My Gingko Tree

The leaves of the gingko tree have always fascinated me. Unlike others, where the veins resemble branches, the veins fan out from a common base. Those who study plants say it is an example of one of the oldest plants on the earth. It is certainly different.

This interest started in grade 1 when we presented our leaf collection to the class. Mine was rather boring. I think I had a maple, an elm and a lilac. That’s all there were around our house, since it was in a rather new subdivision.

One of the students, brought in a wonderful collection, and among her specimens was the gingko leaf.

I had always wanted to have a gingko tree, so when I saw them on sale at the Home Depot a couple of years ago for just a few dollars, I bought a little sapling.

Rather than exposing my precious plant to the Canadian outdoors, we potted it and kept it inside during the winter.

During the first year it didn’t grow very much. Then the fall came and all of the leaves dropped off. My gingko had been reduced to a stick in the ground. It looked dead. For months it looked dead. Still, it was watered with care regularly.

Spring came and suddenly it sprouted a little leaf. By the end of the summer, it had almost doubled in size. Then the fall came once more and all of the leaves fell off. It looked dead once more. We watered it again regularly all winter.

Sure enough, when spring came, the new growth was greater than ever.

Are you facing tough times like the little gingko tree? Does it appear that nothing is happening in your life? This is the time that you have to keep watering yourself. You are not dead. You are just dormant. If you don’t feed yourself the things you need to survive, you will die so don’t give up.

Just like my gingko tree, as long as you keep feeding your life, it will sprout new growth in due time and your patience will have paid off. However, if you give up, nothing will happen.

Have courage, your spring is just around the corner.

Earth Hour

It’s over! I have a confession to make. I really didn’t participate.

A month ago, I planned a film night. The posters had been distributed and everything arranged. Then I realized that it was on the same night as Earth Hour. I didn’t cancel the event. Why not?

To start, trying to create new posters and having it another night would have used up energy and trees in a wasteful manner.

Second, getting people together and using one DVD player is using energy more wisely than having people sit at home and watch on their own players individually.

Third, I wasn’t doing anything differently than theatres and sports venue. I noticed, for example, that the National Hockey League didn’t reschedule games due to Earth Hour. In Toronto the good, Nelly Furtado and others performed at a concert. While energy was reduced, they certainly used some, too – much more than I did.

Now that the event is over, I wonder how much the hype really did to change attitudes. While there may have been an energy saving over an hour, did it really change attitudes enough for people to modify their lifestyles? My guess is that next Saturday night things will be back to its former state. We will be guzzling energy the same way we did before Earth Hour. I hope I am wrong.

There are a couple of things that disturbed me about Earth Hour, though.

The first was the bandwagon. It seemed as if companies and celebrities joined in with great exuberance for a one-hour event. It was great way to give yourself a halo above your head. I wonder how many are in for the long haul?

The second was the holier-than-thou attitude by some people. As mentioned above, I was caught in a difficult situation. However, I do feel that Earth Hour was a choice. I should participate in it because I want to, not because somebody is pressuring me or making me feel guilty if I don’t. I live in a free country. I should have the right to choose. In my country, people can choose to end a life before it is born without guilt. Is my deciding to use a small amount of electricity a greater sin?

Not everyone celebrates Christmas. Why is Earth Hour compulsory? Who decided this, if it is?

I wonder if these apostles of energy are basing their decision that I am entering this ecological hell based on one hour on one Saturday night of the year. If they are, then they are condemning the whole city of Tel Aviv. It held its Earth Hour on Thursday night. How could the people of this city do such a thing? How do they know that I’m not choosing to celebrate Earth Hour on another night? Maybe I am going to have a whole Earth Day. Does the fact that I exercised my freedom and didn’t bow down to their energy god under their terms a sin?

It sort of reminds me of how Christ was criticized for healing people on the Sabbath. I am aware of the issues. I do everything I can to reduce energy consumption. Perhaps I don’t do enough to satisfy others, but at the end of the day, only I can be responsible for what I do.

These zealots who preach Earth Hour are doing everyone a disservice if the fruit of their efforts doesn’t demonstrate love. If the goal is to chide and embarrass somebody who didn’t participate in Earth Hour, they are doing just that. I believe in leading by example, not trying to hammer down those who don’t see things the same way you do. I think many of them are the Pharisees of folly. They preach one thing yet do another.

Yes, they may have participated in Earth Hour quite religiously. I liken it to the person who attends church once a year and then says that he is Christian.

If you think you are really energy conscious, look at the car that you drive. Think of when and why you drive it. Consider where you go on vacation and how you get there. There are so many factors to examine and questions to ask.

Finally, I ask these people to visit a third-world country if they want to see how you can live using little energy. Watch a whole village gathered around one television set, sort of like the people who attended my film night.

The truth is that we in North America consume much, too much energy, myself included. Participating in Earth Hour lessened the guilt, I feel, for many.

But please don’t lecture me on my not participating in Earth Hour last night the way you would have wanted me to. Remember, if you point the finger at me, there are three more pointing back at you. Instead, why don’t you join me as I celebrate Earth Hour between the hours of 8 and 9 pm on Saturday, April 5?

The Real Me

When I first started supply teaching, I hadn’t taught in a classroom of kids for several years. I tried being like the teachers I saw in the schools. It didn’t take me long to hate it and consider doing something else. I didn’t seem to be very effective and the kids really didn’t respect or like me. Hey, I didn’t like me, either.

Then I decided something that would change my attitude. I decided to be me, nothing more, nothing less. I wouldn’t try being what other teachers were. I would just be myself. If I messed up, then it would be me who would be making the mistake, not somebody I wasn’t.

The way I figured it, I could correct me. There is no way I could correct somebody who wasn’t me. Any growth that happened would be on me, not some other guy.

At first it was rough. I was still falling all over myself. I was shaking my head at the end of some days. However, as I analysed each situation as I drove home, I learned from my mistakes. I got better and better as the months went by.

Colleagues seemed to recognize my sincerity of being myself and offered advice, which I gladly took. In fact, the real me wasn’t afraid to ask for help. When I was pretending, that person I wasn’t didn’t want to be exposed as needing assistance.

The end result is that I can look upon my work as a process of developing my character rather than pretending to be a teacher. Most days are wonderful. I feel that I actually inspire students sometimes. Even the occasions that don’t go so well still work out for the good.

Am I like all of the good teachers out there? I hope not! I am me and there is no need to compare. My best is good enough.

Adventures in Wales

When we lived in England, we decided to take a long weekend in Northern Wales. This area of the United Kingdom is one of the most beautiful I have visited.

We booked a small cottage right next to a small stream in a tiny village well off the main road. Beside it was a graveyard that contained burial plots from the Roman times. It was close enough to major centres that we could take interesting day trips.

On our way up there, we stopped off at a pub in the middle of nowhere. The proprietor had met Elvis and had received a TCB (taking care of business) ring from him. From this brush with greatness he was planning on creating an Elvis museum in Wales. I don’t know how far along he got along with his scheme, but I haven’t noticed it in travel brochures yet.

When we booked our accommodation, I asked the travel agent how we would find it. She simply told us to go to this village, tell somebody who we were and they would direct us to the place.

Have you ever been to Wales? There are many towns and villages that start with a double l. This place was one of them.

After about four hours of driving, we arrived in a town that started with a double l. Following the advice of my travel agent, I walked up to a policeman and told him who I was. He was very polite and said that he was glad to meet me.

I then asked him if he could tell me where to go. He gave me a puzzled look, probably considering some smart answer. He smiled nicely and asked me what I was talking about. I explained what my travel agent told me. He then asked me if I knew whether I was in the right town. I showed him the name and mentioned that it started with a double l.

He smiled again, as if I wasn’t the first to go through this, and told me that while the place I was going had a similar spelling, it was about half an hour away.

Sure enough, when we arrived, I went into the local newsagent and told him my name. I got a reception like I was the second coming of the Messiah. He had been waiting for my arrival.

It’s funny how you can be in the wrong place and your presence can mean nothing, yet when you are in the right place, it can mean everything.

Johnny Carson’s Wisdom

For thirty years Johnny Carson and The Tonight Show ruled late night television. Plenty tried to compete against him. Some were very good, but nobody past or present seemed to be in the same league.

Even before The Tonight Show, he was on daytime television with a show called Who Do You Trust. It was a zany quiz show that could go in any direction at a moment’s notice. It was the unpredictability that made it interesting.

It was Carson’s ability to handle almost any situation that made him famous.

I remember a story he told that has helped me in life.

He talked about how people would come up to him and show him their babies. As far as he was concerned, all babies are ugly. He didn’t want to tell the parents that they had an ugly child, but he didn’t want to lie either. What should he say?

He came up with the brilliant strategy. When presented with an infant, he would merely say, “My, that’s some baby.” He said that the parents would always perceive this to be a compliment, when all he meant was exactly what he said.

As a teacher, I have used this principle effectively. It comes particularly special in art class. Kids come and show you their artwork. I don’t want to discourage a budding Picasso, but black, brown and blue smudged on a piece of paper doesn’t excite me. Now, I just say, “That’s some piece of art.” The kids usually walk away beaming.

A few of you have left comments on my blog, and I appreciate them,. but don’t you dare write something like, “That is some blog you have, Johnny V.” If you do, I’m on to you.

Boycotting the Olympics

Every four years athletes meet for the Olympics. For many of them, it is the highlight of their athletic career. They train hard and long for their moment of glory.

I worked for Softball Canada when the Moscow Olympics were boycotted. There were many disappointed Canadian athletes. Russia had invaded Afghanistan, so many countries pulled out.

In 1984, the Soviet Union and countries like Cuba wouldn’t attend the Games in Los Angeles.

With the trouble in Tibet, many are contemplating pulling out of the Beijing Olympics.

While I am concerned how athletes are constantly trying to enhance their efforts, I still don’t see the point of bringing sport into politics.

Is it effective? Let’s look back to Los Angeles. Did we really miss the Communist countries? All I remember is Canada gloating over how many more medals it got, particularly in sports like boxing where the Cubans are always strong. The Americans had an even bigger field day.

Is sport the answer of how we bring attention to injustices that are going on in the world? If it is, then maybe we need to award games to a few other choice countries in the world.

I wouldn’t feel so strongly about this if I didn’t know that many business people are falling over themselves to establish relations with the Chinese.

It appears that we are prepared to sacrifice athletes to make a point, but we would never want to jeopardize something that might hurt us in the pocketbook.

Come on, everyone. There must be other ways protests can be made on the situation in Tibet.

Spring Cleaning?

Gone! Lost in a second. I don’t know exactly what happened, but my hard drive got corrupted on Saturday night. I tried calling the experts at Hewlett Packard and they did their best to get everything back. Alas, nothing survived. I have had to rebuild my computer from scratch.

I consider myself lucky. Sure, there may have been some things I have written, songs that may never be sung and addresses that are lost, but I have probably cleared out tons of garbage I would never looked at again and never have missed.

Also, I will find out who my friends are. Since I don’t have their addresses any more, they will have to contact me. If they don’t miss me, then it’s pretty clear that they don’t think of me that often.

In spite of all of what I have mentioned, this is not why I consider myself lucky.

There are people who lose everything every day. Perhaps a fire has claimed their home. Maybe there is nothing left after a flood or a tornado. These people have to start over with everything.

While inconvenient, what I lost doesn’t even come close to those who lose everything. The way I look at it, I just got a little bit of deep spring-cleaning, that’s all. I am, indeed, quite fortunate.

Two Governors

Eliot Spitzer and David Paterson have both sat in the governor’s chair in New York State. The also have something else in common. They have both been unfaithful to their spouses. It would seem that Paterson has been the worst offender. His extra-marital affair lasted about two years. Spitzer was implicated in a one-night flings with an employee of an escort service.

The media love these kinds of stories. The way they handled both men was very different, though. Here’s why.

Eliot Spitzer had a good reputation for fighting against corruption in New York. However, he was caught deceiving the public. He had a hidden side to him, something he didn’t share with the public. It was something he didn’t want people to know. That is why he used another name when he engaged the services of the agency.

Had he not gotten caught, I guess all would have been fine, but he did. The fact that he had this secret life caused the media to ask many questions. Was this something that happened only once? Did his wife know about it? Why would he risk his reputation for such a thing, particularly since he fought against corruption? At the end of it all, he provided few details, which will only make the media ask more questions. He only said that he was sorry, which is perfectly understandable.

A lot of the focus was on his wife. There she was right beside him, but her every expression was analyzed by the pundits. Who knows if they are right? Maybe she was a cold, cold woman who denied Eliot any pleasure. We will probably never know, but when answers are not provided and the public wants to know, the analysts can only work with what they have.

The young lady who was paid for her services was found and her history told to millions. We know more about her than our next door neighbour. My guess is that she will eventually profit from her experience. Playboy or another similar magazine will pay her a huge sum for her to pose on their pages. The public always likes to see something that reeks of scandal – something that was supposed to be hidden.

My guess is that the media are not finished with Eliot Spitzer. It will continue to dig to try to discover just how much he was trying to hide.

David Paterson was different. He called a news conference, appeared with his wife, and admitted to his affair. He also told the media that his wife had been unfaithful, too. Without going into too much detail, he told the truth, explaining that like many couples, he and his wife had had problems, but they had sought counseling and everything was fine now. He also mentioned that he was telling everyone so he would not be able to be put in a compromising position, but he considered the matter a private affair.

Aside from the initial coverage, I didn’t see much else on David Paterson. I don’t imagine that the other woman in his life will have her life story told or appear nude in a men’s magazine.

Both men have been unfaithful. One hid the secret. The other told the truth. Which one would you trust the most? Why? Which one do you think would be easiest to forgive?

Is it not easy to understand why Eliot Spitzer would get more coverage than David Paterson? And the media, being the way they are, may have gotten some of it wrong. Unfortunately, they can only put the pieces together as they see them. For one, they had to figure out what happened; the other supplied the pieces. Which story do you think might contain more facts?

Suspicion only breeds more suspicion. Trust builds on itself. I think most New Yorkers feel that they now have a governor they can rely on, even though Spitzer’s reputation had been very good until that fateful day.

Alvin II

I wrote a few days ago about Alvin (not his actual name), a boy who never told a lie, but didn’t quite tell the truth, either. In many ways, Alvin was a great guy. Everybody was his friend. On the surface, this sounds pretty wonderful, but it caused him many problems.

There is a saying that who your friends are will determine who you become. Many of his friends were kind individuals who respected others. Many of his friends were not. They got Alvin into trouble. It was almost as if all of the positive things some friends put into his life were cancelled by the others.

For example, he once got caught stealing batteries at Zellers. He was out on bail when he did this. Had he been turned in, he would have gone straight to jail. Fortunately, the security guard knew him and let him off the hook.

I asked Alvin why he would do such a thing, especially when he knew that the consequences could be very harsh. His reply astonished me. He said that he did it because his friend needed the batteries and didn’t have any money, so when his friend asked him to steal them for him, he did to show how good of a friend he was.

His so-called friends would ask him if he would do something. Alvin usually said, “Yes.” They then asked him to do something wrong. When he tried to get out of it, they would remind Alvin that he promised. Not wanting to be called a liar, he would do what they wanted.

It was almost as if Alvin lived a double life. The friends in one life never met the friends in the other.

I remember the day I happened to bump into Alvin with his other friends. He looked at me, and then pretended he didn’t know me. It was if I didn’t exist. I was somebody who had posted a bond for him for bail. I had helped him in so many situations. I had done so much for him. Yet when it came time for him to choose between me and friends who got him into trouble, he chose them.

I often wonder why he did that. The best way I can explain it is that he felt I would be more forgiving and that my love was unconditional. If he looked bad in front of his friends, they might not like him. He felt more secure that I would love him, even if he ignored me. And you know what? He was right. I still care deeply for Alvin and I wish the best for him. In fact, his picture is still on our refrigerator.

Yes, it hurt, but not for too long. There are about 5 billion people in the world. I can’t love all of them. I have to be selective with the people I invest my time with. Alvin seemed to choose a path that I wasn’t prepared to walk down, so he was separating himself from my love for the approval of others. Having moved around quite a bit in life, I have found that even with close friends, moving away can make it difficult to carry on a friendship.

As they say, some people are brought into your life for a season, others for a lifetime. It appears that Alvin was placed in my life for only a few years. I look back fondly to those times. No, he wasn’t perfect, but neither am I. My hope is that he has learned some valuable lessons on his journey through life. I appreciate what he taught me.

On The Bus

My mother had a good friend in Erin, Ontario. She didn’t know how to drive. Even if she did, she didn’t have a car. She had to go there by bus, and being too young to stay at home alone, I had to tag along.

Emily, her friend, was married to a Scotsman named Al. He was an elderly gentleman who was a baker. I remember how tasty his loaves tasted.

The other thing I remember about Al is that he was deaf. He used to shout in my ear, thinking I couldn’t hear him.

Since there were no kids there, I was pretty bored, but I had learned to be quiet and just sit there.

Unlike today, people were allowed to smoke anywhere in those days, including on a bus.

On the way home, there were quite a few smokers on the bus. In fact, they were all around us. After awhile, I started to feel sick. My mother asked a few of them if they could refrain from smoking because it was making me sick. They ignored her.

My mother’s reaction was to open the window really wide. I mean really wide. Did I mention that it was in the middle of winter? A cold blast of wind cut through the interior of the bus like a knife. It slapped people in the face, bringing about an immediate reaction.

“Hey, lady, shut the window.”

My mother calmly explained that I was feeling sick from the cigarette smoke and that she would gladly shut the window if people stopped smoking.

The smokers puffed on, probably needing the burning cigarettes to keep warm. My mother just sat there, even though the protests grew louder. One man got up and shut the window. My mother opened it again.

People kept protesting. She asked who would clean up the mess if I vomited. This went on for some time. Finally, one by one, the smokers butted out. For each one, she closed the window a bit more until the last cigarette was extinguished. Then it was closed.

My mother taught me a lot that day. She taught me that you may have to stand up against everybody for something you believe in, but if you really believe in it, you must do it. You may feel uncomfortable. Still, if you mustn’t back down if it is important to you, no matter what. She wasn’t rude. She didn’t get angry. She just stated her case and made sure her rights were respected.

Dostoyevsky

My introduction to Dostoyevsky was not a pleasant one, but I am glad I had the opportunity to discover this genius of Russian literature.

While I was at the University of Alberta, a professor by the name of Wangler taught a course. The word in the halls was that it was an easy one, impossible to flunk. Since I was working full time and going to university full time, this was perfect.

On the first day, he entered the class with photocopied sheets of his reading list. You were required to read a certain number of books. I never realized until the end of the course that he never checked on whether you actually read the books or not.

Anyway, at that time I had a close circle of friends. One of the things they would do would be to thrust books in my hands and tell me to read them. I did. As a result, I got to learn a lot of neat things and got to know my friends better.

I resented that this cowboy would enter into my life and tell me to read certain books when I was already well-read. I went to talk with him. I made a deal with this little devil in my life. I would read three of his books for every one of mine he read. He agreed.

I was kind. I gave him Dr. Jacob Bronowski’s The Ascent of Man, which had been a BBC television series. He was so impressed, he actually added it to his list of books to read for future students. I certainly appreciated the praise.

What I didn’t appreciate was the book he gave me to read. It was Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevsky.

At the best of times this is a difficult book emotionally to read. The author draws you into the pages and you actually feel the agony of the main character. Reading this at one of the lowest points of my life heightened the experience.

Crime and Punishment is about a man who murders somebody in the apartment below (or above – I forget). It follows his day-to-day activity until he is finally caught..

The crime was pretty obvious, a murder. What was the punishment? It was not what happened after the main character was apprehended and tried. I don’t remember this being a part of the book. I think it ends with him being arrested by the police. No, the punishment was knowing that he had done something wrong and waiting to be caught. Day after day went by when he worried if he would make that mistake that would expose what he had done.

What amazed me is how every nuance of feeling of this man was transferred to my soul. I felt every fear, every doubt, and every cautionary thought. I was tortured just like he was. Considering that I was reading a translation, I often wonder how much greater the impact would have been if I could have read it in Russian.

After reading the book, I went back to Wangler and told him that his choice of book had been unfair, but that it was something that would influence me all of my life.

And in my own experiences in life, I have found Dostoyevsky to be absolutely right.

Onion Icing

Having five older brothers and only two older sisters, I tended to get all of the household chores that were traditionally given to girls. Thus, I helped my mother out in the kitchen as much as I could.

Mom was a crossing guard, so she usually had me do some of the kitchen jobs after I got home from school. She would then come home and put on the finishing touches.

We always seemed to have cake in the house. One of our rituals was to dig into a piece on Sunday nights while watching Ed Sullivan.

If you get to know me, you will discover that I love peanut butter. I grew up with the stuff. Even today, I put it on hot dogs and hamburgers. To me, it is the perfect condiment. Heck, it should have a food group all to itself.

On this particular day, my mom asked me to put some icing on a fresh, white cake. When I asked what kind of icing, her reply was, “Anything you want, but don’t put peanut butter in it.”

What? Not put in my favourite food? I then decided to experiment. A drop of this and a dash of that, taste a bit and I almost had it. I searched the drawer for the magic ingredient. I found it – onion salt!

I added it to the icing, tasted it and, yes, it was good. I pasted this spread on the cake. It looked like it came from heaven. There was one slight problem. After five minutes, all of the other ingredients faded away and the onion taste remained and it tasted like hell.

When my mom came home, she asked me what I put in the icing. My answer was, “Not peanut butter,” which kept her content for the moment.

Later that evening, pieces were cut for various members of the family. They dug into the dessert and enjoyed it. Then, five minutes later, as if on cue, there were more complaints than a department store after Christmas. Yuck, onion!

My mother was not too pleased. She didn’t say much. She just glared at me and thought of the perfect punishment. A wicked smile eventually creased her face. She said, “Since you thought this icing is so good, John, you will eat the rest of the cake.”

It took me several days to accomplish this feat. Future versions of icing were very tame and conventional compared to this one.

In this case, I was made to have my cake and eat it, too.

It’s funny how in life we do the same. There are so many nice things we can slip into the recipe, but once in awhile we slip in some onion salt into our icing, something that definitely doesn’t belong. Like my experience, it may taste great at first, but we often find that its unpleasant taste is what remains. Unfortunately, like my experience, once it is on the cake, we have to eat the result.

Number 200

No serious thoughts tonight. This is my 200th article since I started writing this blog. My goal when I started was to write as much as I could for a year and see where that led me. If I helped entertain a few people along the way, then this was good.

When I started writing, I would never have imagined writing so many articles and poems. Sometimes they come at me in bunches and I churn our several days’ worth at once. At other times, I feel as if I am scratching at dry soil. I have taken it one step at a time.

Lately I haven’t been feeling so inspired. Honestly, I’m not sure if that inspiration will come back. I almost feel in mourning. I certainly miss the excitement of having words flow freely. It’s the same feeling you get when the wind is blowing through your hair.

It reminds me of my Ginko tree. It sits in the kitchen. Last fall, all of the leaves fell off. For most of the winter, it looked dead – really dead. In the past couple of weeks, it has sprung to life. My hope is that my inspiration will come back, just like the leaves on the Ginko.

Meanwhile, there are new things to discover and intriguing places for my mind to travel. Why not come along for the remainder of the voyage?

Alvin

No, Alvin is not his real name, but he is one of the most interesting characters I have ever met in my life.

If my life was in danger, I’m sure I could count on Alvin to help me. He certainly is a compassionate soul. But would I trust my life in his hands? Never.

You see, Alvin is a con artist. He has a way of gaining your confidence, and then you discover later he has been deceiving you all along the way.

Has Alvin ever lied to me? No. The problem is that he has seldom told me the whole truth. What do I mean? Let me give you an example.

There was one piece of cake left in the refrigerator, at least, so I thought. When I went to get it, it was no longer there. No big problem, I didn’t need it anyway, but I was curious about where it went. I decided to ask Alvin.

“Alvin, did you eat that last piece of cake?” I asked.

“Why are you asking me?” he replied.

“Because I thought you might know,” I stated.

“Are you accusing me of eating the last piece of cake?”

“No, I’m asking if you know who did.”

“Well, why would you think I would know?”

“I don’t. I’m asking if you do know.”

And so the conversation went back and forth until I finally asked, “Yes or no, did you eat the last piece of cake?” Silence was his reply. The only thing I could imagine is that he felt like a mouse caught in a trap. What would happen if he were honest and answered yes? That would reveal that he was trying to escape the truth all along. If he answered no, then he would be lying – something he considered wrong.

While Alvin was in our care, he was out of jail on bail. I held the bond. That meant that if he violated the terms of his bail, I was out some money. Thus, there was some interest on my part that he keep himself out of trouble.

The year before, he had become involved with a travelling carnival that set up next to his high school. This led to serious problems for him. One of the conditions I put on my putting up the bail money was that he was not to go to this carnival.

Alvin took the school bus home, but one day I got off early and decided to meet him at school and drive him home. I watched and watched as the students came out of the school at the end of the day. Alvin never appeared. I figured I had missed him and he was on the bus home.

It was the first day of the carnival, and I like the atmosphere, so I decided to take a stroll through the grounds. I turned a corner and there was the game where you have to toss rings over the mouth of Coke bottles. And there was Alvin, too. I was shocked. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be there, but he stood like a deer in headlights wondering what I was going to do.

I told him to get to my car immediately. His new boss told me that I didn’t have the right to talk to his employee that way. I told him that Alvin was out of jail on bail and that I had the bond. I DID have the right to talk to him that way. If he didn’t do what I said, I would tell the police that I was no longer going to post the bond and they could arrest him.

Alvin still didn’t know what to do. He had been caught in a lie. The truth had been exposed to me and now to his new boss. He didn’t want to follow me. That would admit to this complete stranger that I was right and that I had some control over him. He took off, which solved nothing. He didn’t want to confront the truth.

Something died that day. Yes, I still care about Alvin very much, but it is more out of pity. I discovered that day that I cannot trust Alvin. I’m not sure what it will take for that trust to be restored. You see, it is not for me to restore that trust. Only Alvin can do that. All I can say is that I hope one day he will change his ways and tell me the truth. Somehow I doubt that will happen.

Alvin lost more than my trust that day.

First, he lost the chance to be forgiven. In order to be forgiven, you have to admit that you were wrong and then repent, which means to feel badly about what you have done. He seemed incapable of doing either. It was easier to avoid the problem or pretend that it was the fault of something or somebody else. What is sad is that I would be more than willing to forgive him if he would confess. That would mean admitting he was wrong, which was very difficult for him to do.

Secondly, he lost a bit of himself. Only he knows the game that he plays. Only he has to live with the deception he sows. Only he knows whether the relationships he will have in the future will follow the same pattern that is hard for him to break. Only he has to constantly look over his shoulder in fear of being discovered and the truth being revealed. This fear prevents him from leading a full life.

All I know is that the relationship he can have with me will probably never reach its potential because of his inability to tell the whole truth. Yes, this may change, but it will take a lifetime of trying to con people to turn around.

B&W Photos

Our family did not have much money. I wouldn’t say we were poor. We had everything we needed to survive. It’s just that some of the things that I saw my friends had seemed out of reach for us. For example, a good friend Jim got a Porsche for his sixteenth birthday. I got a dog, which was also partly my Christmas gift since my birthday is in November. The funny thing is that I didn’t envy my friends. Interesting things always happened in our home, and my vivid imagination only heightened the experience.

Regardless of what we didn’t have, my mother always made sure that she had a two-week vacation somewhere. The youngest children also went along. Even though my grandparents had a cottage, this was never available to us. For many years, our vacation home was a cabin the size of some peoples’ tool sheds at Lake Simcoe. While I remember the size being small, it was adequate for our needs. What I remember most was fun we had and reading ten-cent comic books while listening to the radio.

We always use to document our vacation using a huge Kodak box camera. I’m not sure if there was colour film available, but all of our photos were in black and white. Sometimes mom would let us take a picture, but she made sure that we were serious about what we took. Wasting a picture was something that just couldn’t be done.

We would get the photos back and fondly look at our vacation. It’s funny how our two weeks were summarized in about 24 snapshots. With digital cameras these days, you usually have over 200.

Sometimes we would look at the negatives. The whole world was inverted. It also gave us an idea of what we would look like if we had black skin.

What amazed me is that to make a beautiful picture, you had to shine a light on something that was dark. On a piece of photographic paper, the shadows became light and the areas where the light could get through became dark, with many shades in between.

In my life, there have been times when I have felt like those negatives. Everything seems so inverted and unrealistic. When light passes through these negative experiences and I see the result, I often see the wisdom I have gained. I sometimes marvel at the strength and courage I have shown. The beauty of the print somehow gives me satisfaction with the result.

But I have to let the light shine through. To me, that light is truth. It is only under the purity of the light of the truth that a true picture forms. Anything light that is not pure will only make an image that is less than true.

A Revelation

This trip through life is certainly interesting. Even as I get older, I am amazed how much I learn and humbly look at how much I need to learn.

I met today with Halina to go over my résumé. She had many good tips to pass on. I can’t wait to use them. She also made a comment that will be encased in concrete in my brain. Here it is.

People don’t care what you know until they know that you care.

Before you read any more of my blog, just stop and think on these words. They are really profound. They explain a lot to me.

I think I am brilliant (I am also very humble.). I somehow think of ideas that few people could even imagine. The problem I often have is that, although my thoughts are unique, they sometimes don’t go over too well with others. Sometimes I try to overpower them with my ideas. I can’t imagine why they don’t accept them. It’s pretty obvious to me that I am right. They should see this clearly.

Hmmm. Maybe it’s not what I am saying. Maybe I have tried to sell the idea before I have gained the trust of the people. Perhaps my zeal and passion are showing, but my motives are not. Could they be suspicious of me? Could they be thinking “What’s in it for him?”

Next time I present something, I will try to work more on explaining why I am doing what I want to do before I actually discuss what I want to do. I will soften their hearts first instead of trying to blow them away immediately. I will try to clothe my words in an attitude of love and respect and allow them to get excited instead of exciting them.

Friends and Love

I have had the good fortune to move around in the world. I have lived in Toronto, Kitchener, Edmonton, Drayton Valley, Ottawa and London, England.

The result of my nomadic existence is that I have cultivated friends in many places. I have found that friends come in all sizes and shapes. I have also found similarities in the extra special ones.

· Every time I meet with the friend, it is almost as if we have never parted. We just pick up where we left off regardless of the time apart.

· I can be myself totally. Usually that is pretty great, but there are times when I have trouble being with myself. My friends accept this and still welcome me.

· My friends are forgiving, very forgiving. I am far from perfect and I have a way of opening my mouth a bit too much. They look at my heart and believe that I would never purposely try to hurt them.

· My friends are eager to get news from me. When I call them on the phone, it reminds me of the greeting I get from my dogs when I come home. There is this instant joy.

· My friends live in glass houses, but not in the traditional sense. Their lives are open for me to see. They share the very essence of their being with me.

· My friends’ friends can easily become my friends.

· My friends amplify my love. What do I mean? All of my friends are in one pot. Think of it as a symphony orchestra. The love of my friends makes a sweet melody. They are all in the same room. Why? If the love for one friend is in another room, then I must leave lots of love to go to the other love.

· The fruit of my friends’ love is wonderful. They create more love. No love is lost with my friends. The result is not discord, hurt, pain or anger. Good things come from my friends. If the result of a friendship is bad things among your friends, it’s time to examine some of the relationships. Somebody is screwing it up.

I leave you today with a quote from Dr. John Trent, a best-selling author, popular speaker and founding president of StrongFamilies.com.
“I often talk about a verse in the Old Testament that sets a choice before each person, every day. That choice is "life or death, the blessing or the curse." The word "life" literally means "movement towards someone" while the word "death" means "stepping back into isolation, separation." In other words, we have a choice each day to step towards our loved ones and add "life" to our relationships -- or to step away and see our relationship start dying inside.”

My friends certainly make my life better.

The Queen

My brother, Barry, and I have argued since we were very young. His leanings are very liberal and mine are more conservative. Another way to put it is that I am right and he is wrong.

In Canada, Queen Elizabeth is our queen, too. Her representative is the Governor General, currently Michaëlle Jean.

Our most recent argument was about the Queen. He feels that we don’t need a queen for our country. I have no argument with this. Aside from a ceremonial role, the monarchy has little to do with Canada. Mind you, there have been two occasions in our history where a bill passed by Parliament was rejected by the Governor General. There is some constitutional power with the position.

Barry said that he had no more respect for the queen than anyone else. He commented that he would treat her the same as everyone. Personally, I would love to see him presented to her at a formal gathering to see if he refused to follow protocol. He contends that she didn’t earn the position. It was handed to her, so why should he treat her differently?

It is this that I have a problem with. My feeling is that the people of Canada have spoken about our system of government. She is not the Queen of England or the Queen of the Commonwealth. She is the Queen of Canada. Since she represents us, then I feel she is due the respect she deserves for the position. If we don’t want her, then we should change our constitution. Until we do that, little respect for the Queen, to me, means little respect for our governmental system and little respect for Canada.

However, my brother can do as he pleases. He can have his opinon.

When I got home, I started thinking. Barry says that he would treat the Queen like anyone else. I thought, wouldn’t it be better if we treated everyone else like we would the Queen? In other words, why bring the Queen down to everyone else’s level? Why not elevate everyone to hers? Let’s not treat somebody worse. Let’s treat everybody better.

Being the owner of a bed and breakfast, I know the satisfaction we have when our guests feel like they have been treated like kings and queens. It’s better to go the extra mile than come up short.

Impressions

“Guess who this is?”

Diane and Annie were watching me perform impressions of various board members when I was at Softball Canada. Each one had a peculiarity, and after hours of meetings with them, I had each one down pat. I was so good at impersonating all of them that they had no problem identifying each one of them. Each time they got one right, we all laughed.

After a few minutes, Diane said to me, “Let me do one.”

She took her right hand and tugged on the material of her blouse on her left shoulder.

“Bob Van Impe?” I guessed.

Diane and Annie laughed.

“It’s Glenn Reeve,” I declared.

Diane and Annie laughed harder.

“How about Duff Slavin?”

By now they were almost rolling over.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“It’s you,” chortled Diane, “You do it all the time.”

Watch any baseball game on television and you will know what I mean. As the batter prepares for the pitch, you will see many of them tug at the cloth on their shoulder. He needs to stretch the material a bit to feel more comfortable.

My heart sank. Part of my job was meeting people all of the time. When I thought of how I might have been doing this unconsciously, I was embarrassed. I also wondered if my doing this made others uncomfortable.

Right then and there I decided to conquer this. I told Diane and Annie to mirror my actions if I ever did this again.

The first few weeks were difficult. It almost looked like I was getting them hooked on the habit. As I became more aware of what was happening, I was able to correct the situation.

It has made me think about how many other things in our lives that we may be blind about. We may be totally unaware of our bad habits out of ignorance. It’s not that we want to make people uncomfortable. We don’t know we are doing it.

I look back on many incidents in my life where I know I would have handled things differently. While I wasn’t a bad person, I acted badly because I didn’t know any better.

If people don’t tell us, then how will we know? It comes down to the age-old question of whether you tell somebody his fly is open or not.

Unless we are aware of the problem, there is no way we can ever hope to find the solution. While some may think it is cruel pointing out the flaw in somebody else, if it is done with love, or in Diane and Annie’s case, humour, it can help the person become better.

The way I look at it, I was happier suffering from the embarrassment of a habit that I eventually corrected than I would have been continuing doing something in ignorance that would have an undesirable effect in my relationships with people.

I don’t know who said that ignorance is bliss, but I don’t agree with him.

The Del Mar

When I first moved to Ottawa, I briefly dated a girl called Jill, very briefly. While we were out one evening, we bumped into one of my colleagues at work, Steve. I introduced him to her and we briefly chatted.

We had just come from the Del Mar Restaurant. It no longer exists. A whole block of stores was torn down to make room for the Rideau Centre. I considered it a real find. A Lebanese family owned it, as I recall, and they featured tasty, middle-Eastern food at a very good price. I could tell that Jill was rather impressed, too. During the meal she mentioned that we should call this “our place”. How romantic!

The next day Steve came to my office and said something that showed he was more than a colleague, he was a gentleman, too, and eventually became a friend.

He said, “Jill called me and asked me if I wanted to go out with her. I didn’t know if you two were serious, so I thought I’d check with you first.”

Seeing the writing on the wall, I told Steve that it wasn’t serious. How could it be? Why would she be so bold to call him up if she had strong feelings for me?

A couple of days later, I bumped into Steve. He thanked me for being honest about Jill and I thanked him for being honest. He told me that they had gone on a date and that he really had enjoyed himself. Yes, I said to myself, I could understand that.

He went on to tell me that they went out to eat at a very interesting restaurant and that I should try it sometime – the Del Mar! Well, I had to laugh, again, to myself. She could have been original with Steve, at least. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that what she was giving him was recycled.

A few weeks later, I bumped into Steve again. It seems as if everything between him and Jill was finished. Somehow I wasn’t surprised.

The next week I went to the Del Mar Restaurant. The food was as wonderful as ever, but it wasn’t “our place”, it was “my place”, that is, until the wrecking ball took it down forever a few weeks later. How fitting!

Ina

When I lived in Edmonton, Ina was a special friend of mine. She had the beauty of Donna Reed in It’s a Wonderful Life. I have seldom met such a sincere, honest person. I don’t know why, but we shared with each other our woes in dating. It was almost a competition. She would come up with one story and I would come up with another.

My best was when I want out on a date with Brenda. My Toyota truck was not the most reliable vehicle. It stalled in the middle of one of the busiest intersections in Edmonton at 6:30 pm on a Saturday night.

I did the manly thing and raised the hood. Yes, the truck had a motor. What could be wrong? I instructed Brenda to try to start the vehicle. It was a standard transmission. Brenda’s car was an automatic. She didn’t know that you should press in on the clutch when you try to start a truck with a standard transmission, otherwise – hey, watch it – the auto will lurch forward, and it did. I figured it was better to die under the truck than from the embarrassment I was experiencing.

A stranger helped me push it out of the intersection and to the side of the road. Brenda slid over. I got in the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. It started. The date gods were working against me.

As bad as this one was, Ina had one equally bad.

I decided that time had come. We had to find out who was the worst dater. I would take Ina out on a date.

The occasion was a banquet for my softball team. We had won the Alberta Intermediate Championship and we were meeting at a hall in the country somewhere.

On this night, Ina learned that she had met her match. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong.

To start, I arrived at her door sick. I should have been at home in bed, but I didn’t want to disappoint her on our special night.

We sort of got a bit lost trying to find the hall, but we arrived.

Being ill, I hardly had the stomach for the nice meal that was prepared.

Then came the live entertainment. It was a three-piece combo. They were bad. They were so bad that the guitar player didn’t even face the audience half the time. I decided that we should have our first dance together. Halfway through the song, I asked Ina, “That’s In the Mood they’re playing, isn’t it?” She told me it wasn’t, but when I asked her to really listen, she agreed that it was. Yes, the band was really bad.

On the way home, I developed chills. When we got to Ina’s home, she suggested that I should stay warm in the car. I didn’t even get to walk her to the door. With my sickness, I knew there wouldn’t be a goodnight kiss anyway.

The next time we met, Ina and I laughed at our first and only date. She conceded that I had won the competition hands down. It was rather a hollow victory. I honestly wish that I could have shown her a better time.

A few years later, we met, quite by accident, in Whitehorse. She was a nurse at the hospital and I was there for Softball Canada’s annual meeting. I looked up her number and called her home, but there was no answer. Then, while shopping I bumped into her on the street. We instantly threw our arms around each other and laughed. It proved to me that while our date was hell, our friendship was made in heaven.

I have no idea what happened to Ina after that, but I certainly hope she is well.

Say Something Good

It started as a bit of a joke. Peter asked me the score during our badminton match. I told him and he disagreed with me. I pointed out why I thought he was mistaken and he said, “John, you’re right!” I told him that hearing those words was music to my ears. He could say them anytime he wants, as far as I was concerned. So he did, and we laughed each time.

I decided to continue on with the fun. I walked up to people in the club and gave them praise. I commented on their great spirit, their abilities in badminton and on anything else that I could think of. Even though I laid it on a bit thick, nobody hated what I was doing. They lapped it up. Many of them gave me positive comments right back. I lapped them up. Again, everybody laughed. Yes, we were being silly, but we all enjoyed somebody telling us how wonderful we are.

In my life as a teacher, I have found the same thing. If I can find some way to praise a student, the effect is like seeing ice suddenly melt on a warm spring day. The more I can do this in a classroom, the better day for everyone. The students feel better for the positive comments and I feel better for having made them.

Hmmm. Can we possibly learn something? Do you think life will be better for us if we walk up to people and start saying positive things to them? What would happen if we even did this to people who hate us? Might they live up to the words that we send their way? Even if they don’t, we will view them in a better light.

Are we not wonderfully made? Just think, millions of molecules that work together to create human being, dogs, cats and every living thing. These miracles are happening every day.

So how about it? Make it a point to say something nice to somebody today, and if it feels good, keep doing it.

Tickets

When I started as an occasional teacher, I did everything wrong you could do. I hadn’t taught in over twenty years and a lot had changed, including the way students behave in a classroom. The result was that I experimented a lot, usually falling flat on my face.

The lowest point came when the grade 4 class was learning about the feudal system. I decided to appoint a king and queen, who would then set up their kingdom. By 10:30 in the morning, the serfs were revolting. It seems that the king and queen had no real power. I noted that it was similar to what a substitute teacher faced daily.

I invited a principal in to see what I was doing wrong. It was a humbling experience. I wasn’t walking around the room enough. I was talking too much. I wasn’t moving close to the problems while they were small, allowing them to grow like a forest fire.

I appreciated what he said, even though it stung my pride a bit. I tried to implement his advice, but it wasn’t natural for me. I still experimented with my classroom management style. I tried almost anything

One day I stumbled upon a system that work in almost every class. They involve 50/50 tickets, which are twin tickets with the same number. Using them forces me to do almost everything that the principal mentioned and more. Here’s how it works.

When I enter the classroom in the morning, I write on the board what I expect the students to be doing when they enter in the classroom. Somewhere in the message appears the word “quietly”. Then I wait.

The first student who actually does what is expected gets a ticket. This usually brings the question, “What are the tickets for?” My answer is a simple, “Think about it.” Students are pretty smart. They know what they are for. Pretty soon I have a classroom of quiet students who are doing their best to earn tickets, even though they don’t know everything about them.

Next, I ask them why they think I am handing out tickets. They tell me. They are usually 100% right and feel pretty good about it. Guess what? They have just made the expectations in the classroom, not me.

I then tell them that I also take tickets away and ask them to guess. The only one they usually miss is that I charge one ticket to go out of the classroom for pretty well any reason. Again, since they have provided the guidelines to me, they buy into them a lot easier than if I told them.

The early going involves setting the tone. I am generous with giving the tickets, positive reinforcement, and if anyone speaks out, I take a ticket. Usually it is one of the teacher’s pets who speaks out. When the other students see that even the favourites have tickets taken from them, they realize that I am serious, but fair.

Now, I have this long tail of half of the 50/50 tickets that need to be broken up into individual tickets and put in a bucket. Guess the person I choose to do this? The one I have identified as the troublemaker. I walk up to him and ask if he would help me. The answer is always yes, and I give him a ticket for his efforts. It’s better to have him on my side and doing things for me than working against me.

At the end of the day, I sometimes have a draw for a little prize, but lately I have been handing out the tickets with no reward. It hasn’t made any difference in the performance of the students.

Why do the tickets work?

They allow me to give lots of positive, NON-VERBAL reinforcement. In order to be fair, I have to circulate around the classroom.

If I have to correct an action or attitude, I merely ask for a ticket. The confrontation is minimized. All I do is ask for a ticket or just rub my fingers together, again NON-VERBAL. The student usually knows why I have taken one away. If I suspect he doesn’t, I ask. Also, it’s hard to argue with somebody taking a ticket away, especially when I say nothing and am smiling. It puts the focus on the action the student has done wrong instead of the student.

As the students accumulate tickets, some actually start competing with each other, which takes the focus off competing with me.

The other thing I like about this is that it is fun. It makes the day a bit different.

The main thing is that the tickets have allowed me to keep my sanity. Being an occasional teacher is like appearing at a comedy club every day and working the crowd. You have to win them over with your first joke.

When you go into a classroom, students often try to play “the game”. It’s the same game that existed when I was young. It’s called Sink the Sub. Well, I have found a new game to play. It’s called “Tickets Please”, and that’s just what they do. They seem to please everyone, including me.

The Inner Voice

There are times in my life when I have heard the inner voice. Some may not want to call it God. I have no problem doing so. Regardless, this is an occasion when I certainly heard it.

When I was in England, I typed a résumé on a manual typewriter in the highlands of Scotland. It took me a long time to do and I had to type the pages several times to get them right.

My goal was to make copies of it and take it around to several Canadian companies in London to see if I could get any work. Having worked in broadcasting, I decided to try the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, the CBC, first.

Money was running low and Marie kept asking me when I was going to take in my résumé. Time after time, I heard this voice tell me, “Not today,” and I told her so.

One day in October, I woke up and I heard the voice tell me, “Take in your résumé today, John.” I obeyed the voice and took the train into London.

When I arrived at the CBC, I asked the receptionist it there was any work. She passed me off to Daphne, who was in charge of human resources.

I handed my résumé to her and asked her if there was any work. She glanced at it and her eyes widened. She looked me right in the eyes and said, “We have people coming in here every day thinking that they can get a job with the CBC because they are Canadian and they are in London. We turn them away. Well, we created a job just two hours ago, and you fit it perfectly.” I did my best to assure her she was right, and she was.

They wanted somebody who knew how to edit videotape who also had a knowledge of the Canadian sport system. I had worked at three television stations and at the National Sport and Recreation Centre in Ottawa. I was, indeed, perfect for the job.

The managers in London were impressed, but I had to speak to Bob in Toronto. He called me and asked for three references. I gave him some from the CBC in Edmonton.

He called me back a couple of days and said, “How come nobody you gave as a reference remembers you?” I told him I was very disappointed, but that it told him three things:
1. I wasn’t a genius at my job. You always remember them.
2. I wasn’t terrible at my job. You remember them, too.
3. I quietly did my job efficiently.
His next words were, “You’re hired! You start on December 1.” I had to inform Bob that if I had to start on December 1, I would have to decline the job because I didn’t have enough money to last that long. We renegotiated the start date to November 1.

Years later, one of my references saw me in Toronto and said hello to me. I asked him why he hadn’t remembered me when Bob had asked him for a reference. Turns out that Bob hadn’t contacted my references at all. He wanted to know what I would say when he told me that they had forgotten me. I must have said the right thing.

I still am amazed at what happened because I was in tune with the inner voice. There have been other instances where I have heard it, usually when I least expect it. Seldom have I heard it as loud and as clear as this occasion.

One Word

I have found that in life it is often the little things that make a big difference. In this case, one word made a huge difference.

A few years ago, I was working as a software instructor for Computer Training Centres in Ottawa. Heidi was making a sales pitch to a government department. It was an important client. She had lined up two francophone instructors, Christine and André, to attend the appointment.

When the time came to leave, André was nowhere to be seen. She had already mentioned to her client that she was bringing two of her top bilingual instructors, so she had to find somebody.

“John, you speak French,” she blurted. I asked if there was somebody else she could take. There wasn’t and I was dragged along.

She started speaking about a new application called Outlook. I sat there quietly, trying to look like I knew what was happening.

Then it happened. The client turned to me and asked me a question in French. I understood and answered, “Oui.” It was one single word, but it opened a lot of doors in my life.

The client told Heidi that she had the contract and that it was hoped that these two “bilingual” instructors would be teaching the course. Heidi assured her that we would.

Walking back to our office, I asked Heidi what Outlook was and did she really expect me to teach something I had no clue about? Her answer was “Yes,” she did expect me to teach it. In fact, I had all weekend to learn it, because I was teaching on Tuesday.

Just in case you don’t know about Microsoft Outlook, it is a communications application for email and organizing your life. I went out and bought a book on it and loaded the application on my computer at home. The only problem was that it is difficult to learn an email application when you can’t send and receive them. Unlike now, none of my friends had email.

Still, I went in and did a pretty amazing job teaching the course that Tuesday and for about three weeks after that.

Fast-forward about a year, and Computer Training Centres was trying for another government contract. This time it was to teach in various Canadian embassies around the world. I hadn’t been teaching that long, so I was reluctant to take the test, but Rick, another salesperson, persuaded me that I had nothing to lose, so I went.

Most of the instructors who were there had been teaching for years. My experience was about three. I had a huge advantage, though. The major part of the test was the knowledge of Microsoft Outlook, which I knew pretty well by then.

I remember one veteran instructor walking out in disgust. I passed and was selected for the project.

It all started with one word, oui, and grew to the point where I had the opportunity to travel to Guatemala, Poland, Turkey, Taiwan, Kosovo, Macedonia and India.

When you look at what faces you today, just do your best. Your accomplishment may not seem to be that great, but like a small seed, it may blossom into just the opportunity you have sought for many years.

Another Eye

It just hasn’t been working. I have been sending out résumé after résumé and I haven’t been invited to interviews.

I know I have many talents that I could offer employers. I can write. I have a great knowledge of computer software applications. My experiences in life can help any company. I have a great imagination. Can’t they see this?

After chatting with Halina on the phone today, it turns out that they can't. What is worse is that I have rationalized many reasons why I haven’t been selected for interviews. Could it be that they were not true and I was only fooling myself out of ignorance?

Halina is pleasant lady in information management at a hospital in London. She broke the news to me in a gentle, kind way. She asked me a few questions, including what I have accomplished with each employer. I could almost feel her enthusiasm grow on the line as I told stories of what I have done at work and as a volunteer over the years.

She told me that the people in human resources want to hear these stories.

Here I thought all along that my résumé was fantastic. It wasn’t. It was as dry as reading an index of a book. It had all of the information of my employment, but it didn’t put a human face on it.

I almost feel as if I have wasted two years’ work. I am happy that another eye has looked at my résumé. I could have gone for a few more years of frustration.

It sort of reminds me of my colour blindness. Sometimes my colour combinations when I get dressed look fine to me. The reality is that they clash badly. It takes somebody to tell me when I look rather strange. Of course, you have to be careful in selecting your advisor. Another colour-blind person, for example, wouldn’t help make me be dressed more nattily.

In this case, I had a blind spot on what I was sending to prospective employers. It has taught me that when things aren’t working out, a fresh set of expert eyes on the problem can be very helpful. I can stumble around wasting my efforts for a long time thinking everything is fine, or just as bad, knowing they aren’t fine, but having no idea what to do.

It reminds me of what I do when my car breaks down. I get out and look under the hood. The only problem is that I have no idea of what I am looking at. It’s just a thing that all men seem to do. It’s great when someone else comes along who can offer you some wisdom especially when you haven’t a clue and are figuratively looking under the hood trying to pretend to look as if everything is in control. I’ve done this before, and the only person I seem to be fooling is myself. I have also found that there are many people out there who have what I need and will be glad to help.

I have confidence that Halina is the right person to help me present myself in the best possible way. I’m glad I didn’t let my ego get in the way and that I accepted her help. I think it will make a significant difference in the very near future.

Mats Sundin

I don’t get it. Mats Sundin has a no-trade clause in his contract. The Toronto Maple Leaf hockey team tried to get him to waive this condition and he refused.

What I don’t get is why many in the Toronto media are beating up on him, calling him selfish.

Let’s look at some facts.

First, Mats and the Leafs signed a contract. Both entered the agreement. It was negotiated and accepted by both parties. Is it wrong for somebody to want the other party to live up to his side of the bargain?

Second, why would somebody want a no-trade clause in a contract? In the sports world, many are treated like commodities, not people. If you are trying to live a life, you may not want to do so not knowing where you might be next week. You might want to have some stability. You might want a contract that allows you to have some control over your destiny and lifestyle. Is there something wrong with wanting the best for yourself?

Third, let’s look at the management. Why do they want to unload Sundin? They want to make the team better and make the playoffs. And why do they want to do this? They want to please the fans? I’m sure this is part of the motivation, but the other part has to do with their egos and job security. If they don't produce a winning team, then they are out the door. The other motivation is money. The more successful a team, the more money it can generate. If you don’t make the playoffs, that’s a pile of tickets you don’t sell for games.

To me, it all boils down to integrity. The pundits can debate the motivation of Mats Sundin not wanting to waive his no-trade clause. However, I applaud him. In today’s world, what’s wrong with entering an agreement in good faith with somebody and sticking with it? Sundin has done nothing wrong. He has lived up to his part of the bargain. He has played admirably. He has chosen to abide by the contract that he and the Toronto Maple Leafs agreed to. Sure, the management can approach him to renegotiate. That is fair, but if he chooses to respect what both parties signed, he is not doing wrong.

I admire that, especially when the appearance of this man seems to indicate a loyalty to the organization, his fellow players and the fans.

Laugh and Celebrate!

Growing up in a family with eight kids was full of tension. In spite of this, and many other problems, we still found happiness.

My mother was not perfect (who is?), but she had one quality that I think I have inherited and another she has passed on to me.

First, the one I have inherited. Laughter. In spite of all of the fighting and yelling and screaming, we always seemed to find something to laugh about. Perhaps this is because with ten people in a house, somebody is bound to do something funny every day, but even the violent acts bring laughter now. Let me give you an example.

My sister got angry with me for not taking the name of a boy who called her on the phone. One of my brothers sided with me, saying that if he had any manners, he would have told me his name. The argument grew and grew until my sister struck my brother in the head with a kettle and he had to go to the hospital emergency room for stitches. As my sister walked out of the house, my mother said something about her attitude. In anger she put her fist through the window, cutting her wrist and she had to go to the hospital, too. Now, can you imagine my brother sitting in the emergency room and having my sister arrive suddenly? Was she back for round two? What seemed very tragic at the time soon became quite funny.

My mother didn’t seem to care if she was the one people laughed about, either. We could tease her forever and she didn’t seem to mind as long as it ended in laughter. We would do things like sit around the Scrabble board and invent silly words. She was the worst offender, but we would sometimes laugh until we cried.

Now, what I was taught. Celebrate! If I got a good mark on a test, we celebrated. If I hit a homerun, we celebrated. Whatever good happened in life was a cause for great joy.

Birthdays were not mere days on the calendar. They were opportunities to shout madly at the rising sun and bask in the glory of the day as it set. Birthdays were more than special.

While celebrating Christmas, everything was notched up several levels. With my brothers and sisters and their children arriving all day, it was like a carnival. Sometimes I would go to the basement to escape the noise, but I would soon plunge myself back into the swirling masses in our small home. With the cooking of the turkey and heat generated by humans, we usually had to open the doors in our home to cool it down.

I still love celebrating. Family get-togethers are a great joy to me. The first leaves on the trees in spring are a reason to be festive. Sitting on my front porch and hearing a loon sends shivers up my spine. Even getting something right that I have been working on makes me want to dance for joy.

Yes, laugh and celebrate. Sounds like a great combination. I think I have to start finding more reasons to laugh and celebrate.