Yesterday marked the 50th anniversary of The Beatles playing their last show in Toronto, images of screaming girls surrounding Maple Leaf Gardens and The King Edward Hotel intermixed with clips of the mop tops playing on their sparse stage with their sparse equipment. How did they even get heard over the screaming girls with the gear set up they had? The coverage of this got me to thinking about the almost bat shit crazy way some people react over stars in their midst. Seriously, some people lose their shit in an epic way..tears flow, screams of undying love abound and minor stalking incidents are normal, serious stalking incidents have led to some pretty messed up incidents...Ronald Reagan getting shot by Hinckley because of his infatuation of Jodie Foster, David Letterman stalked by Margaret Mary Ray and I don't know if it is stalking as much as celebrity infatuation, but he who shall remain unnamed killed John Lennon..fucker. All in adoration of a famous star.
The cult of celebrity personality has never been my thing, I've never asked anyone for their autograph, although I have been asked for mine once...pretty funny actually, I've never camped out in anyway to catch a glimpse of anyone, and the times I have come across celebrities my reaction varies from indifference to a mild gawk and smile. I don't care, I'm just not impressed that much. Maybe if I had met someone that I really respected or admired, say Alan Alda or Neil Peart or John Lennon...I think I would be a little more gaga and it would manifest itself in a handshake if appropriate or today's equivalent, a selfie...hahaha. I wouldn't be looking to get them to sign my arm or my butt, and for sure I would be giving them space out of understanding that most people don't want to be touched, poked and prodded by complete strangers...weird uh?
A few years back I was running the food and beverage operations at a golf club and we had in a fundraising tournament with some minor celebrities in attendance. The boys from Trailer Park Boys were in with some sports guys as well, to my mind minor, to others? Cue the gaga...seriously, Bubbles and Ricky? Who cares? What I cared about was that these three clowns were keeping me late at work while they were trying to canoodle some young beautiful "beer girls". I actually heard Bubbles say "you know, you can be a model, I might be able to help with that" Oh get the hell out will ya...I will admit that I do take offence to guys my age trying to pick up girls my daughters age, because I have a daughter that age and I would punch you in the throat if you did try that crap with her....the father in me comes out from time to time. But I digress, it was a long day and I wanted to go home and these guys were literally keeping me from my bed. So I called last call and let them know we would be closing at 10:00. You don't have to go home but you can't stay here. Awe come on man, stay open for a few hours, it's us, we'll sign something for you....haha. Sorry gentleman, but we will be closing shortly. And then they did the ignore the guy thing, they went out to smoke a joint on my patio. Hey man, I don't care what you do in your spare time and at your place, but my ass is on the line for your drinking infractions and your drug paraphernalia and I have no desire in taking the heat for you. I stuck my head out the door once I caught whiff of the dubage, sorry boys but I'm going to have to ask you to put those out now and settle up, the night is over. Bye, don't let the door hit you in the ass as you leave. Not impressed.
I'm also not even remotely impressed by celebrity chefs, the new bad ass rock stars of the paparazzi world. Where did it go from Julia Child teaching you proper techniques in simple every day cooking, to Charlie Trotter and Thomas Keller showing you the magic of good ingredients to Out House Gourmet, Engine Block Cooking for the Serious Redneck and the name calling donkey lover known as Gordon Ramsay...WTF Ramsay knows how to cook, but his schlock for TV is just simple lunacy. I was once approached about doing a segment for a show called Opening Soon, a show that I had liked because it told real stories. I had noticed that the show had taken a more confrontational edge in the latest season and sure enough on a questionnaire I received the second or third question was do you currently experience or foresee experiencing any conflicts with trades people, landlords or anyone similar? No, but I can see myself beating the camera man to death with a cabbage. Thanks but I'm OK. The majority of cooks do their thing in obscurity and without a press agent, we're cooks for God's sake, nobody is putting up a statue in our honour, nor should they. We didn't solve world hunger, cure a disease or bring us closer to world peace...we came up with a new grilled cheese sandwich for fucks sake. To my way of thinking it's like doing a TV show about accountants...would you do it? Forget about food porn for the moment, it's really not that difficult. But hey, if you want to use me as a consultant call my agent will ya....
There is no doubt that I would love to sit down to dinner with some famous people if given the chance, really just to let them talk and learn from them. But to follow them around and think that it was normal behaviour to lose my shit over any or all of them, sorry....no. Keep our heads please.
Ciao
D
Thursday, 18 August 2016
Initiation
I may have mentioned how much I hated moving when I was younger. Sure it taught me how to pack a truck really well and fulfilled the requisite Kentucky Fried Chicken fix, but man it pissed me off. Learning the new lay of the land, navigating the politics of school and trying to not get murdered were all very real concerns. I knew why my parents were moving every couple of years but I didn't like it much, mostly because of the rituals that you had to go through to get accepted at a new school or in a new neighbourhood....not fun. Of course, moving experiences always provided initiation stories, and you know how much I like a good story.
Way back when hockey cards meant nothing further than the sheer joy of owning them and then scrambling all your extras to the adoring younger grades, when recess meant tether ball, soccer or foot hockey, with the ensuing red bruised face from where the ball hit you, the mud caked sneakers from the field or the ripped up knees from playing goal (I remember bleeding into my shoes once) There was another time honoured tradition that us grade five students pursued...the game of chicken. The ultimate show of machismo for young boys to show their mettle and in the process impress a girl or two with fearless bravado. They were probably laughing at us all along but there was no way you were going to show weakness in front of a bunch of people after school.
And so it came to be at this new school that I had to show, once again, that I belonged or at least could take the punishment being doled out. The school was St. Dorothy's Catholic School...real tough sounding place eh? Actually it was pretty tough because of the area where it was located, a mixed neighbourhood of low to middle class families, lot's of immigrants and more than a little tension. It wasn't Jane and Finch, which I had lived in just before this area, but it wasn't Rosedale either. Remember the eye poking story...this was the place.
I had arrived with a couple of months left in grade four so I really never had the opportunity to develop any real friendships and the switch from public school to the catholic system was messing around with me, especially in regards to French class. I hadn't spoken a word of it prior to landing in the new school so I was four years behind everyone else...nice when the teacher calls you out for that by the way. Hated my new school, I'm pretty sure that I let my parents know in no uncertain terms. Bit by bit over the summer I met some kids from the school and made some friends as well. There was a local tough kid that I had seen and learned to stay away from in the townhouse complex, he scared me a bit to be honest. Wouldn't you know that this kid, Wayne, went to my school instead of the public school next door to St. Dorothy's. Seems he has been kicked out of the other school...you know where this is going.
I don't really recall what the mild disagreement was over when we started off the new year but it seemed that master Wayne had an issue with me. This being before my revelation to not give a flying fuck about what people thought of me, I probably took it the wrong way, which didn't help matters I am sure. I do recall playing foot hockey this one day and stopping him every time he had the ball on his feet and he being way more athletic than I for sure he took some frustration with him back to class when the bell rang. Whatever...I did what I was supposed to do for my team, stop the damn ball in those epic games that meant the world back then. And he didn't like it. And probably he didn't like me because I was white and he was black...he really was angry kid, which made him all the more intimidating to me. Which mattered not a bit when I somehow found myself facing off with him in a stupid game of chicken. There we were, two feet separating us and we were throwing switch blades at each others feet....yep. We had sneakers on but still....yep. The idea was to get the other guy to get his feet as close as possible together by throwing the blade between the feet, and one foot move to the new standard indicated by the knife....yep
Now, I may have been a bit scared of him but I was not going to let that stop me from this moronic game we were playing....I wouldn't call chicken with this clown, not a chance in hell. And here he is with the knife and my feet completely together...if he was throwing there was a good chance it was going into my foot, go ahead man, your turn. "You're not calling chicken?" Nope...throw man. So he did and the knife bounced off my foot harmlessly....phew. My turn, I brought his feet right together with my next shot and waited while he decided what to do next. Bam...he missed to the right of the foot. My turn, "you calling chicken?" No! There was no shortage of bravado on this day but there was a pair of ripped pants...seems like I put a slice into them with my next shot and I was staring down this angry guy after nearly stabbing him. His shot, I don't think he even asked if I was going to call chicken so he threw down, he managed to put it in the gap between my feet....hahaha On my next turn I pierced his shoe and the knife was sticking out of the rubber at the head of his foot...very close to drawing blood. This seemed to shock him, I saw the uncertainty in his eyes...he was getting nervous. His next shot bounced away again and I decided to fuck around with him at this point. I picked up the blade, felt for sharpness and made a crazy eyed face at him as I wound up for my throw....he jumped out of way before I could release. I had won and without injury, but what I seemed to get most was street cred with these guys...I didn't back down and guys appreciate that from other guys. I now had a friend to watch my back in case I needed it...I didn't but it was nice to know that crazy Wayne was there.
Fast forward a few years and guess what, we moved again....woooohooooo This time we moved in to the St. Marcellus catch area the summer before grade eight started. You already heard of my Portuguese encounters but there was also the mafia connection with all the Italians on my street, and as I was about to find out, my school. I was definitely in the minority by not being Italian but I don't know if that ever bothered me...I could hold my own playing ball hockey with these guys and that counted for something. I didn't know what to expect my first week of school but it certainly wasn't what was about to happen. Back in grade eight I was definitely in better shape than I am now, which is to say I wasn't pear shaped. I could run...both cross country and I had some speed. Both of these would be needed for day two of school. Seems we were playing murder ball that lunch period, for those of you unaware of the subtleties of murder ball, please allow me to explain. Kid chases other kid with tennis ball, wings it at the other kid as hard as possible (hence the murder) preferably at his head. That other kid is now it and must find a new target to murder. Who ever was it at the first bell lost the game and would suffer some sort of punishment. Fun right?
It took me two rounds to realise what was going on with these guys, I would be it, I would chase a kid down and ping him off. This guy would in turn give the ball to Tom Fazzezi, whom I later learned was the fasted kid in the school, and Sir Tom would chase me around the entire school yard waiting for the perfect shot hoping to put one in my ear or worse, right in the face. Because I was shifty and not so slow, I managed to do some great evading...I remember it as an epic battle and I'm certain their were trumpets blowing as we ran around the yard trying not to squash younger kids. When is this recess over? If I had been a little smarter I would have waited until the bell was about to ring and ping someone off right at the buzzer but well, you know. Sure enough I was it at the end. Fine...what form of punishment will I need to endure? They called it the gauntlet...14 guys by my count standing with their legs spread wide as I had to quickly crawl through as they punched me from above. Awesome, sure...great...fuck. Not one to shrink from danger I started plowing my way through and truth be told, it wasn't too bad. I noticed who it me the hardest as a way of marking who to watch out for and sure enough the prick got back into line. Well...let's just say he shouldn't have done it as I raised my rather large noggin at the exact right time to have him consider wearing a jock strap next time he partook in this wonderful game. That's what you get for being a dick...a sore dick.
Like in grade five, I had won over some people and my year never saw that kind of madness again. Indeed I found myself a little niche that year by somehow being one of the smartest kids in the three classes. There was a ranking system based on grades and so on and my name was always in the top ten and if I recall correctly, I finsihed the year as the top boy...not sure how that happened because I rarely handed in my homework on time and hardly ever studied for a test. I feel maybe what I had studied the year before in grade seven at St. Dorothy was an advantage for me, but who knows. I ran cross country, track a little and would have been considered the MVP in foot hockey if there was such a thing. I did well in public speaking contests, learned about styling my hair a bit and I got to dance to Stairway to Heaven on the final song at the last school dance with Nadia....and she picked me, because I wasn't going to dance at all....hahaha I had a good year.
I will have to come back to the boy with the sore balls sometime, Mr Tony Marchese and I had a couple of more run ins a few years later that would make for a good chapter on false bravado.
I hope you're enjoying my reminiscing as I am surely enjoying recounting these stories...lots of memories have flooded back recently.
Ciao
D
Way back when hockey cards meant nothing further than the sheer joy of owning them and then scrambling all your extras to the adoring younger grades, when recess meant tether ball, soccer or foot hockey, with the ensuing red bruised face from where the ball hit you, the mud caked sneakers from the field or the ripped up knees from playing goal (I remember bleeding into my shoes once) There was another time honoured tradition that us grade five students pursued...the game of chicken. The ultimate show of machismo for young boys to show their mettle and in the process impress a girl or two with fearless bravado. They were probably laughing at us all along but there was no way you were going to show weakness in front of a bunch of people after school.
And so it came to be at this new school that I had to show, once again, that I belonged or at least could take the punishment being doled out. The school was St. Dorothy's Catholic School...real tough sounding place eh? Actually it was pretty tough because of the area where it was located, a mixed neighbourhood of low to middle class families, lot's of immigrants and more than a little tension. It wasn't Jane and Finch, which I had lived in just before this area, but it wasn't Rosedale either. Remember the eye poking story...this was the place.
I had arrived with a couple of months left in grade four so I really never had the opportunity to develop any real friendships and the switch from public school to the catholic system was messing around with me, especially in regards to French class. I hadn't spoken a word of it prior to landing in the new school so I was four years behind everyone else...nice when the teacher calls you out for that by the way. Hated my new school, I'm pretty sure that I let my parents know in no uncertain terms. Bit by bit over the summer I met some kids from the school and made some friends as well. There was a local tough kid that I had seen and learned to stay away from in the townhouse complex, he scared me a bit to be honest. Wouldn't you know that this kid, Wayne, went to my school instead of the public school next door to St. Dorothy's. Seems he has been kicked out of the other school...you know where this is going.
I don't really recall what the mild disagreement was over when we started off the new year but it seemed that master Wayne had an issue with me. This being before my revelation to not give a flying fuck about what people thought of me, I probably took it the wrong way, which didn't help matters I am sure. I do recall playing foot hockey this one day and stopping him every time he had the ball on his feet and he being way more athletic than I for sure he took some frustration with him back to class when the bell rang. Whatever...I did what I was supposed to do for my team, stop the damn ball in those epic games that meant the world back then. And he didn't like it. And probably he didn't like me because I was white and he was black...he really was angry kid, which made him all the more intimidating to me. Which mattered not a bit when I somehow found myself facing off with him in a stupid game of chicken. There we were, two feet separating us and we were throwing switch blades at each others feet....yep. We had sneakers on but still....yep. The idea was to get the other guy to get his feet as close as possible together by throwing the blade between the feet, and one foot move to the new standard indicated by the knife....yep
Now, I may have been a bit scared of him but I was not going to let that stop me from this moronic game we were playing....I wouldn't call chicken with this clown, not a chance in hell. And here he is with the knife and my feet completely together...if he was throwing there was a good chance it was going into my foot, go ahead man, your turn. "You're not calling chicken?" Nope...throw man. So he did and the knife bounced off my foot harmlessly....phew. My turn, I brought his feet right together with my next shot and waited while he decided what to do next. Bam...he missed to the right of the foot. My turn, "you calling chicken?" No! There was no shortage of bravado on this day but there was a pair of ripped pants...seems like I put a slice into them with my next shot and I was staring down this angry guy after nearly stabbing him. His shot, I don't think he even asked if I was going to call chicken so he threw down, he managed to put it in the gap between my feet....hahaha On my next turn I pierced his shoe and the knife was sticking out of the rubber at the head of his foot...very close to drawing blood. This seemed to shock him, I saw the uncertainty in his eyes...he was getting nervous. His next shot bounced away again and I decided to fuck around with him at this point. I picked up the blade, felt for sharpness and made a crazy eyed face at him as I wound up for my throw....he jumped out of way before I could release. I had won and without injury, but what I seemed to get most was street cred with these guys...I didn't back down and guys appreciate that from other guys. I now had a friend to watch my back in case I needed it...I didn't but it was nice to know that crazy Wayne was there.
Fast forward a few years and guess what, we moved again....woooohooooo This time we moved in to the St. Marcellus catch area the summer before grade eight started. You already heard of my Portuguese encounters but there was also the mafia connection with all the Italians on my street, and as I was about to find out, my school. I was definitely in the minority by not being Italian but I don't know if that ever bothered me...I could hold my own playing ball hockey with these guys and that counted for something. I didn't know what to expect my first week of school but it certainly wasn't what was about to happen. Back in grade eight I was definitely in better shape than I am now, which is to say I wasn't pear shaped. I could run...both cross country and I had some speed. Both of these would be needed for day two of school. Seems we were playing murder ball that lunch period, for those of you unaware of the subtleties of murder ball, please allow me to explain. Kid chases other kid with tennis ball, wings it at the other kid as hard as possible (hence the murder) preferably at his head. That other kid is now it and must find a new target to murder. Who ever was it at the first bell lost the game and would suffer some sort of punishment. Fun right?
It took me two rounds to realise what was going on with these guys, I would be it, I would chase a kid down and ping him off. This guy would in turn give the ball to Tom Fazzezi, whom I later learned was the fasted kid in the school, and Sir Tom would chase me around the entire school yard waiting for the perfect shot hoping to put one in my ear or worse, right in the face. Because I was shifty and not so slow, I managed to do some great evading...I remember it as an epic battle and I'm certain their were trumpets blowing as we ran around the yard trying not to squash younger kids. When is this recess over? If I had been a little smarter I would have waited until the bell was about to ring and ping someone off right at the buzzer but well, you know. Sure enough I was it at the end. Fine...what form of punishment will I need to endure? They called it the gauntlet...14 guys by my count standing with their legs spread wide as I had to quickly crawl through as they punched me from above. Awesome, sure...great...fuck. Not one to shrink from danger I started plowing my way through and truth be told, it wasn't too bad. I noticed who it me the hardest as a way of marking who to watch out for and sure enough the prick got back into line. Well...let's just say he shouldn't have done it as I raised my rather large noggin at the exact right time to have him consider wearing a jock strap next time he partook in this wonderful game. That's what you get for being a dick...a sore dick.
Like in grade five, I had won over some people and my year never saw that kind of madness again. Indeed I found myself a little niche that year by somehow being one of the smartest kids in the three classes. There was a ranking system based on grades and so on and my name was always in the top ten and if I recall correctly, I finsihed the year as the top boy...not sure how that happened because I rarely handed in my homework on time and hardly ever studied for a test. I feel maybe what I had studied the year before in grade seven at St. Dorothy was an advantage for me, but who knows. I ran cross country, track a little and would have been considered the MVP in foot hockey if there was such a thing. I did well in public speaking contests, learned about styling my hair a bit and I got to dance to Stairway to Heaven on the final song at the last school dance with Nadia....and she picked me, because I wasn't going to dance at all....hahaha I had a good year.
I will have to come back to the boy with the sore balls sometime, Mr Tony Marchese and I had a couple of more run ins a few years later that would make for a good chapter on false bravado.
I hope you're enjoying my reminiscing as I am surely enjoying recounting these stories...lots of memories have flooded back recently.
Ciao
D
Wednesday, 17 August 2016
Dear younger me...circa 1981 -1987
Well, somewhat surprisingly you're still alive in the year 2016. No, we don't have flying saucers for cars and food can't be replicated in a futuristic machine, but there are some pretty cool things going on. Remember your math teacher saying you wouldn't be able to bring your calculator everywhere you go? Well, you don't need it, you have what's called a smart phone and it's essentially a computer in your pocket that has access to just about anything you can think on it and it does calculations to boot. I know your addled brain can't comprehend this, hell I have trouble with it now as well, but to think you can, from something the size of a calculator, have the entire history of knowledge at your finger tips while you're riding the bus.
So, why am I writing you? Other than telling you to buy stock in Apple and a company called Google when it launches I won't really tell you what to do. I suspect if I do my life as I know it will be different and I kind of like my life right now. It's a lot of fun despite the crap that sometimes happens, we'll learn from it all and become a better us in the process. I'm writing you to pass along some wisdom that I have gained over the years, so this letter will be pretty short. Just a few nuggets to really confirm what you already know deep down and perhaps open you up to a few more experiences.
Be nicer to your sister is the first thing I will say. You can torment her if you like, it helps to toughen her up for the world but maybe tell her or show her every once in awhile that she is loved. She's a good person and to let you in on a little secret, she saves your life later on so being nice to her now is the least you can do.
You already know how awesome the parents are and you already treat them with respect so nothing there to worry about save for these two things. Don't be a dick teenager when dad wants to show you something or help him out with a chore. The man works hard and knows some stuff that could be useful to you. You're going to figure it how later so why not start now. And mom worries a lot, be there a bit more for her, she'll appreciate it a lot and it will make you feel good. Oh, and stop ignoring your Croatian heritage...trust me. Right now you avoid it like the plague but you'll want to, at the very least, keep some language skills. The whole of Europe will be calling you later in life and maybe it will be useful to speak a language other than English. Remember what dad said about that....it's true.
I won't be so obtuse as to tell you who to date and who to avoid, that could have repercussions for me today and I don't want certain things changing. For better or worse you'll need to live the life you're going to live, you'll be better for it in the end and enriched beyond belief as well. I will caution to maybe open your eyes a bit more to the people around you. Remember the time you were shocked because that goody two shoes girl was smoking weed, I mean you were shocked. Well, the world is like that, people do the dardnest things and it will shock you to your core sometimes, opening your eyes a little may prevent that shock from hurting you. A little quote here might help "those that matter don't mind and those that mind, don't matter". Trust me.
When you go to Europe with the family, try not to eat so many chickens. It's not your fault of course, you visit five families every day and each family feels the need to kill a chicken and make you some food, it would be rude not to eat, but you gotta find a way to maybe pass off the food to the dog or something. And while there, take a little appreciation in what you're immersed in. Yes the scenery is great and the food is good and that waitress at your aunts inn is really cute, but look and listen for the everyday wonders around you. That market is the stuff of dreams, that cafe where all you were looking for was a hamburger is at a crossroads of peoples everyday lives...check it out man.
Speaking of markets, when the parents are dragging you down to Kensingnton market every other weekend take a moment to really see what you have there. A cornucopia of food, culture and people that spans the globe...right there in the middle of the city. The Italians, Portuguese, Brazilian, Spanish, Chinese, Jamaican and on and on...you may not see it now but believe me when I tell you it's heaven.
You know, I may have more to say later but for now let me say you're doing a great job of being you. You're discovering your voice and growing into yourself quite nicely. I may be biased but who cares, it's my letter to me so I can say what I want.
Keep up the good work you magnificent bastard and keep smiling
Ciao
Me to you
So, why am I writing you? Other than telling you to buy stock in Apple and a company called Google when it launches I won't really tell you what to do. I suspect if I do my life as I know it will be different and I kind of like my life right now. It's a lot of fun despite the crap that sometimes happens, we'll learn from it all and become a better us in the process. I'm writing you to pass along some wisdom that I have gained over the years, so this letter will be pretty short. Just a few nuggets to really confirm what you already know deep down and perhaps open you up to a few more experiences.
Be nicer to your sister is the first thing I will say. You can torment her if you like, it helps to toughen her up for the world but maybe tell her or show her every once in awhile that she is loved. She's a good person and to let you in on a little secret, she saves your life later on so being nice to her now is the least you can do.
You already know how awesome the parents are and you already treat them with respect so nothing there to worry about save for these two things. Don't be a dick teenager when dad wants to show you something or help him out with a chore. The man works hard and knows some stuff that could be useful to you. You're going to figure it how later so why not start now. And mom worries a lot, be there a bit more for her, she'll appreciate it a lot and it will make you feel good. Oh, and stop ignoring your Croatian heritage...trust me. Right now you avoid it like the plague but you'll want to, at the very least, keep some language skills. The whole of Europe will be calling you later in life and maybe it will be useful to speak a language other than English. Remember what dad said about that....it's true.
I won't be so obtuse as to tell you who to date and who to avoid, that could have repercussions for me today and I don't want certain things changing. For better or worse you'll need to live the life you're going to live, you'll be better for it in the end and enriched beyond belief as well. I will caution to maybe open your eyes a bit more to the people around you. Remember the time you were shocked because that goody two shoes girl was smoking weed, I mean you were shocked. Well, the world is like that, people do the dardnest things and it will shock you to your core sometimes, opening your eyes a little may prevent that shock from hurting you. A little quote here might help "those that matter don't mind and those that mind, don't matter". Trust me.
When you go to Europe with the family, try not to eat so many chickens. It's not your fault of course, you visit five families every day and each family feels the need to kill a chicken and make you some food, it would be rude not to eat, but you gotta find a way to maybe pass off the food to the dog or something. And while there, take a little appreciation in what you're immersed in. Yes the scenery is great and the food is good and that waitress at your aunts inn is really cute, but look and listen for the everyday wonders around you. That market is the stuff of dreams, that cafe where all you were looking for was a hamburger is at a crossroads of peoples everyday lives...check it out man.
Speaking of markets, when the parents are dragging you down to Kensingnton market every other weekend take a moment to really see what you have there. A cornucopia of food, culture and people that spans the globe...right there in the middle of the city. The Italians, Portuguese, Brazilian, Spanish, Chinese, Jamaican and on and on...you may not see it now but believe me when I tell you it's heaven.
You know, I may have more to say later but for now let me say you're doing a great job of being you. You're discovering your voice and growing into yourself quite nicely. I may be biased but who cares, it's my letter to me so I can say what I want.
Keep up the good work you magnificent bastard and keep smiling
Ciao
Me to you
Monday, 15 August 2016
Post hoc, ergo propter hoc
Don't mess with the older sister! Wise and sage advice to be sure. In my case it could be said that I was an inch away from losing my eye a lot earlier than now, all because an older sister decided to stick up for her brother.
Back in Mid to Upper Etobicoke we were living in a townhouse complex just off of John Garland Road and Martingrove Road. One of those attempts in urban planning to make the community feel as one. Nice blocks of actually nice homes that had winding paths, lots of green space and a ton of places to hide for illicit behaviour. I was too young for that scene but I certainly found my own trouble often enough. Hanging from a cliff collecting chestnuts. bike races that ended in destroyed bikes and knees, epic hide and seek games and the obligatory ball hockey marathons. And ball hockey is what brought me to two new friends when I moved in. Abbas and Manam were passing the ball around near my place and having a stick near by I sheepishly walked around with it in the hopes they would ask me to join them...they did and friendship was born. Abbas was Indian and Manam was, I want to say, from the Philippines. They went to the public school right next door to the Catholic school I went to, but that never came up for us...the schools hated each other but we were cool with our friendship.
We did what all grade seven kids did, rode our bikes, played hockey, fought and made up and so on. I remember good times with them. I was a little more of a risk taker and I wonder if that got me into some trouble with Abbas' parents, they were quite strict and I sensed that the father hated me just a little bit. Nothing was ever said but you kind of know, I figured if he was still out playing with me I was OK. Now, like all boys and girls we had our share of fights over important things like the goal didn't count and I'm faster than you in a flat out bike race, human nature right, at some point we ended up in an argument over god knows what...maybe hockey cards. These kinds of fights between guys is normal and usually end within an hour or so, the hatchet buried and move on the important things in life, like marbles.
I didn't give the fight any thought the next day as I was walking to school, in fact I probably wan't thinking of anything at all and hence didn't notice Abbas' sister ride up on her bike stopping right in front of me. Here's where that Latin quote comes in. Essentially that quote boils down to this...after this, therefore because of this. Because she did what she did, I turned out the way I did. I have mentioned that there is something that I like about the exotic, perhaps the mystery, perhaps the differences - but I've always been gaga that way. Now one could say that because this exotic beauty stopped me and threatened to push a paper clip in my eye I developed an attraction to the exotic and even dangerous. Horse hockey!! Even before she stared me down I was taken by those eyes, so different than mine and I was always looking for a way to push boundaries with my own safety. She rode right up to me, told me that she knew about the fight Abbas and I had and that if I ever talk to him again she would stick this paperclip in my eye and push to her finger tips. My thoughts during this tirade? God she has beautiful eyes...I could lose myself in them. Yep, pretty stupid I know. My brain works funny.
I didn't think of my safety or trying to explain to my folks what that piece of metal was doing in my eye, I thought of how those eyes attached to that face belonged on a stamp or magazine cover. If I had thought about it I might have guessed that this was her response, as the eldest child, to do her fathers bidding with regards to my friendship with Abbas. Going medieval on my ass, so to speak. Obviously I didn't get stuck and just as obviously Abbas and I drifted apart. We saw each other around the neighbourhood but we didn't hang out like before. Sad but such is life in the boonies.
We went on to live our lives but I still remember those eyes....
Ciao
D
Back in Mid to Upper Etobicoke we were living in a townhouse complex just off of John Garland Road and Martingrove Road. One of those attempts in urban planning to make the community feel as one. Nice blocks of actually nice homes that had winding paths, lots of green space and a ton of places to hide for illicit behaviour. I was too young for that scene but I certainly found my own trouble often enough. Hanging from a cliff collecting chestnuts. bike races that ended in destroyed bikes and knees, epic hide and seek games and the obligatory ball hockey marathons. And ball hockey is what brought me to two new friends when I moved in. Abbas and Manam were passing the ball around near my place and having a stick near by I sheepishly walked around with it in the hopes they would ask me to join them...they did and friendship was born. Abbas was Indian and Manam was, I want to say, from the Philippines. They went to the public school right next door to the Catholic school I went to, but that never came up for us...the schools hated each other but we were cool with our friendship.
We did what all grade seven kids did, rode our bikes, played hockey, fought and made up and so on. I remember good times with them. I was a little more of a risk taker and I wonder if that got me into some trouble with Abbas' parents, they were quite strict and I sensed that the father hated me just a little bit. Nothing was ever said but you kind of know, I figured if he was still out playing with me I was OK. Now, like all boys and girls we had our share of fights over important things like the goal didn't count and I'm faster than you in a flat out bike race, human nature right, at some point we ended up in an argument over god knows what...maybe hockey cards. These kinds of fights between guys is normal and usually end within an hour or so, the hatchet buried and move on the important things in life, like marbles.
I didn't give the fight any thought the next day as I was walking to school, in fact I probably wan't thinking of anything at all and hence didn't notice Abbas' sister ride up on her bike stopping right in front of me. Here's where that Latin quote comes in. Essentially that quote boils down to this...after this, therefore because of this. Because she did what she did, I turned out the way I did. I have mentioned that there is something that I like about the exotic, perhaps the mystery, perhaps the differences - but I've always been gaga that way. Now one could say that because this exotic beauty stopped me and threatened to push a paper clip in my eye I developed an attraction to the exotic and even dangerous. Horse hockey!! Even before she stared me down I was taken by those eyes, so different than mine and I was always looking for a way to push boundaries with my own safety. She rode right up to me, told me that she knew about the fight Abbas and I had and that if I ever talk to him again she would stick this paperclip in my eye and push to her finger tips. My thoughts during this tirade? God she has beautiful eyes...I could lose myself in them. Yep, pretty stupid I know. My brain works funny.
I didn't think of my safety or trying to explain to my folks what that piece of metal was doing in my eye, I thought of how those eyes attached to that face belonged on a stamp or magazine cover. If I had thought about it I might have guessed that this was her response, as the eldest child, to do her fathers bidding with regards to my friendship with Abbas. Going medieval on my ass, so to speak. Obviously I didn't get stuck and just as obviously Abbas and I drifted apart. We saw each other around the neighbourhood but we didn't hang out like before. Sad but such is life in the boonies.
We went on to live our lives but I still remember those eyes....
Ciao
D
Saturday, 13 August 2016
Piri Piri
Have you ever found yourself wondering just how you managed to get yourself into the current pickle you are in? Unsurprisingly I have had a few occasions myself...didn't see it coming or couldn't believe it was happening. Here is one of my favourites...
In the summer of grade eight we moved, again, to a nice tree lined subdivision in mid Etobicoke, and now you're thinking it all comes together...Etobicoke, of course. You'd be right of course, most of my formative years were spent growing up in the wasteland of industrial parks, town house developments, high rises and nondescript subdivisions. A swath cut through it by the Humber Valley River and directly under the runway approach to the airport...nice eh? It was pure vanilla despite the plethora of cultures that occupied it. I think like most people, my parents kept moving around in the area to make a better life for us and keep us away from the downtown core in the belief we would have more opportunities. The debate is there for another day I suppose.
So, anyway, here I am the new kid on the block surrounded by Italians, Portuguese and the whitest Canadian family in the world. My Italian friends would have labelled them as "Mangia Cakes" a not so nice slur for a people famous for eating mayonnaise sandwiches on white bread. Just saying. I hated moving around so much when we were younger, the whole making new friends dance and trying to figure out how things worked in the neighbourhood. Important stuff like, who not to piss off lest ye get beaten with a two by four and which dad was actually crazy. Him I figured out pretty quickly, he lived next door. An angry little Portuguese man with two daughters and a fool for a son, as you can imagine the daughters were where the trouble would lay with...but I had my eye on another Portuguese girl....Paula. She was a little shorter than average, cute and somewhat mysterious to me...almost exotic. Which reminds me of another story....I'll need another post I see. I think the exotic came from the fact that she spoke with an accent and was 3 or 4 years older than me. As in I'm thirteen and she was seventeen, what was I thinking? Her brother was older still and he became my friend on the street. All kinds of good stuff going on here.
Well, in the awe shucks slap you in the back kind of way of showing affection, she liked me I liked her. So we were "going out", sort of maybe. I don't know if at the age of thirteen you could expect anything different but going out meant stolen kisses behind the shed, secret hand holding when angry fathers weren't around and a general understanding that you better not look at another girl...ever. Looking back, we had the same maturity level or worse, meaning I was more mature than she was....think about that for a minute.....right? I remember things like, I'll kiss you for twenty seconds than I have to go...and then giggle all the way through it. Smooth she was. This arrangement would last a few weeks, we would "break up", get back together a month or two later and so on. The stuff dreams are made of I tell ya. At one point, we had broken up for what seemed like a permanent and final time. She was older and went to a different school and she was still counting our kisses, WTF. A few months passed and Valentines Day approached, I must have been feeling sentimental or something at the time but I foolishly sent her a Valentines Day card. She broke up with the boy she was with instantaneously and we were back together...wow! And this is where I caught myself wondering how I ended up here. We were in her basement doing what all teenagers on hormones do, sitting on her couch watching TV and keeping our hands to ourselves as best we could, when she looks over to me and asks me when I'm going to talk to her father. What? "When are you going to talk to my father?" Paula, your dad doesn't speak English and we haven't said a word to each other since I moved in two years ago. "Well, you know, I think you should talk to him still" came her reply. In the far off reaches of my mind a siren starting going off. I'm not sure I know what you mean by talk to your dad. "Tell him you want to see me more, you know" That siren got incredibly loud and flashing lights were everywhere..."you mean sort of like talking about a sort of engagement kind of thing?" Yes, you know what I mean. DANGER!!!! "Sorry, you want me to ask your dad for his permission to marry you at some point in the not to distant future...I'm fifteen, have you lost your mind?" Never saw her again. And her oldest brother Eddie threatened to beat the crap out of me if I ever talked to her again. Yep...no problem. I could just imagine the look on my parents face if I came back engaged while I was supposed to be eating Paula's moms cooking...yummy. Thankfully we moved again a year or so later.
I heard she got married after dropping out of high school, her brother that I hung around with did the same. He had met a girl on a trip back home...when he got back he quit the band we had, and started planning to bring this girl to Canada. To each his own but I sometimes wonder what happened to them. What their lives became and how they were doing in this world of ours....despite the too close for comfort marriage thing I remember some great times with them both. Some funny stories which are coming back to me as I write.....hmmmmmmm
Tchau
D
In the summer of grade eight we moved, again, to a nice tree lined subdivision in mid Etobicoke, and now you're thinking it all comes together...Etobicoke, of course. You'd be right of course, most of my formative years were spent growing up in the wasteland of industrial parks, town house developments, high rises and nondescript subdivisions. A swath cut through it by the Humber Valley River and directly under the runway approach to the airport...nice eh? It was pure vanilla despite the plethora of cultures that occupied it. I think like most people, my parents kept moving around in the area to make a better life for us and keep us away from the downtown core in the belief we would have more opportunities. The debate is there for another day I suppose.
So, anyway, here I am the new kid on the block surrounded by Italians, Portuguese and the whitest Canadian family in the world. My Italian friends would have labelled them as "Mangia Cakes" a not so nice slur for a people famous for eating mayonnaise sandwiches on white bread. Just saying. I hated moving around so much when we were younger, the whole making new friends dance and trying to figure out how things worked in the neighbourhood. Important stuff like, who not to piss off lest ye get beaten with a two by four and which dad was actually crazy. Him I figured out pretty quickly, he lived next door. An angry little Portuguese man with two daughters and a fool for a son, as you can imagine the daughters were where the trouble would lay with...but I had my eye on another Portuguese girl....Paula. She was a little shorter than average, cute and somewhat mysterious to me...almost exotic. Which reminds me of another story....I'll need another post I see. I think the exotic came from the fact that she spoke with an accent and was 3 or 4 years older than me. As in I'm thirteen and she was seventeen, what was I thinking? Her brother was older still and he became my friend on the street. All kinds of good stuff going on here.
Well, in the awe shucks slap you in the back kind of way of showing affection, she liked me I liked her. So we were "going out", sort of maybe. I don't know if at the age of thirteen you could expect anything different but going out meant stolen kisses behind the shed, secret hand holding when angry fathers weren't around and a general understanding that you better not look at another girl...ever. Looking back, we had the same maturity level or worse, meaning I was more mature than she was....think about that for a minute.....right? I remember things like, I'll kiss you for twenty seconds than I have to go...and then giggle all the way through it. Smooth she was. This arrangement would last a few weeks, we would "break up", get back together a month or two later and so on. The stuff dreams are made of I tell ya. At one point, we had broken up for what seemed like a permanent and final time. She was older and went to a different school and she was still counting our kisses, WTF. A few months passed and Valentines Day approached, I must have been feeling sentimental or something at the time but I foolishly sent her a Valentines Day card. She broke up with the boy she was with instantaneously and we were back together...wow! And this is where I caught myself wondering how I ended up here. We were in her basement doing what all teenagers on hormones do, sitting on her couch watching TV and keeping our hands to ourselves as best we could, when she looks over to me and asks me when I'm going to talk to her father. What? "When are you going to talk to my father?" Paula, your dad doesn't speak English and we haven't said a word to each other since I moved in two years ago. "Well, you know, I think you should talk to him still" came her reply. In the far off reaches of my mind a siren starting going off. I'm not sure I know what you mean by talk to your dad. "Tell him you want to see me more, you know" That siren got incredibly loud and flashing lights were everywhere..."you mean sort of like talking about a sort of engagement kind of thing?" Yes, you know what I mean. DANGER!!!! "Sorry, you want me to ask your dad for his permission to marry you at some point in the not to distant future...I'm fifteen, have you lost your mind?" Never saw her again. And her oldest brother Eddie threatened to beat the crap out of me if I ever talked to her again. Yep...no problem. I could just imagine the look on my parents face if I came back engaged while I was supposed to be eating Paula's moms cooking...yummy. Thankfully we moved again a year or so later.
I heard she got married after dropping out of high school, her brother that I hung around with did the same. He had met a girl on a trip back home...when he got back he quit the band we had, and started planning to bring this girl to Canada. To each his own but I sometimes wonder what happened to them. What their lives became and how they were doing in this world of ours....despite the too close for comfort marriage thing I remember some great times with them both. Some funny stories which are coming back to me as I write.....hmmmmmmm
Tchau
D
Friday, 12 August 2016
Losing It
Love lost or love never realised? Either way the love is gone. Uh oh, what the hell is he going to go on about now? Actually something only a few people know and even less understand. I said I was going to be honest with this thing and if you look above under the title I pretty much told you that I was going to ramble and muse out loud. So there.
My very first foray into the real reason high school exists, a social gathering with libations and hormones, was in grade ten as I recall. Somehow one of the geek guys I was friends with convinced me to go to someones house party. This was a huge departure for me as I had always been the socially inept somewhat quiet but brilliant outsider. See what I did there, slipped in the brilliant part. Going to a party with people was new. Not that I hadn't indulged previously but it was a small group of friends, where a six pack could get four of us hammered type thing. This departure promised to have it all, people, including girls, beer and music. With more than a little trepidation I went forth and tentatively stepped into what would become the new me.
I rode my bike to my friends place and we walked the rest of the way to the party. Someone handed me a beer and the night unfolded. I must say here that I remember nothing of the party save the stupid sweater I had on and her. I wasn't drunk I was smitten, so nothing else mattered. Oh, the sweater was one of those early 80's confused geometrical shaped and bright coloured lines things...maybe they will make a come back but hopefully not. Her name was Connie, and Connie, if you somehow end up reading this, my apologies.
I don't recall how we ended up talking that night but we did and it was kind of special, we shared words through the music and chatter around us. The conversation wasn't about the weather and who was getting drunk and doing who, it was about real things that seemed to matter to both of us. And that my friends is the hook for me. Sure, be beautiful but be engaging more, I love a big brain and in those few minutes we had made a connection that wasn't based on our hormones as much as wanting to understand the other person. If you're wondering, nothing happened that night, not even a hug. I did mention I was shy right. I also remember mentioning that I always ended up making friends with girls I was interested in, thus negating any chance of anything ever happening...this is important to the story by the way because nothing ever did happen.
The party ended, we walked back to my buddies house and I rode my bike home. Well, first I rode it into the back of a parked car that I didn't see and than I rode it home...slightly bruised up from landing on the trunk. And life went on. I went to a large high school and I don't recall talking to Connie until sometime later the next grade. She travelled in different circles and I don't even know if we shared any classes to be honest....not the point OK.
Sometime in late grade eleven another house party happened and this was the second step in the life altering course thingy, I got really inebriated. I danced, really badly with other drunk guys to Alexei Sayles Didn't you kill my brother. Wow, stupid us. This is where the basis for our relationship, Connie and I, was started. We became friends but always in the back of my mind I remembered her from that first party, soft eyes, dark hair and quiet passion. Bit by bit we became closer through the next couple of years. We talked at school and when we got home we talked on the phone, all the time. I don't know if she ever knew how I felt about her and I was conflicted about what, if anything, I should do or say. I really loved her as a friend, she called me out on my bullshit and made sure I was being me and we were each others confidants about all sorts of things. We got each other. Just not romantically. And we were in the friend zone.
The only person I ever confided in with how I felt was my best friend Danny. Yes, the locked in the closet guy. So you can appreciate how what I am about to tell you really fucked me up at the time. Connie threw a little house party and as usual it was just us, the gang of 16 that hung around together. At some point Connie whispered that she wanted me to stay back after the party to talk....uhmmmmm, sure. My Spidey sense was tingling for sure. So there I am pretending to help clean up as everyone is leaving and we sit down to have the talk. I remember the pain in her eyes as she spoke, "I like someone and I think you know who it is" You know how stupid I can be over things that should be as simple as the sun coming up, but I had no clue what she was talking about, and furthermore my heart jumped a few beats thinking that she may be talking about me. "I like Danny a lot".....Oh, I used to go by Danny in high school by the way, and I actually pointed to myself and said, not this Danny right? Hold on while I get that rather jagged knife out of my back. What? What the fuck did you just say? And why are you telling me? Ready the next knife...."I think he likes me as well but he won't do anything because of you" Ouch...stop doing that will ya.
Pause for thought here, I am supremely stupid in many things, but this one takes the cake I think, because as I reasoned, I was Connie's friend and friends help each other out, right? So while you shake your head in disbelief I agreed to talk to Danny to seemingly give them my blessing. A few things became instantly apparent to me. I wasn't going to get the girl in this case, more people knew about how I felt for Connie then I thought, I am blind as bat and certain people weren't being honest with me. No soup for you ass hole.
So yes, I did talk to Danny. Feigned concern for me aside I was blunt in my speech, she likes you that way and not me. That's her choice and now yours if you want to pursue it, I have nothing to do with this anymore. Except, obviously I did, because I am Costanza, Lord of the Idiots. Over the next few months they both talked to me about the relationship. "It's so hard, we fight all the time", "I don't know what the other wants"...really, and why are you telling me this? Because they knew I was an idiot and I tried to help when they asked for it. All I ever did was be the guy they could talk to. I never offered advice that could have been interpreted as self serving, until the very end when my advice was taken as just that. Total cluster fuck but that's what you get for being in the middle of two friends that became lovers. A few more ounces of grey matter and I would have told them while I can still be friends with them they should refrain from including me in any discussions about the other one....oh well
I don't look back at the what ifs as you know, nor do I wish she had ended up with me instead of him, that's life and shit happens, but I do wish we were still friends. Maybe I'm crazy and can't see that a friendship would be an impossibility but why does that have to be that way. I'm friends with women I have dated since getting divorced. Most of us are adults and can handle the fact that the romantic didn't work out but the friendship can. I suspect I know the reason and it is inconceivable to me that if it were the case that it would be possible to think that way but then again, my brain works funny.
So Connie, I hope you're doing well, your heart is the same and you have all that you wish for. I miss the person I knew 30 years ago, the one that challenged me, got me and allowed me to get you.
Ciao
D
My very first foray into the real reason high school exists, a social gathering with libations and hormones, was in grade ten as I recall. Somehow one of the geek guys I was friends with convinced me to go to someones house party. This was a huge departure for me as I had always been the socially inept somewhat quiet but brilliant outsider. See what I did there, slipped in the brilliant part. Going to a party with people was new. Not that I hadn't indulged previously but it was a small group of friends, where a six pack could get four of us hammered type thing. This departure promised to have it all, people, including girls, beer and music. With more than a little trepidation I went forth and tentatively stepped into what would become the new me.
I rode my bike to my friends place and we walked the rest of the way to the party. Someone handed me a beer and the night unfolded. I must say here that I remember nothing of the party save the stupid sweater I had on and her. I wasn't drunk I was smitten, so nothing else mattered. Oh, the sweater was one of those early 80's confused geometrical shaped and bright coloured lines things...maybe they will make a come back but hopefully not. Her name was Connie, and Connie, if you somehow end up reading this, my apologies.
I don't recall how we ended up talking that night but we did and it was kind of special, we shared words through the music and chatter around us. The conversation wasn't about the weather and who was getting drunk and doing who, it was about real things that seemed to matter to both of us. And that my friends is the hook for me. Sure, be beautiful but be engaging more, I love a big brain and in those few minutes we had made a connection that wasn't based on our hormones as much as wanting to understand the other person. If you're wondering, nothing happened that night, not even a hug. I did mention I was shy right. I also remember mentioning that I always ended up making friends with girls I was interested in, thus negating any chance of anything ever happening...this is important to the story by the way because nothing ever did happen.
The party ended, we walked back to my buddies house and I rode my bike home. Well, first I rode it into the back of a parked car that I didn't see and than I rode it home...slightly bruised up from landing on the trunk. And life went on. I went to a large high school and I don't recall talking to Connie until sometime later the next grade. She travelled in different circles and I don't even know if we shared any classes to be honest....not the point OK.
Sometime in late grade eleven another house party happened and this was the second step in the life altering course thingy, I got really inebriated. I danced, really badly with other drunk guys to Alexei Sayles Didn't you kill my brother. Wow, stupid us. This is where the basis for our relationship, Connie and I, was started. We became friends but always in the back of my mind I remembered her from that first party, soft eyes, dark hair and quiet passion. Bit by bit we became closer through the next couple of years. We talked at school and when we got home we talked on the phone, all the time. I don't know if she ever knew how I felt about her and I was conflicted about what, if anything, I should do or say. I really loved her as a friend, she called me out on my bullshit and made sure I was being me and we were each others confidants about all sorts of things. We got each other. Just not romantically. And we were in the friend zone.
The only person I ever confided in with how I felt was my best friend Danny. Yes, the locked in the closet guy. So you can appreciate how what I am about to tell you really fucked me up at the time. Connie threw a little house party and as usual it was just us, the gang of 16 that hung around together. At some point Connie whispered that she wanted me to stay back after the party to talk....uhmmmmm, sure. My Spidey sense was tingling for sure. So there I am pretending to help clean up as everyone is leaving and we sit down to have the talk. I remember the pain in her eyes as she spoke, "I like someone and I think you know who it is" You know how stupid I can be over things that should be as simple as the sun coming up, but I had no clue what she was talking about, and furthermore my heart jumped a few beats thinking that she may be talking about me. "I like Danny a lot".....Oh, I used to go by Danny in high school by the way, and I actually pointed to myself and said, not this Danny right? Hold on while I get that rather jagged knife out of my back. What? What the fuck did you just say? And why are you telling me? Ready the next knife...."I think he likes me as well but he won't do anything because of you" Ouch...stop doing that will ya.
Pause for thought here, I am supremely stupid in many things, but this one takes the cake I think, because as I reasoned, I was Connie's friend and friends help each other out, right? So while you shake your head in disbelief I agreed to talk to Danny to seemingly give them my blessing. A few things became instantly apparent to me. I wasn't going to get the girl in this case, more people knew about how I felt for Connie then I thought, I am blind as bat and certain people weren't being honest with me. No soup for you ass hole.
So yes, I did talk to Danny. Feigned concern for me aside I was blunt in my speech, she likes you that way and not me. That's her choice and now yours if you want to pursue it, I have nothing to do with this anymore. Except, obviously I did, because I am Costanza, Lord of the Idiots. Over the next few months they both talked to me about the relationship. "It's so hard, we fight all the time", "I don't know what the other wants"...really, and why are you telling me this? Because they knew I was an idiot and I tried to help when they asked for it. All I ever did was be the guy they could talk to. I never offered advice that could have been interpreted as self serving, until the very end when my advice was taken as just that. Total cluster fuck but that's what you get for being in the middle of two friends that became lovers. A few more ounces of grey matter and I would have told them while I can still be friends with them they should refrain from including me in any discussions about the other one....oh well
I don't look back at the what ifs as you know, nor do I wish she had ended up with me instead of him, that's life and shit happens, but I do wish we were still friends. Maybe I'm crazy and can't see that a friendship would be an impossibility but why does that have to be that way. I'm friends with women I have dated since getting divorced. Most of us are adults and can handle the fact that the romantic didn't work out but the friendship can. I suspect I know the reason and it is inconceivable to me that if it were the case that it would be possible to think that way but then again, my brain works funny.
So Connie, I hope you're doing well, your heart is the same and you have all that you wish for. I miss the person I knew 30 years ago, the one that challenged me, got me and allowed me to get you.
Ciao
D
Thursday, 11 August 2016
Validity
While in Edmonton a few years back at that stupid big mall I bought a t-shirt for my son that had a Rubik's cube on it with the caption "I cube therefore I am" Actually, I designed it and taught the guy running the machine the proper spelling on it and watched, with some amusement, him run three times to the other side of the big ass mall, to his other location, for more material...hahaha. But I digress, self serving validation comes to mind with that caption, and this one...I blog therefore I am? Meh...I am therefore I am and I'm OK with that. But that's not the validity that I'm talking about today...I'm talking about the validity of the church and marriage and more to the point, annulment.
I will begin by saying that despite the way my marriage unfurled and the crap that went along with the divorce process I am not against marriage at all. I'm open to it if it feels right sometime in the future. And if it doesn't happen that's OK as well. And I bare no ill will towards my ex. I'm not a fan of hers right now but I hope she finds happiness and peace that truly works for her. So this isn't about my ex per se, it's about her desire to have an annulment now that divorce is final and the seeming duality of truths that the church will tell you about when it comes to annulment.
As far as I understand it, an annulment is granted when a certain narrow set of requirements are met, and it really boils down to the fact that at the time of marriage there was a sort of fatal flaw that meant the marriage never happened. It never happened....got it? Well, if that's the case can I have my marriage course fee, the priests gratuity and the $14,000 that I spent on the wedding back? No? OK, than I get to say what I want to say.
Fatal flaws would include, lying about wanting to have kids, lying about being a good Catholic, not being able to actually get married (think kissing cousins here) or not understanding the enormity of what you were about to enter into. Well, no disrespect to my ex but none of those standards are met with her request for an annulment. And I said as much when interviewed by the nice church lady. This tangent, if followed, would leave me chirping about a few things that really shouldn't be chirped about so suffice to say that my ex and I don't see eye to eye on if our marriage ever existed.
Now, if you follow what the church says, an annulment means that our marriage never existed which leads to my youngest asking the inevitable question, does that mean we don't exist, and if we don't exist does that mean we will simply vanish in a puff of holy smoke? Well, no sweetie. The church is kind of funny here. They will tell you that the children were conceived in wedlock and are a product of marriage so they are valid. but if the marriage was not valid, the kids couldn't be valid. Of course they are, says the church, they were conceived under the assumption of validity so they are valid. You see where this is going?
Like a politician, me thinks the church is speaking out of both sides of their collective mouths. I'm no cannon law expert but I find it difficult to reconcile the mixed message that is being put out there with regards to the kids and annulment. Kids were conceived within the confines of a recognised marriage until the marriage was declared to have not existed, but it's OK - the kids are still legit. Well, thanks for that but perhaps a gut check is in order, will you please. Oh, and one other thing...get real!!
I'm not trying to convince anyone of anything here, just pointing out the dichotomy of the situation and what kind of message it sends to the world out there and to my kids. Every time this subject comes up with people I know, every time, the response is the same...get the fuck out, or something similar...hehehe Right. I've said all along, I could not care less if her wish is granted and the church gives her an annulment. It's no skin off my nose and if it makes her a little happier, fill your boots. But I don't think the decision can't be based on lies or half truths, what little credibility the church may have gets eroded if there is a simple rubber stamping process. And as far as I can tell the church has enough PR issues to deal with, you know what I'm saying.
Delving into church and religion.....oooohhhhhhh And awesome with you!
Ciao
D
I will begin by saying that despite the way my marriage unfurled and the crap that went along with the divorce process I am not against marriage at all. I'm open to it if it feels right sometime in the future. And if it doesn't happen that's OK as well. And I bare no ill will towards my ex. I'm not a fan of hers right now but I hope she finds happiness and peace that truly works for her. So this isn't about my ex per se, it's about her desire to have an annulment now that divorce is final and the seeming duality of truths that the church will tell you about when it comes to annulment.
As far as I understand it, an annulment is granted when a certain narrow set of requirements are met, and it really boils down to the fact that at the time of marriage there was a sort of fatal flaw that meant the marriage never happened. It never happened....got it? Well, if that's the case can I have my marriage course fee, the priests gratuity and the $14,000 that I spent on the wedding back? No? OK, than I get to say what I want to say.
Fatal flaws would include, lying about wanting to have kids, lying about being a good Catholic, not being able to actually get married (think kissing cousins here) or not understanding the enormity of what you were about to enter into. Well, no disrespect to my ex but none of those standards are met with her request for an annulment. And I said as much when interviewed by the nice church lady. This tangent, if followed, would leave me chirping about a few things that really shouldn't be chirped about so suffice to say that my ex and I don't see eye to eye on if our marriage ever existed.
Now, if you follow what the church says, an annulment means that our marriage never existed which leads to my youngest asking the inevitable question, does that mean we don't exist, and if we don't exist does that mean we will simply vanish in a puff of holy smoke? Well, no sweetie. The church is kind of funny here. They will tell you that the children were conceived in wedlock and are a product of marriage so they are valid. but if the marriage was not valid, the kids couldn't be valid. Of course they are, says the church, they were conceived under the assumption of validity so they are valid. You see where this is going?
Like a politician, me thinks the church is speaking out of both sides of their collective mouths. I'm no cannon law expert but I find it difficult to reconcile the mixed message that is being put out there with regards to the kids and annulment. Kids were conceived within the confines of a recognised marriage until the marriage was declared to have not existed, but it's OK - the kids are still legit. Well, thanks for that but perhaps a gut check is in order, will you please. Oh, and one other thing...get real!!
I'm not trying to convince anyone of anything here, just pointing out the dichotomy of the situation and what kind of message it sends to the world out there and to my kids. Every time this subject comes up with people I know, every time, the response is the same...get the fuck out, or something similar...hehehe Right. I've said all along, I could not care less if her wish is granted and the church gives her an annulment. It's no skin off my nose and if it makes her a little happier, fill your boots. But I don't think the decision can't be based on lies or half truths, what little credibility the church may have gets eroded if there is a simple rubber stamping process. And as far as I can tell the church has enough PR issues to deal with, you know what I'm saying.
Delving into church and religion.....oooohhhhhhh And awesome with you!
Ciao
D
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