It's been a long time since someone who was supposed to be Patricia came home from the hospital, fifty-eight years ago this coming Thursday. Patricia didn't come that day; Norman did instead, but Norman, as you read about this grand event last year, ultimately morphed into Craig.
And that, Maurice Rufus, would be yours truly, as in Craig, Norman Craig.
It has been quite a journey for me, firstly in lifestyle—from city boy to country dude; from BC to AB; from sorting room to classroom; from writer to editor; and from being all thumbs to actually having the odd useful finger or two. So far, it looks like I have survived.
And then there is the technological advances—and if not advances, at least technological shifts. For me personally, I was raised without a television, for cultural and religious reasons, a practice I still carry out today, more or less. But if my father wanted a television, it would have come in black and white only. In today's world, that seems so simplistic and backward; but back then, it was still pretty cool.
If kids today had to stoop to watch what I wasn't even allowed to sit down and enjoy, there would be a hue and cry so loud, you'd think the Flames traded Iginla to the Canucks.
Technological advances, as such, are far, far beyond me, even as I write this on my laptop. In fact, my first attempts at writing, decades ago, was on something called a typewriter. Now they say I could actually do this column, all my email, and even watch some action clips, on my smartphone.
In addition to lifestyle changes and technological changes (notice how I subtly dropped the word “advances”?), there have been the language changes over these past five-plus decades. Without going into the wherefores and the whys, back in 1972, for instance, if I were feeling “really hot, despite wearing thongs,” that would mean something very, very different today.
(Maurice, “hot” then meant not cold, and “thongs” were something you wore on your feet.)
Do I mind turning 58 this week? Not really a good question, my friend. (Hint: I have absolutely no say in the matter; I cannot do a thing about it, so I accept it and move on) I find it hilarious, then sad, when women my age try to reclaim a lost sex appeal, or guys try to reclaim that missing hair. Please, please, try to be what you are and not what you once were.
To be honest with you, where I likely struggle the most is concerning the state of my world. I struggle with the ethnic tensions and brutalities, with the economic and marital breakdowns, with the uncertain future and incompetent governments. Of course, any student of history will tell you that genocides, raping and pillaging have always been part of the human landscape.
Let's get real here: The decade I was born in was one very violent, especially in places like the Congo, the Korean peninsula, and Iran. Gang warfare and germ warfare were also in full swing back in the 50's.
Maybe we just hear about it more—thanks to all these technological “advances,” I suppose.
The generation just ahead of me, as in my mother's, circa 1923, must be even more shocked and overwhelmed with all the changes. We often think of the quaintness of the Roarin' Twenties, and are likely relieved we never went through all their difficulties. That is fodder for for another column, but let me hint that I would likely take the side of the simpler lifestyle—fodder, of course, for another column.
In the meantime, it's my party and I'll sigh if I want to.
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