Terry Fox Run

I don't know if you noticed all the students out of school and downtown the other day. I am not talking about the ones who play hookey. I'm talking about the other ones: There must have been a couple of hundred kids and adults who traipsed around Bow Island, with a police escort and an ambulance bringing up the rear. Four schools were represented: Cherry Coulee, St. Mike's, Bow Island Elementary, and Senator Gershaw.

The brief Terry Fox Run, which in this case was a stroll, took place last Thursday. From some kids' perspective, it was a break from books, boards, and bullies; for others, it was like a breath of fresh air. Well, actually, it was a breath of fresh air – probably 45 minutes worth -- exhaust fumes notwithstanding.

If you gawked at the walkers and the talkers, you may have seen a tall, dark, handsome dude walking very energetically over the complete circuit. Well, that wasn't me; I was the short, bald, facially-challenged dud walking beside him. That is, when I wasn't panting on the pavement and coughing on the curb.

Terry Fox. One of Canada's true heroes. All the kids and probably even some of the teachers weren't even born when he started his heroic trek across Canada twenty-eight years ago. He had to stop it because his cancer came back, somewhere in northern Ontario – near Thunder Bay, if memory serves me correct.

The cancer that motivated him to "run" from sea to shining sea finally caught up with him by the late spring of the following year. I remember it well enough by association: My wife and I were married just after he passed away and just before Charles and Diana tied the knot.

Many heroes pass away in the prime of their life and the memory of their deeds are larger-than-life itself. Not so with Terry. The only thing that appears larger than life is the huge sums of money that is raised in his name each year. But in terms of who he was, what he did, and so forth, he is just another common Canadian hero. And I like it that way.

I say James Dean (and most of you say "Who?), or mention the name of Elvis Presley (and the rest of you squeal). These are "heroes" (please, children, note the quotation marks: either quoteworthy or noteworthy), but heroes disproportionate to what they really did. Dean acted and pouted, whereas Presley sang and shook. If half of what I know about those rascals is true, then the word "hero" is a shameful misuse of the English language.

A hero, in my view, is one who gives himself for someone else, one who serves others selflessly. That's why I don't seek autographs of athletes who make more money in a signing bonus than I will make in a decade or two of actually working for a living. That's why few politicians qualify as heroes, unless one stands up against popular notions, standing up for what is right and moral, not merely trendy and easy.

My mother, and your mother, too, would be considered a heroine by the above test.

I also think by the above standards, Terry Fox qualifies as a true hero. He stood up and stood alone on his one good leg, and he threw himself into a cause that was bigger and greater than himself. We should all take a page out of his book, so to speak.

He probably would have made a poor politician but a fabulous leader. With an election looming, I think he would have made a great prime minister.

On A Daughter's Wedding

Next to eating an onion sandwich, few things bring me to tears like a good wedding. A good wedding, per my glib definition, includes good food, good music, and good jokes. And not necessarily in that order, either.

Well, I just came back from a good wedding. Let me tell you about it.

This good wedding is simply the start of a good marriage, but it is also the culmination of a bunch of other good things. Good things such as the following: two strong, committed families (bride and groom's), possessing virtually the same standards for courtship, romance, and boundaries; two strong, committed individuals (today's bride and groom) who willingly bought into these said standards; and a whole host of friends and family -- from as far-flung places as British Columbia, Washington, Montana, Texas, and Mississippi – to celebrate the grand event.

I suppose the spirit of the wedding made it really stand out for me. The energetic purity, the eager anticipation, the extra touches -- these all made for quite a day. For example, I had never been to a wedding where the actual ceremony took place in the centre of the hall, rather than at the front. In other words, everyone had a ringside seat, close to the action.

In this day of cheap shots about marriage and general denigration about husbands and wives, I found it refreshing to see something that modeled the ideals of a stable marriage. I heard promises of a commitment to a lifelong relationship, of a love that vowed to weather all anticipated challenges, of a vision for a sense of team work.

Preparing for a wedding takes a lot of work; preparing for a marriage takes even more. Sometimes we tend to get the order reversed: Months of effort go into the day, but there is little thought that goes in for the years. Questions about and approaches to such touchy subjects as finances, children, house duties (for starters) are shelved until they raise their ugly head weeks into the marriage. What could have been a reasonable discussion then becomes fodder for a fight.

No matter where you come down on the institution of marriage -- that is, its purpose, its durability, its components – I think I can make two definite statements about its significance. One, strong, stable homes are the basis for a strong, stable country. And two, safe, secure marriages produce safe, secure kids. It can't get any better than that, namely, strong leadership and secure followership.

I know those definitive statements may rankle some of my readers. I do not choose to offend; I simply choose to lay out what I think are some essential qualities of marriage. It crushes me to see how little emphasis is placed on entering this relationship. I don't think writing a test or taking a course would be the answer, but methinks there should be some sort of mandatory pre-marriage training.

But back to today's wedding. There was a lot of pre-wedding preparation, in addition to some pre-marriage preparation. There were dresses to make, chickens to butcher, brochures to design, and a million other tedious tasks to throw together. Hard to believe, but it all came together and a good time was had by all.

Today's wedding had a special angle for me: I gave away one of my daughters, the first wedding in our family. I suppose I was expected to cry, but my wife and I were too happy to give away our daughter to such a fine young man that we had little reason to cry.

Maybe I could have solved that problem by finishing off that onion sandwich after all.

Cyber Slang

Some of my forced fans (read: students) know that there are certain words that drive me nutty. I suppose the greatest bugbear is the word "thingy." "Thing" is meaningless and boring enough, without making matters worse with that stupid suffix, "y."

I will now add another pesky word to that list of all-time favourites (not): "Whatever." Again, it is bad enough when the speaker has an attitude in his or her voice, that defiant in-your-face response to a very genuine question. But I am not talking about that.

My angst lies with "whatever" when it is added to a factual statement, as in "He was driving a red Ford yesterday, or whatever." Well, was he was or was he not? Was it yesterday or the day before? Was is red or not red? A Ford or a real car? (Sorry, all you Ford lovers – not.)

You see, the suffixing word, if there is ever such an animal (in this case, "whatever"), neutralizes the truth and precision of the previous statement. Case in point: Make any sort of comment about you or yours, then add the word "whatever" to it. You instantly create confusion, not a good thing when you are trying to communicate effectively.

My favourite telephone company sent me a brochure recently for those in my household who need a "guide to speaking in text." In other words, a guide for those who want to communicate with their cellphones by sending text messages to their friends. In the olden days (probably a couple of years ago), we used cell phones for -- drum roll, please -- talking. Now I can take pictures with mine, and use it as a wannabe iPod sometimes. Reception may be poor, but it sure makes for a great camera.

A phone that acts like a camera but not always like a phone? Uhmm, sounds like something out of a movie. (That would be Bond. James Bond.)

The added insult is the butchered text words. To an old guy like me, ATB means the Alberta Treasury Branch; to you text-messaging kids, it means "all the best." I remember when qt stood for quart (English measurement, children); now it means "cutie." Do you recall when we used to have a federal sales tax? Well, the fst now stands for "fast."

By the way, was I supposed to put quotation marks around those initials?

I think I will call this "cyber slang." Self-explanatory, I believe. I also believe it is here to stay. Like food banks and income tax, both alleged temporary measures to help citizens and governments, respectively, through unplanned crises, I think we have to resign ourselves to this (fairly) new mode of communicating.

Being the grammar geek that I am, it does bother me that weakening communication skills – both written and spoken – are now deteriorating even further. And encouraged, at that. In fact, in a twisted form of rationale, it is those who attempt to write well and speak well that are seen (and heard) as the strange ones. It's like they are on the communication endangered species list.

To be sure, I wasn't really interested in writing or speaking well when I was in school. (Kids: close your eyes when you read this.) It was over the years that I grew a deep appreciation for things that were well-written and people that were well-spoken. I am not ashamed to say that I am still working hard at both. I encourage both quests in my own children. How successful I am, I cannot say. You would need to talk to them.

Well, it looks like the end (of the page) is near. Till next week, g2g and b4n.

40 Weeks Until Summer Holidays!

As I sit here at my brave desk, I am keenly aware that it is approximately 40 school weeks till the summer holidays (that would be July, 2009, just in case you need help figuring it out). It is actually longer, but I am not counting the two weeks at Christmas and one week for Family Week in February. Oh, and don't forget Easter.

By the time you actually read this missive, it will be 39 weeks and counting.

Now, I am actually kidding you – not because my tally is out (which it's not) – but because I am not really counting the weeks till my next major holiday. That kicks in by mid-November, or, if you are a student, next week. If I am leering at my wall calendar with the longing look of lovestruck loser, then I am in the wrong profession.

But I am not in the wrong profession. In addition to the pleasure I get out of writing, I love to teach – whether it is in a classroom throughout the week or a pulpit (so-called) on a Sunday. If the students (whatever the context) want to learn, there is no greater pleasure.

However, if they (in the desk or the pew) do not want to learn, I would sincerely appreciate them heading to the nearest exit, with a one-way pass to Starbucks. Education is a privilege, and if they don't see it that way, they should move on to the next station in their life.

I should add that when I say 'education,' I certainly recognize that there is likely more learning that takes place outside a classroom than in one -- without books, and in subtle ways that we are not aware of. In that sense, we really don't ever stop learning – or at least we shouldn't.

And also, when I say 'school,' I do recognize the various packages, as it were, that schooling comes in these days. I have many friends who are committed teachers and administrators in the public system. The same could be said for the private or parochial system, often known as Christian schools; or if they are in a public system, alternate schools.

Then there is what seems to be known as the new-kid-on-the-block, in terms of education; namely, home education. If you know your history, then you will realize that home education is, in fact, actually the old-kid-on-the block: Learning, training, apprenticing at home has been around ever since Adam taught Abel how to raise sheep and Cain how to grow veggies. (Question: Was Adam "raising Cain" when he was raising Cain? Just wondering.)

That was followed hundreds of years later by private tutors, mostly for the rich -- both the religious and the irreligious -- which slowly but definitely morphed into what became church-run schools. It would be an interesting search on your part to discover the origins of Yale, Princeton, and Harvard. I think you would be shocked at their religious roots.

Only recently, and I speak of the last 100 years, has the notion of public, government-run schools become the norm for any civilized culture. The drive for taking kids out of the home and away from the church, into a setting that was age-segregated, taught by someone other than the parent or the priest, is actually a fairly modern notion.

The plausible option for teaching one's children at home is something I personally value. In my role as a home education supervisor, I am well aware of the hundreds of families throughout Alberta who are doing an outstanding job with their kids. It's a topic I would like to pursue in this space sometime.

So, it's back to school, whatever way you slice it; and it is great to have education choices, with the freedom to learn in so many different ways and styles. Support your local teacher in the coming year in whatever way you can -- even if she's your mother.

And to all you teachers out there: It's only about 300 sleeps till summer.