bit of jealously to it if I were to be perfectly honest.But there were times when I guess I needed my father to be there and he was not,and so I never got the benefit of his point of view on some problem I was having.
I think the truth of the relationship that my father had with the Wilbur boys was that he found friends that he could hang out with,and perhaps share a beer with.When I think of it now,there were many people that my father knew,but I don't believe he had a friend roughly his own age with whom he could relate to on a purely friendly,man to man way.I think that is what the Wilbur boys became,at least for a while-neither sons,nor father and not exactly peers either.
My father was ever one to sacrifice for his family.He drove eighty miles each way to work so,as he once told me,we would not have to go to school in rural northeastern New Brunswick,where some of the worst funded schools in the entire country were located.In Moncton we would have a lot of conveniences not available to us if we had lived closer to where my father worked.All very true,and so he drove,eighty miles to work and eighty miles home,day after day,year after year.It took a toll,for he often seemed tired,not just as a hard working person might,but as someone more weary than normal more of the time.I've no doubt that it weakened him and ultimately shortened his life.And it's difficult not to admire the sacrifice,for it truly was a good one in terms of what our quality of life was.
A few years ago I found out something about my fathers sacrifice that I did not know.And this is where the enigma rears it's head.I'd met Steven Wright here in Calgary more than a decade ago now and of course we fell into talking about people in New Brunswick,including my father.Steven is related to people on my mothers side of the family.During this conversation,he related to me that my father could have had a transfer to a military installation in Moncton,just a ten minute drive away.The only stipulation was that he would have to learn to speak French,at the governments time and expense.He refused,for whatever reason.I,of course was not aware of this at the time.At the time relations between English and French in Moncton were not always the best.But I truly did not believe that my father would have been motivated by hatred to the point of not wanting the opportunity to improve himself.This seems now to be especially inane in view of the fact that he traveled all the way to Chilliwack,British Columbia,in the fall of 1968,for upgrading that his employer also required.And so,the sacrifice continued,eighty miles,twice a day.But I really don't understand the nature of sacrifice,I think.How necessary was it?I can accept it as being one of those difficult choices that adults sometimes have to make.
It's so difficult to fully describe my father and to say nothing of his health,and the effect it must have had upon him.I can never recall him being in really good health for a long period of time.When I was young he had the bigger part of his stomach removed because of ulcers,and I had no idea how serious such an operation was in those days,or of how it must have worried my mother.He had a gall bladder removed when I was a bit older too.
Of course,in his later years he was ravaged by strokes,one after another,until he was dependent on others for his care.All of this had a great effect on how I viewed my father,and on how our relationship went during most of my adult life.But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Physical health was one thing,but I believe my father had some mental health issues he struggled with as well.Still he went on providing for us,and,I believe,sheltering us from the state of his health.Another sacrifice.Aside from the view of having very little power within himself,there was at least on incident I recall that would cause me some concern,if I had only knew then what I know now.Our street was in a residential area and was posted as a no truck route.Still the trucks took a short cut through and this made my father angry.So angry in fact that he backed his car out on the street on morning and blocked a truck from going past.During the incident,the truck drove into the side of his car,and the police were called.As the years passed,my father spent a lot of time at home sleeping.Far more time than normal.He spent a lot of time away at the summer cottage too.I never though much about any of this at the time,but in looking back it seems my father had a lot of occupations that might have been though of as a means of avoiding...something.I wonder now what that something could have been
Sometime after returning from British Columbia my father took a second job selling cars.I should mention that he always regarded British Columbia very fondly,and at times talked of transferring there.It seemed to me that the time right after he got back was a very happy time for him and he was very enthusiastic about life in general.Never have I seen him look more happy and natural as he did in a photo of himself with a couple of fish he caught in the Vedder River during that trip.So,it was likely that vigor that motivated him to take his second job.He worked at it for a few years,maybe ten or so,then quit,but his boss always remained a friend.
It was my fathers second job that caused a number of people to come into our life,and our home,and to bring about another part of his enigmatic nature.He seemed to like mentoring young men.He sold a number of these men their first cars,and at least two of them became friends of the family.Dana Weaver and Lawrence Wilbur,then later,Lawrence's brother Phillip.My father was best man at Dana Weavers wedding,and during the mid to late 1970's he and the Wilbur boys became good friends.They were often out doing things together.And this troubled me somewhat.Not that I could articulate that at the time.I suppose there was a bit of jealously to it if I were to be perfectly honest.But there were times when I guess I needed my father to be there and he was not,and so I never got the benefit of his point of view on some problem I was having.
I think the truth of the relationship that my father had with the Wilbur boys was that he found friends that he could hang out with,and perhaps share a beer with.When I think of it now,there were many people that my father knew,but I don't believe he had a friend roughly his own age with whom he could relate to on a purely friendly,man to man way.I think that is what the Wilbur boys became,at least for a while-neither sons,nor father and not exactly peers either.
Fathers Day Part II
My father was troubled.There is no doubt in my mind about that.His troubles reveal much about him.It makes me hope that God will deal justly and mercifully with him,as we know he does with all of his children.
In looking over my notes of recollections for this entry,two incidents that my father described to me come to mind as being especially revealing in terms of how his life was,or at least how he perceived it to be.
When he came to Goose Bay,in what I take to be the years before my mother entered the picture,my father describes a meeting with a man he calls a "minister"-that is to say a clergyman,though I'm not sure of what faith.According to my father,he was in a military barracks of some sort and had gone to take a shower.He never really said what prompted his behavior.It may be that he slipped on a wet floor or because of some other misadventure or simply because that was the way he was accustomed to speaking in those days,but he found himself in the privacy of his shower"swearing and cursing and taking the Lords name in vain"There was another man in a nearby shower stall and as they both finished showering and began drying themselves,the other man introduced himself as a preacher and noted"you certainly know how to curse."In telling the story,my father notes that he found the incident"embarrassing"though he doesn't say exactly why.Was he embarrassed by the words he was using,or by the chance encounter with a preacher while using those words?When we were small,we were not permitted to swear,and my father kept a good example in that regard.But that seemed to fade as we grew older and I came to realize that there were few words that my father would not use.He contained his habit for the good of his children,but it was a habit nonetheless.It speaks to me of his life being quite troubled shortly after he left Springhill,for what person who uses profanity is not troubled?
The second of the two incidents that my father described being involved in,or,to be more precise,the second and third incidents,involved roadside encounters on his way either to or from work.Most of his working career he commuted eighty miles each way to work.Late one night he encountered a man on the side of the road that he described to me as an "Indian."He stopped and offered the man a ride only to eventually find himself at knife point for some reason that he never fully related,though I do not believe he was being robbed.He managed to get the person out of his car at some point and escaped harm.Of course he vowed never to put himself in that position again.Eventually the situation arose when he faced a similar choice and drove past a stranded motorist believing he was doing the right thing.In the morning,he said,he found out that the person he passed had been found dead on the side of the road and he took it very hard.I've no idea if the incidents really happened.There seemed to me to be a lot of missing details,such that the stories might have been allegorical,to be used as teaching tools.But they seemed to point to what may have been my fathers worldview.That he had very little power within himself to do the right thing no matter how hard he tried.That he would always be criticized,that any given action would somehow turn out wrong."Damned if I do,Damned if I don't"was a phrase I heard him use more than once.And these stories were given to me in the context of a conversation on learning to do the right thing.
My father would go out of his way to help people.At times he seemed the sort of man who would give you the shirt off his back.At times he seemed exactly the opposite.But what made him change from one view to the other I don't know.He seemed to think,at least some of the time that no one would ever lift a finger to help him and so no one was entitled to his help either.It may have simply been a response to something going on in his life at that particular time that he did not share with us.I think that is the likely truth.I also think he was positively influenced by his wife and our mother.Simply put,he seemed to be a better person when she was around.
In looking over my notes of recollections for this entry,two incidents that my father described to me come to mind as being especially revealing in terms of how his life was,or at least how he perceived it to be.
When he came to Goose Bay,in what I take to be the years before my mother entered the picture,my father describes a meeting with a man he calls a "minister"-that is to say a clergyman,though I'm not sure of what faith.According to my father,he was in a military barracks of some sort and had gone to take a shower.He never really said what prompted his behavior.It may be that he slipped on a wet floor or because of some other misadventure or simply because that was the way he was accustomed to speaking in those days,but he found himself in the privacy of his shower"swearing and cursing and taking the Lords name in vain"There was another man in a nearby shower stall and as they both finished showering and began drying themselves,the other man introduced himself as a preacher and noted"you certainly know how to curse."In telling the story,my father notes that he found the incident"embarrassing"though he doesn't say exactly why.Was he embarrassed by the words he was using,or by the chance encounter with a preacher while using those words?When we were small,we were not permitted to swear,and my father kept a good example in that regard.But that seemed to fade as we grew older and I came to realize that there were few words that my father would not use.He contained his habit for the good of his children,but it was a habit nonetheless.It speaks to me of his life being quite troubled shortly after he left Springhill,for what person who uses profanity is not troubled?
The second of the two incidents that my father described being involved in,or,to be more precise,the second and third incidents,involved roadside encounters on his way either to or from work.Most of his working career he commuted eighty miles each way to work.Late one night he encountered a man on the side of the road that he described to me as an "Indian."He stopped and offered the man a ride only to eventually find himself at knife point for some reason that he never fully related,though I do not believe he was being robbed.He managed to get the person out of his car at some point and escaped harm.Of course he vowed never to put himself in that position again.Eventually the situation arose when he faced a similar choice and drove past a stranded motorist believing he was doing the right thing.In the morning,he said,he found out that the person he passed had been found dead on the side of the road and he took it very hard.I've no idea if the incidents really happened.There seemed to me to be a lot of missing details,such that the stories might have been allegorical,to be used as teaching tools.But they seemed to point to what may have been my fathers worldview.That he had very little power within himself to do the right thing no matter how hard he tried.That he would always be criticized,that any given action would somehow turn out wrong."Damned if I do,Damned if I don't"was a phrase I heard him use more than once.And these stories were given to me in the context of a conversation on learning to do the right thing.
My father would go out of his way to help people.At times he seemed the sort of man who would give you the shirt off his back.At times he seemed exactly the opposite.But what made him change from one view to the other I don't know.He seemed to think,at least some of the time that no one would ever lift a finger to help him and so no one was entitled to his help either.It may have simply been a response to something going on in his life at that particular time that he did not share with us.I think that is the likely truth.I also think he was positively influenced by his wife and our mother.Simply put,he seemed to be a better person when she was around.
Fathers Day
Fathers Day is not until Sunday,but I believe I will get started writing about it a day or two early,because this may take more than one post to complete.
I wish I could offer up a more or less glowing tribute to my father,as I did with my mother a month or so ago.But I'm sorry to say I cannot.You see,the man was largely an enigma to me.Most of what I'm going to say is informed by either things I've heard him say about himself,or from years of watching him,mostly in childhood years.Still I'm not certain I got it all right.I don't want to judge him morally.That is not the intent of what I'm doing here,though there are some who will more than willingly read that into it,just so they can be justified in taking offense.So be it.
Firstly I need to clear up some misconceptions about my father and myself that have been out there for a number of years.While riding in the back of a car through central New Brunswick,Canada a number of years ago,I was informed that some thirty odd years ago,I left home because I didn't get along with my father.This was,for whatever stated as though it were Gospel fact and for all intents and purposes it was said as though I were not even in the car.Now it may be that the person who said this was lying,or simply misinformed.But to be certain,neither they ,or anyone else for that matter has ever mentioned that to me,never mind checking their perceptions or asking my side of the story.Well,suffice it to say,for now that my reasons for leaving home had very little to do with anything other than economic reality and that,as far as I am aware,not only my father,but both parents were supportive of my decision at the time.But I repeat,it was not a decision that had anything to do with the state or relations with my father.I expect to more fully explain my decision at some future date,either here or elsewhere,but if you're not willing to ask,then you'll just have to wait.
Secondly,there seems to be the rather vicious rumor floating around that once I proclaimed myself Christian,that I came to the conclusion that my father was "going to Hell."Again,I did not and do not think that,not only of my father,but of any other person.Simply put,it's bad theology to hold a belief in any way similar to that.I simply do not and cannot know the condition of another persons soul,nor will I even try.I can see or hear the way a person behaves without necessarily knowing what motivates that behavior,so I will try to regard others in a way that is free from judging their soul.The person who started this rumor should do likewise,or at least come to the source and ask if they believe this to be true.As it is,this seems like an attack on Christian belief with no regard to collateral damage.Nothing new there.
In preparing this blog entry I made several pages of notes,and it's hard to know where to start.Let me say,I don't believe my father was a bad person.I do believe that he carried a heavy burden through this world.As with most burdens,one never knows how heavy it is until one puts it down.And I'm not at all certain that my father ever put his down.He believed in justice,in right and wrong and in trying to live a good a decent life.He believed in doing the right thing,though I'm not certain many of the people he met in life would allow him to do that which he saw as right.You see,being a man is never really easy.Mostly it's being under a state of constant attack no matter what you do.The most you can hope for,it seems to me is the support of one or two dedicated friends that truly know you.I'm not even certain my father had that.I believe that his life was troubled,even haunted by demons that he had no idea how to rid himself of, as much as he may have tried.Years ago,when I was perhaps eight or nine he asked me to be certain, when he died that "Peace In The Valley"was sung at his funeral.I believe peace to have been the greatest longing of his heart.
Before I continue,let me say this.Our father was a good provider.There was always food on our table and a comfortable house to live in.We were not wealthy,nor did we really want for much that we really needed.I did not often hear my mother and father fighting or even openly disagreeing.There may well have been challenges in their marriage.In fact I would be surprised if there were not.But they believed in staying united because of their children,and,ultimately because they promised each other that they would.You don't see much of that in today's world.It is a credit to the man who was my father,whatever else his shortcomings may have been.
I wish I could offer up a more or less glowing tribute to my father,as I did with my mother a month or so ago.But I'm sorry to say I cannot.You see,the man was largely an enigma to me.Most of what I'm going to say is informed by either things I've heard him say about himself,or from years of watching him,mostly in childhood years.Still I'm not certain I got it all right.I don't want to judge him morally.That is not the intent of what I'm doing here,though there are some who will more than willingly read that into it,just so they can be justified in taking offense.So be it.
Firstly I need to clear up some misconceptions about my father and myself that have been out there for a number of years.While riding in the back of a car through central New Brunswick,Canada a number of years ago,I was informed that some thirty odd years ago,I left home because I didn't get along with my father.This was,for whatever stated as though it were Gospel fact and for all intents and purposes it was said as though I were not even in the car.Now it may be that the person who said this was lying,or simply misinformed.But to be certain,neither they ,or anyone else for that matter has ever mentioned that to me,never mind checking their perceptions or asking my side of the story.Well,suffice it to say,for now that my reasons for leaving home had very little to do with anything other than economic reality and that,as far as I am aware,not only my father,but both parents were supportive of my decision at the time.But I repeat,it was not a decision that had anything to do with the state or relations with my father.I expect to more fully explain my decision at some future date,either here or elsewhere,but if you're not willing to ask,then you'll just have to wait.
Secondly,there seems to be the rather vicious rumor floating around that once I proclaimed myself Christian,that I came to the conclusion that my father was "going to Hell."Again,I did not and do not think that,not only of my father,but of any other person.Simply put,it's bad theology to hold a belief in any way similar to that.I simply do not and cannot know the condition of another persons soul,nor will I even try.I can see or hear the way a person behaves without necessarily knowing what motivates that behavior,so I will try to regard others in a way that is free from judging their soul.The person who started this rumor should do likewise,or at least come to the source and ask if they believe this to be true.As it is,this seems like an attack on Christian belief with no regard to collateral damage.Nothing new there.
In preparing this blog entry I made several pages of notes,and it's hard to know where to start.Let me say,I don't believe my father was a bad person.I do believe that he carried a heavy burden through this world.As with most burdens,one never knows how heavy it is until one puts it down.And I'm not at all certain that my father ever put his down.He believed in justice,in right and wrong and in trying to live a good a decent life.He believed in doing the right thing,though I'm not certain many of the people he met in life would allow him to do that which he saw as right.You see,being a man is never really easy.Mostly it's being under a state of constant attack no matter what you do.The most you can hope for,it seems to me is the support of one or two dedicated friends that truly know you.I'm not even certain my father had that.I believe that his life was troubled,even haunted by demons that he had no idea how to rid himself of, as much as he may have tried.Years ago,when I was perhaps eight or nine he asked me to be certain, when he died that "Peace In The Valley"was sung at his funeral.I believe peace to have been the greatest longing of his heart.
Before I continue,let me say this.Our father was a good provider.There was always food on our table and a comfortable house to live in.We were not wealthy,nor did we really want for much that we really needed.I did not often hear my mother and father fighting or even openly disagreeing.There may well have been challenges in their marriage.In fact I would be surprised if there were not.But they believed in staying united because of their children,and,ultimately because they promised each other that they would.You don't see much of that in today's world.It is a credit to the man who was my father,whatever else his shortcomings may have been.
Wednesday 13 June 2012
Monday 11 June 2012
memoir writers homework.
Once again here is a writing exercise undertaken by the members of my former writers group from Toronto,Canada.This one was based on the topic"If animals talked back"from the session on Monday,May 28.
We had both dogs and cats when I was a boy.The main difference between the two was that when you spoke,the dog,a white and brindle little mutt would listen attentively,while the cat would usually ignore you in favor of whatever it is cats think of.In truth,while I spent a lot of time talking to our dog-believe me,it beats imaginary friends-I have no idea if he understood me or not.
Dogs are just so fundamentally different from us,I'm not at all certain what it is a dog thinks,much less what one would say if he could talk back.Cats are another matter.Trying to explain what a cat is thinking to me would be like trying to explain Existentialist Philosophy to...well,to the cat.And even as I sit and ponder that analogy,I get the nagging thought that,in some cruel form of feline karma,the cat actually gets Existentialist Philosophy but can't or won't explain it to me.It's those kinds of esoteric thoughts that made me prefer canine company to feline or even human companionship.Dogs,you see are kind of straight forward and simple in terms of having no hidden agendas
I'm sure my dog was trying to tell me many things,but you see,he couldn't speak.Still,one of a writers skills is interviewing and I would be remiss in not sitting down with my dog and trying to gain his perspective on the life of our family.
Question:Tell me,what is your philosophy in life?
Dog:If you can't eat it or hump it,then pee on it.
Question:is it true that dogs don't like cats?
Dog:well,when you come to live in a family you have to make compromises within the context of your overall philosophy.So you have to try to get along.You see,the cat is too small to hump,and doesn't like humping anyway.And people take a dim view of us eating cats-who would have guessed...unsightly,unsanitary etc.So when it comes to the cat,there's only one thing left to do...
Question:why do you always jump into the drivers seat of the car when we stop at the store.
Dog:well I could say that it's because I like to be in control.But that would be a cat answer.Really though,it's because I've always wanted to drive.I could drive to the butcher shop everyday,then stop by and see that golden retriever that I never get to see because you always take the wrong street when we are going for a walk.And besides,if us dogs could drive,well,the freeway would be a lot safer.
Question:You seem to not like our cat?Can you tell me why?
Dog:What good is he.He eats my food when I'm not looking and he won't chase squirrels,even though he can climb trees and I can't...I've always been insanely jealous of those sharp things on the end of his paws. All he ever does is lay around and thinks about something he calls Existential Philosophy.What good is Philosophy of any kind...you can't eat it or hump it.On the other hand,"if you can't eat it or hump it,then pee on it."Pretty hard to get more existential than that.
Question:Whats the funniest thing that ever happened to you living in our family?
Dog:That's a hard question.Do you remember that time you were chopping wood in the yard and your mother was planting flowers...and that church lady came to visit.And I started humping her leg...well,you see she smelled like that golden retriever...really.But that's not very politically correct of me.So I'm going to say the funniest thing is that time when you went fishing and the end broke off that dry branch you made the rod from.Then what did you do?Spent the next 20 minutes throwing rocks so I would go out in the water and grab that stick and haul the fish in.I could have grabbed that thing right away,but you looked like such a buffoon .It just made sense to play along for a while.
Question:Did you feel like you were well treated in our family?
Dog:for the most part.But I never could understand why on the weekends your mother would cook bacon and bread and the smell would drive me crazy.But then at dinner time all I got was Alpo.But still I got to do a lot of great things...swim,go for car rides,chase cars,run in the woods...and there was that long car ride out west where we stopped and I found that gopher colony.Millions of gophers to chase.It was the most fun I've ever had.Yeah...it was a dogs life.And I did get even with your mom about the bacon...you remember that time the church lady came to visit?There was a time or two you forgot to leave me fresh water,but that was ok.There was lots of cool water in that big white thing.That big white thing was funny too.One time that cat,you know the one that fancies himself a philosopher when all he's really doing is ignoring you,well one time he tried to pretend he was a dog and he fell into that big white thing...funniest thing I ever saw...well,I guess you had to be there...and be a dog.
Well,it might sound something like that,but I really don't know.I really would like to hear the dog's perspective on driving though.And one or two times it's occurred to me that it might be interesting to present my story through the eyes of our dog.He's far more likely to provide an unbiased view than I am.
We had both dogs and cats when I was a boy.The main difference between the two was that when you spoke,the dog,a white and brindle little mutt would listen attentively,while the cat would usually ignore you in favor of whatever it is cats think of.In truth,while I spent a lot of time talking to our dog-believe me,it beats imaginary friends-I have no idea if he understood me or not.
Dogs are just so fundamentally different from us,I'm not at all certain what it is a dog thinks,much less what one would say if he could talk back.Cats are another matter.Trying to explain what a cat is thinking to me would be like trying to explain Existentialist Philosophy to...well,to the cat.And even as I sit and ponder that analogy,I get the nagging thought that,in some cruel form of feline karma,the cat actually gets Existentialist Philosophy but can't or won't explain it to me.It's those kinds of esoteric thoughts that made me prefer canine company to feline or even human companionship.Dogs,you see are kind of straight forward and simple in terms of having no hidden agendas
I'm sure my dog was trying to tell me many things,but you see,he couldn't speak.Still,one of a writers skills is interviewing and I would be remiss in not sitting down with my dog and trying to gain his perspective on the life of our family.
Question:Tell me,what is your philosophy in life?
Dog:If you can't eat it or hump it,then pee on it.
Question:is it true that dogs don't like cats?
Dog:well,when you come to live in a family you have to make compromises within the context of your overall philosophy.So you have to try to get along.You see,the cat is too small to hump,and doesn't like humping anyway.And people take a dim view of us eating cats-who would have guessed...unsightly,unsanitary etc.So when it comes to the cat,there's only one thing left to do...
Question:why do you always jump into the drivers seat of the car when we stop at the store.
Dog:well I could say that it's because I like to be in control.But that would be a cat answer.Really though,it's because I've always wanted to drive.I could drive to the butcher shop everyday,then stop by and see that golden retriever that I never get to see because you always take the wrong street when we are going for a walk.And besides,if us dogs could drive,well,the freeway would be a lot safer.
Question:You seem to not like our cat?Can you tell me why?
Dog:What good is he.He eats my food when I'm not looking and he won't chase squirrels,even though he can climb trees and I can't...I've always been insanely jealous of those sharp things on the end of his paws. All he ever does is lay around and thinks about something he calls Existential Philosophy.What good is Philosophy of any kind...you can't eat it or hump it.On the other hand,"if you can't eat it or hump it,then pee on it."Pretty hard to get more existential than that.
Question:Whats the funniest thing that ever happened to you living in our family?
Dog:That's a hard question.Do you remember that time you were chopping wood in the yard and your mother was planting flowers...and that church lady came to visit.And I started humping her leg...well,you see she smelled like that golden retriever...really.But that's not very politically correct of me.So I'm going to say the funniest thing is that time when you went fishing and the end broke off that dry branch you made the rod from.Then what did you do?Spent the next 20 minutes throwing rocks so I would go out in the water and grab that stick and haul the fish in.I could have grabbed that thing right away,but you looked like such a buffoon .It just made sense to play along for a while.
Question:Did you feel like you were well treated in our family?
Dog:for the most part.But I never could understand why on the weekends your mother would cook bacon and bread and the smell would drive me crazy.But then at dinner time all I got was Alpo.But still I got to do a lot of great things...swim,go for car rides,chase cars,run in the woods...and there was that long car ride out west where we stopped and I found that gopher colony.Millions of gophers to chase.It was the most fun I've ever had.Yeah...it was a dogs life.And I did get even with your mom about the bacon...you remember that time the church lady came to visit?There was a time or two you forgot to leave me fresh water,but that was ok.There was lots of cool water in that big white thing.That big white thing was funny too.One time that cat,you know the one that fancies himself a philosopher when all he's really doing is ignoring you,well one time he tried to pretend he was a dog and he fell into that big white thing...funniest thing I ever saw...well,I guess you had to be there...and be a dog.
Well,it might sound something like that,but I really don't know.I really would like to hear the dog's perspective on driving though.And one or two times it's occurred to me that it might be interesting to present my story through the eyes of our dog.He's far more likely to provide an unbiased view than I am.
Sunday 10 June 2012
Apologies for the lack of posts.Not much happening and I've been quite busy.But I will have more posts next week.
The weather still seems to be a bit of a story here.Skies are gray and it's been raining some but mostly the sky just looks really dreary.The Bow river is up,higher even than at mid-week,and it keeps rising a bit everyday.All the other local creeks and rivers are swollen too and I'm watching them a bit anxiously and remembering 2005 when I was flooded out.I lived along the Elbow river then,and in Calgary,that is the really dangerous river.The bow,though bigger tends to stay within it's banks better.I really don't want to go through another flood,as it is a really stressful event.In 2005 I was evacuated to a local college and stayed nearly a week in a small dorm room while the water rose daily and eventually seeped into the basement apartments of the building I was living in.My own apartment on the second floor was unharmed.This time around I am optimistic that the Bow won't flood it's banks.Even if it does,nearby houses are farther from it's banks than those on the Elbow.But all that could change with a lot more rain,and June tends to be a wet month.It's an anxious time.
The weather still seems to be a bit of a story here.Skies are gray and it's been raining some but mostly the sky just looks really dreary.The Bow river is up,higher even than at mid-week,and it keeps rising a bit everyday.All the other local creeks and rivers are swollen too and I'm watching them a bit anxiously and remembering 2005 when I was flooded out.I lived along the Elbow river then,and in Calgary,that is the really dangerous river.The bow,though bigger tends to stay within it's banks better.I really don't want to go through another flood,as it is a really stressful event.In 2005 I was evacuated to a local college and stayed nearly a week in a small dorm room while the water rose daily and eventually seeped into the basement apartments of the building I was living in.My own apartment on the second floor was unharmed.This time around I am optimistic that the Bow won't flood it's banks.Even if it does,nearby houses are farther from it's banks than those on the Elbow.But all that could change with a lot more rain,and June tends to be a wet month.It's an anxious time.
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