Goodnight Baby Boy

'Goodnight Baby Boy'

'Daddy, I'm not a baby anymore, I'm eleven'

So ricocheted the words from my eldest son's lips last Saturday at bedtime. We had said our prayers and his (vast array of pillows) were aligned in a haphazard, yet perfectly aligned, manner. His favourite blanky cocooned his body and my goodnight kisses still tingled on his face. The night light was on (despite the vocal protestations of his brother some 30 minutes earlier before he had submitted to sleep) and we had said our prayers. I seem to recall a discussion on why the Queen of England shouldn't be the Queen of Canada (I am raising an eco-terrorist-anti-monarchist).....a discussion conducted despite losing consciousness momentarily because of the cheese like emanations from his feet. His clothes lay strewn across the floor and his coat that he had been reminded three times to hang up, wasn't.

Earlier that day we had walked hand in hand across the parking lot before entering the grocery store. Even earlier, I had requested and received a public kiss.....horror of horrors!....and not just a peck on the cheek I might add! It had been a big 'ole wet lip smacker followed by guffaws of laughter as I had to dry my face!
Around 11pm the night before a bleary eyed eleven year old had stumbled into my room seeking solace and comfort after a bad dream. We had sat and rocked together for a good 15 minutes, after which I had sucked out any remaining bad dreams from his head (a la The Green Mile), before returning him to the comfort of his bed. He, of course, had no memory of these events the following morning.

See, despite his most fervent self proclamations, my Man-Child of eleven years old isn't quite ready to cast aside the mantle of 'baby boy'. When he is either at his most vulnerable, or when the warm grasp of his Father's hand is a welcome home, the little man reverts back to being a baby boy.

And I love it.

I don't think I will ever be ready to say 'goodbye' to my baby boys. I'll watch as they get taller, grow whiskers and become the wonderful men i know they will be. I'll watch Zachary as he tries to understand this world and balance compassion with directness. I'll watch Logan as he strives to find order in an ever changing world. I'll watch them love and be loved. I'll watch them bring light to the lives of others. But as I do, always, always looking at me will be the eyes of my baby boys.

I will still see the wide eyed wonder, the inquisitive mind, the delicious directness and the compassionate hand that were gifted to Zachary at his birth.

I will still see the deep and warm heart, the desire to serve and the strength to hold firm to a belief that was gifted to Logan at his birth.

I will still see my baby boys.

So get used to it Zachary.....and you too Logi Bear! You will always be my baby boys and there isn't anything you can do about it. Now come over here and give your Old Man a big wet smoochy woochy kiss.

Distance and Destiny

My Grandfather died when I was 10 years old and unfortunately my memories of him are few and far between. The memories I do have of him are of a quiet and distant man. I am sure that he loved his grandchildren and was gentle with them, but again, unfortunately, those memories are cloudy and hidden by the haze of a childhood long passed. This saddens me because my Grandfather was a true hero.

Like so many of his era my Grandfather put his life on the line to safeguard the freedom of his family, both those that already existed and also those that were yet to come. He spent much of the war fighting in Italy and was decorated a number of times. Had his heroics occurred during a 'quiet' period he may have even been awarded the Victoria Cross. Exact details of his actions are sketchy unfortunately. His heroism, however, is not.

At this time of the year its almost impossible not to catch a show that commemorates the sacrifices our forebears made during the various conflicts that have scarred humanity. As a documentary junkie I have caught more than my fair share. I love seeing the old grainy black and white footage. The thing that grabs my attention the most, however, are the interviews with those that fought. Men and women from both sides; all sharing the common memory of broken bodies, broken minds and broken lives. Some 60 years later these dark memories are still vivid in their minds. Comrades blown apart next to them; comrades left to flounder and die in a fiery oil slick; innocent women and children blanketed by carpet bombing. These were good people who were asked to do horrific things....in the name of duty, in the name of honour, in the name of survival and in the name of hope. Many still weep as they recall their experiences; many others keep a silent watch in an effort to maintain sanity. What is clear in all cases is that war is ugly and that war claims many more victims than those that lie in honour on the battlefield.

During a trip back home (to the UK) last month I visited my Grandfather's grave for the first time in a very long time. He died in 1976 and I can probably count on one hand, to my shame, the number of times I have visited his grave since then. I was lucky to have both of my sons with me this visit and I was able to share with them a part of their family history. They were not the ones who received the biggest education, however. That honour was mine. I left that cemetery with a renewed admiration for this man and the sacrifices he had made for me. As an adult I have a better understanding of the horrors that he would have experienced during his service for King and Country and it has made me realize that maybe some of the distance he showed in later years was actually his way of coping with the atrocities he had faced.

So although most of my memories of my Grandfather are hazy, there is one that pierces the haze like a lightening bolt. That memory is of a man who placed his own life on the line for me. A man who fought for my rights and my freedoms. A man, who like so many sacrificed so much.

Raymond Thomas du Kamp - a true hero.

I salute you Grandpa. The phrase 'thank you' will never be enough.

Of Teddy Boys and English Roses......

50 years ago today, or rather yesterday, a fresh faced Teddy Boy took advantage of a pure English rose.....no, hang on, got my dates mixed up. 50 years ago yesterday they got married. It was 50 years and three months ago that he took advantage of her, but I digress.

We are here today to celebrate an occasion that few couples getting married today can even contemplate, let alone hope for. Society in its wisdom has chosen to denigrate and lessen the importance of marriage and it has done so to its immeasurable loss. As a veteran of two marriages myself I know all to well that its hard and sometimes it ain't pretty. But that is its beauty and its reward. When my mum and dad got married they did so knowing that it would be for life. They didn't consider it to be a phase in their life, a temporary convenience, or even an opportunity to get a tax break, as so many do today. No, they signed on for life and that commitment was only cemented when my siblings and I came along. It was that gift of permanence, that promise of stability, that I am sure gave us, their children, a wonderful shield of ignorance and the gift of a happy childhood free from fear.

My Dad was a Guard on the railway when I was born in 1966; my mum already a stay at home mum with my elder brother Steven. I was followed by Sarah in 1967 and Simon in 1970. Four kids and a blue collar wage meant that money was not exactly flowing during our early years but if money was an issue it wasn't something we ever really knew about. Sure other kids had bigger toys and bigger houses but you know what, we never felt wanting. Railway passes meant we were able to take trips here there and everywhere, even to London to see the Queen. We had great family times and those trips are forever etched in my memory as I am sure they are in my brothers and sister's memory as well. Its amazing how vivid good memories can be. In fact I still recall riding 'Rankoutsider' to a second place finish in a Butlin's donkey derby, just managing to avoid slipping from the saddle I might add. Its a real shame that my future as a jockey was cut short by the du Kamp BMI genes.

The key thing is that my mum and dad gave us what every child deserves to have when growing up: fun, the freedom to learn, an absence of fear and above all the love and guidance we needed to make the transition from childhood to adulthood. They achieved this through sacrifice, by a commitment to family and by enveloping us with love, constant love, throughout our lives. They gave us strength, they gave us opportunity, they gave us great brains....but above all they gave us optimism. The optimism to take whatever life has throws our way and to turn it into the opportunity to succeed. What better gift can a parent give to their child?

I see these gifts every day in the way my brother Simon doesn't let life keep him down whatever the challenges he has faced. I see a man who oozes resourcefulness and ingenuity; a man who is an example to all that there is no reward if you give up. I look at the man he is and I hope that I have even a tenth of the goodness he brings to this world.

I see these gifts in my sister Sarah as she has balanced work and home commitments despite the most trying of times. A woman who embodies love, commitment and sprinkles all who meet her with a directness and a delicious sense of humour that just makes you smile. There was a period when Sarah and I didn't talk. I consider those lost years and I regret not having the courage to have avoided them. We live and learn.

I see these gifts in my brother Steven. As first born Steven was always a trail blazer, full of confidence, intellect and precociousness. He not only inherited his mothers eyes but also his mothers love of adventure. My mum sometimes keeps this side of her character hidden but man oh man she would put Sir Edmund Hilary to shame at times. This wonderful trait has allowed all of her children to look at life with awe and wonder, always ready to grab the world by the neck and experience all it has to offer.

I also see these gifts in myself. They have made me a better man and a better parent.

Last Christmas my sister gave us all the most wonderful gift. Unbeknownst to the rest of us she had converted our old cine film onto DVD and copies of the DVD lay under our Christmas trees. I hadn't seen these movies for over 20 years and they brought back such wonderful memories. The fact that I could now share them with my own children made it even more special. When I was younger I looked at these films with the eyes of a child. Now older I saw them through an adults eyes, a parents eyes. What I saw were two young people so in love with each other and above all their children. I saw sacrifice, I saw love, I saw family and I saw hope. In fact I saw everything that I want to give to my children.

There was a time in my life that I fought tooth and nail not to be like my Dad. I guess that's a rite of passage for any son. That's a hard thing to do when you find yourself growing to look like him physically everyday but I toiled daily. That all changed recently though when I came to realize that all of the things that I have come to love about myself were actually given to me by my parents, and especially my father. My love of adventure, my intellect, my optimism, my communication skills, my goofiness........the desire to be the best Dad that ever walked the earth. Now I look at my father through different eyes. Eyes now that can look past the annoying little habits and focus on the Man, the man I am proud to call my Dad, the man I am also proud to call my Brother.

There is an old saying that says behind every good man is a great woman. Some might see that as a little sexist these days, I view it differently. My Mum is the rock of our family. Quiet and unassuming to many, she has always been, and will always be, our strength, our fountain of love and the best mum anybody could hope for. She brings compassion, love, sacrifice and a wisdom that is amazing. The fact that our mum chose motherhood over conquering the world is something I will forever be grateful for.

Today is their day. Today we celebrate them. Today we celebrate family. Today we celebrate optimism. Today we celebrate love.

I therefore would request that you all be upstanding and join me in a toast to the happy couple.
To Mum and Dad, To Grandma and Grandpa, To Philip and Jennifer, To Fluff and Jenner.

50 years in the bag!

Heroes

We all have our definition of what a hero (or heroine) is. For some the images of first responders rushing towards the Twin Towers encapsulates all that it means to be a hero. Or maybe its a group of passengers bringing down a plane to save many lives but, in doing so, sacrifice their own. Maybe its the single parent who struggles to shield his or her child from the realities of life on the poverty line. I don't think anybody would disagree that somebody like Terry Fox deserves the title of hero. A man who led by example despite suffering from the very disease he sought to cure.

Sports stars of course come to mind, as do pop stars and film stars, but maybe their hero status owes more to adulation than true respect and sacrifice. Don't get me wrong, many of these people have tremendous talent and have achieved much, but even the most star struck person would find it difficult to truly compare their feats with heroism.

Heroism to me is born out of adversity. It requires sacrifice, it requires unfathomable stamina, it requires persistence and it requires love. Sacrifice to release the person from self concern, stamina to keep going when giving up would be so much easier, persistence to hold firm to truth, and love to feed the soul. Sometimes the hero will take centre stage, sometimes they will remain in the shadows, their sacrifice and achievements visible only to the few. Whatever their prominence their actions and achievements are always witnessed by God and will always be rewarded, be it in this life or the next.

I wrote this blog specifically so that I could recognize two people in my life who so richly deserve the title of hero. As with true heroes they would never consider themselves to be one. That's the thing with heroes, they never see the wonder that we see in them. To them they are just living their lives.

My first hero is a guy who for the last year has been fighting stomach cancer. People fight cancer all the time so you may be wondering what makes this guy a hero? He is my hero because in the face of an uncertain future he has continued to live his life with grace, has remained staunch in his love and belief in family and has continued to give of himself even when his body has faltered. I have watched from afar as he has battled this demon and refused to let it better him. Not one to steal the limelight he has continued to be a rock for his family and a true hero in every way. I salute you Ian.

My second hero is a lady of invention, a lady who just gets things done whatever the obstacle. Nothing is allowed to stand in her way and she will do whatever it takes to keep her family safe. Along the way she has tutored lawyers in law, doctors in medicine, bureaucrats in how not to f@ck everything up. She has sacrificed her body and health with long days at work followed by even longer nights at home. She has educated herself in all that she has needed to know to get the job done, however complicated that was. Throughout these toils she has made sure that she has been there for her son, providing him with a childhood free of worry, a shielding boom from the ills no child should know about, let alone face. She is an amazing person and my life is immeasurably better because she is in it. Her heroic feats may go unnoticed to the world but they are not shielded from my sight and I salute you too Aimee.

There have been other heroes in my life: men and women that have fought (and died) for my freedom; my Mum and Dad who brought me up in an environment that bred optimism and kindled love. I am sure that there will be others in the future. But today I honour Ian and Aimee for all that they are, for all that they have taught me, and for adorning this world with grace, dignity, love and honour......for reminding me every day what it means to be a true hero.

Ride of Deceit

You welcomed me with open arms

And immediately spun your lies,

Forgotten images of reality past

Love borne of a spiders web.

I succumbed to hope,

Gave in to love,

Sacrificed my inner self.

You took all that glimmered,

All that shone from my heart

And put it on the shelf.

You sucked me in,

Played off my knight,

Took me on a ride of deceit;

But the devil cannot hide

Her crimes of love,

Truth will always beat.

And as time passed

I sunk even deeper

Into the mire of a love betrayed.

I lost sight of me,

Gave in to you,

My soul it overpaid.

You sucked me in,

Played off my knight,

Took me on a ride of deceit;

But the devil cannot hide

Her crimes of love,

Truth will always beat.

As the debt amassed,

As the burden grew

And my heart lost its soulful way.

You just roamed the surf,

Finding lovers at every turn,

And I was drowning as you played.

Losing sight of who I was,

Scrambling for the light,

Fingers scraping as footholds gave,

Fighting the descent of night.

You sucked me in,

Played off my knight,

Took me on a ride of deceit;

But the devil cannot hide

Her crimes of love,

Truth will always beat.

And then things changed,

I chose to grab the light,

Chose to scale the face of hope,

Chose to fight for right.

I reached inside

And found the strength

To conquer all the pain.

Reached the peak,

Stood proud and tall,

My love and power regained.

You sucked me in,

Played off my knight,

Took me on a ride of deceit;

But the devil cannot hide

Her crimes of love,

Truth will always beat.

Let Down

Let down when it counted,
Left to fend alone.
Left to shoulder way too much,
The heart no longer home.

Vaulted to a downward slope,
Your burdens shunned as one.
Made to grow up way too fast,
Let innocence be gone.

Forced to tip toe, duck and swerve
Always hoping for the lull.
Fearful of the next reverse,
Never knowing who'll pay the toll.

Guilty all, no slate of white,
No purity of heart.
No excuses worthy of acceptance
For a life that's torn apart.

We let you down, no ifs or buts,
The veil of protection dented.
Innocent victims of a civil war,
All for adult feelings vented.

And where to now? How do I kindle
The warming flames of constant?
How do you fight without the pain
And leave your hurting dormant?

I can't pretend to know the answer,
But promise I for certain,
To practice all to keep you safe,
Your father, guardian and warden.

Shedding Skins

Sometimes we duck our heads

And turn away from sight.

Sometimes we choose to succumb and yield,

Afraid to carry the fight.

Sometimes the crutch we think we need,

Eats and not heals our heart.

Sometimes the weight of unyielding hurt,

Blows us all apart.

But deep within the flame still flickers,

The joy of old persists.

The spark that charmed an ocean wide,

Refused to say desist.

It burns, though duller, deep within

Waiting for the day,

When once again the glow will rise,

And hold the hurt at bay.

The time for shedding skins is now,

Future joys are there to take.

Take courage in your love of one,

Leave all within your wake.

Reclaim your place on the mountain top,

Bellow your voice so high.

Reclaim the love within yourself,

The Me, Myself and I.

Brave forward with a smile so wide,

Stride strong with a glowing beam.

Leave behind the hurt amassed,

Leave only joy within the seams.

Accept the challenge! Accept the task!

Cast off the cloak of doubt!

Tell the world that you are back!

It’s time to shout! Shout! SHOUT!

Sunshine of the Soul

'In separateness lies the world's great misery, in compassion lies the world's true strength.' Buddha

Today started off really shitty. It shouldn't have started that way, after all I was spending the whole day with my boys and those days are always fun days. But it did. I woke with a headache that I couldn't budge with any amount of drugs and a tongue that felt as if it had been dragged across a carpenters workshop. I rarely get headaches so when I get one it frustrates the heck out of me. So what do you do in that type of situation? You vent your anger on a dear friend of course! Spread the love right? Yeah, yeah. I know. Not exactly the best course of action. To be honest it made me feel shittier.

Thankfully the forecast rain decided to hold off and my drive down to Grimsby was bathed in sunshine. The sun brightened my mood and by the time my boys greeted me I was in a much happier place. The wet sloppy kisses only made the day brighter. We headed out en route to one of Our Spots.....Port Dover and the beach. Port Dover has become a bit of a sanctuary for the boys and me....a place where we can leave the stress and sadness of a separated world behind us and just laugh. Just have fun. Just revel in the feel of sand between our toes and that sublime mixture of treats one only finds at the seaside swimming in our stomachs.....and of course then there are the boats!

Zack has always had a fascination with boats. I cannot remember a Birthday or Christmas that has passed without some gift having a nautical theme. A boat tour up the river was therefore a given. We were joined on our trip by a young family and a gaggle of six seniors. The myriad of pleasure craft lining the banks prompted a myriad of questions from Admiral Zachary du Kamp. The captain answered every question that was thrown his way and all too soon the dock was calling us home. Zack was one of the first to disembark and.....

That's when the magic started.

Despite being chock full of excitement and amped up on sugar, Zack turned back and held out his hand to help the first senior from the boat. He wasn't asked, he just did. His compassion was reflected back at him in the old lady's smile. Six times he held out his hand and six times the world got a little brighter......and my heart felt it. I thought to myself 'Now that's the kind of global warming I can embrace'. ;)

We have always taught our boys to give of themselves when they can. Its an incredible feeling when you see your children live the values you have tried to teach them. I swear the sun was shining even brighter.
The beach called next and as the boys constructed what I was later to learn was a castle that could defy the erosion of the tide, I sat and read my book. It was an incredibly peaceful and almost idealistic setting.

Then the magic happened again.

I first heard the words of encouragement. 'Come on Old Girl. You can do it! Good job!' Raising my eyes from my book I caught a glimpse of a man and his dog. After taking a closer look I saw that the dog was in a harness and her back legs were being supported by her owner. The 17 year old Border Collie tentatively but doggedly (no pun intended) made her way across the sand, words of love and encouragement forever ringing in her ears. I have never been one for pets. I have never really understood the connection that people develop with their animals.....but in that moment I got it....got hit right between the eyes! I stood up and thanked the man for teaching me that compassion, true compassion, is limitless. He smiled and explained her story. He finished by telling me that my kind words had given him a boost of energy. His comments reminded me that compassion is always freely given but often still exacts a cost. It is that willingness to give of oneself without reward that is truly inspirational.

My day had truly turned around! I felt alive with energy and screw Red Bull, I had a set of wings all of my own! We loaded up the truck and headed back to Grimsby; lots of smiles, lots of laughter and unfortunately thanks to Logan, lots of smells. :) We had barely left Port Dover when out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of a car parked on the side of the road but facing in the opposite direction and in an area one would not normally pull over. It just seemed strange. I am not the most observant of people at the best of times and so I can't explain why with such a small glimpse I was able to discern that an elderly woman was behind the wheel.....but I did and I knew instantly what was required. I turned the truck around and approached the car to find an elderly Romanian couple pouring over Map Quest directions and hopelessly lost.

With the help of my GPS we were able to work out where they were trying to get to and in the end it was easier for us to just lead the way and let them follow us. The relief on their faces was evident and the thumbs up from the Gentlemen conveyed his thanks and relief. Their reactions on arriving at their destination, however, captured their true joy and true relief. With scant concern for the fact that we were completely blocking a main road, the woman practically jumped from her car and embraced me tightly.....before doing the same to Zack and Logan. :) The old man rushed to the trunk to retrieve a can of German beer he had brought with him all the way from Europe and proceeded to hug me as well, repeating softly in my ear 'you are a good man!'. It was a truly magical moment. We left the happy reunion, all feeling a few feet taller.

In the film Bruce Almighty the main character (played by Jim Carey) is forever being sent signs by God; signs that are meant to guide him into making the right decision. I truly believe that God was moving so very visibly in my life today. A day that started off so badly was transformed by two selfless acts of compassion. Two selfless acts designed to remind me of the joy I can bring to this world and not what I can take from it. Two selfless acts designed to remind me that compassion is limitless. Two selfless acts that in turn inspired me to also give freely of myself when the opportunity arose.  The fact that one of those selfless acts of compassion was reflected back at me in the face of my own son just reinforced the magic of God's love.

Jump!

As Autumn tumbles into cold,

As days renew but we grow old,

We fill our lives with stress and strife

And seldom contemplate this mortal life.

We fail to see the joy in living,

Fail to see the warmth of giving.

Too often fail to see sweet love divine,

Too often fail to taste the time.

In all the hubbub that clouds our mind

We need to find a way to cast behind,

The woes of today, the little things

That weigh so heavy and stop us sing.

For in our hearts such joy abounds

So much peace and love it can be found.

All we need is to find the key

And then concentrate on You and Me.

Let's spend some time in peaceful truth

Let's raise the rafters and be a goof!

Let's love so deeply, naked, strong

Transform our hearts to where they belong.

For the sands of time keep on flowing

Never stopping, never slowing

But in ourselves we have the power

To jump aside and smell the flower.

To taste the nectar that's all giving

To accept the gifts we are receiving.

To show the Lord with full esteem

We are thankful for all to us he streams.

Wet Flor

This is the sign that was posted on my kitchen wall one morning last year. I found out later that there had been a 'minor flood' while I had been sleeping and my eldest son had taken care of the mess (he had created). I'm not sure if he had posted the signs out of a genuine concern for my safety or if it was to give me a passive heads up of what to expect on entering the kitchen. In the end it didn't matter. The smile that consumed my face when I first saw the signs was stretched even further when I noticed the misspelled word (phonetic spelling is something Zack does when he's in a rush). I wore the smile for a week.

The sign still adorns the wall a year later. Lego models in various stages of construction, or destruction, still clog up my desk and the dirt smudge on the passenger side of the truck dashboard (from Spring 2011) still remains uncleaned. Zack's collection of war men (read disposable cream containers purloined from local restaurants) still hog the bottom shelf of the fridge and Logan's headboard still remains a disheveled mess of Happy Meal toys. It would drive some to drink....but in the world of the separated Father these are the signs of normalcy that prevent you from sinking into the quagmire of loneliness and self pity. These are the things that draw your attention as soon as you enter your dark apartment. These are the things that when touched with an idle hand transport you to a world of noise and smells and sibling rivalry that coddle rather than curse the heart. These are the things that allow you to look into an empty bedroom and see the two people you love most in this world snuggled up under the covers. These are the things that can make even the darkest day scream like a rainbow.

Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't say I am lonely; rather I'm just temporarily alone. It can be hard sometimes; I can't and won't deny it. I think it would be hard on any parent in this situation, but for one that was as involved as I was in my children's lives on a daily basis, separation for any amount of time is a trial that tests even the most steeliest of resolves. You deal though. You find ways to cope with the distance and you find ways to cope with the knowledge that you won't ever again have the opportunity to kiss your boys goodnight EVERY night. You cope by celebrating every reminder of their presence, every word on the wind that sounds like they had spoken it, and every touch that feels like their hand in yours.

Out of necessity rather than desire, I find myself an hours drive away from my boys for most of the week. I know, I know, an hours drive is not that far. Heck I have driven further in search of a blueberry fritter. However, on a cold winters night with your sons on the other end of a phone line, it can feel like a lifetime separates you. Life is all about balance. We balance pleasure with pain, success with failure and love with.....I guess the absence of love. This balance is played out every week as I make that two hour round trip. The joy and expectation of the drive to pick them up is always threatened by what I call 'The Crash' on the way back - that feeling of instant loneliness that descends as I pull on to the QEW. I have spent many hours replaying my life on that long drive home, many hours contemplating the future. Its a tough drive and yes, from time to time there are tears.

I try not to dwell on the sadness though and instead start to plan their next visit. Where will we go? What will we do? What will this fledgling chef concoct that two picky eaters will consume? As I said, its all about balance....and clearing away the Lego or taking down the 'Wet Flor' sign would unnecessarily put my life out of balance. So there it stays.....and when I eventually leave this apartment that sign will come with me, a constant reminder that wherever my boys are in this world they are always in my heart.

Procrastinatio.....

Poised to take the next big step,

Ready to take the plunge.

Organized, steady, 'standing' tall,

Crouched and ready to lunge.

Reading up on all to know,

Aware of all that's needed.

Settled on the path to go,

Tons of advice, all heeded.

Imagining all the future holds,

Not looking back but forward.

Always checking double time.

Tentative? A little awkward?

Introspective? Seeds of doubt?

Oh please don't make me blink!

No! Stay firm! Just stay the course!

........Nah! I'll have another drink.

The Vanilla Option

There has been a lot of chatter recently about the revamped $100 bill and its alleged involvement in ethnic cleansing. In this world that panders to faux outrage its apparently OK to liken the redesign of a bank note with genocide, but I digress. I actually like the little brown notes much more than the little red ones or the little green ones....but again I digress. ;)

For those of you who are not following this story with the fervour of a Green Peace activist at a GOP convention, I will give you the Cole's notes version of the story.

The Bank of Canada (BOC) has started printing money on this fancy shmanzy plastic material as opposed to the now 'old fashioned' paper. Its more durable, has more security features, blah blah blah blah. The fact that it looks like a cross between Monopoly money and the Azerbhaijani ruble seems lost on people. It could be worse though, it could resemble that bastion of currency high fashion the Euro. Anyways, rambling again. Back to the story. One of the draft designs featured what looked like an Asian looking lady peering down an old fashioned microscope. Pictured close by was a vial of insulin, the whole ensemble an apparent homage to Dr Banting the discoverer of insulin....a Canadian....just saying. Its pretty standard practice with any new design to send it before a bevvy of focus groups to get the OK. I mean, you do not want to go against the will of a Canadian focus group - they may, I stress may, exhibit mild displeasure if they don't like the design, you know, resulting in the odd raised eyebrow or possibly even a sharp intake of breath followed by a quick change in the topic of conversation. Nice weather eh?

The focus groups, made up of people with a diverse range of ethnicities,  objected to the use of an Asian looking (read Chinese) woman on the note. Some of the objections were because people didn't think the Chinese girl looked Canadian enough, some because they thought it stereotyped the Chinese (as hard working over achievers), some because, well, people like to object about everything and anything given the opportunity.  Reacting to this negative feedback, and trying to live up to their policy of neutral ethnicity, presumably a policy born out of the fear of generating negative reactions from some or other sector of the community, the Asian girl was cut and replaced with a more ethnically neutral looking girl (read white).

Despite this happening last year and despite the fact the draft note never made it into circulation, the dropping of the Asian girl has generated cries of racism. Reacting to the 'outcry', the BOC has publicly apologized for the way it executed the redesign process and has fallen on its sword. There are still a lot of ticked off people though, and frankly its hard to understand why.

There is a lot about this story that annoys me. First and foremost are the over the top reactions of the groups playing the race card. I mean, seriously? Ethnic cleansing? We live in an imperfect world where racism, real racism exists.  This is not an example of it. Misguided and bumbling? Yes. Racist? No. When groups cry racism over incidents such as this they cry wolf.....and in doing so they mute the response of society to incidents of real racism. In effect one could argue they actually do harm to the very people they purport to defend. I was also ticked off to hear that the BOC had caved and issued an apology. They really did nothing wrong. In apologizing they actually reinforce the faux outrage rather than quell it. Ridiculous.

There are other things that bug me about this fiasco.

If the bank has a policy of neutral ethnicity on its bank notes, why was a draft prepared that contained a visible minority?

Why does the bank have a policy of neutral ethnicity in the first place? If the policy is commemorate important Canadians or Canadian achievements what happens if the important Canadian is a visible minority?

Why is neutral ethnicity always defined as 'white'? Is there such a thing as neutral ethnicity?

Does anybody really give a crap what is depicted on our bank notes? I mean its usually dead guys that nobody gets taught about at school anymore anyway.

This whole drive to vanilla-ize society is rampant. If we continue to embrace and pander to the complaints of the Faux Outrage Generation (FOG) we will eventually lose one of the key elements that makes our world the wonderful place it is.....its diversity. So rather than taking the vanilla option, we should be celebrating that which makes us different and not burying it. We should be choosing the politics of inclusion through mutual acceptance rather than the politics of suppression. We should be choosing to adorn the world in a million colours rather than applying a shroud of white wash.

But what do I know? I'm just a white Christian boy.

Persist

Love knows no bounds,

No borders does it keep.

It does not know when to quit and run,

Or sink beneath the deep.

It faces toil with its head held high

E'en when the battle rages.

It bends not breaks and braces tall

The rock that spans the ages.

When all around just gathers gloom

And hope seems buried deeper,

Rejoice in love and keep it close,

Know it foretells a future sweeter.

A time when two will still be one,

A time when the battle's over.

A time when rest comes to those that gave

Their all to be together.

So fight! Fight hard! The dream deserves

All sleeping hands to muster.

Engage your hearts and focus your minds,

Forget the tired out bluster.

For God above has always taught

That faith breeds hope eternal!

And who are we to fight the will

Of God, our Father and Maker.

Breast Intentions?

I sucked you in with the title didn’t I? Im guessing your first thoughts were ‘What the heck is Jooge up to now? What inappropriate thing is he going to say?’ I don’t blame you. I would have had the same reaction. I guess that’s what happens when you have a reputation and post something with ‘breasts’ in the title. Giggle. Gaffaw. Fnarr. Fnarr. But fear not! Your Delinquent Scribe is gonna be serious…..or at least try to be.

Before I start, full disclosure: I am a 46 year old man who has never yearned to cross swords; I accept but don’t necessarily understand homosexuality in others; I support civil unions as opposed to gay marriage and I have probably told gay jokes in the past. OK, I know I have. Does that make me a bigot? That’s your call. Sometimes people use the term bigotry when they don’t like the fact that somebody else has a different opinion than them. I myself prefer to use the term when somebody is being outwardly hostile and mean to somebody just because they are different. As I said, it’s your call. Let not the fact that I hail from a country that openly bandies around the term ‘faggot’ to refer to a meaty snack best served with gravy affect your decision. I’m not helping myself am I?

Enough bluster! Time for the juicy part! I came across this newspaper article whilst wiling away a wistful lunchtime today. Delicately trying to avoid details of the coming beatification of Smiling Jack, Patron Saint of Asian Masseuses, I happened across a picture of a man with a young infant securely attached to his nipple. After almost choking on my Chicken Dopiaza (take out from last night when a curry frenzy attacked me) I decided to take a closer look at the story. Why? Morbid curiosity for the strange and abnormal I guess. And there was breast action going on. Told ya! Fnarr.

For those of you who want to read the whole article check out this link: http://metronews.ca/news/toronto/341567/breastfeeding-dads-bid-to-become-lactation-coach-rejected/

For the lazy ones amongst you here is a brief synopsis. Girl in BC decides she wants to live as a man. Takes drugs and has a breast reduction but can’t afford the ‘bottom changes’, as he / she so eloquently puts it. Is already with or takes up with ‘another’ guy as his partner. Comes off drugs and gets pregnant. Has kid and then attempts to breast feed the kid and apparently is so successful at inducing lactation from his little nubs that he wants to now coach women on how to do it. I am sure he would make the breast lactation coach in the world. Sorry, couldn’t help myself. Do I sense a nipple, sorry ripple, of applause for that joke? Anyway…..

Well he gets turned down because he is not a woman and predictably the rejection prompted a near torrent of accusations and insults from any activist within a bras length of the story. I’m pathetic aren’t I?

So what was it that perked my interest? What was it that made me so angry? I mean it’s just a guy breast feeding a baby right? No harm done, right? Actually, wrong.

Womanhood inherently comes with the potential blessing of motherhood. Yeah sure Womanhood also comes with the very real reality of an aunt that won’t stop visiting, but some would argue that it’s a small price to pay for the joys of motherhood. Of course I am not going to deign to comment on the merits of each ‘gift’ because somewhere there is a woman who is reading this blog, who has a knife and has also run out of Midol. Yeah I like to live dangerously. Seriously though, there are things in this world that are exclusively in the domain of Woman. As a Dad I love my boys and I am as close to them as any dad could be. That being said a child’s connection to his mother, especially a mother who has borne the child and allowed him to suckle at their breast, is something no man can ever hope to replicate or truly understand. It’s a bond that lasts a lifetime. I know. I have my Mummy. Don’t get me wrong, there are many many ways that a Father and his child form bonds that also last a lifetime….but let’s be honest here, it’s just not the same.

This is why stories like this really piss me off. They piss me off because they are yet another example of how society is eating itself from the inside. Another example of how society, or rather certain factions of our society, are attempting to blur the lines between the genders, undermine what nature has so delicately developed and in essence encourage androgyny. Trevor(ette) best said it when asked about how he would describe himself. He said:

“First and foremost I identify as a parent,” Trevor said. “I suppose I use the term (fatherhood) because it’s what we have going in our society, not because I think it’s fantastic or I think it’s really accurate.” (Emphasis added)

In that one sentence he clearly establishes why his move to manhood may have been a little premature. Sure he took the drugs and has facial hair and a deep dark voice. But is that the only criteria for being a man? I mean, I have dated women with facial hair and deep dark voices. Stop It! I know. It was dark, I was drunk and she had shaved her legs. I was vulnerable. No. Being a man is not measured by your ability to grow facial hair nor is it measured by your ability to sing as a baritone. So what is the measure of a man? Honour? Respect? Fraternity? Bravery? The list is a long one. But guess what? One thing that isn’t on that list is the ability to breast feed. That’s a woman’s reward for the pain of child birth. That’s a woman’s reward for a lifetime of worry and pain as they care for their child from cradle to grave…..and so what right have you, Trevor(ette), to play fast and loose with the gender lines just so that it fits your needs and wants? It would be easy to lay all the blame at Trevor(ette)’s backdoor, but really we have only ourselves to blame. We have let activism convince us that gender roles that have served us well since time immemorial are actually not that good of an idea after all. Don’t confuse that statement as a wistful yearning for the pre-suffrage days. It isn’t. I am an ardent supporter of equal opportunities for everybody irrespective of gender, race, creed or colour. The bottom line is that men and women are different and each gender is blessed with positives and negatives. It is the very fact that life isn’t always a free ride that makes it so exciting and intoxicating. You don’t always get to have your cake (or breast for that matter) and eat it. Unfortunately certain factions of society have decided that they don’t have to play by those rules. They assert that they can do whatever they want, whenever they want and if we oppose them, we are just being a bunch of bigoted asses. It’s time to put an end to the nonsense because frankly the name Pat is not that appealing.

A Touch of the Kermits

As many of you know, thanks to the many sermons I am prepared to provide at the drop of a hat, I am not what I call a Green Hoaxer. What's a Green Hoaxer you ask? To me a Green Hoaxer is the type of person, or corporation, that only buys into the whole carbon foot print religion because they feel they can get something out of it. Examples would be Al Gore, who makes millions off preaching what he doesn't practice, and Coca Cola, who built a whole campaign on the non reduction in polar bear populations only to ditch it when people couldn't tell the difference between the white snazzy Coke cans and the Diet variety. Cynical.

I have no beef with the rabid activists who feel passionately that man, in his omnipotence, is screwing up a climate that has suffered many cataclysmic events and shifts over 4 billion years and still seems to be coping well. I also have no beef with the masses that through manipulation and cajoling are brow beaten into marching in line with the Thought Police. Both of these groups feel they are doing the right thing. They aren't of course but that's not a topic for this column.

So what is the point? What has got me so riled up to post something about climate change or the green movement when I swore blind I would avoid it. That and politics. I mean, have you heard me say a bad word about that dildo Mulcair in this blog yet? Oops. ;)

Focus Jooge, focus.

So the point. After dropping off my boys after a weekend of fatherly fun and son-shine, I popped into the local grocery store to buy a few provisions. After returning from Europe last weekend I have been surviving on soup and duty free chocolate - it was time to haul my ass to the store. I toured the store making sure that I picked up plenty of fruit and veggies at the start so I could cover all of the good stuff that would mysteriously jump into my cart before I reached the checkout. I was feeling quite virtuous to be honest. I lived out one of my fantasies by going through the self serve checkout (man that never gets old) and swiped my card. What happened next could best be described by saying that the machine puked paper on me. Seriously. It continued to up chuck for what seemed like forever and I made vain attempts to deftly fold the receipt as best I could. I failed miserably and in the end just tucked it in its own plastic bag.

Working past my inner excitement at having now taken five bags and only paid for four, I resolved to do something. Superstore is a green company....at least that's what they say. They would embrace change right? Grasp the metal! Bludgeon their way through the green tape and use their reduced carbon footprint to kick some bureaucratic ass? Right? Right?

No.

My suggestion to build in the option for customers to have their receipts emailed directly to themselves fell flatter than an anorexic model. I was surprised, I mean its hardly revolutionary. In fact some stores offer it already. It just seemed a great opportunity. Everybody shops for groceries and most people buy a lot of items. But no. It was a non starter.

And the reason? 'Well sir, not everybody would want to do it. We have enough problems getting people to use the self checkouts.' Despite my protestations to the manager that 'if you lead people will follow, especially if you make them feel they are helping', she was unmoved. In fact she was not just unmoved she was agitated that I was taking up her time with 'nonsense'.

So an opportunity to make a real change goes begging. For sure she would 'pass on my idea to her superiors' but her lack of eye contact couldn't hide her future inaction.

Green issues.....environmental initiatives that make a difference are not born in a board room or at a parliamentary committee. Rather they develop at the grass roots level (no green pun intended) where people see the difference that real change can make. Change that makes sense to the environment and does not line the pockets of carbon traders who couldn't give two hoots for a greener world.

If we are to act as good stewards of this Earth, we all need to recognise opportunities that can incrementally cut consumption and make a big difference. We all need to take the lead and not be lead......and when a good suggestion is handed to us with bows on, we need to make sure that the present gets delivered. So buck up Dolores, buck up.

Homecoming

I wrote this blog on Tuesday morning (May 15th) but am posting it later for obvious reasons. :)

I am so excited. I can't put in to words what I am feeling at the moment. In a few short hours, after what feels like a lifetime, I get to hug my mummy again. Of course I will hug my dad, and with just as much love, but the first hug will be my mum's. As a dad myself I know the rules and there is no point trying to fight them.

Me and my Mum

The last time I saw my parents was in June 2001.....June 3, 2001 to be precise. They had been visiting Canada (their one and only trip so far, ahem) and flew back in the evening....almost to the hour that my youngest Zack was making his entrance to this world....early of course, he never sleeps in. Their departure sparked the tornado of parenthood!

I look back over the previous 11 years and am taken aback with all that has happened in both my personal life and in the world at large. Zack was followed just 17 months later by my sweet Logi, the rock or the silent assassin depending on his mood. ;) 11 sweet years of being reminded every day that God moves in this world even when we may be blinded by our own self pity. 11 years of having the best job in the world. 11 years of knowing truly that I would give my life in a heart beat to protect my own.

 

No likeness w-h-a-t-s-o-e-v-e-r!

 11 years ago I would never have had to take my shoes off to get through security, nor discard that bottle of pop. The Twin Towers still stood and the world seemed a safer place. In some ways the world was a much happier place but maybe that is a view through rose tinted glasses.

I was living in Edmonton 11 years ago, still in love with snow and still in my early 30s. Now I am in my mid 40s in age and waistline and although my love of snow persists I now prefer a stolen night away as opposed to a life long commitment. ;) The first flutter of flakes in November still does raise a flutter in my heart and I think they always will. I'm a romantic, what can I say?

My parents are now bracketing 70 and although they are in relatively good health and enjoying life, the passing of the years now brings some poignancy. It also brings resolve and 11 years without a mother's hug will not be allowed to pass again. Nor will a grandmother's hug.

I have just spent the last 10 days or so flitting around Europe under the guise of work. Its been exciting for sure! Lots to see, lots to do, lots to eat and new places to check off the bucket list. But you know as exciting as it was to gaze upon the Mona Lisa and marvel at the Venus de Milo, to experience the peace of God whilst sitting in Sacre Couer, and to savour the taste of a pizza in Milan, the thought of my Mummy's embrace has always been the highlight of my trip. This trip has reminded me yet again that although the bright lights of a Grand Tour may momentarily capture the eye, the warm and loving blanket of family will always comfort the soul and bring true peace to a restful spirit.

Mum, Dad - I love you so much and I am the man I am today because of you.

Love you.

We are the Swiss. We were 3D first.

The pit stop for this leg of the race is in Martigny, Switzerland. Martigny is nestled in the Alps just a short one hour's rail trip from Geneva. The train ride from Geneva hugs Lake Geneva and takes you through some stunning views. As one would expect, everything here runs like clockwork. In fact Switzerland is a little like Germany in that respect, but unlike Germany it has charisma. ; ) Kinda liking the place.

Couple of observations about Switzerland, based of course on my rather limited exposure to all things Swiss.

Observation 1: I get it. You guys make a lot of clocks and watches, but really, every other advertising billboard? I think I became a world expect on the inner machinations of performance timepieces just walking between the gate and passport control. Of course if you want me to return to Canada as a goodwill ambassador for your products we can certainly talk. ;)

Observation 2: I have a real hankering, nay a full on chocolate lust, for Toblerone. I doubt I'm going to get by Duty Free again without buying some....OK a lot. ;)

Observation 3: Not really a Swiss thing because she may have been a tourist, but Madam, cute butt or otherwise, you may want to leave the spray on jeans at home when you hit 55.

Observation 4:My room has a direct view of the mountains. I can also open my window fully and just soak in all that mountain air. Even if I wasn't dog tired having not really slept in the last 24hrs, I think I would be out like a light. If I had cotton bed sheets I may not wake for a week.

Observation 5: I am going to use every towel I can and even put the ones I don't use in the bath tub as well. Its principle.

Observation 6: This local draft beer is going down really really well.

Observation 7: Navigated myself successfully around the French dinner menu. Quite proud of myself actually. :)

Observation 8: Although I have seen many clocks and watches, I have not yet seen a cuckoo clock. Chocolatier? Yes; cuckoo clock? Nope.

Tomorrow evening I head to Paris. Would have liked more time to explore CH but hopefully i get a chance to return. Its choco heaven after all.

And now for a double espresso or five to wind the night down. ; )

A Cup of Tea and a Bacon Sarnie

So kinda strange stepping back onto the Sceptered Isle after 15 years away....even if it is just in transit. One airport looks much like another these days and I really could have been landing anywhere. But I wasn't. I was landing in Good Old Blighty and I was ready to soak up all that the country had become in my absence. Of course an airport arrivals and departure lounge is not the best place to start but its all I have for a few days so if you feel I'm unfair, tough, its my blog. :)

Observation 1: Fast track? Not so much. One of the perks of travelling first class is, apparently, a fast track passport control check. It started off so well! I got to look at the great unwashed (TGU) as I sauntered past them. Got almost to the front of the line in record time and then.....nothing. Well to be fair it was one thing. One guy. That's it. I watched on in horror as wave after wave of TGU made it through ahead of me, our line bottlenecked by good old British efficiency. Maybe they were on a tea break. Benefit of the doubt and all. But maybe not. Maybe this is the way the Lib Dems are screwing over the Rich and Famous. Whatever the reason it was an inauspicious start.

Observation 2: This isn't freshly squeezed orange juice!

Observation 3: Toast it a little more please. A bacon sarnie is meant to be made with toast, not slighty tanned bread.

Observation 4: F@ck my carbon footprint. Stop reminding me of this hoax. I don't give a crap.

Observation 5: WTF is with all the sitar music? Did I miss my stop and deboard somewhere in Asia?

Observation 6: Yay for thick cut bacon!

Observation 7: Yay for HP Sauce!

Observation 8: Its a real shame when the pursuit of internationalism results in the loss of cultural identity. If I order a slap up English breakfast I want it served by somebody who looks like my mum....or somebody who would look at home in Corrie. Its part of the experience. Don't confuse this as a comment on race. It isn't. Its about culture; its about an identity. I wanted a breakfast experience and all I got was vanilla. F@ck even a trip to The Little Chef would have been more of a cultural experience. Vanilla disease (no not that kind of VD....minds out of the gutter please) seems to be rampant around the world and its a shame....a real shame. People crave culture and the opportunity to immerse themselves in a new destination. Why don't the people in power get that?

Observation 9: I had forgotten the tackiness of sitting at a table that has a number on it. Kinda eliminates any ambience the bacon sarnie generated. Lol

Observation 10: I am not a number! I am a free man.

Observation 11: Off to catch a flight to Geneva and hopefully wash the tinniness of the OJ from my tongue. Oh btw, after years slamming expresso, I am now addicted to it. Looking forward to many expresso buzzes! Even double and triple expresso buzzes! Buzzzzzzz!

Observation 12: WTF! No free refills!!!!!

Fin.

Just getting some practise in.

Fuck you cancer!

This poem is dedicated to my brother (in law) as he makes his fight. Its raw.....its how I feel. Fight on Ian. Stay strong and we will lick this together.

Fuck you Cancer!

Fuck you cancer!

That’s what I say.

Cos guess what douche bag?

I get to fight another day.

You’ve taken my stomach

And part of my spleen,

But don’t get too cocky

Cos you’re a fucking has been.

They tell me this,

They tell me that.

They tell me one day,

You may come back.

But guess what buddy

Not so fast,

Because this One will fight

Til this breath is my last.

I will not waiver

And though I may fall,

My family will be there

To lift me tall.

Cos guess what cancer?

You’re going down!

And when all is done

It’ll be you (and not me) in the ground.

Game Changer

You'll know the time,
You'll know the place.
When all the pieces fall in sync.
You'll know the feeling,
You'll know the taste,
When life's shutter takes a blink.
To capture joy,
To capture fate,
To give you purpose,
To give you grace.
To frame your future
With a new back light.
To open eyes
That once lacked sight.

And so I sit with heart wide open,
A mind set loose to wander free.
To embrace the kind of loving truth,
That flows so effortlessly out of thee.
A life reborn with paths untrodden,
Winding through the clouds
Of long held hopes and long held dreams;
Removed, all traces of doubt.

So here I stand ten feet taller,
My face toward the sun,
Your love lifting me higher
A life betwixt begun.
Time will mark its progress,
At a pace that fits its plan
And I'll be waiting, watching, loving
Ready to make our stand.

On Optimism.

I have always been a glass half full kinda guy. When all around people are heading for the exits, I remain rooted to my seat ever hopeful that my team will mount a meteoric recovery and score five goals in the last minute of the game. I can’t help it. It’s who I am. Some may say that I am continually setting myself up for disappointment, always dangling a carrot of hope where only a fool would choose. The beauty of being an optimist, however, is that we don’t tend to dwell on disappointment for long and are always looking forward. One of my favourite cartoons in fact shows a headless guy sitting up in his hospital bed. A visitor sitting as his side and is telling him ‘Cheer up; things will look up in a few days’. I smile every time I see that cartoon. It centres me; it reminds me that life goes on.

This past Christmas I received a truly wonderful and unexpected gift from my sister. Unbeknownst to the rest of the family, she had arranged for cine camera film from our early childhood to be transferred to DVD and had sent each of us a copy. I have always had very fond memories of these films and to now have the ability to share them with my boys was just amazing. Zack and Logan loved the movies. They laughed at the antics of their four year old Dad, had plenty of questions about life in the olden days and often confused their grandfather at age 30 with their ‘old man’ of today. They saw the films as I had seen them when I was growing up. But I’m all grown up now and for the first time I was able to see the story behind the story. I saw a father totally engaged with his children. I saw a mother who made mothering look easy. I saw a young couple so much in love. I saw a safe and happy childhood.

I grew up in a working class family where money was tight…..sometimes very tight. With four children and one income luxuries were few and far between. We never felt like we went without though. We went to the beach, we went to the Zoo, and we even went to London to see the Queen. We did family stuff. Sure we had our fights and I am probably guilty of looking at the past through rose tinted glasses. I make no apologies though, because my parents gave me and my siblings what so many today are denied. They gave us a stable and consistent base to grow from. They gave us love, constant love. They made sacrifices, willingly. They protected us from the ills of the world and they allowed us to grow up embracing and not fearing the World. In short, they provided us with a springboard to optimism, the ability to look for the opportunity and not fear the consequence. Now that is a gift I hope I can give to my children.

What ya crying for Willis?

Society teaches us (us being the men folk of the world) that we shouldn’t cry. Even when our lives are crashing all around us and we have suffered more than our fair share of kicks to the nether regions, we are expected to maintain our composure, keep our cheeks dry and face the world with only a slight grimace. The indoctrination starts young. As children we are often reminded that ‘big boys don’t cry’ and overt displays of emotion in our teenage years are met with derision and insult by our peers.

But here’s the rub……boys feel every emotion that girls feel. Happiness, sadness, excitement, despair, hopelessness, grief, love, hate….it’s all in here. We may be less complicated than women but we are not less complex. We feel just as strongly and deeply as any woman. Yet we are encouraged, nay almost required, to never display those feelings…..unless of course we are on the losing end of an argument and are so clearly wrong. In the latter situation our ‘unwillingness’ to show emotion is typically interpreted as remoteness and disinterest. You can understand why guys get confused with PDEs (Public Displays of Emotion). Encouraged from a young age not to show how we feel, celebrated when we refuse to cry despite experiencing the harshest of protagonists, yet discarded as remote and disinterested when our adherence to all we have been taught is not the desired reaction.

But of course not all men are like that. Some of us have fought the stereotype and can feely blubber along with the best, displaying scant consideration for the audience of onlookers. Some of us have realized how wonderfully therapeutic a good cry can be and can self medicate whenever the need occurs. And all this without being remotely gay or even borderline metro sexual. Not that there is anything wrong with that….the gay part anyway. Metro Sexuals? Oh man that’s a whole blog post of its own. J

I learnt to cry because of my Dad. He taught me by his actions that it’s OK to cry if you are sad. It’s OK to cry if something sad has happened to somebody else and by extension it is certainly OK to cry if you get cracked in the nuts (phraseology courtesy of my 10 year old). One of my most vivid childhood memories involves watching an episode of Diff’rent Strokes with my Dad and noticing tears rolling down his face. I’m not sure what the episode was about and to be frank it’s irrelevant. What’s important is that in that beautiful moment I learned what generations of boys had been encouraged not to learn. I learned that if a big bear of a man can cry at the antics of Arnold and Willis then it must be OK for me to cry too. My father has taught me many things about life, some annoyingly correct despite my idealistic protests. This simple lesson about freedom, the confidence to show my emotions, however, ranks as one of the finest gifts he has ever given me. His gift of emotion has kept me sane through some very dark times, allowed me to soar above the clouds when life couldn’t be better, and imbued me with the confidence to always be myself.  In short his willingness to show his own vulnerabilities has allowed me to turn my own vulnerabilities into strengths to be celebrated.

So big boys do cry and should cry. I am not talking about self indulgent blubbering. I am talking about the freedom to let rip with whatever emotion they feel, be it the yelps and cheers that accompany the game winning goal, or the deep sense of loss and sadness that descends upon us when we realize that Bambi’s Mom/Mum has tasted lead. Let’s start teaching our boys to be free with their emotions and maybe, with time, the communication blocks that plague us later in life may disappear and more children will get to grow up in one home as opposed to two.  Thanks Dad.