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.

My Slow Pitch Team

When I arrived in England, I had no idea where to go to play softball. Rather than just sit there, I decided to take the matter into my own hands.

Twice a week, on Tuesday evenings and Sunday afternoons, I would take my equipment to Hyde Park in London. I would create a field using carpet for the bases. Then I lied in wait for the mice to take the bait.

It started small in the beginning. Nicola was the first. She eventually met her husband, Tony, through our games. Even though they have moved to Australia, I am still in touch. Sarah was keen on going to the United States, so she was interested in learning about their games. Another woman, whose name I forget, felt her calling was leading people into the next life. She was a bit unusual, but very nice. She also knew about the game a bit.

On Sundays, we could usually count on some Canadians and Americans to join in, especially if the sun was smiling on our game. One Sunday, in fact, we had the agent of the former professional tennis player, Mikael Pernfors, who happened to be at Wimbledon that week.

Eventually we had a regular group of about 15 who would show up regularly. A friendly visit to the pub afterwards helped.

But, oh, the things we had to endure. Hyde Park is huge and there is enough room for everyone, but American football teams would run through our game. Others would purposely saunter across the field, defying us to hit them with a ball. The most unusual lot was the bicycle polo players.

Eventually it became very serious. Unfortunately, I wasn’t there to witness the event, but the police came and told us we couldn’t play. They played the same trick on a banking softball league, populated by Americans wanting to enjoy a game. The pen, indeed, became mightier than the sword. A nasty article in the Wall Street Journal, no less, corrected the situation. The parks department decided we could rent the pitch, as a field is called in England.

Even though we paid for our fields, that didn’t stop all the aforementioned from stampeding through our area like cattle. A few well-placed pop flies usually smartened them up. Producing the permit that said we had rented the space seemed to have no effect.

From this group of rag-tag players, literally grabbed as they walked by our game, came a team that became the Great Britain mixed slow pitch finalists two years later. I was very proud of my team. More than half of them had never played the game before. We lost 4-3 against a team of Americans and Canadians that included some ringers. We faced some very good players we had never seen before.

What pleased me most was how we started very small. That puff of hope of having a team grew into something in front of my eyes.

The story has a happy ending. Although I returned to Canada the next year, the same group of players, plus a few additions, won the Great Britain mixed slow pitch championship.

Let Me Choose Love

There is so much pain on this earth
And when I consider all of my worth
I am humbled

But there are many things I still try
I feel like a fool and wonder why
Are they false hopes?

But whatever my fate
Let there be no debate
Help me do what is right
Help me stay in the light

Let me choose love
When there is so much hatred all around
Let me choose love
Though I may be more lost than I am found
Let me choose love

Please guide me on a path so true
Let me know clearly what I should do
Give me wisdom

Give me strength to realize my dreams
Give me hope to carry on when it seems
It is finished

Please help me endure
And keep my heart pure
And enlighten my way
Don’t allow me to stray

Let me choose love
When there is so much hatred all around
Let me choose love
Though I may be more lost than I am found
Let me choose love

Rudy

A good plumber is one of the necessities of life. That is what we found when we met Rudy Bansagi.

He left Communist Hungary with only the clothes on his back. He risked his life wading through a cold, dark river at night to freedom in Austria.

Fortunately, he had a trade in Hungary. He was a plumber. The only problem was that he had a hard time getting into the union in Canada, so he did jobs on the side.

We discovered his abilities one Boxing Day. One of the toilets in our home was doing an impression of Old Faithful. Water was gushing everywhere. So we called Rudy.

He arrived and fixed it in no time flat.

What I really loved about Rudy is that he was always smiling when he did his work. Another of his traits was that he would rather fix a part than throw it out and buy a new one. Back in Hungary, he explained, plumbing fixtures were not plentiful like in Canada. Often you had to take two broken taps, for example, and salvage the parts to make one good one.

He had the ability to take something broken and breathe new life into it. He also took pride in his work. One time, he didn’t do the job to his satisfaction. He came back and corrected the situation without charging me extra. He would stay with a job until it was finished.

His attitude was so refreshing in today’s world. How often do we throw things out when it could be repaired? Our throwaway society produces too much garbage.

Friendship is sort of like Rudy’s parts. There are times when it may become worn out. It would be easy to chuck it out, but true friendship repairs what is broken and it comes out stronger than ever. The trick is to make sure you keep your eyes on it so it doesn’t become too worn out that it can’t be repaired. Also, you should maintain it constantly, checking to see when there are leaks and repairing them instantly.

Richard Munro

Richard Munro is one of the most positive persons I have met in my life. You just like being around him. He has the knack of exuding a confidence in himself that somehow is transferred to you.

Like anyone, his life has not been without his speed bumps.

As one of the top distance runners in Canada, he was training for the 1976 Olympics in Montreal. He was hoping to compete in the 10,000 metres and the marathon. A good part of his life had gone into reaching this goal.

Then he developed a sore foot a year before the event while training in Australia. He wouldn’t be able to compete. All of that training was finished. The dream he had visualized so well was dashed against the rocks.

There were moments where the disappointment of not competing appeared. The big difference is that he refused to be consumed by negativity. Yes, the dream that he had spent years preparing for was not to be fulfilled. He simply realized that there are many other dreams you can pursue.

In 2006, Richard Munro was inducted into the Dalhousie University Sports Hall of Fame in cross country and track and field.

In your life, have there been dreams that have not been realized? Don’t fret. Just look at what you have to offer and create new ones. There are enough of them out there to last a lifetime.

The Chemistry Set

Years ago, a popular gift for Christmas was a chemistry set. My brother got one. We looked at all the bottles filled with these magic powders dreaming of potions we could create that would cure all the ailments of the world. Our malevolent sides conjured up mixtures that would create spells that would give us power over the universe. All we had to do was get the right combination in our living room lab.

Of course, we never read the instruction book. In fact, I don’t even know there was an instruction book. We certainly didn’t use it.

We put a dash of this and a sprinkle of that in the mixing pot, added a little of this and a pinch of that, then added water. Usually it would look pretty boring, but we would get out the most important part of the experiment, the litmus paper. This would tell you whether we had created something alkaline or acid. We would slip it in our mixture and look in awe as the paper changed before our eyes. After that, we just usually washed our creation down the sink. Who knows, we might have created the cure for cancer with this seven-dollar chemistry set.

It didn’t take us long to get bored with the contents of the box. We wanted to be more creative. We started looking for things around the house that we could mix with our sorcerer’s kit. We decided vinegar would be good.

Carefully we measured our powders in the beaker. Ah, just right. Then we added the vinegar. Whoosh! The whole mixture erupted like a volcano. Suspecting it to be an acid, my brother put the beaker down on the first surface he could find. It was the arm of our living room chair. He was right. It was acid. It was strong acid. It burned a hole right through the arm of the chair. It resembled the lawn chairs you see today with cup holders on the side.

What were we to do? I knew what I was going to do immediately. Noticed how I used the pronoun we a lot so far. Well, I suddenly realized that it was my brother’s chemistry set and it was he who did all of the mixing. I asked him, “What are YOU going to do?”

“Quick,” he said, “Let’s get a towel and put it over the hole. Maybe Mom won’t notice it.” That’s just what he did.

My brother would have had better luck waving a red cape in front of a bull and not having it notice it than my mother not seeing that towel. Maybe he was hoping that when the towel was lifted the chair arm would be magically healed.

It didn’t happen. Mom came in and asked, “What’s the towel doing on the chair?” My brother said, “Towel? What towel?” Brilliant reply. A deft flick of the wrist by my Mom revealed the awful truth. She truly didn’t know what to say for a millionth of a second.

“What in the world were you doing playing in the living room with that chemistry set? Why didn’t you use the kitchen?” My brother nodded. That would have been a good idea. I stood behind my mother out of the line of fire.

My mother was really disappointed. What upset her the most, though, was that we (yes, she figured I was in on it, too) tried to hide what we had done from her, especially when it was so obvious. She could accept the fact that we would make mistakes like most young boys. She felt hurt that we didn’t have the confidence in her and character to admit our mistake openly before she had to ask.

That armchair became part of the folklore of our family. It was the chair my father sat in all of the time to watch television.

Sometimes we burn holes in our lives, too. I have found that it is far better to admit that you have made a mistake than try to cover it up with a towel, particularly when you know it is so obvious. People are usually very willing to forgive. It is better to ask for forgiveness and gain their trust by being honest, even when the news is not that good.

Mr. Reynolds

In grade 12, I had the pleasure of taking Biology in high school from Mr. Reynolds. He was one of those teachers who genuinely loved teaching. His interaction with his students showed it. Biology wasn’t something you took. It was something you did. Most of his projects involved doing things and digging for information. Seldom did you regurgitate facts from a textbook.

One of the major assignments of the third term was to produce a study of something. The subject of your paper could be anything.

I remember how creative many of the projects were. One student used electrical impulses to map the brain of a frog for muscle movement.

I approached Mr. Reynolds for some suggestions of what I could do, but I walked away still not knowing my topic.

A week before the due date it hit me. Time was running out. If I didn’t start immediately, I wouldn’t be able to do a study of any kind. I started to panic.

I had a casual conversation with a friend who attended another school. Apparently the biology class there had done a similar project. Brian Steele did one on the effects of crowding on mice and had received a good mark. I contacted Brian and asked if I could “borrow” his paper. In other words, I decided to cheat.

I retyped Brian’s words and made a nice cover page. When I handed it in, my mind was racing. Mr. Reynolds had known my dilemma. Would he be able to add one and one and get two – that this wasn’t really my own work? I remember the horrible guilt I had when I put it on the pile with the others.

A few weeks later, I got the paper back. Unlike Brian’s A, I got a B. While I was happy with the mark, I was not happy at all with how I obtained it. I had deceived Mr. Reynolds, a teacher I really liked. I had trouble approaching him from that moment on. Every time I saw him, I wondered if he really knew that I had cheated.

About five years later, I had a day off and decided to visit my old high school and the teachers who were still there. I saw many and was pleased that they remembered me. I finally went to see Mr. Reynolds.

At first I was uncomfortable. Then I decided it was time to tell him the truth.

I said, “Remember the project I did on the effects of crowding on rats?” He told me that he did. “It wasn’t my work,” I stammered. Then he told me the truth. When he received it, he figured that it wasn’t, but he decided to give me the benefit of the doubt.

I asked him why.

He replied, “If there is anyone who lost by doing this action, it was you, not me. Sure, you may have gained a good mark, but you lost the opportunity to learn something. You also lost some respect for yourself.” He noted that he had noticed that I had acted a bit “differently” after I had handed in the paper. He ended his talk with this. “I’m glad you finally told me the truth. It shows that you have good character, but I hope you have learned your lesson. In life, you may be presented with other opportunities similar to this one. Each time you don’t do what is right and honourable, it makes it becomes easier to be dishonest the next time.”

You know something? Mr. Reynolds taught me a very good lesson that day.

My Significance

When I used to work as the Executive Director of the Canadian Association of Journalists, there were times when the job was very stressful. I coped with the tension by putting a picture of an earthrise taken by one of the Apollo missions on my computer.

Every time I started worrying, I would look at that desktop wallpaper and realize that my problems were quite small when looked at from a distance. Somehow the situation didn’t appear so significant any more and I went about spending my energies completing the task instead of worrying.

Have a look at the following web page. It will compare our earth to the size of other planets in our solar system, then with the sun, then with other stars, including the biggest known so far.

http://www.techdo.com/images/largest-know-star.htm

It is much better than my desktop image. The earthrise minimized my fears. This makes them totally vanish.

Next time you feel the pressures of life surrounding you, just compare them to the universe and realize that they don’t amount to that much.

Go for Green

When I am called to teach in a certain teacher’s class, I know I am always in for a good time. Her students are well behaved and disciplined. She uses a system called Go for Green.

The idea is that each student has a pouch on a bulletin board. They start with a green card in it. If a student misbehaves, a yellow card is put in. Further problems will lead to orange and red cards. There are consequences for each card, gradually increasing in severity.

She also has a special group called RATS, which stands for Responsible And Trustworthy Students. Special privileges are given it you are a member of RATS.

This system works for many reasons.

I like the fact that it is non-verbal. It is hard for somebody to argue when there are no words.

What I like the best, though, is that each student starts the day with a green card. It doesn’t matter what you did the day before, you start the new day with great expectations and a position of honour.

Maybe we should do the same in our adult lives. Wouldn’t it be nice to forget the effects of our bad days and start the new ones with optimism and confidence? All we have to do is “Go for Green”.

Winter Camping

Here are two words that should never be seen together – winter camping.

If you have been reading my blog this week, you will know that I hate camping. If there is a word stronger than hate, then it should be used for my feelings for winter camping. Yet one of the leaders from our youth group in Ottawa suggested it and it was decided that it would be a good experience for everyone. As one of the leaders, I was obligated to go.

This was the year the severe ice storm hit the Ottawa area. Trees were down all over. It was also very cold – minus 28 degrees Celsius. When we got to Gatineau Park, a huge natural area close to Ottawa, we found barricades at the start of our trail. Normal people would take this as a sign that we should avoid this route. We had some real outdoors types who regarded this as a challenge.

Our objective was to reach a site where some snow huts had been made and a small wooden cabin existed in case of an emergency. I already had visions of sleeping in the cabin.

We set off down the forbidden road. Some trudged in snowshoes. Other walked. I had my cross-country skis. With all the branches down, this wasn’t very effective. It was tough going.

At about 4:30 in the afternoon, like an impatient child in a car, I asked if we were there yet. We weren’t. I then asked if anyone knew exactly where we were in relation to our destination. Nobody really knew. With the sun quickly going down, and being as cold as it was, I suggested that we needed to set up a camp soon or we would be wandering around in the dark. Being as cold as it was, this could put our safety in peril.

We found a suitable spot and everybody pitched in to help get the site ready for about 20 bodies.

We had two priorities. One was starting a fire to keep us warm and cook our food. The other was building a shelter. We didn’t have any tents. A large plastic tarpaulin was all we had.

Somebody decided that digging a hole in the snow and then covering it with the tarp was the best bet. It was tough digging until I took a step and discovered that there were two layers of snow and if I jumped, I would crash through both, creating the necessary depth for people to sleep. Although this was a church group, the rule of boys and girls sleeping in separate quarters was abandoned. We needed all of the body heat we could in our makeshift tent.

How cold was it? One person put his boots near the fire to warm his feet. The rubber on the boots started to melt before he got his feet warm.

It was suggested that you should put your clothes in your sleeping bag to keep them warm. From all the work I had done, mine were damp. This didn’t turn out to be a good idea, because my sleeping bag was no longer that dry.

The ceiling of our accommodation was about 4 feet high. I crawled into my damp sleeping bag and removed most of my clothes. Then it happened. A huge cramp came to my leg. I tried to get rid of it, but it grabbed my muscles like a steel trap. The only way I knew to get rid of it was to stand up and walk it out.

First, remember that I was in a sleeping bag. Second, remember that the ceiling was only 4 feet high. Third, remember that it was minus 28 degrees Celsius and I didn’t have much on. Contorting myself like the rubber man in the sideshow at a circus, I managed to get rid of the cramp and settled into the sleeping bag again. It soon came back for revenge. I went through the same ritual, stepping on my neighbour’s head in the process.

I decided to get dressed and sit by the fire all night. I wouldn’t get any sleep, but I would be warmer than I was. I spent the night chanting the mantra, “Why? Why? Why?” The response came from the heavens in the form of an incredibly bright and large shooting star that descended into the woods.

Would I ever go winter camping again? You must be joking. Of course not! Still, I learned that the tales of my exploits lasted for years with the members of the youth group. Another lesson was how desperation can make people pull together and do a job well, especially when their survival depends on it. Even in the darkest moments miracles like shooting stars can happen. Finally, I learned how good a hot bath can feel when you are chilled to the bone.

Doing the Unexpected

When I was in Poland, I visited Auschwitz, the famous Nazi extermination camp. I’m sure life in the barracks was pretty grim during the war, but now they are pretty clean. In fact, they are cleaner than the cabin my campers inhabited at Camp Cherith.

Twice each week, there was a camp inspection of the cabins. The winning cabin got something like ice cream.

As the day approached, my guys, who were the in the oldest group, started boasting, “Every year, the oldest group gets the award for the worst cabin.” I asked them, “What’s so great about that?” They told me that it was an age-old tradition.

I asked them, “In life, do you want to be known for doing the expected or the unexpected?” They asked me what I meant. I told them that by keeping the age-old tradition they wouldn’t be doing anything that special. They would be just like every other camper who had passed along the way. There was nothing exciting about that. If they decided they were going to win the cleanest cabin award, then they would be doing something that hadn’t been done before.

I also suggested that they could have lots of fun by doing things well beyond what was expected. They decided to accept my challenge.

Camp Cherith is a Christian camp, so they had Bibles opened up on their pillows. A welcome mat was made with a note greeting all guests. Wild flowers were picked and put in pop bottles throughout the cabin. And, of course, the cabin was spotless. All clothing had been put away neatly. Everything was in order.

We trounced the opposition. History was made at Camp Cherith. The oldest group had won the award for the cleanest cabin.

On the second inspection of the week, we decided to go one better. We left little bits of chocolate on our pillows. We came dead last this time. Why? Because of the risk of wild animals invading the cabins, food is forbidden. I was the one who came up with this brilliant idea, but my only excuse is that I am the worst camper in the world. My punishment was having to sing “I’m A Little Teapot” in front of everyone.

Still the point had been made. In life, you can do what is expected or you can choose to do the unexpected. You can choose to be followers of tradition or leaders who shape the future. You can choose to walk down the path many have followed or blaze a new trail. My campers broke the mold and chose the second option.

The Angry Camper

I told you yesterday my last experience of how I had been a camp counsellor one year. Do you remember that I hate camping? Good!

The next year I got a frantic phone call from Mark. It appears that two boys had been kicked out of the camp and the counsellor of the cabin, who was rather young, was not really in control of the kids. Could I help by spending another week in purgatory?

I owed Mark big time. He had taken a chance with me as a computer software trainer when I had no job. It had turned out well for both of us, but I will never forget the opportunity he gave me. I immediately said yes and braced for what I knew was going to be a difficult week.

When I arrived in the evening, all of the kids were all in my cabin. The first night was an eye-opener. I just listened, trying to size up the situation. I was right. The job for the week ahead was going to be difficult.

One of the campers, Fred (I really forget his name), in my cabin was one of the troublemakers of the previous week. His two buddies had been kicked out and he was left alone. He was not, as they say, a happy camper.

The next night we had a sing-along. This was not Fred’s idea of a great time, so he decided to take a walk in the woods, even though this was not accepted under the camp rules. I decided to follow.

We walked in silence for a few minutes, then I asked him what was wrong. He said, “Nothing.” I then asked him if he wanted me to tell him what I thought was wrong. He nodded, so I told him how he was upset because his two buddies were not there and he was going to spend a boring week in camp. He nodded again.

My conversation continued.

“You know, you have it even worse than you can imagine this week. As your camp counsellor, you have gotten a man who hates camping. As much as you might hate being here, I hate it even more. However, if you make my life more miserable by making it more difficult, then your week will be even worse. You have the choice of trying to have as much fun as you can under the circumstances or being miserable and having to deal with me all week.”

He looked at me rather strangely after I said these words. He believed them to be true. Lucky him.

I talked to the leader and found jobs for Fred to do that he would like. I wanted to include him into camp activity, not make him a social outcast.

I would love to say that by the end of the week he was the top camper. Let’s just say that he had a smile on his face more often than the beginning of the week.

He had a choice to make when I confronted him and he made the right one. My confrontation was not done with anger, but truth. He admitted the problem, rather than hiding it, and then he was presented with options. My hatred of camping made his decision easier. You do not want to go camping with me ever.

In life, we can do the same. We can make the best of a bad situation or be upset and make it worse. Sometimes this choice will not be easy. To start, we must confront the truth, and then look at the options. It may go against what we want at the time. When you look at the options presented to us and where they will lead us, our focus can shift to where we can be, not where we are now. This brings us hope. The choice is ours.

Councillor T-Bird

I hate camping. I was surprised when Carolyn came up to me and asked if I would be a counsellor at Camp Cherith. I had every reason on earth why I didn’t want to do this, but the main one was that I hate camping.

Carolyn explained that they were desperate. Seriously, to consider me as a camp counsellor, you would have to be. I had never been to a camp. How could I be the leader of a cabin full of boys? I flunked the swimming test. I had sciatica, a pinched nerve in my back that caused great pain. Oh, and did I mention that I hate camping.

I agreed to give it a shot. It’s difficult to say no to Carolyn.

I arrived the day before the kids to get a feel for the camp and be there when they arrived. One of the traditions was that each counsellor created a camp name related to a bird, so you had people called Eagle, Robin and Sparrow. I chose the name T-Bird.

My first camper walked towards the cabin. He was a twin. He took one look at me and said, “Let’s switch cabins,” to his brother. My confidence plummeted like a stone dropped in the water or me trying to swim. My first camper rejected me.

It didn’t get better. One by one they arrived and I realized that I had a very mixed bag. Some of them were veterans of many years. Others had been dumped by their parents for a week and really didn’t want to be there. I could identify with those ones.

The way I figure it, the series, Survivor, is based on camp. Kids thrown together form alliances and sometimes are cruel towards each other.

I remember they handed out balloons one day. One of my guys really liked his, but another in the group broke it just before he went to bed. He cried. Councillor T-Bird came to the rescue, though. My sciatica was waking me up very early in the morning. I got up and found the balloon stash and blew up about 8 balloons. Then I quietly snuck into the room and gently placed them on his bed while he was sleeping. The next morning those tears were replaced by laughter.

By the end of the week I had been through quite a bit with my group. The craft I had been assigned was creating the daily camp newspaper and we did one of the best ones they had had.

Did this experience change my attitude about camping? Not in the slightest. I still hate it, but I learned that people who share adversity get close. By the end of the week, those boys were like sons to me. There was a bond of love that had been formed and I suddenly was aware what camping was all about.

Golf

I enjoy a good game of golf. When I first started, I thought I was getting a great value. Some people would only get to whack the ball about 80 times for the green fees. I got to swing about 120 times.

I soon learned that one of the rites of passage for a golfer is breaking 100. My score gradually went down a bit, but I was having a difficult time. It was the psychological barrier similar to the difficulty runners had breaking the 4-minute mile.

I was enjoying the game even though I zigzagged down the fairways. I kept score by the number of balls I lost vs. the number I found. I had the knack of discovering lost worlds every time I played the game. One time I met another poor soul in the forest looking for his ball. I almost said, “Dr. Livingston, I presume.”

One day I entered a tournament. The format was “best ball”. This meant that you used the person’s shot that was the best and continued on from there.

The next time I played golf, I broke 100. Why?

When I was in this tournament, our team shot a 73. What was more important was that I saw what I would have to do to shoot such a low score. The next time I was on a course, I was able to visualize the shot I would have to make. Before my goal was to smack the ball as hard as I could every time, usually with disastrous results.

It is important to remember that in order to reach this great achievement, I was aided by three other people. Without them, I wouldn’t have been able to do it. If they had been terrible golfers, my quest to break 100 would have been more difficult.

I learned two lessons from this. The first is to surround yourself with good people. This will make it easier to achieve your goal. The second is that visualizing what you are trying to do is very important. Unless you can see how you are going to do something, you will have difficulty doing it.

Homework

Two Toronto professors have come up with the idea that homework from grades 1 to 6 may is of little value and may lead to stress in the family.

I am not a professor, but I do have some questions about their study.

First, look at the photo that is with the article from the Toronto Star (http://www.thestar.com/article/302001). I don’t know what school these kids go to, but I have never seen any student in grades one to six bring home a pile of books like you see between the two. Look at the pose of the girl. What does it say? How about the papers strewn out in front of them? Is this typical of how they do homework? The photo seems to have been set up to support the story idea, not the reality.

Before you ditch homework, I ask you to consider these questions.

· What will the time that would be spent on homework be replaced with? If it is reading, quality family time or time spent outdoors playing, then I can agree. If it means more time in front of the computer or television, often unsupervised, is this a better alternative to homework?
· If a student knows that there is never going to be any homework, what incentive will he have to complete the work in class? From my experience as an occasional teacher, kids will work harder in class if they know what I am giving them is homework if not completed.
· If you are going to ditch homework, then are you going to give teachers a break? What do I mean? Years ago, parents would never think of going on vacation at any time with their children except when there was no school. Too many take off during the school year and expect the teacher to help their offspring catch up when they return. This is not fair. Where I live, you might as well not teach on Fridays in the winter. Parents have no problem pulling their kids out of classes for hockey and ringette tournaments. Some organizing committees even schedule games on Fridays. What message are we sending our children about an education?
· How many people complain about doing work, regardless of their age? If I have the option of saying something negative and getting out of doing homework or being silent and having to work, what option am I likely to pick? High school students complain about doing homework. One man’s daughter would rather play. Guess what? I would rather sit on a beach than do work around the home. Maybe I should get rid of housework.
· How many teachers were interviewed for the study?
· How much of a strain does it put on marriages? The article makes it sound like kids getting homework is a serious cause for divorce. Give me a break!

Of course, I may be totally wrong about what the article says. Maybe I just haven’t done my homework in reading the study. Why should I, though? It may be disruptive for my home, creating power struggles and arguments.

The Perfect Lover

1 John 4:18 (Bible in Basic English)
There is no fear in love: true love has no room for fear, because where fear is, there is pain; and he who is not free from fear is not complete in love.

Today is Valentine’s Day. Millions will be saying, “I love you” in so many ways. Some use flowers, others chocolates. Cards are another popular medium. I’m sure there will be somebody somewhere who will rent a billboard. We are whipped into a frenzy of declaring our love for somebody on this day. Hopefully those same feelings will exist beyond today. Still, it is nice that we stop and remember how important love is.

While love does involve giving, if we want to have the greatest love possible, it must be free from fear. What does this mean? To me it means making sure that you communicate effectively. You have to feel that you can tell the person you love anything without any fear. You become transparent to that person. In order to do this, you have to trust that person, and that is sometimes very difficult.

Almost everyone has experienced somebody who has hurt him or her and violated that trust. The result is often to have fear in love.

You want to be the best lover you can be? Then love someone without fear. If you can’t, then maybe it is time to get help to get over that fear or find somebody else to love who you can love without fear. That is, unless you don't care if you are the best lover you can be.

Love

You often hear the passage below read at weddings in Christian churches. Regardless of your beliefs, it is one of the most profound writings ever on the subject of love.

I have some comments, but I want you to think on the original words more than mine. Ponder on whether you believe these words to be true and, if so or if not, why. Is there anything you would add or take away?

To start, this is the New Living Translation. Different translations, while similar, can give slightly different impressions. This is the one I liked the most.

The word love here is the Greek word agapé. They have four words for love, just like the Inuit have many words for snow. This is not an erotic kind of love, however, if you really are “in love” with somebody and agapé isn’t blended in generously, you are not receiving love at its fullest. It makes a fairytale love complete. I'm not going to give a definition of what agapé means. I think the text covers it adequately.

This text not only tells you what love is, it tells you what it isn’t. That way you can know when it is real and when somebody is just pretending to love you.

The part about a poor mirror is often translated “through a glass darkly,” referring to a mirror. When I was in the British Museum, I was surprised to see that the mirrors of the first couple of centuries were not made of glass, but brass. As you know, brass tarnishes and turns black. Could this be what they mean by “through a glass darkly”?

I have asked myself this question about verse 13. Why is love greater than faith or hope? Here is the best I can come up with.

I can have faith that when I flick the light switch, it will come on. The reality is that there may be a time when it doesn’t. Sometimes your faith in something fails.

I may hope that a certain hockey team will win the Stanley Cup. For all of you Leaf fans out there, you can understand that your hope may be dashed quite easily.

But love is always there. Why? Love does not depend on anything external. It just is. It can be there no matter what.

Do you have a better answer? Please add a comment.


1 Corinthians 13
1. If I could speak in any language in heaven or on earth, but didn't love others, I would only be making meaningless noise like a loud gong or a clanging cymbal.
2 If I had the gift of prophecy, and if I knew all the mysteries of the future and knew everything about everything, but didn't love others, what good would I be? And if I had the gift of faith so that I could speak to a mountain and make it move, without love I would be no good to anybody.
3 If I gave everything I have to the poor and even sacrificed my body, I could boast about it; but if I didn't love others, I would be of no value whatsoever.
4 Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud
5 or rude. Love does not demand its own way. Love is not irritable, and it keeps no record of when it has been wronged.
6 It is never glad about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out.
7 Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.
8 Love will last forever, but prophecy and speaking in unknown languages and special knowledge will all disappear.
9 Now we know only a little, and even the gift of prophecy reveals little!
10 But when the end comes, these special gifts will all disappear.
11 It's like this: When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child does. But when I grew up, I put away childish things.
12 Now we see things imperfectly as in a poor mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God knows me now.
13 There are three things that will endure – faith, hope, and love – and the greatest of these is love.

Safely in Your Hands

This world is sometimes tough
It kicks you around and treats you rough
There are times when you taste defeat
And your life seems very incomplete
You aren’t really sure which way to go
But there is one thing I will always know
I can place my heart
Safely in your hands

Though my mind may be full of doubt
And my soul is going through a drought
I look at the options and they seem too few
I contemplate starting over anew
When it seems as though the battle is lost
And I prepare myself to count the cost
I can place my heart
Safely in your hands

Though it may be dark
You provide the spark
That motivates me
Can’t you see, you set me free

When I come to you with wounded pride
And my feelings are hurting deep inside
I will no longer feel despair
Because the thought of you waiting there
Makes me count my blessings and the things I’ve got
And I will trust there'll always be a spot
Where I can place my heart
Safely in your hands

If you don’t know …

Have you ever heard this from your loved one? “If you don’t know, then I’m not telling you.” I have heard this line a few times in my life. Guess what? I still don’t know.

People often say that others don’t understand them. I don’t dispute this, but how is anyone supposed to understand others without knowing what’s on their hearts?

Can you imagine somebody going to the doctor and not telling where it hurts? “Yes, doctor, I am here for a reason, but if you don’t know, then I’m not telling you.”

If you are dealing with me, I need to know. You may have to hit me over the head with a board until I understand, but I really need to know. You may feel afraid of telling me the truth. Perhaps I have wounded your spirit in the past when you did so, but I still need to know.

Why?

If you don’t tell me, then I have no opportunity for any input into the situation. There is no hope that I can do anything to correct any problem. All I will have to do is to deal with the output. Since I don’t have any insights into the reasons for the output, I will be forced to guess and use my imagination. Imagining what might be usually results in gross inaccuracies, because what I invent in my mind is usually not even close to the truth. I have a great imagination. This is hardly fair. It makes for a very one-sided relationship and one that has little hope of being genuine and surviving.

Love is not like a poker game where we have to guess what the other person’s cards are. It is being you, nothing more, yet nothing less. If you can’t be yourself, then you are the real loser. You are living a life that is not yours.

Is it difficult being totally honest with another person? You bet! It may mean telling him something he doesn’t want to hear. What is the alternative? Living a lie. Doing that creates even more hurt for everyone.

I leave my blog for today with the words of Billy Joel. Nice lyrics, although he seems to imply that a friend and love can be less than honest. If somebody is a true friend and really loves me, honesty and trust are essential parts of that relationship.

Honesty
If you search for tenderness, it isn't hard to find.
You can have the love you need to live.
But if you look for truthfulness, you might just as well be blind.
It always seems to be so hard to give.

Honesty is such a lonely word.
Everyone is so untrue.
Honesty is hardly ever heard.
And mostly what I need from you.

I can always find someone to say they sympathize.
If I wear my heart out on my sleeve.
But I don't want some pretty face to tell me pretty lies.
All I want is someone to believe.

Honesty is such a lonely word.
Everyone is so untrue.
Honesty is hardly ever heard.
And mostly what I need from you.

I can find a lover.
I can find a friend.
I can have security until the bitter end.
Anyone can comfort me with promises again.
I know, I know.

When I'm deep inside of me, don't be too concerned.
I won't ask for nothing' while I'm gone.
But when I want sincerity, tell me where else can I turn.
Because you're the one I depend upon.

Honesty is such a lonely word.
Everyone is so untrue.
Honesty is hardly ever heard.
And mostly what I need from you.