Posted on July 11, 2019 under Storytelling with 2 comments

Oliver getting a few lessons in table hockey from great-grandfather, George

“The time you won your town the race,

We chaired you through the market place,

Man and boy stood cheering by,

And home we brought you shoulder- high.

 

Today, the road all runners come,

Shoulder-high we bring you home,

And set you at your threshold down,

Townsman of a stiller town.

 

To an Athlete Dying Young. A.E. Housman

Young people are supposed to outlive their parents, their grandparents, and their great -grandparents. Oliver Smith’s life was grounded just at the stage of life when it was due to take flight. He fought the valiant fight with Ewings Sarcoma but sadly succumbed to this deadly childhood cancer the day after his twelfth birthday.

Terry Fox suffered from a similar cancer called osteosarcoma and he eventually died in 1981 while crossing Canada. He was raising awareness and money for cancer research. Terry Fox died young and has never been forgotten. Oliver died one day before the anniversary of Terry Fox’s death. Ollie Bots, the fundraising project that Oliver and his family started, will endure. Money raised from Ollie Bots goes towards research for Ewings Sarcoma and also supports local families affected by paediatric cancer.

It comes as little surprise that Oliver was athletic and that his passion was hockey. It was part of his DNA. His great- grandfather, George, spent much of his life in cold hockey rinks following the exploits of Oliver’s grandfather, Alex, and his brothers. Oliver’s dad, Bryan, an avid hockey player himself, has taken up the torch and spends countless hours coaching and working on skating skills with local hockey players.

Oliver faced this dreaded disease is a quiet, determined way. He didn’t complain about his lot in life even when pain short circuited his budding hockey career.

The first few chapters of Oliver’s life have been written. He played hockey until he couldn’t and then lived it vicariously through his hockey team and his beloved St.F.X. X-Men hockey squad. He got to meet members of the Toronto Maple Leafs, who maintained contact with the family throughout Oliver’s final days.

Brad Peddle, the coach of the St.F.X. hockey team, spoke glowingly of Oliver. “It’s hard to put into words what Oliver meant to our group this year. This was a tough season in many ways with more adversity than most years, but Oliver inspired the group to get to another level. His spirit and smile through a much tougher battle he was enduring was both motivating and inspiring. Throughout the playoffs I was serving a 10- game suspension, meaning I could not go near the team before games. He stepped in and did the starting lineup every game, doing a remarkable job in a pressure packed time of year. Not many adults could do that, let alone a 12 –year-old boy. I firmly believe he is the sole reason our team went as far as it did and won a Bronze medal at the National Championship. After a terrible loss in the semi-final, crushing our gold medal goals, Oliver was the only reason our team stayed on track and got right back up to play and win the bronze the next day. Seeing Oliver being the first to go up and get his medal on the ice is something none of us will ever forget.”

How can anything good come from the death of a child? Death is mysterious enough when it involves someone who has led a long, productive life. But trying to rationalize, let alone explain the death of one so young and with so much promise is almost unfathomable. There are no words that will comfort his grieving family and the community that loved him.

Hockey is a game played in short shifts. This is when a player is competing at maximum capacity. Oliver didn’t get to play the whole game but his short shift was one played with passion. He lived the best kind of life he could in the time he was given.

Oliver was nurtured and cared for by generations of competent and caring women. Many of them were nurses, including his mother, Shauna. Love was the best medicine they dispensed to Oliver throughout his life, especially in the third period. His sisters, Megan and Emma ,were rocks. They honoured their brother the best way they could by continuing to pursue academic and athletic excellence during his illness.

But Oliver’s story is not over. His legacy started to build with Ollie Bots and it appears that this fundraising project will assist many families in the days and years to come.

 Oliver Smith lived a shortened life but one that was impactful. Those relatives who died before him would be justifiably proud of this exceptional young man.

Those left to mourn will continue to honour his life.

There are many chapters remaining in Oliver’s story. They just haven’t been written yet.

“Now you will not swell the route,

Of lads that wore their honours out,

Runners whom renown outran,

And the name died before the man.”

 

 

 

Posted on July 8, 2019 under Monday Morning Musings with 4 comments

Why? Why not.

 

I got a tattoo.

There. I’ve said it.

Guess what? I’m not the first person in their 60’s to get one so it’s not a big deal. As a matter of fact, according to my tattoo artist, older people are becoming one of the fastest growing segments of the population deciding to fling off the shackles of giving a crap, and adorning their bodies with art that in some way represents who they are.

So when did I have my epiphany and decide to become a rebel?

It really started 8 years ago when I ran the Boston Marathon for the first time. I really wanted to get a tattoo so that I could inflict more pain on my body, as if I hadn’t already done enough on the 42 kilometre run from Hopkinton to downtown Boston. For some reason that I can’t explain, I decided not to proceed with a discreet Boston Marathon tattoo on my lower leg.

During the month of May, I walked across Spain. I completed the Camino putting one foot in front of the other over a million times over 713 kilometres. At the end of a long day on the trail, I was sitting in a bar with fellow walkers. No doubt we were talking about our blisters. The guy to my left was sporting a Camino tattoo and in that instant my mind was made up to get one exactly like this when I got to the final destination in the city of Santiago de Compostela.

Several days later, in the village of Hontanas, I found myself once again drinking beer. A group of us were out on the patio of a bar soaking up the sunshine after what had been a fairly cool day on the Camino. There was Clementine from France, Lily from Russia, Noah from the Western Sahara, Jordi from Barcelona and Rami from Finland. I loved these kind of encounters meeting interesting people and hearing their life story.

I believe it was on our second beer that I told Rami about my tattoo plan. I didn’t ask him his age. It’s not polite to ask a man his age (!) but I’m guessing he was in his 60s. He immediately toasted me and said that he would also get a tattoo when he returned home. A pact was consummated at the bottom of glass #2.

Aleksandra Ferek is a young woman from Poland. She is a lawyer and an architect. I walked with her on a couple of occasions. After mentioning my tattoo idea, she said that she would design a Camino tattoo that reflected who I was. By the time I reached Santiago de Compostela, the destination city, I was anxious to immediately get the tattoo done before my courage wavered. I had been given the name of a reputable tattoo shop. My walking partner for the last two days of the Camino, Virginie from France, accompanied me. After chatting with the tattoo artist, I decided not to get it done there. Virginie didn’t like the feel of the place.

So, I put the idea on hold and reckoned that getting it done back home made sense on many levels.

I asked around and was given the name of Sean Brophy, a local tattoo artist with an excellent reputation. I had an initial meeting with Sean to discuss the process. I found him very engaging and sincere. I was so taken with him that I published a story about his life. https://www.week45.com/faces-in-the-crowd-making-an-impression/

On June 26^th, I got my tattoo. I can’t lie. I found it painful but this kind of pain is temporary. The tattoo is permanent!

Let me briefly explain the tattoo. The primary feature is a scallop shell which is the official symbol of the Camino. This goes back centuries and there are several theories on the significance of the shell. Most of them have their basis on religion and the proximity of Santiago de Compostela to the ocean. The figures of the hiker and the musician are self- explanatory to anyone who knows me. The word “ultreia”is believed to have been used by medieval pilgrims who walked these same paths centuries ago. It means to keep going or reach beyond, a word of encouragement to fellow travelers.

Not everyone is a fan of tattoos. I would hardly consider myself a raging proponent of them now that I have joined the “rebel” class. But like so many things in life as I age, I just refuse to get my knickers in a knot about things that are just not all that important. I received one private message from someone who saw the picture of me and Sean in the story I posted. This person seemed to think that I was somehow grandstanding and trying to draw attention to myself. I thanked him for his comments and told him that I was respectful of his opinion. But I couldn’t leave this alone and replied to him that I was a) simply having some fun; b) I wanted a reminder of one of the greatest experiences in my life and c) that I wasn’t trying to be cool. I am far too old to be considered cool. Cool rhymes with fool. I’m just an old fool having a bit of fun.

On the very same day that I received my badge of honour, some 6,242 kilometres away in Finland, Rami got his tattoo. We shared pictures and some laughs. We hope to meet again someday.

Thanks to my dear Polish friend, Aleksandra for creating my tattoo.

“I am a canvass of my experience. My story is etched in lines and shading, and you can read it on my arms, my legs, my shoulders, and my stomach.” Kat Von D.

One out of four ain’t bad. I’ll stick to one tattoo for the time being!

Have a great week.

 

Rami’s tattoo

Posted on July 4, 2019 under Faces in the Crowd with one comment

 

“I’m happy to be a good dad and a good husband. I am content that I have been able to create a comfortable and rewarding life for me my family.”

Meet Sean Brophy.

Sean was born in Stellarton and has one sibling, a younger brother. His parents separated when he was 12 years old. “This was very hard on me. I found it very tough to navigate.” His father, a nurse, relocated to Houston, Texas and Sean ended up moving with him. Going from Stellarton to downtown Houston was another traumatizing experience for a small town boy. After one year, his father moved to Huntsviille, Texas.

His high school years were filled with sports, drama, plays and art. He didn’t find the academics challenging and so, on the cusp of finishing high school, he fast tracked and received his GED.

Using a fake ID, he got his first tattoo. At the time, tattoos were taboo and anyone having one was considered a bit of a rebel. His soccer coaches commented that he wouldn’t amount to anything. His dad wasn’t happy either despite that fact that HE had a tattoo himself!

After completing his schooling, it was time to head back to Canada as he could no longer remain in the U.S. A 66 hour bus ride from Texas took him into the bowels of the central bus station in downtown New York where, for three nerve wracking hours, he hung out with the freakiest people he had ever met. When his bus for Bar Harbor arrived, they all got on the bus with him.

“I had no idea what I was coming home to.” He spent a summer with an uncle picking strawberries and decided that he needed to pursue a career.

An earlier experience in Houston may have foreshadowed his career path. He volunteered to work for two weeks on an ambulance. On his very first shift, we witnessed and help perform CPR on a man who subsequently died of a stab wound that he received while in prison.

He eventually earned a certificate from Holland College and became a paramedic. Sean describes his career as intense. Besides full time work in his chosen field, he was also involved in the union, the volunteer fire department and search and rescue.

He got married in 2000 and has two children.

“I loved my work and felt that I was serving my community. I had a sense of self- worth.” But that all changed as witnessing trauma for so many years resulted in post- traumatic stress disorder or PTSD.  ”I was in a very dark place.” He was forced to stop working and was unable to work at anything for two years while getting treatment.  He spent the better part of six months in his bedroom.

He always viewed himself as “Sean the paramedic.” He wasn’t educated for another occupation but he realized that returning to his chosen profession was not an option. “Who am I going to be now,” became the pressing question. While waiting to receive Worker’s Compensation, the family lost their home and life savings trying to stay afloat.

Over the years, he had been getting more tattoos and he started doing artwork for tattooists. His good friend and renowned tattoo artist, Jamie MacKay invited Sean to apprentice with him. A year and a half later, Sean struck out on his own and he has never looked back.

He still deals with PTSD every day of his life. He started doing jiu jitsu four years ago which has helped him immensely.

His greatest joy these days is his family. “We sit down and have dinner together every evening. It is a chance to stay connected.”

Sean continues to leave his mark as a gifted artist and tattooist. His has left a lasting impression on many people in North Eastern Nova Scotia (including the author!)  but none more so than his wife ,Tanya and his children, Morgan and Erika.