It was a Tuesday – Sept. 15 – and we were rushing in a number of directions, as usual. I had just finished delivering a broadcast history lecture and was also about to drive to a photo session out of town. My wife had just received word from her magazine publisher that she would have to cover a story in the Arctic; she’d have to rush home, pack for a 12-day trip, and immediately catch an airplane bound for Greenland. All of our plans, however, moved down the priority list, when our son-in-law phoned with an urgent message.

“You’re grandparents again,” he said, “of a baby boy.”

Detours are generally not difficult to accommodate in our family. We’re used to them. We alter plans all the time. But this detour proved different. By early evening, Jayne and I had made our way to the Port Perry Hospital to meet the latest addition to our family – Sawyer Massey. And, you know, as much as we figured we would react very differently from every other grandparent before us, we didn’t. We smiled, sighed and cooed over the little guy the same as every other doting grandparent that ever entered a maternity ward.

We wanted to know how much he weighed. We wanted to know when his mother, Quenby, had gone to the hospital and how long the labour was. We had to know if the baby’s dad, J.D., had made it to the birth in time. And we needed to have photographs taken, as each of us held the newborn as if he were a piece of prized china.

(more…)

About 2 o’clock that Saturday afternoon, somebody moved across the floor at an old automobile showroom on the south side of town. She was holding up a long-sleeved, over-sized shirt. For a second she showed off how clean and new it looked to the rest of us. But then she needed our help.

“Does anybody know what this is?” she asked. “Is it a men’s shirt or what?”

“Well, what side are the buttons on?” someone else asked, knowing that men’s shirts button from right-to-left, vice versa for women’s tops. But that didn’t solve the mystery of what it was.

Then, a voice piped up from the corner: “Looks like a men’s night shirt,” he said. And because the assessment came from Ahmad Golan, we all agreed he must be right and the “nightshirt” was gently packed into cardboard box quickly filling with men’s clothing.

(more…)

I think I can recall the exact day I discovered my nationality. My younger sister Kate was there.

My parents – both transplanted Americans – were there. We had all made the trek from our home outside Toronto to Montreal. We couldn’t get hotel accommodation that summer of 1967, so we booked into a small trailer camp outside the city and planned our several days of sightseeing at Expo 67. Everything about the exposition was a thrill. But nothing – not Buckminster Fuller’s geodesic dome, not Labyrinth, not the monorail nor even the hydrofoil on the St. Lawrence – could compare to my visit to the Ontario pavilion.

That’s where I discovered what it was to be proud of my home.

There, inside the pavilion theatre I was dazzled by a short film that had me sighing as if I were watching fireworks, shaking my head as if it was all a mirage, and breathless as if I’d just come off a roller coaster. And, as if that weren’t enough, I came out of the pavilion theatre singing a kind of anthem.

(more…)

There is always a day in life one looks forward to. For me it was not necessarily the day I turned 16 (nor, as I described last month, the day I turned 60). It wasn’t the day I first went to high school nor to university nor even to my first paying job. Those dates were exciting, all right, but the day I truly savoured was the day I first became eligible to vote – July 12, 1970. Problem was, just 16 days before I turned 21 – June 26, 1970 – Canada lowered the voting age from 21 to 18.

The federal government had taken the thrill out of becoming legal.

It wasn’t the end of the world, however, because eventually I had the chance to exercise my franchise in a federal election that brought in a minority Parliament. Later, I voted in a provincial election in which my chosen candidate unseated a cabinet minister. And because of my lifetime fascination for politics, I’ve had ample opportunity to cover elections from the municipal through to the federal level. The fact remains, however, somebody else had decided whether I was old enough to make an informed decision.

All this came to mind, this week, as I read about Laura Dekker. She’s the Dutch teenager who had planned to set sail last Tuesday aboard her 8.3-metre yacht, Guppy. In so doing, she hoped to become the youngest sailor to circumnavigate the globe. As it turned out, Laura couldn’t launch because a court in Utrecht, Holland, considers her underage. But what’s underage?

(more…)

About a month ago, a hockey buddy and I went out for a round of golf at a nearby course. He’s a member there, but this was just a casual round for a bit of relaxation, conversation and refreshment after the round. Through most of the game, I’d had no luck hitting the greens with my tee shots. Since most of the holes are par threes, my problem was critical.

“Try this,” Geoff Gaston said and he handed me a hybrid golf club.

It looks like a small driver, but lighter. I tested the club’s weight, teed up the ball and sure enough I drove the green. First try.

“That fixed that,” Geoff said. And – thanks to his club and his tip – I consistently drove par three greens all afternoon.

As he and I sat enjoying that refreshment after the game, I pondered my golfing breakthrough. More important, I thought about the guy who’d fixed my problem. In many ways, that’s the story of Geoff Gaston’s life. Whether in his work, at home or in his relationships, Geoff has very often been “the fixer.” Just ask anybody he met while on the job in recent years at Zehrs, the local grocery store. Can’t find something? Need a hand? Geoff provided it, and not just because it was his job either. It came naturally.

(more…)

A few weeks ago, a few members of my family – several cousins and an uncle from the U.S. – gathered at a rented cottage up north. Between cloud bursts and wind gusts, we attempted to holiday. We threw a few horseshoes. We got some summer reading in on the deck. We attempted a couple of barbeques. We even approximated some swimming. During one of those warm spells, my cousin’s husband made an announcement.

“I’m off to dig up earth worms,” Jerry said, “and I’m going to do some fishing.”

“Go to it, Jerr,” we all said.

(more…)

Just after the holiday Monday, I walked into Blue Heron Books to find its proprietor on the phone. She looked as if she were having a lively conversation. She was as animated as she usually is when anybody drops into the store for a book or to talk about a book. As I got closer I realized that, no, the conversation was one-way. She was essentially leaving a message for a book representative or a publicist.

“So if you can get back to me,” Shelley Macbeth said, “maybe we can work out a way to stage the event.” And she hung up the phone, rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. Clearly, the experience was unsatisfactory.

(more…)

Just after the holiday Monday, I walked into my favourite local bookstore – Blue Heron Books – to find its proprietor on the phone. She looked as if she were having a lively conversation. She was as animated as she usually is when anybody drops into the store for a book or to talk about a book. As I got closer I realized that, no, the conversation was one-way. She was essentially leaving a message for a book representative or a publicist.

“So if you can get back to me,” Shelley Macbeth said, “maybe we can work out a way to stage the event.” And she hung up the phone, rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. Clearly, the experience was unsatisfactory.

I lamented to Shelley that it’s too bad people don’t talk to each other anymore, that we’ve resorted to communicating by leaving voice mail for each other, or tapping out coded messages on computer keyboards as e-mail, or, more than likely these days, “twittering” text messages in more abbreviated and clipped language than even an e-mail message allows. I mean, how many times has someone on the other end of the telephone line cut short a conversation by saying:

“Why don’t you just e-mail me and I’ll get back to you.” Which is short for “I can’t be bothered talking to you. I feel less threatened if I sit at a computer keyboard and compose an answer later, rather than deal with you person-to-person right now.”

(more…)

I should have been suspicious.

I should have been suspicious when Ronnie Egan, my neighbour of nearly 25 years, asked if I would take her to the grocery store. I should have been suspicious because it was a Sunday. And she wanted me to drive her there at precisely 2:15 that afternoon. Odd in retrospect. But given that 1) she was a chief petty officer in the Women’s Royal Canadian Naval Service during the war and she therefore does everything with purpose and precision, and 2) that she is the world’s greatest neighbour, who was I to question? But I did speak up at one point.

“What do you need at the store today?” I asked.

“Just a few things for an event I’m going to,” she said.

It turned out the event was a surprise party for me. You see, Sunday was my 60^th birthday. Ronnie and the whole world – well, my whole world – was in on the scheme to gather at the local music hall and surprise me. And I didn’t suspect a thing. Although I should have.

(more…)