Foremost on my Mind: My Kingdom for a Pizza

There is a dish that is the dishest of all dishes, the most wonderful food ever invented by whomever invented food. It encompasses all food groupings, apparently comes in (too) many varieties, and when eaten correctly, can satisfy any craving for hours.

Got ya wonderin'? Maybe. Got ya droolin'? Fer sure!

The dish, of course, is pizza. If I had any special event, pizza would be the main dish. If I die, please make sure pizza is served at the celebration, though that wouldn't be fair if I wasn't there to enjoy it. Actually, to be honest with you, I don't really need any sort of special event to eat pizza. Dead or alive; breakfast, lunch, or supper; hot or cold—you name it-- any time is pizza time.

Okay, I just got carried away: No breakie pizza for me, and make sure it's piping hot.

Rumour has it that there are many different types of pizza. What's next, the earth isn't flat? There isn't global warming? Calgary does have a professional hockey team? Really?

When I order pizza, I can do it with my eyes closed. Why? I don't need the road kill delight, the tofu special, or the chicken-wooah, or whatever else is on the menu. I need the one, the only, Hawaiian. For health nuts (sorry: for those with discretionary palates), there is the blessed assurance that dairy, proteins, vegetables, and grains are represented in said pizza.

And if you want more protein, simply add some slices of pepperoni.

One of my favourite relatives--Uncle John, natch-- informed me the other day that pizza did not originate from Italy. (If he says it, I believe it, and that settles it.) Personally, I think my favourite pizza came from Honolulu, but I can't prove it. I really don't care where it came from; I only care where it's going—into my stomach.

Pizza works well for a large family when travelling; you can eat it as you motor along. It also saves cutlery when you're lounging in a hotel room or around a pool. It can be eaten in the smallest of spaces--that is, there is no need for a fully-appointed table, with pots, pans, and other paraphernalia, just pinkies.

I would take pizza over, say, Chinese food any day. I like (Western) Chinese food like the guy on the next stool. It's just the unmanageables, unproncounceables, and the unknowns that get to me. At least with pizza, you can see the pineapple, the ham, and the cheese. No surprises here, people: What you see, you eat; what you eat, you know; and what you know, you enjoy.

I am thinking of opening a pizzeria somewhere soon. Too bad it rhymes with a word that starts with “die-.” If I did, I would see it as a place of respite, repose, and relaxation. Its name? Pizza Mine.

Foremost on my Mind: A Legislated Morality

Friends,

I am taking the liberty to send you yet another column.  I am sending it to you because of its relevance to this week's deadline.  It will go to print next week, so there are some issues I can't comment on, as they will be dealt with.  If it has any merit, feel free to pass it along.

CF

I would like to propose a new law, one that every family in Alberta must obey. It's a law that I believe in, practice regularly, and have strongly convictions about. Furthermore, if this law is not obeyed, then the Family Law Police (a new government bureaucracy that I would create) would help enforce it—even to the point of fines and/or jail time. In another culture, the penalty, of course, would likely be death.

The law? It would be as follows: Read the Bible and follows its teachings.

(Sorry if you just gagged on your coffee, or broke a window with your howl of protest.) I wonder how far I would get with such a proposal? I would be a marked man, as would my family. In the afore-mentioned cultures, this approach does happen, possibly most prevalent in an Islamic society. We know scant details of, say, hands being cut off (Afghanistan), public floggings (Iran), and beheadings (Saudi Arabia)--for starters. And I'm sure there's a stoning going on somewhere; funny how it's always the woman who get tagged....

One might even throw the Salem Witch Trials for good measure.

I can anticipate the reaction as I write this, and the responses would be, among others, something like the following:

1. What right does he have to cram his religion down my throat? 2. How can he legislate his morality? 3. Shouldn't parents have the paramount responsibility for what values they expose to their children, and not some loudmouth individual? 4. What if my right is his wrong—who's actually right? 5. And, how can he be so intolerant?

I write the above with tongue firmly planted in cheek, of course. But because of the horrific abuse of the English law and language—where certain words have changed their meaning (with “multiculturalism” and “tolerance” and “human rights” being a few of them)--certain laws are slipping in, past all rational lawmakers, educators, and even parents.

The latest outrage is found in the education portfolio, something called Bill 2, and Section 16, in particular. Read quickly and naively, it appears to mean that very little change is in the works for educators and parents alike. However, a little scraping beneath the surface reveals that the ramifications of Bill 2 (ie., the new Education Act) are very serious, indeed.

Anyone in public, private, Catholic, or home school are on the verge of having their parental rights neutralized. Certain things must not only be not taught, but, in fact, their polar opposite must be taught—and taught as good.

It's almost like some nutcase telling me what religion or morality I must teach my kids. Actually, it's not “almost,” it's “definitely.”

When I am told to teach my kids about a sexual orientation that Kirk Cameron calls “unnatural,” I have issues. When I am having someone else's opposing morality crammed down my throat, there's an issue here. If I, as a parent, do not have paramount authority as to what my kids are being taught—no matter what the school context—people, we are on the slippery slope of pre-World War II Germany. And when my faith and convictions are being thrown aside for want of a loud, belligerent minority, I wonder—I really wonder—who is being intolerant?

I suggest, if nothing else, a good compromise would be the co-existence of our respective moralities. I can let people live their way, whether I agree with it or not: Just let me live my way, especially as a responsible, moral parent that wants the best for my child.

But to legislate content, that has a strong anti-faith, anti-rational bias, is the depth of spongy totalitarianism. This is more than a typical home education rant; this goes beyond the private versus public school debate. There is just alarm for every parent in Alberta.

This, people, is a fight for personal rights for every parent in this province, no matter what the issue is. You can fill in the blank for your family, but the individual example is not the issue here. The issue at stake is the individual freedom and democratic liberty that is being stolen from right under our noses by a Conservative (but perhaps not so conservative) government.

You will want to stay tuned to every form of media that has the courage to deal with this. The battle is far from over; in fact, it's only heating up. And I'll make sure I turn the other cheek in all my dealings with those who don't agree with me.

I read that in the Good Book, too, though I don't know if I'm allowed to say that anymore.

Foremost on my Mind: Isn't Grandparenting Grand?

There are few professions or callings that require as little training than that of a grandparent. This became perfectly clear to me, once again, when I spent some time recently up at Edmonton. While I do have grand-kids in Edmonton, my initial reason for heading north in the dead of winter was to lend my support to the voices courageous defenders of educational freedom.

I was one of the 500 + souls that braved the cold to say “No” to Section 16 of the new Education Act, Bill 2.

On that note, while I am very much in the home education camp, supporters of Christian education, Catholic education, and even public education, should have been there, too. At least I made an attempt, and it was worth the trip to see and hear the Education Minister, Thomas Lukaszuk, and the Wildrose's education critic, Rob Anderson, in person.

It was also worth the effort to see two other special people in person, namely, Kilmeny (rhymes with 'harmony' and Khaira (pronounced 'ky-rah'). It's getting harder and harder to see them, then leave them, and it's going to get even harder in the years to come. Double that with two more grand-babies over yonder in Kamloops (hello, Ian and Jasmine, you cute things, you!), and one would have to be God-like (ie., omnipresent) in order to be everywhere at the same time.

Either that, or very wealthy and very retired.

I vowed I would never be like other grandparents who drop everything, at the first hint of a cold, or the first call for babysitting. That promise lasted, of course, until the first one had a cold and the other one needed babysitting. Well, I actually haven't dashed like I've wanted to, but I have had the irresistible urge to do so.

And that's my point: One doesn't learn to become a grandparent by studying for it; one learns to become a grandparent by simply being one. I don't know what latent chromosome kicks in at birth—the grandchild's, that is—but something kicked in instantaneously when Kilmeny was born. And then again, when Ian, Khaira, and Jasmine each entered my world.

As much as a wordsmith that I am, I cannot logically or coherently explain what that particular bond is. If I gave it a natural quality, I would describe it as glue. Like romance, it's real and powerful; but unlike romance, it's durable and steady.

I don't know how many times I've told all the grand-kids to stop looking at me with those big, inviting eyes. Every time they do that, I get the urge to splurge at Toys-R-Us, with a side trip to Calories-R-Us (also known as Dairy Queen) on the way back. There's just something about those pleading eyes that makes me go all silly.

Well, I've been silly lots of times, but at least now I have a reason.

Grand-kids have that redemptive quality about them. That is, when we are new parents, or parents that repeat the same stupid mistakes for twenty years, we have limited means whereby we can undo what we did wrong. But once grand-kids are in the picture, there is that sense of family redemption: We can salvage this new relationship, and even the old one can possibly be tweaked, if necessary.

I'm not sure, but I think it revolves around more time and more attention. It's clear to me that it doesn't revolve around more money and more things. For the most part, many of us have more money and more things these days, say, than our parents ever had, yet our collective family lives have never been worse. You'll never find any parent on his or her deathbed wishing they had given more money and more things to their kids; rather, they would have given more time and more attention.

That's where grandchildren can provide such a welcome relief to those of us who feel we should have or could have done a better job in raising their parents. Grandchildren, then, are not so much as an excuse to correct poor parenting, as they are a second chance to make up for lost time and attention.

And, by the way, Kilmeny, Khaira, Ian, and Jasmine: You are four reasons why I went to that brave rally the other day. Yes, I did it for my own kids, as well as for the homeschooling families that I oversee; and for my own wide, wide circle of friends who have kids or will have kids. I don't want to be guilty of not standing up for you (and them) when I had the opportunity.

And don't worry: I will be up to see you in Edmonton and Kamloops soon. Hopefully it shouldn't take an educational rally to make me come back to see you. But either way, maybe we can stop by Dairy Queen on the way home.