Trouble in Paradise

Posted on October 29, 2014 under Storytelling with no comments yet

Paradise lost

 

 

Quickly. What is Nova Scotia’s greatest export? Is it lobster?  How about blueberries or Keith’s beer?  Wrong, wrong and wrong.  The correct answer is people.  Sadly, we have been forced to send some of our best and brightest far afield ever since Confederation destroyed our north/south economy.  And while it can be argued that hard rock miners, pipefitters and welders are among the most talented people we’ve bade farewell, there has been one class of individuals that dwarf all of these by sheer volume.

Teachers.

The laws of supply and demand have conspired to work against the teaching profession. We continue to produce an overabundance of teachers for a dwindling population.  With more degree granting institutions than Heinz has pickles, Nova Scotia has been supplying teachers to Alberta to Nunavut to Newfoundland for a very long time, as permanent teaching jobs in Nova Scotia have been as scarce as honest politicians.

And when we go across Canada to educate young minds, we bring more than a Bachelor of Education degree. We bring our culture, our civic pride and in some cases, unbridled enthusiasm.  We can have a kitchen party any day of the week, for any occasion.  We Bluenoses, home-grown and adopted, take our history seriously.   We have proudly carried on the traditions of the early French settlers who created “The Order of Good Cheer”.  Not to mention the Scottish milling frolics and musical heritage that is alive and well to this day.  And, as my wife says when things begin to spin out of control – “It’s the Irish”.  Sometimes we celebrate a major holiday while other times the triggering event can be as mundane as the first snowfall … or the first Thursday of the week.  Any port in a storm, as they say.

While not wishing to single out any institution of higher learning, St .F. X. graduates are known to possess that elusive and sometimes hard to describe, “X spirit”. And when a few Xaverians are gathered around a kitchen table, trouble can appear on the horizon.

Several newly minted teachers descended upon an unsuspecting small town in the Peace River country many years ago. Like many Maritimers, they didn’t object to blowing off a bit of steam at the end of the work week.  Sometimes Monday revealed the carnage from the weekend but the crew always showed up for duty.  As employees of a Catholic School Board, attendance at church wasn’t mandatory but it was expected.

One memorable Good Friday, the guys decided to take a pass on the afternoon service and chose instead to have an outdoor party.   It was the first beautiful day in April after a bitterly cold and snowy Alberta winter.  Besides ample food and drink, large speakers from the stereo system were dragged out into the back yard.  The woofers woofed and the tweeters tweeted and the party raged on.

One thing of note … the party house was in the backyard of the church. The first person to exit the Good Friday Mass was the school principal.  Needless to say he was not amused.  Luckily, Easter Monday is a school holiday in Alberta.

Another group of “X” grads ended up in La Belle Province back in the 70’s. These young ladies took up residence in one of Canada’s truly great cities, Montreal.  They too ended up in a Catholic School Board.  Other trailblazers from home had warned this crop of rookies that absenteeism due to alcohol was a serious no-no and could result in losing their jobs.  They dismissed this with a shrug.

Some friends from home showed up one time for a mid-week visit. The beer flowed.  And even though the drinking and driving laws were more lax back then, why would you bother when you could simply dial up the neighborhood dépanneur and have cold beer delivered to your door.  One home delivery that left the store owner scratching his head (on party day #3) was for two cases of beer, a large bag of potato chips and a box of Band-Aids.

On the day following the first night of partying, one of the girls missed school. On day two, another gal was down for the count and on day three the trifecta was complete as the last of these stalwart women succumbed to the “forty ounce flu”.

There is only one thing worse than missing school because of self-induced illness. And that is not being invited to the party.  A friend of the women caught wind of the revelry as it hurtled into its death throes. He was slightly miffed at the snub.

The phone rang in the three bedroom apartment. “I would like to speak to Jan,” said the voice on the other end of the line.  The voice asked her how she was feeling that day.  She admitted that she had flu-like symptoms.  The School Board doctor wondered if she wouldn’t mind getting dressed and coming down to the Board offices to be checked over, including a blood test.  He also asked her a few questions about her medical history.

Jan’s face was ashen for more than one reason. She was nearly speechless as she pondered her imminent dismissal.  Far worse than being sent packing was the vision of meeting the “welcoming party”; her parents, as she arrived in disgrace at the train station in Antigonish.

These thoughts raced through her mind as she tried to process the request. She agreed to the blood test but resisted giving her medical history.  When the doctor pushed she relented and admitted to having had her tonsils out when she was four.

At this point, the voice on the other end of the line went into hysterics. The “doctor” turned out to be the friend whose party invitation had apparently been misplaced by the postman.  After the near cardiac arrest, the blood returned to Jan’s face.

Several days later she remembered an old adage that she reworked in her head: “Hell hath no fury like a Maritimer scorned.”