Posted on November 18, 2021 under Thursday Tidbits with no comments yet

Life isn’t always a bed of roses

 

“Let us pause in life’s pleasures and count its many tears,

While we all sup sorrow with the poor,

There’s a song that will linger forever in our ears,

Oh, hard times, come again no more.”

Hard Times Come Again No More – Stephen Foster

I am a storyteller. Someone once referred to me as a diarist. I guess in many ways, my website has chronicled my life and that of my family. I usually talk about the mundane because, lets face it, most of us happily live pretty ordinary lives. I also document the lives of others from time to time in a feature called “Faces in the Crowd”. I use humour to tell my stories and often include the lyrics of a song to bring home my point.

I can’t be funny all the time. I also like to share information that is educational. I try not to preach but rather to inform.

Today I want to use this space to talk about mental health, trauma and its unwelcome partner PTSD… and an amazing guy that I’ve just come to know.

Last week I received mail from home. My daughter, Betsy, sent me Vernon Theriault’s book “Westray – My Journey From Darkness to Light”. I opened the book and started to read and was transported back in time 29 years ago.

On the morning of May 9^th, 1992, I was awoken by a call from our then Mayor, Colin Herman Chisholm. I was a Town Councilor at the time. It was a Saturday, and I was easing into the day. To receive a call from the Mayor at that time of the day was most unusual. He informed me that earlier that morning, there had been an explosion at the Westray mine, just up the road from Antigonish in Pictou County. He asked me to go at once to represent the town and to bring a cheque in support of the families. At that point, there were no details of the explosion or how many men were underground at the time. I spent the next two days at the firehall in Plymouth just across the road from the mine.

Vernon Theriault was a miner at Westray. He worked the day shift on May 8^th and would have worked the day shift again on the 9^th but that was not to be. Instead of performing his duties as a miner, he and many other brothers were faced with the grim and dangerous task of trying to rescue their fellow miners.

Twenty-six of his co-workers were killed that day. In the aftermath of this traumatic event, Vernon and many others suffered from PTSD.

Vernon was courageous on many levels. He was awarded a medal of bravery as part of the recue team. He was brave to seek professional counselling. He was also very courageous in admitting that he had serious literacy issues that needed to be addressed for him to move forward with his life.

I am not a trained psychologist or therapist so I’m on very thin ice discussing trauma, PTSD or mental health. Trauma comes in many forms. The sudden death of a loved one, witnessing tragedies (like first responders) or being caught up in natural disasters can all bring on many unwanted consequences. Trauma can and does affect one’s mental health. Sadly, many people are born with bad chemistry in their brains and through no fault of their own, live lives filled with mental health challenges.

Some of my readers have deep, personal connections to this story, having lost siblings, spouses or close friends. It has been 29 years which seems like a long time, but time never heals every wound. This summer on one of my long walks, I was invited to the home (garage!) of friends for a bite to eat. Unbeknownst to me, the wonderful, personable woman sitting beside me was the sister of one of the men who was killed in the disaster. Only in the course of our friendly chat, when I inquired about her maiden name, did I make the connection.

Vernon worked tirelessly for over ten years lobbying the Federal Government to make changes to the criminal code to hold accountable companies, their owners and managers for safety violations in the workplace. The Westray Bill, as it has become to be known, is aimed at protecting worker’s safety.

When I finished reading Vernon’s book, I reached out to him to congratulate him. We exchanged several messages. I discovered that he was interested in writing a follow up book on mental health. I assumed that his cousin, Marjorie Coady, who co-authored his first book, would assist him with the second. Sadly, Marjorie died a year after the book was published.

I plan to meet with Vernon when I go home for Christmas. I have offered to assist him with the writing of his next book. It would be an honor to be involved in this project. Vernon tells me that all proceeds of the book will go to mental health.

In the case of so many out there suffering from trauma and poor mental health, it is my fervent wish that “hard times come again no more”.

Have a great weekend.

Posted on November 15, 2021 under Monday Morning Musings with no comments yet

 

Pokémon Pedagogy

“Back in the saddle again,

Out where a friend is a friend.”

Back in the Saddle Again. Gene Autry

Pokémon. Pain. Patience.

I knew I would get the call eventually.

When I signed my most recent contract, it was understood that 50% of my duties would be administrative and 50% would be teaching. During the first two months of school, I dedicated 100% to administration… if you call professional organizing, administration! While I have enjoyed working on several projects as well as part time secretary, the pace has been frenetic, so when the principal asked me to fill in for a teacher who was heading into quarantine, I didn’t flinch. We agreed that I would do half days in the office and half days in the classroom.

I have discovered that there is no one right way to teach. Every teacher has their own unique style. Some teachers rule with an iron fist while others are more laid back. I’m probably closer to the latter. I think grade 4 might be one of the most desirable assignments a teacher can have. Nine -year olds are still keen to please and are generally polite and respectful.

The young man who teaches grade 4 English is from the village. He is soft spoken and very laid back. Besides being an excellent educator, he is a great musician and a really nice guy. Students worship him. He is, what we would have called back in the 60s, “cool”. To inherit his class for ten days is a mixed blessing. I knew that his lessons would be well prepared and that his students would be respectful. But I am the antithesis of cool. My colleague’s shoes are much too big for me to fill. The only time recently that I felt cool was when a few of us walked the airport loop last winter (7.5km) when it was -53!

Pokémon.

I had heard of Pokémon before and two years ago, Alex’s (not his real name) class was next door to mine. I quickly noticed that his classroom was adorned with Pokémon figures and that he seemed to use Pokémon as an integral part of his teaching. He showed Pokémon videos, played Pokémon games, and even hosted an after school Pokémon club. I never quite understood it but there are many things I don’t understand so that shouldn’t come as a major surprise.

It came as no surprise that the packages of learning materials he left for me, had a decided Pokémon flavour. I have been forced to dive deeper into Pokémon culture and I’m beginning to understand the method to his madness. Teaching is all about engagement. As I have discovered, not only is Pokémon fun but it teaches children to read and do math. It also teaches values like respect. It is little wonder why Alex’s students love him.

Yes, I’m back in the saddle again.

Pain.

It’s a funny thing about pain. Let me rephrase. There is nothing funny about pain, especially chronic pain. I am one of the lucky ones. My issues around pain are not debilitating. Recently, I took a nasty tumble and ended up with some seriously bruised ribs. I received some good natured ribbing about my fall from grace and my bruised ego. The pain was so intense that for the past week, I haven’t noticed the persistent pain in my back. I have a friend back home who is having a really hard time. She has been dealing with severe chronic pain for many years and to add insult to injury, she developed cancer last year. All of the meds she is taking are having unpleasant side effects. I have other friends who have suffered the devastating loss of loved ones. There is no cure for the pain resulting from this type of loss.

Patience.

Living in the north is not easy. It requires a great deal of patience. There are magical days when I think I could live out my life here and others when I want to take the next flight out and lay on the beach in Algarve, Portugal…. that is, if there is no fog, wind or snow to prevent flights from leaving!

And speaking of travel, we just received an e-mail outlining the latest travel restrictions in the north because of Covid. The authorities are not fooling around, especially with vaccination rates in the region painfully low. There are stringent rules for travel especially for the unvaccinated. December 30^th is a day of reckoning for the unvaccinated. Here is a question in the Q&A section of the press release: “I’m non vaccinated and do not wish to be. Q. “Can I stay in Nunavik (our region of Quebec) after the December deadline or later? A. “Yes. You can, however, you will not be allowed to travel south for the foreseeable future. Think in years here.” Of course, if someone waits until the last moment to leave (December 30^th) and there happens to be a snowstorm that day, then they’re stuck here indefinitely.

Got my flu shot this week.

Belugas arriving here which is a cause of great excitement.

Starting to rehearse Christmas music with the students.

Counting the days to head home for Christmas.

I’m waiting patiently, of course!

My writing is painful to read.

Pokémon (also spelled pokey man) Def: A slow moving, elderly man.

Have a great week.

P.S. We’re going to try and arrange a live show featuring my talented children, Betsy and Peter, et moi, during the Christmas holidays back in Antigonish. I’ll keep you posted.

Posted on November 11, 2021 under Thursday Tidbits with 2 comments

The joys of fatherhood

 

A few days ago, my friend, and occasional co-author, Shelly Carroll, posted a story on her Facebook page. It was called “Mom Guilt”. (https://vocal.media/families/mom-guilt-y12g030vpl?fbclid=IwAR0n1fHiHLP_CqlsUzzqp3gfntUPny-5zCWATCLssVjLJfqhIRGuZVBGr3I) Please take a few minutes to read her thoughtful piece. I figured it only appropriate to write a companion piece called “Dad Guilt”. Of course, I could come up with a much more imaginative title like “Dopey Dads” but to achieve synchronicity, I’ll stick with Shelley’s appellation.

Dad Guilt.

I know a thing or two about guilt.

I was born Catholic. Enough said.

I am hoping not to be pilloried by those who are less guilt ridden than me.

What is an appropriate job description for a father? Especially a first- time dad? Here is what I learned from experience, not in a “how to” manual: “Sit back, shut your mouth, and do what you’re told.” That might sound a bit cynical and harsh but there is a great deal of truth in this statement. You see, mothers are the boss. They bore your children and have maternal instincts. The male species is not so blessed. Men have instincts to hunt, fish, go to sporting events, drink beer, and fart in public.

I know I have told this story too many times, but it bears telling again. With the impending birth of our fourth child, I knew what to expect. I was hardly blasé about it, but I wasn’t filled with terror the way I was on the way to the hospital when our son was born.

We were greeted on the maternity ward by the irrepressible, unflappable wonder nurse, Jenny MacNeil. I am quite certain that Jenny brought more children into the world than the obstetricians. Once she got my wife settled in at the labour room, I knew the waiting game was on. I was also aware that there was another game on… an NFL football game to be more precise. Now, Jenny and I were good buddies. Over the years, I had the pleasure of going to her home on more than one occasion. Her husband, Nick and I were golfing buddies at one time.

It wasn’t particularly busy on the maternity ward this particular Sunday. When Jenny suggested that I wasn’t needed in the room for a while, I wandered out into the hallway. I noticed several rooms were empty and one had a television set. I sheepishly asked Jenny if I might watch a bit of the game. She propped up a few pillows and allowed me to lie in a labour bed. “I’ll come and get you when the baby is arriving,” said Jenny. I often wondered if these events were a precursor of things to come as our fourth child, Margaret, was a very good soccer player!

I have often thought about writing a book for expectant fathers. “Fatherhood For Dummies” comes to mind. Watching your wife giving birth is one of the scariest and most humbling experience a man can have. It’s one of those things that can’t really be described.

I’m not sure if any male was born to be a dad. It is a very delicate balancing act. You are expected to step up and do your share but don’t ever think for a moment that your opinions on weighty matters, like breast feeding or the pros and cons of cloth diapers, will ever be seriously considered. Take out the garbage (without being asked). Do the dishes. Never put your wife’s bras in the dryer. And the most important thing of all? Make damn sure that you put the toilet seat down after taking a pee. And for gods, sake, watch where you aim.

See. Being dad is pretty simple if you observe these cautionary anecdotes.

Remember this too. You are a parent for life. When your progeny leaves the nest, this does not mean your duties as a parent have ended. They may have flown the coop, but they know where to find you!

Whether you’re an amazing mom or a flatulent father, keep this in mind.

We did our best.

I still feel a bit guilty (after 33 years) about watching football while my wife endured labour!

Have a great weekend.

P.S. When is “up” down and “down” up? This is a real headscratcher. Back in the dark ages, If I said I was climbing up a hill, most people would accept that without another thought. Conversely, when I reached the summit of the hill and decided to descend it, I would say that I was going down the hill. Stay with me you old timers. Several weeks ago, I asked a young, female colleague if she would like to go for a walk. “I’m down with that” was her reply. I asked her to clarify, and she assured me that she was “up” for this. How can you be up and down at the same time? This all leaves me feeling upside down.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

“AT THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN AND IN THE MORNING,

WE WILL REMEMBER THEM” 11/11/11