Foremost on my Mind: Canada's History, Eh Plus?

Happy belated birthday, Canada! You don't look a day older than a 146-year-old kid! May you enjoy another 146 years or more.  I probably won't be around to celebrate your 300^th birthday, but, then again, maybe you won't be either—so take care of yourself.

 

I love this country, and I want to comment on Canada through the eyes of a Social Studies teacher--with a passing glance at geography, but with the main spotlight being on history.

 

We speak (and sing: “Four Strong Winds”) of Canada in terms of many geographic regions, and so we should. We have a wonderful mix of seas, mountains, prairies, along with flora and fauna, and seemingly limitless resource-based industries.

 

But when we turn to history we become become strangely silent. I have heard that Canada's history is boring. But perhaps it's because of boring presentations by the teacher or textbook.  I suggest here that Canada has, in fact, a fascinating history, and whoever questions that hasn't done their, er, homework.  If it takes a year in a classroom to teach Social Studies, there is no way I can do justice to this vast body of information in this scant column space.

 

History has always fascinated me, and I consider myself more of a history buff than a history authority. Where Mrs. Graham (my Socials 12 teacher, bless her heart) back in Richmond, BC, left gaps in the curriculum, Pierre Berton filled them in quite nicely, thanks.

 

The irony is not lost here, either: Where a teacher failed, a writer excelled—two dual callings on my own life.

 

Canada's history (or would that be Canada's History, formerly known as The Beaver?—witty aside, Maurice) is replete with all the drama of any country with a 500-year-old past. Which is quite phenomenal, considering our nation is just a child among adults in the global family. Our history has all the essential ingredients of any other exciting country (more, actually, I would posit): intrigue, suspense, mystery, grief, heroism, venture, innovation, and so on.

 

I like Canada's history because it reveals a country that has welcomed people from every corner of the globe (not sure how a round earth has square corners).  Canada has encouraged people of all faiths, skills, and ethnicities to settle here and make a life (not just a living) within its boundaries.

 

In terms of recent history, which in reality could be up to the start of this column, the Canada I was raised in was a country bent on tolerance, diversity, and progress. For example, the rich history of the French-British dichotomy must be acknowledged, not denied; local realities would encourage other second languages, of course, depending on the region. I personally don't speak French and never will, but we must recognize their role in the founding of this nation.

 

Canada's history has a few blemishes, of course, like the growing pains of any child. We should never live in denial, on the one hand, nor continue to pummel ourselves, on the other hand, for our catastrophic decisions. Catastrophic decisions, you ask?

 

Let me name a few, sparing as much detail as possible:

 

The trial and hanging of Louis Riel. The cultural ghettos of First Nations. The handling of the Ukrainians and Japanese, during and after WWI and WWII, respectively. The chaotic immigration and multiculturalism of federal policies. The bloody murder of innocent humans (euphemistically called “abortion”).

 

These are just starters and are seriously close to my heart. It might shock my left-wing “friends” where I come down on these historical gaffes. So, just to whet your appetite, let me spell a couple out: I find it reprehensible at any level to segregate people because of skin colour or ethnic background. And in my opinion, Riel should never have been killed, Indian reservations should never have been created, and all foreigners rounded up during the world wars should never have suffered permanent financial losses.  And lastly, I  suggest that any country that kills its own children will never survive.

 

Disagreeing with past political mistakes should not be fodder for present social upheaval. But it is a basis whereby we make sure we don't repeat them. The clock can't be turned back, if you will, but we can re-set it. Time marches on, but always in a forward manner. We cannot re-visit the past, but we certainly can learn from it.

 

That's why we need to study history. Even Canada's history.

 

 

 

---

Foremost on mt Mind: Hazy Days of Summer

There are few expressions in this world that evoke as much feeling as the words, “summer holidays.” I place them up there with, “happy birthday,” “Christmas morning,” and “the Flames just won the Stanley Cup.”

Okay, I exaggerate, but three out of four isn't bad.

But the summer holidays are really in a league of their own, as there are two distinct camps—two distinct players, if you want to work with that metaphor. There are two opposing views when it comes to those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer (that is actually a song, Maurice).

On the one hand, we have teachers and all other classroom-related professionals; and on the other hand hand, the parents—actually, it would be specifically the mother. For the former, summer holidays represent a lighter schedule, quieter days, and fewer late nights. If things aren't much different for them, it's of their own choosing. And for the latter, it's a heavier schedule, louder days, and many late nights—with none of their own choosing.

There are norms that we docile, compliant parents have assumed to be correct and acceptable, with limited opportunities to challenge or tweak. But said norms should be at least discussed. For instance, who says we have to go to school from September to June? Who decreed it to be five days a week? And do we have any room or time to discuss curriculum? (No, not at this point.)

The thriving homeschool movement, of course, has laid bare many of the frailties of the day school system. It has, I suppose, some inherent weaknesses, but for the most part, it has been a terrific alternative to the status quo. But this is not a discussion on the merits of home education, as many as there are.

This is simply a comment on the way we acquiesce to educational traditions without so much as a squawk—summer holidays being one of them. It is assumed that late June to very early September is the normal slot for taking time off school. It is assumed that that slot must be filled with family vacations, week-long camps, fun in the sun, and even an occasional job.

And I have little problem with that for the most part.

But it's stimulating to at least take a token step backward and see if there is a better way to use our time—not just during the summer months, but year-round. If I were the Minister of Education, for instance, for the Wild Rose party, I would be open to looking at year-round school, more regular breaks (with a shorter summer break), greater trade or skills initiative for those in the final three high school grades—for starters.

Summer holidays—today's topic--would then come under closer scrutiny. I think of the plight of working moms (isn't that redundant?) who now have kids to worry about. I think of the dads who are on guilt trips to take holidays at the end of July—especially when we all know that September is the best month to take off. And I think of the kids themselves, who are bored stupid by the end of July.

Does anyone get the impression I don't think the holidays, in their present format, aren't working? Good.

At best, without any really serious analysis, it would be good to re-examine how we do summer holidays, for the following reasons:

1. Schools wouldn't sit so empty for so long. I know certain projects can only be done when the kids aren't present, but most can be done while they are. It seems like a waste of utilities and space to have these buildings as vacant for as long as they do.

2. There wouldn't be the same pressure on parents to try to fill up the weeks and months. It would be two weeks here, two weeks there—just long enough for parents, students, and teachers to chill, re-connect, then head back to the proverbial coal mines. It would also be easier to get away throughout the year, without competing with other families for that special camping spot or inexpensive hotel room. Obviously, there would have to be staggered breaks throughout the system.

3. The brain drain--used in another context, I know—wouldn't be so apparent. Mental entropy wouldn't set in like it does now. Batteries much be in constant use, else they lose their power. Likewise, the human mind needs to be regularly “charged.” When kids are not being challenged or stimulated for long periods of time, there tends to be measurable regression.

4. The same could be said for teachers: They would likewise be able to take breaks throughout the year, without dragging themselves through ten months of arduous output, not including summer prep at one end, and summer wind-up at the other. Whether they do anything during that break is their call; just taking a breather from the daily grind would be therapeutic enough.

Lazy idea? Probably. Hazy idea? For sure. But mostly a crazy idea—just like summer holidays themselves.

Foremost on my Mind: Dads!

Two days ago we celebrated Father's Day, in one form or another. It's possibly the one day of the year many of us take time out to acknowledge our fathers in a special way. I'm hoping it's more frequent than that, but at least the calendar (and the card shops, and the malls, and the radio ads)—to say nothing of societal pressure—says it's Father's Day.

Obviously, in a world as upside down as ours, there are various ways to celebrate the big day, as there are various dads to celebrate it for.

A brief grammar lesson is in order here: There are dads who are verbs and dads who are nouns. The difference? Under normal circumstances, any male can “father” a child—that would be the verb dad, a word of action. However, it takes a special man to be a father to a child (or children). That would be the noun part of this lesson.

I suggest we have far too many of the verb version and and not enough of the noun version.

Let's look at the fathers we all had. Some we treasured because they were around and engaged; others were never there, or at least seemed that way, in part, because they were so consumed with putting food on the table that they never ever put sustenance for the soul. They had better relationships with clients who were strangers than with their own kids.

The rest of our dads fell somewhere in between.

My own father has been gone for over twenty years. He was part of that generation (eg., old enough to fight in World War II) that had a certain leadership style in the home. My generation, on the other hand, has a different approach to fathering. The next generation, well, they're different again.

But through all the surface differences, I do see some distinct similarities that mark all fathers. These are in part because of how we are wired--”created,” many would say. Here are some broad stroke comments on just a few of them:

1. Every father has limitations. We are human, just like mothers. We have never fathered before, will never father again, so we have only one chance at this. Sometimes we try so hard with our first two or three, that we come across as too harsh or possessive. By the time we get down to the youngest, we tend to be too soft, perhaps even too distant.

I know it's a bit of a joke, but sometimes we can do with our grandchildren what we failed to do with our children. By the time the grand kids come around, we have more time, more money, more know-how than we did the first time around.

2. Every father has hopes. No father wakes up each morning, scheming how to mess with his kids' heads, or how to thwart their progress. No, every father generally sees that individual child possessing the potential for greatness, glory, and success. At least that's what he hopes for. Many times--far too many times, in fact--he is unable to express said hopes in words and actions. That breakdown leads to exasperation with both parties.

3. Every father has resistance. When was the last time you watched a television show, especially a comedy, and saw the dad cast in a positive light? How about custody cases? Have you ever heard the term, “deadbeat mom”? (Didn't think so.) While I agree with the trend that the mothers are the most natural caregivers for the children, we need to err on the side of caution before we arbitrarily dismiss the importance of the father in the lives of the children.

4. Every father has significance. Beyond providing for the welfare of the family through steady, meaningful employment, dads have a myriad of tasks and roles to fill. Simply “being there” is likely the greatest of them all. I won't give you an inventory list of what makes a good dad, but I suggest that serving the family by training, leading, and supporting, is a good place to start.

I am not denying the pain caused by abusive dads for a moment. Nor am I ignoring the grief caused by dads who weren't characterized by the above comments. I am simply making some broad stroke observations. I am clearly aware of what happens when girls don't get the attention from the one man they need it from the most; I am likewise aware of the alarming stats that show what happens to boys coming from fatherless homes.

That's why dads, the church, and the government (in that order, no less), should be exerting more effort to keep families together, rather than allowing for easy divorce, common law relationships, or anything else that would grease the skids of absentee and disengaged fathers.

So, dads, I hope you had a great Father's Day on Sunday For that matter, I trust you can make every day a father's day.

Foremost on my Mind: B'Cing Ya

A recent trip to BC (see a recent column) brought back a lot of good memories for the times and places where I used to live. You may not know any of the following places, but they were ports of call along the cruise of life for me and mine: Burnaby, 100-Mile House, Kamloops, and Abbotsford.

Those four places were mailing addresses for the first twenty-one years our married life.

They would have also included three jobs and eight kids along the way. By 2002, I had seen the light, so to speak, and shifted east to southern Alberta, where the wind blows, bawls, and bellows only twice a week—Sunday through Wednesday and Thursday through Saturday.

Trips back to BC always come with a little baggage, and I'm not talking about the suitcases in the back seat. It's called memories. You see, I loved living in Kamloops and would move back there in a heartbeat. 100-Mile house had its own definite appeal, with the other two places tied for fourth. (Yes, Maurice, I can count: I'm just trying to make a statement.)

There were different appeals for BC's interior, especially in what they call the Thompson-Nicola Valley: the very mild evenings, from early April through to early October, the moderate winters (read: fluffy, not heavy, snow), and the close proximity (isn't that redundant?) to the lower mainland, the Okanagan Valley, and the rest of central BC.

And trees and mountains.

That would be trees, as in big, tall, gangly things that stick out of the ground absolutely everywhere, providing shade, windbreak, and aesthetics. And that would be mountains, as in two to three times the size of the Sweetgrass hills—and lots of them. While they are not everywhere, they seemed to be everywhere—especially on the way to BC. If you're weak on your geography, think in terms of Kicking Horse Pass, Rogers Pass, Idident Pass, and Days Long Pass. (Actually, scratch the last two: just trying to be witty.)

I have been asked at certain junctures in my life (recent house fire and grandchildren, for starters), if I would ever move back to BC. On the surface, of course, that is a dumb (yet sincere) question. Alberta is my home, and I feel I have been here for much longer than a mere eleven years. God willing (can I still say that in Canada?), I plan to die here.

But below the surface, I don't think that's a really bad question. After all, my roots are there, my sports allegiance is there, and most of my (and my wife's) family is there. So why wouldn't I at least consider moving back to BC?

Part of the draw to BC, as mentioned before, would be the trees and the mountains. But there are lots of tree and hills (not mountains) throughout in Alberta. However, if I lived somewhere along the foothills (of said mountains), then I would get both the trees and the mountains—and stay in Alberta, to boot.

But beyond the borderline topographical advantage (or would that be topographical borderline?), I can't think of any compelling reason to move west. As much as I like to be succinct, I don't know if I can actually spell out, or sum up my feelings or reasons, for staying put here.

In other words, how does the wild rose trump the dogwood for me?

If I could put it in a word or two, I would simply say “good people.” There is a quality of people—from the multi-generational ranchers and farmers to the Mennonites, from the professionals to the merchants—that have formed a certain cultural fabric that has grabbed me. There are certain lifestyles and values that I have found unparalleled elsewhere. I'm sure they exist elsewhere; I just haven't experienced them over there.

Recent house calls for my home education business underscore this. Likewise, recent business dealings at the local gas station, the septic tank guy, the bank, and the...well, you get the picture. There is a quality of life here in the deep south of Alberta that I wouldn't trade for anywhere else.

Now if there was some way we could have forests scattered throughout the south, and plunk the odd mountain here and there, this would be, in the words of John Denver, “almost heaven.”