Something on my Mind: I like Rainbows

Rainbows can mean different things to different people, so my reasons may be different from yours. Read on for a slight twist.

One of the reasons is that when I see them, I know the rain is finished. Where I come from (BC), I saw a lot of rainbows, because, you guessed it, there was a lot of rain.

Need I remind you that I used to live on the Pacific Wet Coast?

And there's something fantastic about rainbows, and I use that word correctly. In other words, there is some sort of “fantasy” associated with stripes in the sky. We see rainbow and we think pot of gold; we count the colours and we think of a cosmic paintbrush.

But most of us today have no idea as to the historical, ancient roots of this natural phenomenon, which is the real reason I like rainbows.

There is a record in the Good Book that lays it out quite simply.  I assume that many readers, at least in the next generation, will have limited or no understanding of the term, the Great Flood. Well, the last time I checked, this means that over 200 legends about a global flood: That would be over two hundred various cultures and people groups throughout the world (none of them faith-based, by the way) that have recorded that a catastrophic event took place at a certain point in their history.

Not only at a certain point, but all point to around the same point in time.

The account would involve a boat, a small family, and, you guessed it, a rainbow. Not one of those cultural legends would dispute the details of this event, nor the far-reaching effect of the global flood (aka Great Flood) that covered the earth.

Got to stop there, or else I'll get preaching about how sea creatures ended up on mountains, what the connection is between the global flood and the ice age, and the seemingly inexplicable spread of dinosaur bones all over the world—all because of this deluge.

I can bet you that you likely never heard a reasonable account of the above in school or the media. Tragically enough, you may never have heard it in church, either.

Speaking of church, let me get off my pulpit and back to the keyboard.

In a nutshell, the rainbow stands for a divine promise, namely, the world shall never be overwhelmed by a flood again. Local floods, sure; global flood, never. And guess what? That promise has held true for the past 10,000 years.

Now, this historical event and divine promise has now become a symbol for something else. And not just something different, but something very opposite to its original intention. The words associated with it include diversity, tolerance, and unity. Intriguing words, but maybe just a little misleading. And I may add: quite ironic, in the sense that those words were implicit in the original expression.

My questions are: Diversity to what extent? Tolerance of whom? Unity on what basis?

As a wordsmith, I get really cranky when a word is given a different meaning, and then really cranky when it is given the opposite meaning. It's not playing fair, in my books.

Recent visitors to my home told me that there's a move afoot (no pun intended) in Edmonton to paint rainbows on their crosswalks. This would be public money used in a public venue,to honour a vocal minority, yet without public input. It's another way to “celebrate” diversity, tolerance, and unity.

I find what they're celebrating alarming.

If we believe in diversity, let's put symbols of children or crosses or cows on the crosswalks, to show the wide variety of lifestyles and worldviews. If we believe in tolerance, is there any room for dialogue on this matter, or do these initiatives get rushed through before the common citizen can discuss it? And in terms of unity, are we of one voice on this matter or does this action reflect the views of just a select few?

So now a divine promise has becomes a humanist badge; a covenant to all has become a symbol representing a few. I hope I don't sound like a so-called religious, moral bigot, which I'm not.

The rainbow speaks of a diversity of divine mercy; the promise for a flood-free world applies to all, not just some. The rainbow also speaks of a tolerance for the differences in each of us. And finally, it speaks of a unity of common race, the human race; we're all one underneath our skin.

A rainbow is indeed a wonderful symbol, but maybe not quite the one that we are now being led to believe.

 

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Something on my Mind: Oh (My) Canada!

In the sixty (plus) years that I have lived in Canada, I have seen many changes in my home and native land. It would take two or three columns just to lay them out.

There have been many trivial, subtle changes, and there have been some momentous ones. Some have been for good, others have not been for good. Some are based on fact, others on fiction.

Note: Do you see the quintessential Canadian way I just expressed my opinion without threatening to kill anyone who disagrees with me?

In my early years, for example, there were only two Canadian teams in the NHL. Now there are five (or seven, if you consider the Oilers and Maple Leafs professional hockey teams).

In those early years, there were only a few universities and colleges, more well-defined moral parameters, no or limited Internet, and Five Guys Burgers and Fries was a pipe dream.

Today we have more post-secondary institutions (but are we smarter?), we have lower moral standards, and enough fast food joints to fill a fleet of Titanics.

I have spent enough years teaching about Canada (and its very riveting history) that I can say we have a very invigorating past. And I have spent some time both stateside and overseas to know that we have a fortunate present. Anyone who thinks otherwise is welcome to a one-way ticket to Bosnia.

One of the goals of every genuine Canadian should be to keep it that way. We can maintain a stable future so long as we pull together, and do not stoop to religious, cultural, and/or moral entitlement.

Any religious, cultural, or moral harassment should be dealt with accordingly, though that could be a real Pandora's box. That is, in terms of religion, culture, and morality, who's right? That could be a column for the ages

While we each may think we're right, any disagreement to the point of abuse, ostracism, or even harm, is unacceptable. It's just not how we do it in Canada—and we should keep it that way.

The question begs: “What is Canada?” or better, “What is Canadian?” If I think strictly in a symbolic sense, I would say the RCMP Musical Ride, maple syrup, ice hockey, and the word “eh”--a serious over-simplification, to be sure.

The Canada that I want to live in for the next thirty years is the one I want to leave for my kids and grand-kids. It's the same one I used to know. It should be a Canada that respects and cherishes the lives and values of every individual. It should be a society that believes in the human rights of all individuals, not just the least, the left, or the loud.

It would involve a genuine Charter of Rights alright, but for all Canadians, not just the privileged few.

I envision a Canada that embraces the simple values of yesteryear as it faces tomorrow. Back in the so-called Dark Ages (ie., when I was a kid), we had genuine freedom of speech, freedom from fear, and freedom to worship. We need to get a grip on those intrinsic values once again.

When I enter a marriage, a job, or any other relationship, my primary task is to make sure I am committed to it it, make improvements upon it, and use it as a positive force for the overall good. The same principle applies to my country.

The people who helped establish this country did that. They came in with the point of view that this was now their country and they were going to make the best of it. They would be our grandparents and their peers, something I also see in so many (but not all) immigrants even today.

They entered the land of opportunity and decided to do everything in their power to make it work.

There is a place for differences of religious, cultural, or moral perspective. There's a side of me, I must admit, that wishes everyone was evangelical, English-speaking, and faith-based. I don't think it's a stretch to wish that, even write that. Can I express that without coming across as a bigot? I hope so; I know in the Canada I once knew I could.

However, in today's politically-correct, multicultural environment, almost everything is tolerated—unless you hold to an “old-fashioned” evangelical, English-speaking, faith based perspective.

I like the parts of big cities that are given over to certain groups of people; I love the parades that celebrate the ethnicity of this group, or traditions of that group. I have stated this positively in many ways and in many columns for years.

Where I draw the line is with their food: Serve it all you like, but don't make me eat it! I think that position would make make me fussy, not racist.

So happy birthday, Canada. You're looking a little worn these days, but aren't we all?

 

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Something in my Mind: My Father Who is in Heaven

Today's column is more of a musing on fatherhood than anything else. My own dad has been “gone” for over twenty-two years and there is rarely a week that I don't regret that I didn't him things I should have told him when he was alive.

How did Joni Mitchell sing it, “You don't know what you have till it's gone”?

He had a lot of faults, I suppose, but at this stage of my life, I can't remember any of them. We didn't connect at every level, but we did on the essentials, namely, a faith foundation, a work ethic, and a stable home. I think our world would be a whole lot better if we had more fathers like him (and his generation). Of course, I never thought that growing up.

I didn't know that parenting would be so tough as it has been these past few years. I thought raising nine little kids on a limited income was tough, but I was unprepared for the teen years. There seems to be no recipe, no template, no switch, for the role of “dadhood.”

We fathers must learn either by the seat of pants or through the models of those have gone before us, or both. Tight timeline, but we've only got one go at this.

My dad raised his four sons, starting in the late 1940s; that would make me #1, if you're counting from the bottom up. His world looked very, very different from mine today. Back then, there were no smart phones, iPads, and Internet; the media and the arts were less blatant, careless, and immoral; and we saw a far greater sense of harmony between schools, churches, homes, and communities.

I don't think I can summarize the key differences between the world that he raised his sons in and the one I'm raising mine in in one word , but if I tried, it would be “disconnect.” That is, there is a far greater disconnect between people everywhere, starting with those living under the same roof.

Back in the '50s and '60s, the nuclear family was the norm; that is, a dad and mom, and a good-sized herd of kids. Today, it looks like a nuclear bomb hit the family. Parental rights have been undermined (nowhere more than in education), and traditional marriage is held in contempt.

Dads, in particular, are under attack more than ever. They are portrayed as supreme dolts in too many shows and movies. Their authority is questioned more than ever. Feminism has failed in protecting women, but it certainly has succeeded in demeaning fathers in the home.

I would be the first to admit that many dads have failed, including yours truly, but the media has persistently and publicly derided dads, something that is totally unacceptable.

While I never was very close to my dad, I never questioned his authority. I understood our roles: he, dad; me, son. My transition, then, into the real world was made easy, because “dad” became “teacher,” “boss,” or ”officer.” Far too much many young people have never learned to submit properly to authority, and this has impaired their educational and vocational development.

My dad brought a certain parenting model into the family, just as I have taken his and brought it into my family. Nevertheless, I still hold to my general premise that it's tougher being a dad today than it was a generation ago.

I had fewer competitive voices to contend with in my dad's home than my sons do (and did) in my home. I have already alluded to the cacophony of the media, arts, economics, and politics. To be sure, some of these noises can be and have been used for good; unfortunately, those have been few and far between.

There is a very precise science of statistics that shows the correlation of the positive influence of fathers on their sons, who, in turn, become successful students, law-abiding citizens, and contributors to a stable populace. Take dads out of the equation, through various demands, desertion, divorce, and disinterest, and there will be a far greater chance of persistent failures, mindless thugs, and maladjusted kids. A generation of losers, you might say, but only through some fault of their own.

When dads do what dads are designed to do, we have a better society. When they are operating at full-speed, marriages work better. And when marriage works, the family thrives. When the family thrives, communities are better and safer, more stable and more successful.

Did you wish your dad a Happy Father's Day two days ago? I hope you could. That is, I hope he's still alive for you to do so; I also hope he was a good enough dad for you to want to. Fatherhood can be a thankless job these days, believe me, so an occasional word of thanks would be in order.

This is not a pie-in-the-sky, in-the-sweet-by-and-by wish. It's part of an overall divine design.

We need to get back to the blueprint and start-re-building fatherhood that way it was meant to be.

 

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Something on my Mind: Those Dumb Mennonites

Great, got your attention. Now read what I really want to say.

There are Catholics and then there are Catholics. There are hamburgers and then there are hamburgers. There are schools and then there are schools.

And in the context of today's column, there are Mennonites and then there are Mennonites.

I write this because the Mennonite culture is very close to my heart. And some times I take it personally when I hear negative things said about them—even if some of them might be remotely true.

We English (ie., non-Mennonite) tend to stereotype our German friends from Mexico, Belize, and Bolivia. We rag on them for their clothing, customs, and culture. We denounce them for their limited English skills (which is often their third language, by the way), for their contempt for education (at least the book-learning sort), and their clannishness (oh, is there something wrong with hanging out friends and family?).

Guess what: Some of that is true. Trouble is, not all of it is, and that's my beef.

I call that treatment a soft (and sometime not-so-soft) form of prejudice, though very few of us would feel we're guilty of prejudice, especially against anyone with white skin. A teasing here, a mocking there, just part of our culture.

It's cultural profiling, so let's just go ahead and call it prejudice.

Maybe the “Mennonite” law that has been finally implemented in Taber comes to mind. It seems to be targeting a type of Mennonite, and so it probably should. Again, they're not all the same. Not all Mennonites bunch, spit, and vandalize—and that is essentially my point.

Regardless of the type of Mennonite, you know what they do for us: They rent our houses, buy our cars, populate our schools (public, private, and home), shop in our stores, and work on our farms.

On the contrary, they make a significant contribution to our economy.

I've said this before, but it bears repeating: Take the Mennonites (and temporary foreign workers, for that matter) out of the southern Alberta economy and it flounders. Please keep in mind that we (= English) are having smaller and smaller families, so we're not filling the schools any more—but they are. And for that matter, we're not filling the houses or shopping carts any longer—but they are. Be grateful for that, whether you're a fellow-consumer, retailer or producer—because they are.

I was recently in the house of a one of these so-called uneducated Mennonites. I wish I were so dumb. Everything was meticulous and modern, practical and precise. He and his wife designed it, built it, and now enjoy it. He wasn't there, of course, as he was out developing a thriving cement business and actively keeping up with the demand for quality workmanship.

To be sure, he may not be able to write a grammatically-correct paragraph, but he knows how to work, how to stay faithful to his wife and kids, and how to develop a career, usually in the trades. More than ever before in our province, it is these types of citizens that we need more of – not less of.

I could write his story many times over: Mennonites with a grade seven “education,” can hardly read English, but they are thriving tradespeople and business persons contributing to our society.

I wish I were so uneducated.

Don't misunderstand me: I am not whitewashing their skewed view of academics (though only on the part of some). I too am very concerned, even peeved, at their cavalier attitude towards school (though only on the part of some). But we must all agree that there is much, much more to life than rows, rote, and recess.

Many of my homeschool families are Mennonites. As I travel the province I am welcomed into their homes like a long lost friend. In fact, there are days I feel I should change my name to Funk (Funkston, maybe?). We hear many reports of their hospitality and have enjoyed the same ourselves.

My simple plaint is this: Don't lump them all together. The Mennonite law in Taber is targeted for a minority; the drug running done in Grassy Lake is by a minority; the wolf whistling in Bow Island is, well, you get the picture.

We should welcome them with open arms, not clenched fists.

 

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