NHL Trade Day

Perspective is an intriguing idea. For example, "Let's go fishing!" means one thing to a fisherman, but another thing to a worm. Even nuances are worth noting. If, say, I tell you that I'm cool, that could mean that a) I need a sweater, or b) I find myself quite alluring. (Just for the record, I don't, so if you hear me say that, pass me the sweater, please.)

Tomorrow is one of those days. You may glean your sports knowledge from the other columnist in this paper (hi, Rob), so I assume you are well informed that tomorrow is Trade Day in the NHL. Or, as some wag might put it, it's the day when the sellers plan to golf in April and the buyers hope to golf no sooner than June.

So, for gifted players on a fringe team, Trade Day means one thing, but for gifted players on the top sixteen teams, it means something else. And it may not be all that bad: Great players on crummy teams have the distinct possibility of moving up, with the opportunity to get into the play-offs. I would call that an upside.

The downside has to do with a comfort level issue: Players can become comfortable with their teammates, home rink, and living accommodations; then it gets really complicated if their family is involved. Think of all the possible upheaval with switching houses, schools, and overall lifestyles. But just think about it, because it usually doesn't happen. When players are traded, they generally leave wife and kids behind until the end of the season, or for longer, keeping the established home as the centre of their universe.

I couldn't imagine waiting and dreading and sweating Trade Day if I were a professional hockey player. But, then again, it would only be my imagination as a) I have never played hockey beyond ringette in Grade Two, and b) I wouldn't have enough talent to be traded. I would be like that Calgary Cannon player last year that was traded for a box of baseballs. I can see it now: "Funston (right wing [I could never be a left winger]), traded to the Calgary Dames for a bag of hockey tape."

I suppose I should feel sorry for players who, as you read this, may be awaiting the most nerve-wracking phone call of their life, the one from their general mangler, er, general manager, telling them of their new phone number. I should feel sorry, but I don't. At their salary, why I would be happy to be traded to Atlanta. Or Tampa Bay. Or even Calgary. (Okay, okay, I jest.)

Hockey is Canada's national winter sport (rumour has it that lacrosse is the summer version), and therefore, very much a Canadian cultural icon. That may be the most difficult part of being traded, say, from Vancouver to Phoenix. It seems so, well, so un-Canadian. And Phoenix is not exactly the hotbed of hockey, last time I checked its travel brochures.

It is hard for me to imagine heading to the rink everyday in Bermuda shorts and sunglasses, counting the palm trees along the way. I know of the snowbird argument (especially with teams – a term I use very loosely – in Arizona and Florida): The resident population is augmented significantly in the winter by the snowbirds, a gracious name for retired Canadians, that 'flock' south.

So while you read tonight, others will dread tonight. For myself, I have no fear in answering of the phone. It's probably just one of my fishing buddies - not. Whether it is fish morning or Trade Day, I can only imagine.

Two Very Different Men

Two hundred years ago this month, a male baby was born. Big deal, you say: Lots of baby boys were born two hundred years ago – and lived to tell about it. Good point. In this case, this baby grew up to be a lapsed theologian and wannabe scientist - failing at both, I must add.

And two hundred years ago this month, another male baby was born. In fact, it was not only the same month as the first baby, it was also on the same day. He too grew up, becoming a successful lawyer but a failed politician time and time again. That was until he finally secured his Illinois seat, only to move on to be arguably one of the greatest presidents of the United States of America.

I'm sure you know who I am talking about in both cases: Charles Darwin is the former, Abraham Lincoln is the latter.

The current culture, for what it's worth, is very divided on the merits of both of these men. On that score, this said division is over the origin of mankind: In other words, did we come from nothing or did we come from something? It is a highly emotional and religious debate – yes, I did say 'religious' (they both involve a lot of faith) – that has raged for decades, and shows no sign of quieting down.

The other man is someone that I have admired deeply for years, one that I lump with some of the greatest presidents of the USA (Washington and Reagan, for starters). There is quite a split opinion about him, too. And this rift has been around since the American Civil War (okay, it wasn't all that civil). It has come to my attention only recently that Mr. Lincoln is a hero in the northern states, but a heel in the Deep South. I don't believe there are any statues of him in Mobile or Atlanta or Raleigh.

I may be over-simplifying this, but it strikes me as odd that one who has formulated such theories as the survival of the fittest, with all its horrific results should somehow be viewed as an icon of enlightenment. Please, spare me: Darwin is no hero to lovers of freedom. Space and time do not allow a detailed account of the global devastation of the implementation of his theories over the past 100 years. His teachings laid the groundwork for the atrocities of a Stalin, Hitler, and Pol Pot – and continue even today. I honestly do not believe even Darwin himself intended his theory of evolution would have such a negative impact, morally, physically, and socially.

On the other hand, I think of this other "02-12-09" baby and his influence for good. In Lincoln, as I have understood it (great disclaimer, you must admit), I see that all men and women are to be free, that skin colour should not be a barrier to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. His "Proclamation of Emancipation" is clearly one of the greatest pieces of literature in the Western world – not necessarily for its articulation but for its ramification.

My comments today are the stuff of essays and books, not columns, so please bear with me. I just couldn't help noticing the fundamental differences in the influence of these two men, 200 years later. With one, there is a message that condemns people to bondage, but with the other, there is something that elevates them to the freedom that their Creator intended for them.

I am sure Darwin had some good points and no doubt Lincoln had blind spots. That is beside the point. When a theory – for that's what it is – degrades the human person as a mere end product of macro-evolution, with a less-than-hopeful future, I find it hard to wish Charles Darwin a "Happy Birthday." Methinks we would have all been better off if he had stayed on the Galapagos Islands and chased finches for the rest of his days.

On the other hand, when I consider that all men and women are free and deserve the same rights and respect as each other, I celebrate. To be sure, I don't see that freedom expressed in the black culture in both Canada and the USA as it should be, but a twisted translation of the facts is no fault of the founder. Regardless, Lincoln's message of freedom calls for a party, and more than a birthday party.

In fact, if I was throwing the party, I would invite everyone – not just the fittest of the human species.

Family Day

Only in Canada does Family Day follow Valentine's Day. (In the Divided States of America, yesterday is called President's Day. What's the message in that?) First, you give your heart away; next thing you know, you're starting a family. Hopefully it's more than two days apart – try two years, or even a few groups of two years.

For myself, I went the courting-engagement-marriage route, then the family came, a span of about four years. And the family came in quite a big way: Over the next nineteen years, Gwynne and I had nine children, three of each.

Hey, what's this column turning into, a personal diary?

My point today is all about family. Never in my limited experience of eating and breathing have I seen so much implosion of family life. What was once known as a nuclear family has, quite ironically, blown apart at the seams. When I was a kid, you know, the time between "Father Knows Best" and "Married With Children," a family traditionally consisted of a father and mother and a handful of kids.

Today, if the same parents are together after so many years, with the same handful of kids, it's no longer called a family – it's called a novelty. But it's still quite a handful.

Without cramming any number of statistics from any number of my sources down your throat, I would dogmatically state that there is a direct correlation between the breakdown of the family and drug abuse, sexual promiscuity, character flaws, and national crime. Without the gentle and consistent accountability of a firm father and a loving mother, there is a greater tendency for our individual natural bent towards evil to run amok.

One may argue that bad kids can come out of good homes (as well as the inverse), and I agree. Another may counter that simply because parents are still together doesn't mean that the kids will turn out right, and I've seen that time and again. We all know of useless dads and the catastrophe that bad parenting can produce. And who says single parents can't do a great job of raising good kids? Absolutely; I know lots myself.

My sources have made the connection between abusive fathers and prostitution, and absent fathers and a prison cell. I do not pull these comments out of my head. While I do not naturally have these facts at my fingertips, books and the Internet provide ample information. (Feel free to ask me for my sources.)

As I write this, the United Nations is drafting legislation that may or may not impact the future of families worldwide. It may not take out my family's rights, but it may affect my kids' families. And I also read that Al Gore, not a friend of this columnist, has once again foolishly rushed in where angels fear to tread – this time denouncing the authority and role of parents in the lives of their children. If that is the case, I hope his own kids don't listen to him.

Family Day should actually be Family Year, days and weeks and months where kids are made to feel warmed, welcomed, and wanted in their own home. Parents have both the divine responsibility and right to raise their kids in a positive, healthy atmosphere, in order to prepare them to be moral, decent members of this society. I would venture to say that most of us parents would aspire to that goal, with many of us falling a little short most of the time.

I am big on traditions and I would like to think that the number of "family" things we do in our home are helping shape the family that we have been given. Some are goofy, others meaningful, but that's family life for you.

I would love to tell you about them sometime, but, after all, this is a column, not a diary.

Tried, True and Well-Tested

If you take a quick look around the edge of the pages of today's newspaper, you will see advertising. That is how this paper and every other paper in the world make the brunt of their money. That is how their particular economy works.

To be a sharp advertising executive, one has to advertise things that are seasonal – like Christmas trinkets at, you guessed it, Christmas, and candy at (pause) Hallowe'en. Whether there is a connection or not to the real event (for example, Easter) seems irrelevant. The primary connection is between the stock on the shelf and the plastic in the pocket.

So as you peruse today's paper – not yet, please: wait 'til I'm finished – you will see symbols of hearts, arrows, flowers, and some big baby that isn't totally dressed. (Cupid, I believe, is his name.)

It's all about Valentine's Day, for those of you who don't know (and actually, it is still Valentine's Day, for those who do). Lovers long for this day, as do merchants – but certainly not for the same reason. Where they connect, of course, is where lovers take the plastic from the pocket to purchase the stock on the shelves, and everyone stays happy.

Well, not everyone: Not everyone today is a lover, and come Sunday morning, stores will start to take down and package up all the chocolates, cards, ribbons, and other Valentine's paraphernalia. If they could sell any of it after the fact, I'm sure they would. And if a lapsed lover could give after the fact, I'm sure he (s)he would.

I can see it now: "Oh, my lovely turtle, I didn't want to give you this when everyone else is giving theirs. Perish the thought, my little wasp! I saved it for today, my sweet magpie, and today alone!" (And under his breath he reminds himself that he also saved four dollars off the toy walrus.)

Okay, okay, I kid. But while Valentine's Day is a special time for both lovers and merchants, please don't embarrass either a lover or a merchant if they don't celebrate the day. If you are a wannabe lover, there will likely be no card for you, even at a discount on Sunday. And if you sell antiques, for example, I doubt even you can spin that into a Valentine's sale. After all, what message would you be sending to your one and only if you bought her romantic furniture from such a store – old, well-used, and out of style?

I have no idea where Valentine's Day came from – or where it's going, for that matter. I do know that it represents a pleasant break in the middle of winter, fairly evenly spaced (at least for this year) between Christmas and Easter. One wonders if there is a religious origin to the big day (I suggest Saint Valentine may have been some sort of, uh, saint.). If so, I would loudly and publicly observe, once more, the historically sacred spiralling into the shamefully secular.

But while others may or may not lament, lovers squeal delightedly and merchants count eagerly. Apart from any religious or emotional angle, it does fill up the stores with merchandise that is different than usual, and, for that matter, it does add a little colour to the edges of this newspaper.

I just hope my one and only likes the gift I got her from the antique store – tried, true, and well-tested.