Foremost on my Mind: Is There Life After Life?

Have you ever wondered if there is life after...life? There are certain religious philosophies that embrace something called “reincarnation.” (And, Maurice, if you really want to impress the women, call it “metempsychosis.” But why on earth would you want to discuss rebirth with women is beyond me.)

I won't go into the fallacy of such a philosophy, because, frankly, I don't have the liberty to turn this page into a pulpit. I will state briefly, however, that my understanding is that life begins at conception and should be lived to its fullest until the point of death. After the door of death, evangelicals understand that there is an eternal existence on a whole new plain, either for better or worse. (Hope I got away with a token theology, without compromising my integrity.)

So, no, while I don't believe I'm coming back in another form, I must admit that I do speculate about it betimes.

So let's fantasize together with for a few moments. You see, all the things I think I'm missing during my present life, I would like to incorporate in my new one. I think I would like to be taller, smarter, fitter, and maybe even richer. And, of course, that would make me happier, wouldn't it? (Can you hear the sizzling sarcasm?)

True or not, you must admit that it makes good copy for a column.

Close to home, that's the message we get when we watch television commercials, isn't it? “Drink this beer and the babes will flock your way” (sex); “take these supplements and you will live a much better life” (health); “chase this scheme, then watch the money pour in” (wealth).

It's instant reincarnation, without the going out, then coming back—but it's all a big pipe dream.

We tend to fall prey to such tempting tripe. The grass is always greener on the other side (but no, it's still just grass). “Ifonly” (a corruption of the words 'if only') feeds the restless ego like coal feeds a fire: If only my parents had given me more advantages when I was a kid; if only I was raised with fewer siblings; if only I was taller,smarter, fitter, richer, and so on. I call that disease “ifonlyitis.”

But when we realize that the “if only” component will never kick in, then we fall prey to the dream of another life—coming back to earth in a new and improved form.

At this point of the conversation (I know we're not really talking here, but it makes me sound like an intellectual), I would say something like “we still have it better than our parents,” or “we are still better off than our parents.” Part of that is true: We have more things and toys, to be sure, but I challenge the notion that we are substantially better off than our respective Moms and Dads.

The incessant greed that marks most of us Baby Boomers and X-generation is proof that we are not necessarily better off than the previous generation. In the things that matter most, we certainly are not. Many of our marriage do not last as long; and if they do last, they are not marked the mutual love and respect that many of us saw in our folks.

I know there are exceptions, but they are, well, just exceptions.

And the same can be said about family life: What I remember from pictures and conversations about family life in the 40's, 50's, and 60's, compared to the mess today that is called home, I want to gag. A messed up family today is a messed up society tomorrow—if not sooner. If we can't lead our families, we certainly can't lead our nation.

So, falling for the fallacy of life after life, in order to make up for this life's (apparent) shortfalls, is a heart cry for a change now. This is good, and a wise place to start. While there are some things we can never change—eg., height, ethnicity, parents and siblings—there are some that we can.   And should.

It won't happen in a make-believe life after life, coming back here as some cool guy or hot babe. It can and will only happen here and now.

No better way to finish this paper than with the famous Prayer of Serenity: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”

Foremost on my Mind: The "Ex" Generation

I have been around so long that, when I watch NHL hockey, I am now following the sons of the guys I used to watch when I was a kid. If that's not clear, let me try it from another angle: Today, we watch the Reinharts and Sutters, Suters and Parises, et al. I do too, but I watched guys with the same names thirty years ago—their fathers!

The same generational intrigue could be said of my students in the classroom: When I started, I was old enough to be their father; now ten, twenty years later, I am old enough to be their grandfather. If I teach another ten years, I, uh, I don't want to go there...

I am feeling, well, sort of disoriented these days, especially when it comes to the next generation. Margaret Thatcher's recent passing is just one more blip on the timeline of life. In my opinion, her successors haven't been up to her level,

I well remember her years in office, and the strength she brought to the free world, not just England. And her association with Ronald Reagan—arguably America's greatest president—was truly a glimmer of hope for the West, some thirty or so years ago.

My musings today are along the lines of generational shifts and lines of succession. Just wondering out loud if the next generation (in most segments) is up to snuff, when compared to the previous one.

In addition to Thatcher, may I remind you of the recent passing of Ralph Klein (former mayor of Calgary and premier of Alberta), George Beverly Shea (veteran Gospel singer), and Art Phillips (former mayor of Vancouver, BC, when I was a lot younger).

Were they flawless leaders? Hardly. Did I agree with all their policies? Are you kidding? But there was a certain confidence and courage they exuded, coupled with character, that is becoming a rare commodity in leaders these days. At least we knew where they stood, agree or disagree.

These deaths remind me first of a simpler, more naive era of my life (as I look back), and of my own mortality (as I look ahead). Furthermore, I really feel they were a generation of leaders who were men and women of integrity and character, men and women of moxie and grit, that we rarely see the likes of today.

So when I see what's coming down the pipe--the next generation, and, if I last long enough, the one after that--that scares the you-know-what out of me. Regardless of whatever sphere in which we find this next generation, I am not particularly encouraged.

In terms of these former statesmen (okay, states-persons, states-humans, whatever), we can all disagree with their policies and politics, I'm sure. But they carried themselves in such a way that demanded respect. I can't say that about the leaders that have followed. Just pick your party or your country, and the proof is in the pudding.

Back to England for a moment, please: Rogues and anarchists all over England celebrated Mrs. Thatcher's death a week or so ago. Freedom of expression, a hallmark of a democratically-free country, has been somehow equated with anarchy. The irony is not lost here: Because of Dame Thatcher's policies—not despite them, as they would ignorantly argue—they had the freedom to cavort and vandalize. It's a wonder they weren't shot.

It would have been enlightening to see that take place in North Korea when its last president died. His

successor—his son, an immature and childish clown of a leader--is a classic example of next generation leadership inferiority. (Maurice, that means that he is worse than his late father, who was worse than his father.)

What I write about is not new. When I was young and trying to reach my generation with the good news using a different paradigm, I’m sure there were church leaders who wondered about my antics. But a different approach, a different style, is, well, different than a complete loss of respect for the foundational norms of any free society.

What one generation may do in moderation, the next may (not necessarily will) do in excess. Things that have come hard for one generation tend to be cherished, protected, and valued; the inverse is frequently true for the next. We see the same model in business: Grandpa establishes it through blood, sweat, and tears; father expands it somewhat; but grandson squanders it.

I need to settle down and go watch some old fashioned hockey. You know, the type that came out thirty years ago.

Foremost on my Mind: Ageless Wonder

A few years ago I was up at a park near Brooks, along with some of my younger boys. A well-meaning

gentleman saw me with my kids and wanted to know if all three were my grandchildren, and did I have more somewhere else. Needless to say, he was embarrassed to learn that they were not my grandkids, and no, I didn't have any more anywhere else.

That has all changed within the past three years, I am happy to say. I am also happy to say that my new role in life (that would be “Poppa” to you) has now caught up with my “mature” looks. It's the being married to a grandmother that is still a little hard to comprehend...

You see, one of the greatest joys in life these past three years has been the safe and healthy arrival of four grandchildren. To date, two of our nine kids are married, and from their respective unions, they have two kids each.

One family lives west of here, the other lives east—very east of here. In fact, you couldn't get any “easter”--or at least that's how I think one would describe Nova Scotia.

There are reams of information on love and dating, marriage manners, raising cute kids and temperamental teens, and other family-related books. To date—and I admit, I haven't looked too hard—I am not aware of many books on how to be a good grandparent.

Indeed, there are books for people who reach the grandparent age—anything from graceful ageing, health tips, financial advice, and such. But I don't recall seeing anything that gives tips on grandparenting.

Just in case you think I am gearing up for a sales pitch about a new book I'm working on, forget it. I do have a few books I'm working on, but recommendations for raising the next generation once-removed isn't one of them.

There isn't a plethora of pointers for parenting grandkids is because, quite frankly, I don't think it's necessary. And it's not necessary for a couple of reasons.

One, I didn't need any lesson in how to love Kilmeny, Khaira, Ian, or Jasmine. Even when I heard of their conception, I can sincerely say that I started to love them. At their respective births, I was over the moon. And through these past three years—what with so much upheaval in my life—one constant has been the inexpressible joy that these kids have brought.

Said love comes without any prompting, pushing, or programming.

Two, I didn't need any lesson in how to behave around Kilmeny, Khaira, Ian, and Jasmine. If I had issues with language, drinking, smoking, temper, or whatever, the last thing I would want to do is corrupt those sweet little things. I don't have these struggles, but if I did, these kids would curb them big time. I don't need anyone to lay guilt trips on me as to the evils of certain vices around kids.

In other words, I wouldn't do anything within my power to do damage—emotional, physical, moral, or whatever—to those children. Their simple presence has a natural restraining influence on me, without me having to try.

Obviously, it's not all milk and honey having grandkids. I fret far more than I care to admit about the shape of the world these kids will grow up in. I thought the world that I raised my kids in was different enough than the one I was raised in. Now it will be even that much more different again, for this next generation.

From my perspective, I have serious struggles with shifts within every segment of society that Kilmeny, Khaira, Ian, and Jasmine will face. From work to play, from toys to tools, from finances to education, from values to vices, the culture is re-inventing itself so rapidly that it makes me shudder.

Thus, one of my roles as a grandparent is to provide some sort of constant, stabilizing presence in their respective hearts and minds. Despite the massive societal reshaping that is so pervasive, these kids—and hopefully more someday—must have the complete assurance that I am there for them.

That means I will be there to laugh and play with them, listen and talk with them—that is, support them anyway I can. That, for me, would also include the spiritual dimension: I need to pray with them and for them.

I don't know if you have met them yet. Their names are Kilmeny, Khaira, Ian, and Jasmine. Or did I mention their names already? Sometimes we doting grandparents can get carried away, you know.

Foremost on my Mind: This is News

I don't know who had more media play these past couple of weeks, Pope Francis and King Iggy (aka Jerome Iginla, former Calgary Flame). Being neither Catholic nor Calgarian, I'm rather indifferent. (I say that as reverently as possible, as I do have a love for God and hockey—and in that order, by the way.)

In the former, it was the pope did this, the pope did that; he was here, he was there; he bent down, he stood up. You'd think we were talking about Justin Bieber and his pet monkey. Somewhere in the media frenzy there was a novelty angle that Pope Francis was the first pontiff from South America, followed by the intrigue of a humble pope who paid his own hotel room.

And that's news?

Then there was the Calgary Flames-to-Boston Bruins, er, Pittsburgh Penguins trade, in which the veteran winger was traded for two prospects, a draft pick, and a bag of pucks (just kidding). Miss Iggy (just a shot at those who denigrate two of the best NHL players, the Sedin “Sisters”) was virtually eulogized and feted for his years spent in a Flames uniform. Just for the record, he will make more money in this strike-shortened season than most of us will earn in a lifetime. And with the way Pittsburgh is loading up, there is a very good chance he will finally win the coveted grail of hockey, the Stanley Cup.

So that's news, too?

But while we're parked here between the pontiff and the player, let's talk about a study in contrasts! We have the spiritual leader of the Catholic world, versus one of the obvious leaders in the hockey world; we have poverty versus wealth; and we have someone chosen because he still has some life in him, and the other one because, well, he too still has some life left in him—even though they are probably 40 years apart.

In the days after Pope Francis was chosen, I still had to feed the cows, wash the dishes, run a classroom, etc. Ditto for the days after Jerome was sent packing to Pittsburgh: I still put my shoes on one foot at a time, still had to face full day of demands of the day, still had the answer the phone.

Nothing really changed significantly for me, and quite possibly for millions of other common people who call this planet home.

You might have gathered by now that this column is not so much about Pope Francis or Jerome Iginla. Rather, it's about what the media considers news. And in the case of these two gentlemen, their promotions were newsworthy—just not that newsworthy.

While I am a columnist-blogger-writer, I really do not consider myself a journalist, per se. What I do here on this page is on a week-by-week basis, not a daily occupation—a contractor, not a media employee, if you will. So when I speak of the media, I speak in the third person, using terms like “them” and “they”--not “us” and “we.”

Media relations, however, have always intrigued me and I sometimes consider myself a failed broadcaster (spoken), even a failed journalist (written). In other words, those are jobs I would have really enjoyed. Teaching has been great, and I feel very much at home in a classroom, but sometimes I think coulda, woulda, shoulda...

Those are the days I want to make a difference, via the news we hear and read. And that's why I tend to get quite critical of the news we hear and read—this newspaper notwithstanding. I am targeting the major media outlets, Canada- and worldwide.

It seems every time I pick up a paper or read the Internet, the news is gloomy, sensational, or edgy. Okay, that sells copies, and copies sell advertising, and advertising takes care of the overhead. No real problem with that model, so far.

My main beef with the media is regarding the constructiveness of the news. Do we ever read about the good things going on all over Africa? No. Do we ever hear of those celebrity couples that are staying together? Hardly. Do we ever see stories about the financial successes of the small businesses, and their immeasurable contribution to the economy? Rarely.

No one—at least not at this laptop—is suggesting we stick our collective heads in the sand and ignore the dangers of a teetering world economy that is out of control, of racial tension that won't go away, of a health and education crisis that will come to a head sooner rather than later. No, I am simply calling for little balance in the content, that's all.

I say—and hopefully, you say—that we report all news honestly and accurately. I am simply suggesting that we look for really good news stories that could fill our pages and screens. And if that includes articles about a brand-new pontiff or a brand-new Penguin, so be it.

Let's just hear more about the successes of the everyday working class man or woman. Let's get more items of interest that give us a fresh perspective, courage, hope, and energy.

Maybe even a good story about the holy grail, no matter what shape it comes in.