Reality check

Photo by Linda Gerrior

Graduation is always a time of excitement and expectation. The future is laid out before the grads full of possibilities. It is a time of change, of evolution, of movement into adulthood and the real world that many graduates have been clamouring to see and experience.

I always feel the rush of excitement every graduation season. It gives me a thrill to think of all these graduates will do in the coming years. But this year is a little different, a little like a wake up call.

I know many of the graduates this year and the thing is, I first knew them when they were aged nine or 10, the same age as my kids now. And somehow these kids are graduating. How did that time from elementary school to graduation go so fast?

This graduating class leaves me feeling a little scared as it has become clear that in a blink of an eye it will be my own children walking across that stage and then we will all begin a new stage in life; a stage where my favourite people will no longer be living in my house. That's the thing about being a parent, you raise your kids to be the sort of people you want to be around, and then they leave.

It's a day of mixed emotions for parents and this is the first year that I caught that sensation as well as the excitement. It will be my turn to cry soon enough.

Congratulations to all the graduates. Here's a toast to the parents for bringing them up and letting them go.

A man walks into a coffee shop...

This weekend my family spent a few days in the city which is something that only happens once or twice a year. One of the city's features that my children comment on during these urban interludes are the beggars on the street. We don't have street people where we live and my children react cautiously when someone asks for money as we stroll along the sidewalk.

On Sunday afternoon we went for lunch at a waterfront fast food restaurant. We had gotten our food and were tucking in to some sandwiches after a tour of the provincial art gallery when a ruckus erupted at the service counter behind us.

I did not see what happened but I heard a man, who would likely be pigeonholed into the category of street person, raise his voice in complaint. He said the server had thrown the change across the counter at him. She claimed that she dropped it by mistake-- I don't know what happened and it soon became irrelevant. Rather than apologize for the accident, the staff got into a heated argument with the man with one staff member eventually yelling, “Get the fuck out of my store. I am calling the police.”

The fire was lit and the man continued to loudly accuse the staff of showing him no respect. Another staff member, with a cooler head, asked the man to leave and added that there were children in the restaurant (mine) and that the man was scaring them. The man pointed out that he was not the one swearing, true; but he was yelling and my kids were definitely nervous. Despite the calm and rational voice of this particular staff member, the fire once lit took a while to burn out.

After a few minutes the man finally left and the staff regrouped behind the counter. The manager, the one who had swore at the man, came back out from what one assumes was the office and was heard saying, “I don't have time for this.” Then business resumed as usual with the manager apologizing to the remaining customers for the incident-- but not apologizing for his own hostile behaviour which exacerbated the situation.

Everyone was incredulous at the man's outburst. They sided with and supported the staff. There was not a single comment heard which considered the man's perspective.

When we left the restaurant I asked my kids what they thought about it all. They had been scared by the confrontation and they repeated the types of sentiments echoed by all the customers after the man's departure.

So I asked them, “What about the man? How do you think he felt? Imagine that every place you went people didn't want to look at you. That when you bought something in a store the clerk threw the change at you because they didn't want to touch you. Imagine that every day is like that. Imagine there is no place that you can go that people will treat you with respect. That is what that man is living. And when you live that way, every little incident piles up and weighs you down so that what seems like a little thing to us onlookers becomes a huge, intolerable offence.”

They began to consider what I was saying but I don't know if they would think of such an incident differently in the future; if they would try to see the outsiders point of view.

These incidences, the so called microaggressions that have often been cited in terms of race relations in North America, are a daily reality for many people. The million slights and put downs foment frustration and incredulity that the world can treat people this way and not recognize the harm done.

I read about an example of microagression recently on facebook; an incident at a local store where a woman of colour casually mentioned to the clerk that she was just getting off work and that she taught at a nearby school. The clerk's next comment was to ask the woman if she was a Teacher's Assistant to which the woman replied that she was a teacher which elicited a 'Wow' from the clerk.

People constantly face this everyday devaluing of their worth and questioning of their position in the world. The teacher in her post was quick to point out that being a TA is an admirable profession but the assumption that a woman of colour could not be a teacher, which was clearly subconsciously (or consciously) what the clerk thought, was a hard wall to run into at the end of the day.

I am a white woman and have never experience racism directed at me but I have felt the sting and judgement of others for being poor, for being from a 'broken home', and occassionally for being female. And I have seen countless examples of people being disrespectful to those among us whose lives hover on the edges of society rather than nestled against her soft, exceedingly white, bosom.

When I was a teenager one of my first real jobs was at a fast food restaurant in Edmonton. Edmonton is a cold place. It's not for the faint hearted or the unhoused.

There was a man who came to my restaurant every evening. He ordered coffee; nothing else. He sometimes asked for the advertised free refill. He wore big headphones back in the day when that was not cool. The headphone wires hung freely from his coat searching for a nonexistent walkman.

This man was homeless, or at the very least housing challenged. Headphone man was not exactly clean. He kept to himself and he didn't talk much.

After a few shifts of observing his behaviour I started buying him lunch and then sitting with him to eat during my break. I don't remember talking to him about anything although I am sure we did. I don't even remember his name although I must have known it at the time. I remember his beard, his headphones, his quiet.

My lunch dates with headphone man lasted for a couple of months but then the hammer came down. I was instructed by my manager not to give headphone man food. I explained that I had paid for it, I was not giving him my free lunch which was part of the benefits offered to workers at this particular establishment. That made no difference. The manager was clear, they did not want headphone man in the store. He wasn't good for business.

I told headphone man I could not eat with him anymore or I'd lose my job and he stopped coming. Shortly after that I quit my job, not directly because of the headphone man incident but in some ways it was related. I looked forward to lunch with headphone man. He made me feel like I mattered because he mattered to me. Without him there was very little to look forward to at work.

What's more he was an outsider. He wasn't part of the machine. He was not one of the worker drones that thought the company was the most important thing in the world. There would be no fascination with company training videos which instilled a cult like following in employees for headphone man. He'd utilize the machine but would never become part of it.

Headphone man wanted a warm place to sit and drink coffee. A small request of the universe, of civilization. His money was the same as every other patron yet he could not be tolerated.

People are jerks. They are convinced of the correctness of their actions especially when they have society praising their discriminatory behaviour. People want to be treated like people, not like rabid dogs whose food must be thrown from a distance to avoid contamination. When you treat others like they are uncivilized animals, it is best to stop and reflect on who the actual beast may be.

I missed an opportunity this weekend to say something to all those people in the restaurant who were upholding the status quo. I have to admit that I did not want to get involved; my kids were with me and I was not sure where the confrontation would go—I couldn’t risk my or my children's safety. The best I could do was make the incident a talking point, a means to discuss different points of view of the same incident; a chance to shape my children into the people I want them to be.

June 13/ 2016

Kids these days, oy vey

It has been in the news provincially in recent weeks that kids these days, well, they're useless. They don't do their homework, they are only interested in texting their friends and they have no work ethic. Many people may take these charges as truth having no contact with today's youth. Some may have formed this opinion because they have had contact with kids today and it wasn't a good experience. When it comes to kids today I have a unique perspective; I employ, teach and study with them. Given this portfolio of experience, I know a thing or two about kids today.

Work ethic, they have none. A small business owner recently went on the record to state that her business was forced to close because she could not get good workers. The kids she hired were always on their phones and didn't perform their prescribed duties. That is a pretty outrageous charge to lay at the feet of your employees. What about the employer? It seems like she may not have created the best work environment as she's scapegoated her employees when everyone knows—It's the economy stupid. Surely there may have been some inappropriate use of time; who among us can honestly say they don't check their personal facebook or e-mail when they are on the company clock? The sad thing is that no employers go on the record singing the praises of their employees, so I will.

A few years ago I was in a management position and had two university students working under me. They were great at their jobs. They got great reviews from the public they served. And they stayed on task even when some of those tasks were mind numbingly boring. In fact, I sometimes had to escape from my office and my own duties on dull days. I would break into their work day to have a little chat and some social time. I can't recall them doing the same thing. They were outstanding, dedicated workers who took their jobs seriously.

When it comes to work ethic, I have only seen a serious failure to develop one in co-workers who were senior in age to myself. Some people won't take a job because they think the pay is too low. They choose not to work at all. Kids today want money, they're working. Take a look at who is working the cash when you buy groceries on the weekend or during the evening shift. In our local grocery store it is almost all high school students at work during the weekend.

Some people take a job and then fail to work because they think they aren't being paid enough. This was what I witnessed; a coworker did nothing for an entire contract. That worker wasn't a youth but someone several years my senior. The younger workers on the same contract all managed to fulfill their contractual obligations.

I see high school students whose schedules are overloaded with sports, part-time employment, school work and occasionally some fun with friends. I am amazed by the things these kids get done and feel that my own teenage years were completely wasted. Kids these days have a three page resume of volunteer and paid work by the time they leave high school. My generation never moved so constructively in the world, never accomplished as much as kids today.

This week I attended a very long meeting where one presenter talked for over two hours; citing reports and posting graphs in power point. The people in the crowd were very attentive, the presentation was about a process that would see the local school close. In the front row were six teenage girls. They had gone to this school and would be moving on to a new school in the coming year for high school. The decision made about the fate of their current school would not affect them personally. But they too were attentive, didn't fidget (as I occassionally did) and weren't playing on their smart phones. This is not remarkable. It is only remarkable to people who discount the thoughtfulness of kids today and their concern for community.

I also act as a host mom to international students. These kids come to a new country, a new language, a new school and do well. They often get top marks. Kids today, how many adults could make this leap?

Yes, there are some problems with kids today but I think many of them are problems we, the generations that came before the millennials, have created. Our lowered expectations, reflected in grade inflation in university and no fail policies in public education, is creating this false idea that kids these days are spoiled, entitled brats.

Every generation bemoans the one that follows. Can we ever accomplish more than our forefathers? Of course we can. Kids today are doing amazing things. Occassionally we'll see these amazing things reported in the media but not often enough. However, not every young person is making incredible breakthroughs with their science fair project, not every young person is going to accomplish something that will bring them into the public eye. To expect them to do that is setting the bar pretty high. We need to acknowledge that kids today, the ones that aren't making it into the newspaper, are doing good things every day, working hard and contributing to society.

If children are our future...I think it looks pretty bright. From the baby boomers on down, we've done a pretty good job of screwing things up, I am confident that the youth of today will help save us. We're in good hands. Let's get out of their way and let them have at it. Top photo: The Millennials and me -- at work.

Murderers among us

I saw him the other day-- the face in the crowd that always reminds me of what has been lost. I thought about going over to him and describing the pain he inflicted on me, the thoughtlessness of his words, his total incomprehension of the human heart. I wanted to tell him that when I see his face the word that comes to mind is murder.

It was coincidentally the anniversary of my uncle's murder the day I saw the man in the mall; the man who once, upon knowing who I was, spoke to me a great length about the man who murdered my uncle and, by proxy, my grandfather who died several days later of a broken heart. The man in the store had grown up with the killer; such a nice guy. So many good times.

When I see that man I think of all the good times my uncle never had with his grandchildren, all the days when my cousins must want to tell him something about their lives but cannot. I think of what the killer took from all of us.

The murder happened when I was living in Bangkok. I had just started my Masters degree and got an early morning phone call from my father. He was crying on the phone. I was helpless half a world away.

A few days later I got another call; my grandfather had died. I just stayed in my one room apartment and sat in the shower for days so I wouldn't know how many tears I shed.

So now when I see that man, I see murder, I see loss, I see pain.

I sometimes think about which is worse, to lose a loved one by accident, by disease or by violence. Having experienced all three I reckon to lose a loved one by someone else's hand is far worse than any other loss. There was an alternative, a different path the killer might have taken.

I cried in the shower this morning as I thought of the last time I saw my grandfather. I was heading back to Thailand after a visit home and he cried as I went out the front door of the small white house across from the beach where I had always known him. Something in his heart told him he wouldn't see me again.

My grandfather was not a crying man. I can only remember seeing him cry once before and that was when my mother announced she was leaving my father. He went out to one of his fishing sheds to wipe his eyes and didn't come back until we had left the house. And it was my uncle who helped us move in the middle of snow storm; tears in his eyes.

The first time I came home after the murders was the hardest. I saw a man walking towards me at the annual come home week parade and for a moment I thought it was my uncle. It shook me to realize that he was gone and that it was my cousin, his son, standing in front of me.

That trip home was a difficult one. In my absence I had lost five family members and I remember the trip mostly as a pilgrimage of grief; first to Massachusetts where two aunts and a grandfather had died and then to Nova Scotia to confront the murder of my uncle and subsequent death of my grandfather.

I don't know how many years it has been since my uncle and grandfather died. Every year I wonder about how long it has been because this pain doesn't end. Time doesn't replace what has been lost. What was needlessly taken from my family.

I am so angry.

HaiKube games

S-girls sentences

Violet looks sadly into water.

Life shines with grand, sweet promises.

Watching water with gentle, sweet thoughts.

For life looks clear not curvy.

We are heroes that quickly light life in all.

We many thugs are desperate for candy.

I finally found the villain’s body.

I finally met a time doctor. (Doctor Who)

Those fantasies light her dead brain.

Lois's sentences

We live in an unparalleled universe with livid, hot emotions.

We radicals with lofty, smooth ideals are frequently grounded by age.

We hellbent doctors are heavy with regret.

No heart returns to the alternate love; save in the last days.

If glancing thunder should travel inside her mind, sanity would be restored.

Never travel with the last bottle for you'll surely come to a bad end.

Your through with love, pluck the shelter from your heart and let devastation rule.

If next my ritual charm should fail, the wheel will cease to turn.

One hellbent for fertile love will sow a barren garden.

Parallel lots hoped for a logical conclusion to hate.

Balance any shady hope as if it was the weight of water.

She embraced the simple melodic hand of fortune.

Confession-- a short story

I killed a man.

I was heading south of the city on a moonless night. The asphalt stretched in a straight line beyond the reach of the headlights and the stars were sending secret messages to their neighbours.

Two hours out and I had encountered only a handful of motorist. It was a weekday, after midnight. I had delivered my cargo to the fish market in Bangkok. I don't like the city; no sky, no air, no sea. I turned around for the trip home; driving through to daylight and the call to prayer from my father's minaret.

I was caught in several police road blocks coming into the city. I rolled down my window and held out the customary bribe. I held the money in my hand, tightly folded so they could not determine the denomination of the bill until I had secured my passage. I keep a wallet full of small bills for such occasions.

The truck was overloaded; it always is on these runs. The back bumper threatening to hit the pavement at every dip in the road.

The shrimp were quickly unloaded; heading to tables around the world. I got my money, some coffee and noodles from a street vendor. They weren't halal but I was hungry and no one but God and I would know.

I slid behind the wheel, my seat readily complying to my body; its familiar companion.

Clear, dark, lonely nights-- they're the best for driving. I make good time. The road is magic under these four wheels; it disappears before the universe registers my presence.

The radio is on but there is not much I want to hear so I tune into silence. The night grows deeper and I don't mind. Nights are meant to be like that-- lonely.

The headlights of the truck reach out and caress a rider. The motorcycle has no lights, and the rider no helmet. There is a hitch in the stride of the truck and a brief shudder reverberates through the steering wheel. The bike and rider are gone and the night flows through me.

I roll down the window and drink the humidity, subconsciously listening for an animal's howl. I hear nothing. There's nothing now but I know there was something, someone -- and I know what I have done.

I am travelling 120 miles an hour on a straight, dark highway with flooded rice fields banking the margins. There is no surviving this. No need to turn back.

Doubt claws at me as the miles pass. I have a clear picture of a stunned bird flapping helplessly in the middle of quiet city street one fall afternoon. That was a different life. Another life that I failed to save. I watched the bird from the safety of the sidewalk. It was starting to rain; a cold rain in a northern city very far from this place.

I thought about rescuing the bird from its certain death but I didn't know what to do with that life. It would be a burden, a question, an inconvenience. I watched as a car turned onto the street and killed the bird. I could have at least done that-- I know about the killing of things.

But now I can't turn back. I could search the highway all night and never find the scene of the crime. It's a long, dark road reflecting back on itself mile after mile.

The rider, like the bird before, has died or will die soon. I killed them both. This is my confession.

Empowerment

A few weeks ago, during a beautiful fall day on campus, I was reminded of the fear inherent in being a woman. I was walking back to school from the new Chocolaterie with my 10-year-old daughter at my side. A young man crossed the street with us and started a conversation. He appeared to be a university student; he had the prerequisite back pack, wore black framed glasses and was walking towards the campus as were we.

He started to talk about his recent acupuncture appointment and the remarkable feeling of wellness he was now experiencing. The conversation moved on to areas of study. When I asked him what he was studying he gave a vague and slightly nonsensical answer which immediately tweaked my bull shit radar.

I reassessed the situation and thought about how he would see me; a small woman, single mother, with child in tow. I was a good target and I knew it.

I have read a lot of forensic reports; have studied forensic anthropology and have had an interest in forensic psychology. A university campus is a rich hunting ground for predators and I thought I might have encountered one.

I started to increase the distance between the man and myself. And then he grabbed the top strap of my backpack and tugged me towards him. The backpack was full and I momentarily lost my balance. Once I regained my equilibrium I quickly altered my route in opposition to his, all the while outraged at what he had just done but fearful to confront him about his inappropriate actions. A confrontation could escalate the situation if he was truly a threat. If he wasn't, if he was just oblivious to how he had violated my space, a confrontation might be 'a teachable moment'. But with my daughter by my side, I could not risk any possible negative outcomes.

My daughter and I headed off towards my car where I sat for a few moments to regroup. I was upset by what had happened, mostly because my daughter was with me. I thought about what I could have done better-- not taken part in the conversation in the first place? I don't like that option. I don't want to live in fear of every friendly man that I meet. Sometimes people are just friendly. But as a woman it can be hard to tell what will start as friendly and end as scary.

This may seem like a small incident and maybe nothing at all to some people. But as women we face these little incidents, moments when we are reminded that our bodies may be taken, that we may not be able to protect those that we love, that we may face unwanted attention, at any time and in any place.

I would like to say that I am strong but physically I am a small woman and there is nothing that will ever change that. After a similar instance in my twenties, I spent a few years in the gym, working to overcome that physical reality. But no matter how much I could bench press or how many bicep curls I could do in a row-- my strength and stamina would never match most men I would encounter in my life.

It is an uncomfortable feeling; this powerlessness.

Women live with the possibility of violence every day. It isn't something that I think about on a daily basis but it is something that simmers under the surface.

I hate that I have to live with this. I hate that my daughters will have to live with this. I hate that no matter what consciousness raising efforts we have promoted in recent decades; things have not changed.

Respect my body's autonomy. Give me some space.