Tag: culture

Re: Gun/Bullet

A twitter friend and I recently had a quick back and forth related to the phenomenal number of shooting deaths in the United States of America. I expressed exasperation with the number of multiple deaths. I was especially unnerved by the statistic that showed that the victims were often children and even more alarming, children were becoming more common as the perpetrators of these killings.

The head shaking and regular doses of thoughts and prayers are not enough to reduce the frequency of death by gun or bullet. When I think of solutions I start with the connection between the gun and the bullet. The two are inseparable. A gun’s only purpose is for killing. A gun is useless without a bullet. There is no point in making or buying ammunition if a gun is unavailable to create the effect desired. Target practise aside, the only effect will be death.

The U.S.gun lobbyists like the National Rifle Association have long frustrated reformists who see the continual rise in gun violence as a sign of a sick society. Even in countries that don’t have the debatable protection of a constitutional 2nd amendment, hunters & farmers will speak up when legislation is proposed to rid them of their weapons of choice. One Australian I spoke with told me he couldn’t imagine life without his rifle. “How would I kill the vermin on my property?” We had a conversation about the term ‘Responsible Gun Owner’ which didn’t end well because I called the phrase an oxymoron and he took that word personally.

One of the most chilling films I’ve ever watched is called The Deer Hunter. It has a scene where a crazed character, played by Christopher Walken, points a revolver to his temple in a sick game of Russian Roulette. Violence always disturbs me, particularly when man’s inhumanity to man is clearly on display. War is all about guns of various sizes or which team is packing the most firepower. The war of attrition which is the Russian/Ukranian conflict, boils down to which supportive countries can crank out the most destructive munitions. Millions & millions of shells pound the ground, regardless of who might be walking there. Tanks, rocket launchers and now aerial drones are used to deliver a range of ordinance on a largely innocent populace.

When I was a teen I got a job in a general store that had a sporting goods section. One Saturday I got to work behind a counter where handguns, hunting rifles and boxes of bullets were sold. It was the only time I ever held a firearm. I remember feeling a mix of excitement and worry. I remember the elder salesman laughing at my timid manner.

Agendas that are prepared for meetings can have bullets. Weightlifters can parade their guns. My peaceful yet practical twitter friend admitted he viewed his gun as a tool. He did agree with my point that it was a very exclusive one: designed for one function alone.

Death dealing guns and bullets are weapons of mass destruction.

Re: Job

Job is another word for purpose. A job can be a mission. It can be a task. It is a moment when you create something or serve a function. I have thought of my responsibilities to my family, especially when my boys were younger, as my primary concern. Philosophically and faithfully, I see my inner circle, blood relatives or not, as my first occupation.

Lucky is the person who can find a job that matches his/her personality. For example, an empathetic person would do well to search for a job where caring is the main requirement. I like the idea that a job can become a proper noun, a title even! In the olden days folk were actually named for what they did. Mr. Fletcher would be the bloke who made arrows, Mr. Cooper would be known because he was skilled at making barrels and casks. And of course every village had to have a Mr.Smith. What we consider our job is an integral part of who we are in the small community or the larger world.

A decade ago when people asked me what I did after retiring from a career in teaching I would think of myself as a Witness or a Volunteer. For a while now I’ve called myself a Writer. My wife has a full time caregiving position looking after her dependent mother. It’s a privilege and a challenge attempting to meet the needs of someone with disabilities. Our health care system might do a better job supporting these homecare efforts.

My late wife used to complain that the title of Homemaker wasn’t recognized in a financial way. At gatherings she’d be asked the classic cliché “And what do you do?”  To which she’d stand tall and say, “Looking after my family is my job.” The decision for one member of a partnership to work at making a home has incredible tangible benefits for those who can financially manage such a proposition. The roll you take on in a family dynamic can be very much like that of an employee in a progressive nurturing company and could be recognized financially through a form of guaranteed income supplement.

We live in a Gig Economy where workers have been encouraged/conned into believing they are independent contractors, letting employers off the hook for medical, insurance and other employment related responsibilities. In my father’s day these folks would be called jobbers, essentially someone who does piecework, taking on random assignments to make ends meet.  My dad often worked at multiple jobs throughout his lifetime, much like my eldest son does now. Both men discovered that hard work is no ticket to prosperity and getting a job that satisfies AND pays the bills is most often a matter of luck. The Silhouettes got lucky.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tANdsZW_vY4

The biblical Job is written as having lived a cursed existence through no real fault of his own. Perhaps if God had arranged for him to have a better job, things would have worked out better.

Re: Film

My parents got me hooked on film as entertainment. Over the years I learned about my folks based on their enthusiasm for a movie. My dad loved adventure stories and my mom was all about the musicals. Debates about actors/actresses were common in our household when I was growing up. Judgements were made on who was the most beautiful, who danced the best, and who really looked like they meant it when they said, ‘I Love You’ on the big screen.

When my dad danced at parties he pretended to move like Fred Astaire. My mom proclaimed (many times) that Lauren Bacall was a bitch. I found it interesting that she mimicked Ms.Bacall’s screen persona around the house. During my formative years we lived in an apartment block right across a parking lot from a theatre. You could read what was playing on the neon display from our balcony. We were working poor but always had enough for the cheap tickets of that time. I remember the first Sunday that Ontario cinemas were allowed to open. Ironically on that particular Lord’s Day I watched Charlton Heston act like Moses in the epic film, ‘The Ten Commandments’.

A grand movie theatre is like a church. It is an artistic treat to sit in a vintage cinema. Some great drive-in theatres have thrilled me with their cultural ambience. While a setting can provide a sanctuary, I don’t think my joy in the genre is tied to a building or venue. I can get the same feeling of self satisfaction in front of my television. A regular feature on the TVO network was Saturday Night at the Movies with film host extraordinaire Elwy Yost. He would educate us with cool facts about the movie we were about to watch then tell us to turn the lights low and put our feet up. Once the credits were done, I was oblivious to all that was going on in the world. When any movie starts I get the same sense of calming anticipation.

Film, like all art forms, can attract snobs. My mother would never watch a remake of a film just on the principle that you can’t improve upon the original. I follow a cinematic expert on Twitter who refuses to pick a favourite actor/director etc. out of respect for the craft. I admit to favourites, yet I can find great things to say about any bit of celluloid that I watch. My wife and I have volunteered with film societies and festivals in numerous cities. One of the highlights of my life was learning how to prepare and run movies on the old reel to reel projectors only months before most cinemas converted to digital screening technology.

The sound and magic of flickering celluloid will always be part of the poetry of my life.  I’ve watched many shows several times and always find something new to relate to. When I first met my wife, I found it necessary that she learn to love me through my film preferences. In this case the way to my heart was via a message on the screen.

Re: Dismiss

In the digital dating world the act of swiping left is an example of dismissal. The social media apps and sites are primed to get you what you want in the impulsive twitch of a finger. My eldest son is not happy with this form of meeting people yet it is the sign of our times: We want immediate access. In general, we’ve become dismissive of one another’s point of view so profoundly that we seek shelter within our tribal connections. Our thoughts are comforted by the wishes of the flock. It’s easier to disregard the outsiders when we are on the same page of groupthink.

I watched an episode of Star Trek:Enterprise that was streamed on television the other day. Disclaimer: I am a trekkie rather than a Star Wars fan so don’t dismiss me out of hand. May the Force be with you. In this particular episode the captain tells three separate crewmen that they are dismissed. The meetings take less than a minute each. All three had more to say but the head officer was done with gaining feedback. Space army language, it was clear, is perfunctory. The script in this case was obvious; we all have a job to do, so do your duty.

Imagine life in the armed forces on Earth, where being dismissed is a regular occurrence. I can’t imagine what that does to your self esteem to appear so individually inconsequential. Someone decides what’s best for the many, while the individual is always expendable. Soldiers are tools, militarized human beings, trained to function for one purpose, discarded when expired, honoured once a year. Attention! Eyes front! You’re dismissed.

Dismissal is a failure to accommodate even more than it is a case of poor communication. I was a career teacher, with a daily requirement to hear a room full of students’ thoughts and feelings. The class management component was always a challenge for me, since I have a more one to one communication style. Many lessons would involve a debate of some sort, either over content or perspective. I was never a ‘My way or the highway’ educator, which sometimes made me an easy target for a persistent dissenting voice, calling out, “But why?” If I’m being kind to myself, I can’t ever recall saying, “Case dismissed” as a judge might, while ruling over a controversial situation. I never wanted a student to feel that their opinion had been lost in the translation. However, at the end of some very long and eventful school days, I was very pleased to pronounce, “Class dismissed!”

Strangely, we can be dismissive of good things too. Consider when we wave off a compliment from a colleague, family member or friend. Humility has its place, yet acceptance of someone’s regard for us is important to acknowledge. Likewise when we neglect to give praise or take goodness for granted we dismiss the nectar of life. The value of another soul is precious. We gain so much by pausing, by paying attention, before moving on with our own lives.

Re: Servant

There is a distinction between being a servant or a slave. A friend of my son once surprised those gathered for a back yard BBQ by stating, “I ain’t nobody’s bitch.” Someone had just asked him how he liked his new job and he was telling us that already he wasn’t getting along with the boss. He worked at a grocery store. He was tasked to keep the floors swept so that customers wouldn’t slip on entry. When he wasn’t doing that he was assigned to bringing in the carts from the parking lot. Basic service work, minimum wage.

Recently deceased Queen Elizabeth II, expressed in speeches and in her actions that she saw her life as service. Her servant salary was quite different to that of a grocery cart boy. As a society, I think most of us place a high value on service to others, even while we underpay the majority. A housewife is a role we take for granted in most of the world. Putting aside the sexual discrimination elements inherent in the title, the job description of a person who makes a home for others is a lengthy list which can cover a number of well paid professions: Cook, Laundry Worker, Psychologist, Teacher, Early Childhood Educator, Personal Care Worker, Financial Planner, Management Coordinator etc. If these services were contracted out separately the monthly expenses for a family of four would be prohibitive. The important role of Homemaker could be supported with a government cheque. A guaranteed wage might resolve this issue, as well as other cases where service goes unsung.

Ironically perhaps, the nobility of being a servant was sensitively portrayed in an episode of the television series The Crown. Sydney Johnson, a real life character who was valet to the abdicated King Edward VIII, was shown as a graciously giving fellow, even though he was only a notch above a slave to every royal whim. I cringed when I saw the Duke make a request for his silver cigarette case. I felt like yelling at the screen, “Get it yourself!”

Full service gas stations used to have lots of employees dashing about checking oil, pumping fuel and washing windshields. DIY is now the language norm in more than just filling up your tank. But I must admit to feeling let down when I can’t find someone to help me when I’m looking for a product in a store I don’t frequent. I get royally indignant wondering why the customer is no longer always right. I can relate to the symbolic Karen in these moments.

My father served with distinction in North Africa during the second world war. Later, through his work in community he taught me by example the value of volunteering. My mother was a Public Servant in the manner of an elected official in her region. Growing up with them, I witnessed how giving service to others is an essential part of being human. Everyone wants to feel a part of something, giving of yourself honours your life as well as those who receive your offerings. Volunteerism builds humanity and humility.

Re: Trigger

The word Trigger gets me thinking about guns. Don’t get me started on the 2nd Amendment of my basement neighbour’s Constitution! I’m triggered to think of the atrocities committed in the United States that are directly related to the insane belief that some Americans have regarding their right to bear arms. Of course, gun culture is not exclusive to the U.S.of A., but that nation sure knows how to promote it.

Most guys my age had a set of toy six shooters under the Christmas Tree. These faux firearms came with a roll of caps to create authentic sounds of engagement. As a nine year old I met up with my friends in a nearby ravine every weekend to play Cowboys and Indians. As well as my holstered cast aluminum pistols, I carried a replica carbine rifle and a derringer tucked into my sock. I was packin’!

Television at the time had role models to enhance your imagination. I could pretend to be Roy Rogers who had a dog named Bullet. I’d pretend to ride his horse named Trigger, chasing after bad guys who only understood justice from the point of a gun. Today you can view an endless stream of Netflix dramas that feature gun play. Violence is depicted as necessary, the weapon as an equalizer. Rarely is guilt factored into that fictional equation, since the end result justifies any and all means. So goes the script anyway.

What sets a person off can often be a good starting point to any discussion that requires resolution. I’ve been noticing lately that even a single word, misinterpreted, can incline the conversation in a surprising direction. Language can trigger memory and, like the speed of a bullet, the damage of that recollection pierces your heart as though the wound was occurring in real time. With feelings tightening, it’s very difficult to return to the onset: The flames of unresolved issues have been fanned into a firestorm of emotion. It’s a firefight.

I used to idolize the gunslingers I followed on my favourite tv westerns. They had a quick trigger finger and a focussed aim. I liked it when their precision shot would blast the gun out of the bad man’s hand, disarming the villain even while correspondingly shaming him for his intent to harm the innocent town folk. To this day incidents of bullying are most triggering for my childish mind. I picture myself as the sheriff walking about my village with a space gun (set to stun), or a rapid fire nerf shooter. I’ll be doing my rounds, ever watchful and fully prepared to immobilize the blaggards of my community. Thankfully, my adult sensibility has found ways to tap into a relevant response to current stressors.

I’m getting better at not letting triggers dictate my immediate action. I’ll review my past association with the words or behaviours I’m witnessing before going off half cocked. Metaphorically, for safety sake, I’ve put a lock on my triggers, to avoid any random violence. Peace and reconciliation are my aims.

Re: Clown

A Jack in the Box is a clown puppet on a spring. You turn a crank on the side of the metal box where he lives to make music (Pop! Goes the Weasel) until the door on the top opens randomly and out jumps Jack the Clown. If you can recover from the shock, then just push the clown back down, close the lid and relive the experience. Sorta like life.

The circus came to our city one late summer and I took my first born and his younger brother to catch some of the excitement that live theatre provides. After enjoying a few simple rides, some candy floss and a small petting zoo we went into a large tent and sat on chairs arranged around a single large ring. We got to be in the first row so everything was up close. There were horses and jugglers, acrobats and clowns. One clown, face pasty white and eyes ringed in red make-up came out of nowhere flashing his large gloved hands and startled me. My children crawled into the arms of my wife sitting next to me. Chaos ensued. The clown man moved on along the circle. We decided that we had had enough for the day.

Santa is really a clown, “Who’s got a big red cherry nose?” He could be referred to as the King of the Clowns. Every year someone pretending to be Santa volunteers to dress up and be part of parades and company parties. Every large shopping mall has a North Pole display complete with a throne for Santa. Children are encouraged to overcome their shyness, sit alone on the big man’s lap while telling him their secret wishes. Some kids are visibly shaken by the experience yet caregivers feel compelled to continue this odd cultural tradition. Pictures are taken to keep the moment memorable, smiles or no smiles.

The author Stephen King has added an extra level of fright to the way we view clowns. Pennywise, the character in his story of clowning mayhem called IT is not a dude you would like to bump into. Lurking in the gutters, leering through the drain ways,  Robert Gray generates no laughter from me. Neither do clownish politicians who act one way and make policy decisions in another dimension of reality. There were times when court jesters were employed to divert the populace from unpleasant royal edicts. Comedy used this way could be risky. Several television & movie actors have toyed with the fine line between humour and pathos. Jack Lemmon, Norman Wisdom, Milton Berle, Red Skelton and Jim Carrey are among those successful with the transition between these emotional forms. Jerry Lewis was another who used his clown persona but not always with mass approval. Witness this questionable unreleased film; ‘The Day the Clown Cried’. Coming Soon! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Cv3-MCkX7U

Sometimes I enjoy clowning around. Being silly allows me to step outside of my normally serious personality. I don’t use scary makeup. If others in the room appear shocked, I’ll quickly let them in on the joke.

Re: God

When I was a child my parents did not lead me in ways to suggest a reverence for the word or meaning of God. They even spelled it differently: Gawd! Pronouncing it with exasperation, as if someone had let them down again. At the time my friends and I thought the Catholic kids who were educated in the scary looking building down the street belonged to the Others so we teased them. As I grew I ditched my ridicule but maintained my curiosity regarding God-fearing personalities. I was curious enough to marry one. My first wife was a gentle soul, raised in the ways of a Christian. She practised her spirituality rather than spouted it. She was subtle in her evangelism; leaving a newish version of the Gospel out on a side table for example, knowing I liked to read almost any text. It was that gentle persuasion that got me accompanying her to services on Sunday. I came to understand the Bible not as the Word of God but for its intent.

This became my God Period: going to church on a regular basis with my growing family. During those years I included myself through reading, leading, singing and otherwise participating in finding out more about my spirit. It was fun and rewarding. I learned a lot about people. I think it helped me be a good father to my children and a husband to my wife.

A survey from Angus Reid Polling landed in my email inbox last week asking me to identify my faith status from a long list of choices. I chose ‘none of the above’ for several reasons: I don’t practise the tenets of any one faith, I don’t attend any religious functions, I don’t pray. I believe that religion no longer has a place in my life. The idea of God still fascinates me as it did when I was using it to understand community but I am not a godly person. Calling myself a humanist sounds banal. Being an atheist just sounds argumentative.

Yet here I capitalize the word God. I still feel as godless as when I was a child. I don’t believe that a god created all things. As an artist I have sometimes entertained the notion that I am the maker of my existence, yet I resist using The Creator’s name as an expletive out of respect. I feel I can appreciate the many deities that are worshipped throughout the world while never feeling the urge to kneel. I have witnessed some amazing things but do not believe that these happenings were the result of a divine hand. I refuse to give credit to a supreme power, nor will I accuse such an entity of meddling negatively in my personal affairs.

Many philosophers, I have read, describe themselves as anti-theist. I find much in common with that willful declaration. My spiritual side comes out when I’m being silly, when I’m feeling carefree holding hands with my wife, when I’m awestruck by the vastness of the universe and all it contains.

Re: Tree

During the time I have spent in a fifth floor apartment in the midst of suburbia, I have come to appreciate a maple tree outside my window. From my balcony perspective I am living at the level of the tree’s canopy. I have now gone an annual cycle with this tree; through the four seasons of change. My time began here as leaves turned colourful, then brittle enough to escape with the breeze. Winter branches crackled with frost and sleet. I was close enough to watch the buds burst in spring, while birds built their nests. As summer leaves widened, branches moaned in the wind. Now the tree and I have come full circle. I mourn a little as my tree returns to its dormant state. I have more waiting to do.

It’s hard not to be a forest activist when your permanent home is in British Columbia. While I’m away from the towering firs and cedars I’ve been reading about trees. There are some wonderful recent books on the subject. I’ve joined several authors in their revery of dendrology. I devoured the description of the passionate arboreal warriors in The Overstory by Richard Powers. I found a kinship concerning the science behind The Arbornaut by Meg Lowman and Finding the Mother Tree by Suzanne Simard. Call me sappy, but I rewatched the film Avatar for its tree hugging sentimentality.

Canadians are blessed with opportunities to experience trees in nature. Cutting down your own Christmas tree is part of our culture. Most folks know how to use an axe to chop wood into fire sized chunks. I’d be surprised if I met someone who hadn’t climbed up into a tree’s branches as a child, testing themselves while finding a fresh perspective. My son often carries a hammock in his hiker’s bag so he can rest between two trees, gently swinging. His brothers and I have planted many a tree sapling while sharing hopes for future groves, bringing environmental health and integrity.

Trees are great metaphors for many aspects of life. My first wife was a genealogist. She spent much time researching family trees, revealing fascinating ancestral connections. She traced some branches back to early North American colonial settlements. She discovered heroes, black sheep, soldiers and farmers and many quirky characters who enlivened our understanding of our genetic predispositions. During my church years, my Sunday school students would move in close when I told them about the Garden of Eden and the Tree of Life. They all agreed that Eve did the right thing to show Adam the wonders of that Apple of Knowledge. “How else would we learn!” Exclaimed one girl.

I’ve been lucky to see trees from several continents. I’ve watched my Mississauga maple for four seasons now. From its canopy to its strong trunk, I have gazed the middle distance into its structure searching for the meaning to my present uprootedness. There is more knowledge yet to be imparted These branches wave back to me offering reassurance that another season is yet to come. Time to be patient.

Re: Baseball

Hollywood and Baseball are the only two truly great things that come from the United States of America. Whether you refer to it as a game, a sport or a pastime; Baseball has something for everyone. I believe the meeting of spectator and athlete at the Old Ball Game has an artistic quality to it, with church-like overtones. The stadium is the sanctuary, the diamond is the nave, the pennant is the holy grail. Buy me some Cracker Jacks please.

Baseball is a story, generally played out in nine chapters by two teams with nine players on each side. During the game there is drama, strategy, plots and intrigue. Occasional foul play is rare, but umpires are there, to ensure that there is an overriding tone of gentlemanly interaction and level headed sportsmanship. I like that Baseball is a team sport as well as an individual sport. The first batter to approach home plate is truly one player against nine. With each swing of the bat the goal is to secure a place on the next base. Once there, by fate or the will of the baseball gods, the runner prays his teammates will get him home. Barring a home run, all members must work together. Coaches are allowed near first and third bases to give runners some encouraging words. It’s collaborative. It’s collegial. It’s an example of the way life can be.

Variants of ball and bat games predate the development of Baseball which got its start in North America in the mid-nineteenth century. As the sport grew in popularity it was played on vacant lots, streets and open fields. The dreams of many a boy began with hearing the exploits of their favourite player. I had a small transistor radio I kept in my desk in grade six. It gave me updates on the exploits of Roger Maris and Willie Mays, my two favourite players. I played hardball and was a terrible batter. However, I caught the league winning fly ball in my last season as a left fielder. I collected Baseball cards, kept them in a shoe box and, like everyone else, after I left home for college, my mother tossed them out,

The pace of Baseball appeals to my personality. It takes its time. The players are diverse in shape, size, colour and disposition. My favourite player right now is a catcher named Alejandro Kirk. He’s not a stereotypical athlete but damn can he perform! In a world that often seems unfair, the rules of Baseball are regularly being updated to make for more egalitarian play. Umpires, like a third team, are present to see that justice is done, that a level of respect is maintained. When judgement is questioned there is allowance for impartial review. Scandals have existed on and off the stadium grounds (steroids, gambling, conspiracy, corporate usury) but when all is said and done, regardless of who you are, you have a chance to realize your dreams on the field of Baseball.

The spirit of this game shall endure forever.