memoir writers homework/black sheep of the family.

I guess I was destined to be a black sheep in my family,but perhaps not the only one.In fact I sometimes wonder if we are not a whole family of black sheep,with maybe just a single white one thrown in to make life interesting.For certain we've all had our troubles,but the one doing the pointing and saying "black sheep"has never even tried walking in my shoes,so I really don't care?Except that she is my sister,the other black sheep,so I guess I really do care.

I've never really understood the term black sheep anyway.It seems to me that it means rogue or outlaw,though not always in an uncomplimentary way.Sometimes it just means non-conformist,to which I proudly admit,being as I am somewhat of an iconoclast.I f you want to be an iconoclast,being a black sheep is part of the job description.

There seem to be a number of ways of becoming a black sheep,aside from normal sheep genetics. But since I'm, in part from Western New Brunswick we won't get into sheep genetics.The mere mention of Sheep,DNA and Western New Brunswick in the same sentence has been known to make some people uncomfortable.

One of the dynamics that sometimes goes on between people from Atlantic Canada and those who live in Atlantic Canada,but are not from there is this whole"from here" and "from away" kind of thing.It's really a sort of racism,which I'd always heard of but never been quite aware of in my own life until just recently.I've heard of school kids being beaten for "being from away."In fact,I recently, in a web search to locate my fathers sister,my aunt Rosanna,discovered that she was making a big deal in her home community about her grand daughter being bullied at school by students objecting to her Alberta origins.But I never dreamed it would happen to me.I've always considered myself an Atlantic Canadian,just as a routine part of my identity.But it's not my whole identity.I've lived away for many years,out of necessity for the most part.But this last time I went back,I find I'm being accused of not being there for my family for all those many years.I'm somehow morally lacking because I moved to Alberta in 1979,even though my parents supported me in this decision.So I wish the families black sheep would explain how I came to "be from away"Because I really don't understand it.

rhetorical questions.

Lets just ponder some rhetorical questions today.If a tree falls in the forest with no one around does it make a sound?Does a bear poop in the woods?Well,the answer to the second question would seem to be yes.And from that it would seem to follow that the answer to the first question is yes as well.Unless the requirement for the making of sound is the presence of a human to hear it of course,and that's just way to anthropocentric for me.Can God make a stone so large that He can't move it?You get the picture.By rhetorical I mean a question that doesn't require an answer so much as it needs to be asked for it's own sake.

Now lets suppose you lived far from your own hometown.And lets suppose a tragedy befell your family.One of your family members was suddenly taken away.You travel to your hometown for the funeral,and,if necessary you would be prepared to stay and help with the family,though that would involve sacrifice.You see,the person taken away was the sole caregiver for their ailing partner who had been in poor health for a number of years.

But all seems to be well when you get home.A sibling has decided to take over the care giving duties and that sibling is a professional caregiver by trade.All is looking very well.You can return home with complete trust that your surviving parent is in good hands.You have a heart to heart discussion with your sibling about transparency and how you,as a family member expect it,and that sibling agrees that not only is it appropriate,but also in the best interests of caretakers in general.And so you set off to the airport thinking that this is going to turn out as well as can be expected.Only to be confronted at the front door by that angel of mercy,you sibling,who is now very angry with you over...what?Some seemingly insignificant thing.But the point is that it was done when you were on the way to the airport,bags in hand ,and of course,had no opportunity to answer back?Rhetorical question.Would this be called an ambush?Just wondering.But more to the point,would you now be justified in feeling somewhat more uneasy trusting the care of your parent to this sibling?Rhetorical question.Does there seem to be more going on here than meets the eye?

Rhetorical question.Should you have been able to see any of this coming?Well likely.There were small signs all along it seems.The baby monitor that was used to monitor your parent's care being placed right next to a window that would allow the whole neighborhood to listen in.My God,if your parent were going to the bathroom the neighbors could here the grunting.You made mention of this but were brushed off with"I don't have time to move it"to which you replied "it only takes a few seconds to move it."The answer you receive to that is"a few seconds could be used to get a cup of coffee."Rhetorical question.Aren't caregivers supposed to believe in and uphold human dignity?What does human dignity look and sound like?Grunting an the sipping of coffee?Or maybe that's just a stereotype you have about all caregivers.Never mind,but,rhetorically,where is your level of concern now compared to that time the angel of mercy was telling you about transparency?

Rhetorically speaking,life goes on despite your concerns,which are now not being answered on a daily basis.But I guess you should have expected this.In fact,a number of years pass,then your remaining parent passes from this world.Rhetorically speaking,don't you find it odd that you still cannot get any answers from your parents caregiver as to what was going on over the last few years?Of course you want to believe the best,after all who wants to believe that an angel of mercy has tarnished wings and a soiled robe,but,rhetorically speaking,isn't it just a bit naive to go on believing at this point,especially when the only real answers you've  been getting is to "go pound sand"or something to that effect,but with slightly more to offer in the way of expletives and hate charged invective.

One more rhetorical question.When confronted by a person who is extremely defensive,as you now are,don't you normally find that people become extremely defensive because there is something to be defensive about?

Remember,these are just rhetorical questions that don't require an answer and may or may not have any meaning in the real world.But even rhetorical questions serve a purpose.

After a three year absence from the province of Alberta,I arrived back here just as a provincial election was called.And despite a change in the political landscape,in the form of a new political party(The Wildrose Party),it appears to my eyes and ears that the more things change,the more they stay the same.Political conservatives,or perhaps a better term would be the political right, have been in power here for as long as I've lived here and for some decades before that.From time to time the party names may change,but the ultra right wing nature of their thought seems to be as untouched by reason as it ever was.In all honesty,I must say that some of the rhetoric frightens me.

Well,the election has come and gone,and the Conservatives have been re elected.If you listen to all the political pundits,they are the least conservative of the two parties,with the Wild Rose Party being representative of the far right side of the political spectrum.It seems that Alberta conservatives are perceived to have been gradually drifting to the left,hence the legitimacy of The Wild Rose Party.But I'm under no illusions that there is anything remotely leftist about their leanings.Still,I think that we've done well not to elect some of the scarier personalities that have run in this particular election.

Take the Reverend Alan Hunsperger for instance.In a blog from more than a year ago Mr.Hunsperger wrote that homosexuals were bound to spend eternity in a lake of fire.Fast forward to April of this year:Alan Hunsperger finds himself a candidate for election in a South Edmonton riding.And his party leader backs his right to have made the statements he did because they maintain a policy of not silencing their candidates.All the better,I suppose because then I get to hear what it is Alan Hunsperger really thinks.Evidently enough other voters got his message too and decided not to elect him,an event for which we can be truly grateful.

Finally I located a copy of Mr.Hunspergers speech,and I must say that, as a Christian, I have a somewhat different take on the issue of homosexuality.Nevertheless I did not find Mr.Hunspergers blog to be overtly homophobic.His basic take was that it is an error to think that because one is made a certain way,that one can act on that nature without consequence.He further goes on to note that all persons were made a certain way and that if they died that way,that is to say unrepentantly sinful,they would face eternal damnation.I am certainly glad that he made that statement with respect to all sinners,and not a selective few whom some "Christians"have chosen to revile more than others.That way,I don't have to elaborate why the church house gossip is in as much peril of damnation as any homosexual.Understand this Christians,we are all sinners.And while we are all sinners,God chose a means in which we could be reconciled to him.And that means does not exclude homosexuals so far as I can read anywhere in scripture.

Where Mr.Hunspergers statements start to cause me slightly more concern is his mention of people perceiving that because they were born a certain way,they have a "right"to live that way.Specifically what are Mr.Hunspergers views on rights in general and the rights of homosexuals in particular.As far as I know God does not force us to live his way should we chose not to.Though obviously as a Christian I believe that if you die rejecting God,God will ratify that choice for all eternity.My question for Alan Hunsperger, then is,if you were elected,could we expect to see an erosion of rights based on religious belief(yours)?And.of course,how far would that erosion of rights take us?Looking historically at right leaning governments of the past,I'm not extremely confident that you would not impose your own beliefs on those who did not share them.

When I hear the rhetoric of an Alan Hunsperger I wonder how it is that he is able to fulfill his commission to bring souls to the Lord at all.Often I think that we as Christians are so nasty in our approach to homosexuals in particular,that the tendency is to leave a whole group bereft of spiritual guidance.That is a tragedy.It destroys the quality of our witness for Christ when we cause others to stumble.We need to realize that when we encounter other sinners,we may be the only picture of Jesus that that person ever gets to see.For me,the beginning of all things Christian is in John 3:16."For God So loved the World..."While hell may very well be real,there is no point preaching it dogmatically unless you also preach Gods love,grace and mercy that provide the opportunity to avoid such torment.

I will not deny that God says something very definitive about the practice of homosexuality(as opposed to the "being"homosexual.But I do not know the condition of anyone's soul,and with respect,neither does Alan Hunsperger.That being the case I'm prepared to let God be God,and not allow the divisive issue of homosexuality to move me from what He has asked me to do-preach the Gospel,love my neighbors,value justice and mercy and walk humbly with God,among a multitude of other things.Mr.Hunsperger,will you stand with me?

Fathers Day-Epilogue

I've given my fathers history,and how I viewed it in considerably more detail than I had intended to when I started out.Really,I just wanted to give a straight forward tribute to my father on Fathers day.However,I find that there was really nothing all that straight forward about my father.I don't think I've nearly approached all of this subject and much more is likely to follow as I begin to write memoir,some of which will be shared in this blog

But I had several things to say before leaving this subject behind.Firstly,was my father a good or a bad man?I really don't have the whole answer to that and it is fitting, I think that children should not,necessarily be all knowing in this regard.Simply put we need our fathers,and we need them to be persons who can be looked up to,quite apart from whether or not they are actually worthy of our reverence.The fact is that  God commands us to look up to,to respect our parents.To do otherwise is,in fact an affront to God,who portrays his own relationship to us as being paternal in nature.I don't mean though that that relationship is SIMPLY paternal or that it can in any way be reduced to the status of a human paternal relationship.It is much greater than that.And that brings me to another point.God is all those things that our earthly fathers are not.So,before we sit in judgement,we would do well to remember that our earthly fathers are not all powerful,or infallible or all knowing.The world is a difficult place,full of difficult problems that demand decisions that are not easy to make or be accountable for.Being a man is not easy.Criticism is the lot of any adult regardless of what decision is made.And we do not know or see this when we are children.Therefor,our fathers are worthy of being judged with compassion.

As to my own father,what would I say?I never thought I could do enough to satisfy him.I always thought that no matter what I did,or who I was something more would be demanded.But that is not always a bad thing.There were times we didn't seem to agree on anything,especially after I became an adult and I asked myself"why does this man hate me so much?"In fact I don't think he hated me at all.People can and do change there basic beliefs over time,and if they do,is that not a sign of open mindedness?In my life I've chosen to emulate my father in some things and not in others.I don't enjoy the use of alcohol,for instance and that is a direct product of my upbringing,though not in the way that one might think.I believe,by the way that it bothered my father that I would never sit and have a drink with him.

But here is what I think of my father.He was an imperfect man in an imperfect world,trying to do his best.And he didn't do badly.He kept our home together and he provided for us.He was never in jail,or falling down outside the tavern.I never knew him to be unfaithful to our mother.At times he could seem downright unreasonable,but mostly he made a solid effort to get along with people and to be a decent man,a good neighbor and a good father.Moreover,many of his failings,especially in later years seemed to me to come about as a direct result of poor health.There is,to my thinking,no reason why his children,down through the centuries to come,should not think well of him.

There is one more thing that needs to be said.It's something I've often noticed regarding fatherhood,but I don't know as I've ever written this down before.As I noted above,there is a difference between our fathers here on earth and Our Heavenly Father.I'm not just stating the obvious here,people have told me this.A great many people seem to confuse the two,especially those who have had less than ideal fathers.It is understandable perhaps,but we need to remember,Our Heavenly Father is nothing like our fathers here.He is perfect and not only loves us,but knows how to love us perfectly.Many people though seem ,to my eyes to be unable or unwilling to put their trust in a heavenly father as the result of a less than perfect relationship with their earthly father.This is tragic because,taken to it's final end ,it will result in a child that is lost for all eternity.It points to the huge responsibility of being a father,but also to our need to be kind and forgiving with fathers who are not always as they should be.

Fathers Day Part VI

Walter Bruce Davis was born in 1934 and lived until 2009,when he passed from this world on February 15,just two days short of three years from the accident that took away his wife and lifelong companion.

I have no idea what those three years were like for my father.I hope he was cared for in a dignified and decent way but,in my more cynical moments I greatly fear that he may not have been.He was in the care of my youngest sister,who thus far has refused to disclose details of the care she says she provided.I only say that it was wrong not to allow oversight.In and of itself,that was wrong and my father deserved better.As to any other wrong doing,I will not give voice to my fears,as I don't know what those years were like.I only know that,for certain that God sees and knows.

On the day my sister called to tell me of my fathers passing,I was sitting in a chair and trying to learn a chord progression for a new song on the guitar.It was I though an extraordinarily beautiful song about a metaphorical bird.And it spoke to my fathers life.The odd thing was that I was having no luck finding the proper chord progression until after my sister had called.When I was through talking to her,in a short while,I picked up my guitar again,and the chords came to me,all of them,in less than ten minutes.That was on Family Day,2009.

My father was laid to rest in the cemetery in Canterbury,New Brunswick,beside my mother and there they,and perhaps a cat,sleep together.At the funeral they sang "Church In The Wildwood" and "Peace In The Valley."And I hope he has found his peace and that he sleeps well.

                                                                                                                                                                    

Father Day Part V

There were only two times that I can recall seeing my father drinking hard liquor.The first was in June of 1978,before I started twelfth grade.He was very drunk then,and he told me a story.However,I do not have a great deal to say about that just now.The second time was about a year later,and I'm slightly less informed as to what might have caused this.It was a hard time I believe,with myself just leaving the home,a sister a year younger,and my younger sister nearly ten years younger than me.My father was a long way from finished when it came to parenting.There was a lot of talk of layoffs and closing government facilities,including the one where my father worked.My father I'm sure was a homebody who did not want to be uprooted in the final years of his working career.His own father had just passed a year or so before and his mother was in declining health.Moving must have seemed an unbearable burden to him.He always wanted to be close to Springhill and close to my mothers family as well,and would likely have viewed any inability to stay in Moncton as a sort of failure.And as much as he supported my move-it was the thing to do in those days-I'm not sure he understood it fully.I think he expected it to perhaps be temporary.1979 must have been a very stressful time for my father.

When the strokes began I'm not certain.I'm inclined to think it may have been as far back as the mid 1970's.Once my father showed us that while his right hand was flowing with blood and warm,his left hand was ice cold and white.I don't recall that anything ever came of that,but at the time it seemed spooky.It seemed much spookier recalling it later.

Certainly by the time my parents visited Alberta in 1981,my father was not nearly as hardy as he was when I'd last seen him.We met in Edmonton and planned to drive down to Mt.St.Helens in Washington state.It was a wonderful vacation,the last together as a family,though not all of us were there.My father seemed sickly though and couldn't or didn't want to drive the car.So my mother and I drove along highway 90,where it was 107 degrees in Moses Lake,and my father was curled up in the back seat of the car.Visions of the crossing into California from the "Grapes Of Wrath"came to my mind,and I think that it was then I realized that my father was truly not well.He sipped on a lot of beer during the trip,to the point where he was quite jolly and not just a little bit silly.We were unable to get to Mt.St.Helen's because it was still closed,but we spent the most of a whole day at Mount.Ranier,and my father seemed pleased to point out the size of the trees in the park.He was I think reliving his visit to British Columbia,which he was quite taken with.

The silliness of beer overtook him on the ferry from Port Angeles to Victoria and he met this girl who was crossing on a bicycle to make a trip around Vancouver Island.He introduced me to her,tried to set me up in fact,but I was not really interested.Once off the boat we set up camp and sat around our campfire until early morning.My father asked me,very pointedly if I did not find the girl on the boat attractive,to which I explained that I was not interested.At that point,he,again drinking beer,asked if I were a homosexual.He need not have worried.I had more than one lady friend in my life at that point,though I'm not certain any of them were a serious interested.I explained that I did not want to be married,but my father said that was nonsense,he expected me to find a suitable wife.Unknown to either of us,that would be accomplished in less than a year.For a long time I was offended about being asked if I was a homosexual,but with time I came to realize my father asked it out of worry and concern.

We visited my fathers cousin in Port Alberni and it was a good thing as she was to pass away a short time later.We had a picnic by a wonderful waterfall and when we left for Vancouver my father seemed reinvigorated and happy.The trip seemed to end much better than it began.

It was to be nearly two years until I was to see my family again and by that time I had a wife and a son on the way.My father had seemed to lose ground again,though he was still working ans it must have been some time before he had his stroke.Still he did not seem at all well.He took to Susan well and accepted her as a daughter and was truly happy to know that a grandchild was on the way.In all ways that I can recall it was a happy visit and Matthew was born in October of 1983.

As far as being a grandfather was concerned,my father took an active role,though his health was declining.We saw my parents nearly every year through the 1980's and every year my father seemed worse off.In 1987,in Ottawa,the weekend of the tornado in Edmonton,he seemed convinced his time was not long,and talked to me about his will.I didn't perceive it as an especially urgent matter and this seemed to annoy my father as he tried to tell me what he wanted done at his passing.By this time he was not doing any of the driving,my mother was taking a greater and greater role in running the household,and in my fathers care too.He had had at least two strokes by this time.A year later,we met in Ottawa again and drove back to Moncton.It was a hot summer and the trip seemed to drain my father to the point where he was tired and sick for the remainder of our visit.

My youngest sister moved west and in 1990 was ready to give birth to my fathers second grandchild.My parents came to visit and stayed at my place in Edmonton.Zachary was born on September 11 and they all went back to New Brunswick by car shortly after.My father looked frail and as weak and tired as I had ever seen him.

A year later,Susan and I separated and later divorced,and I believe my father had a hard time with the idea of divorce.Still he supported me in going back to school,even financially for a while.He seemed proud when I graduated,though whenever he called he must have been under the influence of powerful medication,for he became harder and harder to understand.Tracking a phone conversation with him was very difficult by 1995.What was transpiring was a continued series of strokes that was to last for the remainder of his life.

By 2000,I'd moved to Calgary,and it must have been a year or two later that my mother and father set out by train to visit me.I was looking forward to the visit,and called on the night they were to have arrived only to find that they had cancelled their reservation.It turned out that my father had had some sort of an attack on the train in Toronto,and they'd turned back.After that he became quite sick,so that he'd not even talk on the phone.I was not to see him again until 2006,after the car wreck that took my mothers life,and left my father severely injured and without his wife and caregiver.So unnecessary,I thought,and still do.He seemed so small and frail and I knew that this was a thing he would never really come back from.I could not be certain what it was he knew then.He had a hard time tracking conversations and didn't seem to grasp,at least not all the time,that my mother was gone.I heard him from time to time call out her name.At other times I didn't think he recognized me,at least for a few short moments.It was such a tragedy and I thought,no matter how good or bad he had been,he deserved better than where his life had left him.He had deserved something more merciful.

Fathers Day Part IV

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.