When I got my cup of coffee at a downtown café the other day, I got in line right behind a police officer. Like me, he was going through his pockets in search of enough change for his java. I was about to say that I was sorry about the two officers who’d died on duty in Ontario this past week. But before I could say anything a woman in the café approached him.
“Can I ask you a question?” she said.
“Sure,” the officer said.
“Is there any way I can report a guy who’s been stalking me in his car?”
The 21st Winter Olympics wrapped up Sunday night. The closing ceremony began with a moment that could only have happened in Canada. Uniquely able to poke fun at themselves, Canadian organizers allowed speed skater Catriona Le May Doan to light that fourth cauldron – the one that malfunctioned during the opening ceremony. Then, thousands of spectators and athletes opened their mouths and let patriotism come out.
O Canada
I remember it as if it were yesterday. It’s one of those ‘where were you when…’ moments. I sat with co-workers in the audio-visual department at the University of Saskatchewan in Saskatoon. We huddled around a 17-inch TV screen. The signal was coming from halfway around the world. But we felt as if we were right there, because Foster Hewitt made the call:
“Henderson has scored for Canada!” he shouted.
Hands up, if you believed the statement that President Barack Obama is a radical Muslim who would not recite the U.S. Pledge of Allegiance. Or more recently, and closer to home, the story that began circulating last Thursday, that Canadian folk music icon Gordon Lightfoot is dead. When the legendary singer-songwriter heard about his so-called demise he contacted the Toronto media outlet CP24.
“I haven’t gotten that much airplay of my songs in weeks,” he told them.
It’s a turn of phrase. It’s the way my hair continues to disappear atop my head. Sometimes it’s the stance I take on certain issues or my philosophy of life. Other times it’s just similar mannerisms that people notice. But those who knew us both often comment about the way I’m very much like my dad.
“Apple didn’t fall far from the tree,” people say.
Most Saturday mornings, when we rise and shine around our house, I head outside for one of my weekly rituals. I trek down the driveway and retrieve the weekend newspaper. It’s usually not hard to find – even in the snow – because it’s such a huge package inside a plastic bag. It’s got about eight or 10 regular sections in it, from world news to the insight section to the latest in condos (which frankly, I can take or leave). But there’s so much paper in that edition of the Star, that I often joke to my wife:
“Here it is, my dear,” I say, “your tree.” (more…)
Earlier this week, I happened to be on a massage table. Because my massage therapist also happens to be one of the most plugged-in and erudite people I know, she and I talked about the devastation in Haiti. To my surprise, she informed me that Uxbridge has become involved. She said that among a number of awareness-raising and fund-raising activities, the Rotary Club of Uxbridge has rallied to assist victims of last Tuesday’s earthquake. I wondered how our community – so far away from the disaster – could hope to deliver any tangible help.
“Well, there are 17 Rotary Club branches in Haiti,” she said. “That’s how local donors can be reassured donations will get there.”
That was some of the first reassuring news I’ve learned since the earthquake took place on Jan. 12. Almost since the next day, stories of victims enduring limb amputations without anesthesia, of marauding gangs stealing from homeless victims, and of orphans roaming the streets of Port-au-Prince, have haunted all of us outside this impoverished Caribbean nation.
It happened early last spring. With just a few days remaining before I led one of my annual tours to the battlefields of Europe, I paid a visit to the man who regularly supplies me with this country’s greatest calling card.
Bryan Petry was ready and waiting for me. At his All Seasons Display office in Markham, Ont., he had three full-sized Canadian flags I planned to use as official gifts. He had bags of Canadian flag pins we would give as souvenirs to French and Belgian acquaintances, and he had bundles of paper Canadian flags we would plant in front of Canadian military headstones at Commonwealth War Grave sites.
“Plant one for me, would you?” Bryan asked me.
His request caught me a little off guard. “Of course,” I said eventually. “Anything for my favourite custodian of the flag.”
I guess I didn’t realize how telling that moment in his office really was. Though I would see Bryan Petry a few more times later that summer and into fall, his request to be remembered during one of our cemetery visits turned out to be the last favour I was able to return to him. On Monday, Bryan died of complications caused by cancer at Toronto East General Hospital. He was 54.
I simply went to exchange a Christmas gift. By 11 a.m. on Dec. 30, I reached the electronics store in south Whitby, Ont. But because of holiday demand, the store didn’t have much selection left. So, they gave me a credit and asked me to come back in the new year. I headed home – northbound on Thickson Road. It was just after noon. On the radio they were about to announce the roster for Team Canada, the men’s Olympic hockey team.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said, “Steve Yzerman.”
That’s the last sound that came from my car radio. At that moment, I entered the intersection of Thickson and Rossland, east of downtown Whitby. As I did, a one-ton pickup truck suddenly came at me from the right. Before I could react, we collided and my car was spinning clockwise. I thought, “There’s going to be a second impact … a pole … another vehicle … or a least the curb.” But it never came.
Fortunately, my little old Corolla just stopped spinning on its own. And – seconds later – when I focused, I was facing the opposite direction. The truck that had hit me sat crosswise in front of me. I was covered in glass and debris from the truck’s front-end and what was left of the passenger’s side of my car. Then I consciously looked to my hands and feet. Thankfully, I could move them. A woman approached and told me my head was bleeding. And I suddenly felt pain there. A moment or two later a man with a cell phone to his ear approached from the driver’s side, opened the door and spoke with a bit of an accent.
The sounds of Christmas are everywhere in song, whether Silent Night or Little Town of Bethlehem or even the Chipmunks’ Christmas Song and Deck the Halls with Boston Charlie. But I’ve got a story of a Christmas song you’ve never heard of. In fact, it’s not even about Christmas; it’s about the day before. It began one day back in 2001 when my father – Alex Barris – called me with a problem.
“I’ve written a song,” he said. “It’s called ‘It’s Christmas Eve.’”
“So what’s the problem?” I asked.
Dad said it was a piece he’d composed some years before. Not only had he written up the musical score sheets and the lyrics, but he had also published it and even recorded a rough soundtrack of his own voice singing it. His dilemma, he told me, was that he now wanted to have the song professionally recorded in a studio, with piano accompaniment and a female vocalist. Therein lay the dilemma, he said. He wanted one of our daughters to record it. But which one?
“Why not have them do it together,” I suggested, “in harmony.”