A Baby is Born on New Year's Eve 1994

It was December 31st 1994 and my wife was very, very pregnant.

We were in Brantford Ontario that night, ushering in the new year at the home of some good friends, enjoying a really nice meal there, and calling it quits shortly after midnight. Our plan was to sleep at my wife's parents' house that night before enjoying our traditional New Year's Day meal with them the next afternoon.

Our eldest daughter had just turned 2 and may have been with us for dinner, or she may have stayed back with her Nonna and Nonno. My guess is that she was with us, but I just don't remember that one detail. (That's because she was absolutely the best little girl on the planet and wouldn't have been crabby or loud, wouldn't have broken anything, wouldn't have drawn attention to herself in any way, and thus didn't do anything to insert herself into the story I'm in the midst of telling.) 

It was probably 12:15 that we called it a night and left our friends' house. We, of course, got stopped by RIDE ("reduce impaired driving everywhere" - a drinking-and-driving spot check program in Ontario) and I, of course, had not been drinking because a) I didn't drink, and b) my wife was very, very pregnant and who knew when she might need me to drive her to the hospital. I made a clever comment to the RIDE officer - as I am wont to do - showed him my very pregnant wife, and he sent us on our way. He gave us the gift of an ice scraper.

We had just settled into the hide-a-bed in the basement just before 1:00, when my wife shot bolt-upright in bed, cursed lovingly at the universe, and declared that it was time to get the f@#$k to the hospital (those may not have been her exact words, but she screamed something like that). We woke her parents, asked them to stay with my eldest, and went off to Brantford General.

It was a very quiet night in the maternity ward. Only one other soon-to-be mother was there. She was a screamer - that I remember.

We got settled into a room and we were given the usual medications and instructions. We turned on the tv and started watching the Planet of the Apes marathon that they used to show every New Year's Eve on CITY. We could clearly hear the other woman deep in her labour as we attempted to enjoy our movie. At some point, my wife told me that she wanted to go for a walk to help with the labour and I told her that she could before realizing that she wanted me to go with her. I reluctantly turned off the movie and off we sauntered. 

It was then that I realized it was New Year's Eve, the hospital was mostly empty, and the only other patient was still giving birth. WE HAD A SHOT AT DELIVERING BRANTFORD'S FIRST 1995 BABY!!!

I turned to my wife and enthusiastically shared my insight, gently encouraging her to get serious and hurry up with the whole birthing thing. And she did.

We were soon in the delivery room. The other lady was very close to finished, judging from her increasingly frequent screams and whimpers. I held my wife's hand and whispered words of encouragement: "We can win this thing, but the other lady's really close. You don't want to lose to her, do you? Think of the prizes! Think of the glory! We'll probably be in the paper! You can do this but you have to hurry. You're not some kind of princess who's going to lie there and take pain medicine and wait it out, right? Push like you mean it. PUSH!" (and other inspirational and loving words like that).

Bam! The kid shot out of her and we suddenly had a second daughter (notice I didn't say "beautiful", because I remember clearly that she wasn't - not yet). More importantly, we had won! We had come from far behind and defeated our opponent! Sure, my wife had done most of the work, but let's face it, she couldn't have achieved the victory without my key contributions as coach and mentor.

I remember the nurses and doctors telling us we had just given birth to Brantford's 1995 New Year's Baby (thinking that we didn't know) and congratulating us. I remember asking if we could go back to the room and keep watching Planet of the Apes.

Later that day, the proud sister, proud grandparents (from both sides), and (I believe) some proud uncles and aunts all got a chance to meet the newest addition to our family. I will never forget my mother taking one glance at her newest grand-daughter and saying "Uh oh, you guys are in trouble with this one." 

She had put words to what everyone else had already seen but not verbalized: this tiny little girl's eyes shone with zest and passion and intelligence and humour, and more than just a hint of mischief.

Think about it: She'd chosen the splashiest night/day of the year to arrive. She'd gotten Mommy and Daddy to bend to her will despite their exhaustion, then - later - despite their desire to enjoy a good movie. And she'd beaten off the competition to come first. Sound like anyone you know?

We did get a headline in the Brantford paper but shared the spotlight with the runners-up because we weren't locals. We also got half of the prizes owed to The New Year's Baby (only half, for the same reason). But most importantly, we got a beautiful, strong, charming, smart, passionate, loving, AND HIGHLY COMPETITIVE addition to our young family.

She'll be 21 tonight. While all the rest of you are toasting 2016, we'll be singing "Happy Birthday" and thanking the universe for blessing us with this amazing person all those years ago. 

(PS - I didn't say anything about the prizes we received that day because I didn't want to insult the City of Brantford. I'll just say that they weren't nearly as good as the RIDE ice scraper.)

The 12 Days of Christmas / A Social Media Breakup

Before I begin, I want to give each of you - my loyal readers - a small token of my appreciation during this holiday season. Here you go... cuff cuff. 

(Please take the time to understand this very witty joke so I don't have to explain it to you).  

Now, without further ado, a purely fictional version of a seasonal favourite...

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On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the second day of Christmas, my true love texted me 2 mad emojis and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the third day of Christmas, my true love Facebooked me 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love Tweeted me 4 #asshole hashtags, 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love LinkedIn to me 5 annoying spammers, 4 #asshole hashtags, 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me a 6 second Vine, 5 annoying spammers, 4 #asshole hashtags, 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love e-mailed me 7 viral hoaxes, a 6 second Vine, 5 annoying spammers, 4 #asshole hashtags, 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love Tindered me with 8 leftward swipes, 7 viral hoaxes, a 6 second Vine, 5 annoying spammers, 4 #asshole hashtags, 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love Blogged 'bout me sharing 9 shameful secrets, 8 leftward swipes, 7 viral hoaxes, a 6 second Vine, 5 annoying spammers, 4 #asshole hashtags, 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love Instagrammed me 10 breakup photos, 9 shameful secrets, 8 leftward swipes, 7 viral hoaxes, a 6 second Vine, 5 annoying spammers, 4 #asshole hashtags, 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love Pintrested me 11 handsome fellas, 10 breakup photos, 9 shameful secrets, 8 leftward swipes, 7 viral hoaxes, a 6 second Vine, 5 annoying spammers, 4 #asshole hashtags, 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for no reason I could see.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love snail-mailed me my 12 Ashley Madison hacked records, 11 handsome fellas, 10 breakup photos, 9 shameful secrets, 8 leftward swipes, 7 viral hoaxes, a 6 second Vine, 5 annoying spammers, 4 #asshole hashtags, 3 mocking selfies, 2 mad emojis, and 1 second every day since she left for a reason I now see.

Pushing Buttons (a children's story)

Annie loved to push buttons.

In the car, she would push the button that made the window roll down, then the one that made it roll up, then the one that made it roll down, then the one that made it roll up...until her Daddy told her to stop doing that.

At home, they had a doorbell that she loved to push over and over again, even after the door was open and she could just go in...until her Daddy told her to stop doing that.

Annie loved to push buttons, but more than anything she loved to push her Daddy's buttons.

One of Daddy's buttons could be pushed by telling him you didn't want any french fries with your hamburger, and then asking for his. Annie loved how Daddy's neck got all scrunched up when he gave her the french fries.

One of Daddy's buttons could be pushed by telling him that he didn't hear you right. Annie loved to say something and then pretend that she didn't, then watch how his ears turned red when she said "I didn't say that. You are wrong."

One of Daddy's buttons could be pushed by calling him a "hippocrit". She saw Mommy do that once and Daddy almost exploded. Annie loved to call Daddy a "hippocrit" (even though she didn't know what one was) and make little puffs of steam come out of his ears.

One day Daddy was very worried about work. They went out for supper to a hamburger restaurant because he didn't have time to make something at home.

He asked her if she wanted french fries and Annie said "no". When they got their food, Annie asked for Daddy's french fries.

Daddy's neck didn't scrunch up, but he said "I thought I asked you if you wanted some french fries and you said 'no'." Annie said that he didn't hear her right and that he was wrong because she had said "yes".

Daddy's ears didn't turn red and he just said "oh" and then looked at something on his phone. Annie started to worry that Daddy's buttons must be broken, so she called him a "hippocrit".

No steam came out of Daddy's ears. He just looked up from his phone for a second and said "That's not what a hypocrite is, Annie" and then looked back down at his phone.

Annie started to cry because Daddy was too busy with work and his buttons weren't working. He frowned a little and said "We'd better go home." He didn't even hug her or wipe her tears.

On the way home, she made the window go down and up, down and up, down and up, down and up. Daddy didn't ask her to stop.

When they got home, Annie pushed the doorbell a bunch of times and Daddy said nothing.

Then, worst of all, Daddy put her straight into bed, gave her the smallest kiss ever, and turned off the light without even saying "Good night". He didn't even notice that she was still crying a little bit.

She heard the sound of him typing on his computer.

After a few minutes, Annie quietly got out of bed and took off her warm pyjama top and put a little t-shirt on instead. Then she threw her pyjama top on the floor.  Then she took some more clothes out of the closet and threw those on the floor too.

Then Annie got back into bed and called "Mommy! Come kiss me goodnight!"

Annie loved to push buttons.

Halloween 2015 - David's Garage Sucks!

Welcome to this year's Halloween recap. As with every year, I invite you to spend a few minutes touring the outside of my home and - of course - my garage.

Before we start, let me introduce you to this year's host, a fellow who needs no introduction...um...vampire guy! 

Now - to visit him in his living (!?!?) room, you'll first have to pass through the local cemetery. A place you may remember from last year: Deadend Cemetery.

And swing by the witches' place and say hi as you pass the twins (they may even give you some treats if you sing them a song).

And at last, you've made it. Here's the scene as you arrive, with lights and sound.

Let me show you around.

You've already met vampire guy. Now meet his sweet daughter (sad story there, attacked by zombies before becoming a vampire adult. But afterlife is afterlife I guess).

The guy in the box behind her is an old friend who came over for a meal years and years ago and never left. 

And speaking of hanging around, let's not forget vampire guy's cousin who's just getting up from a quick nap.

Look, the kids are over too. Aren't they sweet?
 

 

Unfortunately, a couple of the other kids couldn't make it this year. They may be absent, but they're not forgotten.

Since you're here already, why don't you have a look around. Get a sense of what the vampires read and watch for entertainment. And also what they eat and drink.

Thanks for stopping by! Happy Halloween!

Some Thoughts on Tim Hortons

Just a few scattered thoughts about Tim Hortons today:

• Let's start by addressing the elephant in the room: Tim Horton was a hockey player; Tim Hortons the donut shop, therefore, requires an apostrophe. The original Tim Horton Charcoal Broiled Hamburgers in North Bay used the player's name without an 's' and I'm cool with that (mind you, if it was called "Angus Beef Charcoal Broiled Hamburgers", angus beef would clearly be an ingredient, and so I'm not really cool with it at all I guess). At some point, someone decided to introduce an 's' (and add donuts, and remove burgers) and that's when things went horribly wrong. Thats my opinion. Whats yours?
• I think there's lots you can learn about ownership and management by comparing the differences between Tim Hortons franchises (now I don't know if I should be saying "Tim Horton's franchises", "Tim Hortons franchises", or "Tim Hortons' franchises" but I digress). They all have basically the same food, the same equipment, the same procedures for beverage and food preparation, and presumably more or less the same compensation model for staff. And yet, as I'm sure you've experienced - there are wild variances in the customer experience from one place to the next. It's too easy to conclude that how you're treated and how fast your order is prepared comes down to the individual staff member you're dealing with. Not true. It's the ownership/management that recruits, hires and trains those people. I blame (and praise) them. Here are three recent examples of the wildly varying experiences:

Tims #1 (or is it Tim's?) - I pull up in the drive-thru (yes, I know) and the voice on the speaker becomes a person in the window. He hands me my steeped tea. Except it's not steeped tea at all. It's coffee. I tell him. He tells me that I'm wrong and it's steeped tea - pointing at the white "ST" on the lid. I patiently remove the lid and have him (wake up and) smell the coffee. He does, then patiently informs me that it's steeped tea. I eventually have to park and go into the store to rectify the situation. No apologies - just a new cup of tea.

Tims #2 - My colleague and I enter in the early morning and the place is empty. The drive-thru lane is also empty. We order a coffee, a steeped tea, a breakfast sandwich and a toasted bagel. The server's pupils dilate. I can almost hear Homer Simpson in a meltdown at his nuclear plant:  "What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?" THEY ORDERED FOOD AND NOW I HAVE TO MAKE IT BECAUSE I'M ALL ALONE AND I CAN'T DO ALL THIS ON MY OWN!!! Thankfully, some other guy, not in uniform, walks behind the counter, pushes the server aside heroically, and makes our drinks AND our food all while shooting the original server some seriously angry glances. I think I'm seeing the manager in action.

Tims #3 - The voice on the drive-thru speaker is friendly and warm every morning: "Thank you for choosing our Tim Hortons. What can I get for you?" My order is captured without error and without requiring repetition or slowing down. At the window, I'm greeted with a smile and a "Hi!" and my food is delivered promptly and accurately. The whole team seems to have helped. They also seem to like each other (which I have found is often not the case in other Tim Hortons locations - having witnessed staff nearly coming to blows in a Tims #4 I won't talk about further). They are a well-oiled machine. I ask for half-butter on the bagel and they deliver half-butter (Tims #2 confused half-butter with three-times-the-butter). The bagel person is in a hurry to get me my food and hands it to the window person with urgency. The window person is a joy to deal with. And what's most notable is that it's the same experience but not always the same people.

As you might expect, I avoid Tims #1 and Tims #2 and go to Tims #3 ninety-nine percent of the time. I also commend Tims #3's staff all the time. But really, I should also be commending its ownership and management because what else is there in the fabric of each franchise that makes it what it is?

•  I'm too lazy to cut and paste the nutrition information here. It's also a bit of an effort to get to the nutrition information from the Tim Hortons website, and I'm feeling a bit sluggish from all the Tim Hortons bagels I've consumed over the years, even at half butter. So go look for yourself. Yuck. I will save you some time by letting you know that on their "Nutrition and Wellness" page, you'll see fresh, un-cracked eggs at the top, you'll eventually find a "Balanced Menu Options" link, and there, the 12 Grain Bagel proudly displayed first. Then the words: "Plain or toasted, buttered or slathered with cream cheese spread; everyone loves a tasty bagel." This shining example of a "balanced menu option" has 330 calories, 9 grams of fat (only 1.5 saturated), 55 carbs, and 450 mg of sodium. It isn't even clear to me whether those numbers are for a buttered bagel, plain bagel or one that is "slathered with cream cheese".
• Isn't 'slathered' a cool word? It sounds delicious and fattening while in fact containing no calories or fat. I just thought that deserved a paragraph of its own.
• So it sounds like I'm an idiot for going to Tim Hortons regularly (which, if true, would mean that most of my fellow Canadians are too). I defend the fact that I do go there as follows:

A) It feels like a patriotic duty (to buy from Burger King) 

B) It's so damn convenient (except when it's not) 

C) Sometimes, they have roll-up-the-rim and that's fun.

I will also tell you that I NEVER get donuts (haven't had one - not even a timbit) since reading all about donut nutrition when Krispy Kreme tried to enter the market and suddenly donuts weren't healthy, I go to Tims #3 almost exclusively, and I always order - when I need some food in the wee hours of the morning - a cinnamon raisin bagel with half-butter (which, if you check, you'll see isn't nearly as bad as the 12 grain). So I'm an idiot, but an idiot who slathers his food with half the butter AND an idiot who at least tries to get the apostrophe's right.

David Does Deep

My new car comes with a temporary free subscription to SiriusXM (satellite radio). Amongst other listening delights, the 6 year old and I have been using it to surf up and down between the 50's on 5, 60's on 6, 70's on 7, 80's on 8, 90's on 9, and Pop2K on 10 (the latter name because we never did bother to come up with a good label for that decade).

She's been getting pretty good at guessing which decade we're listening to based on one or two songs, which tells you that either each decade really does have a sound, or that the programmers for the various stations certainly have a preferred sound for their respective decades.

She's even taken a stab at characterizing the sound for me - but only got as far as "The 50's sounds like the music is being played in a barn", "The 70's is all happy and active", and "The 90's sounds like it's in a music class and they're still practicing." (I really pushed her to describe the other decades as well because I thought that would make for a really cool post, but she got bored and started to talk about penises and vaginas instead - as she is wont to do).

Of course, as we were listening she was also curious about whether she was alive then, I was alive then, her big sisters were alive then, Grampa was alive then, etc. (She also asked me last week, by the way, if Grampa and Gramma were alive for Ancient Egypt. I told her yes. And then she told me that she doesn't like Egypt because they're all slaves and she doesn't like slaves. At which point I turned the conversation back to penises and vaginas.)

Anyhoo...at one point on 70's on 7 Kasey Casem's American Top 40 from some time in 1970 was playing (the 6 year old no longer in the car with me), and between songs Kasey explained how the top 40 list is based on record sales from 100 stores from across the country. 

Whoa. Talk about a stark reminder of how things used to be.

Of course there was a sound back then - because there were stores and radio stations and people like Casey Kasem who made sure there was a sound based on what they stocked in store, what they played, and what they told people to listen to. And there weren't other ways to access music, except going to concerts or making it yourself.

The same, of course, was going on in television and the movies. A very finite set of delivery channels that everybody accessed together, which meant watching the same things at the same time - together - and being able to talk about it the very next day because a) you had seen it, or b) you would basically never be able to see it. Which meant NOT MISSING IT in the first place.

Entertainment was a collective thing. We watched together and listened together and experienced together - all at the same time, in unison. Coke could "teach the world to sing", literally, by placing a great ad in precisely the right places at precisely the right times.

Now look at us. It's no accident that starting with 90's on 9 and Pop2K on 10, there isn't really a defining sound. Nor are there generational TV shows anymore. Or if there are, we won't all have finished watching them until ten years after the decade is over. (I forget who I was talking to a few days ago, but this person was raving about how great Breaking Bad is/was, as if it just went off the air this past weekend). 

Sure, there is content that goes viral still, grabbing an audience despite the diffuse noise all around it, and usually doing so for clusters of demographically homogeneous sub-audiences or "communities" with which it strikes a chord. And there are still movie events that come along, sending large numbers of people out to see the same thing in theatre all at pretty much the same time. But even those community-crossing film events hit mainly the moviegoers (a cross-cutting community) and not the rest of us who are stuck at home with kids or unable or unwilling to go out for some other reason. And more and more, even those events are looking like they'll go straight to an online content provider like Netflix sometimes, or they're getting stolen and watched online before leaving theatres...

But how often is there real convergence for everybody on something they all care about all at the same time? Something that transcends diverse communities? I MISS THAT. I think we all do.

Did you see how Toronto, its surrounding neighbourhoods, and the rest of Canada (or so we're told) came together for the Blue Jays? Wasn't that amazing? Didn't it feel like something we really, really needed? 

Did you see how the recent Federal election got people all talking about the same things all at the same time? No matter how you feel about the outcome, wasn't that amazing? 

I strongly believe we need unifying moments more than ever. And unifying themes. And unifying purposes. Whether they emerge from entertainment, or sport, or politics or events in the news - they help define us and our time. We'll always have our separate communities of interest, but our bigger, foundational communities need reinforcing from time to time as well: our neighbourhoods; our cities; our countries. And not in ways that prop up those communities by excluding others - because that works too. The events and themes and purposes I'm talking about connect communities to other communities, as well, in a shared experience that brings everybody together.

We are becoming ever more connected like cells in a network. We have access to an ever increasing amount of content. We have a tremendous amount of personal control over what we consume. The choices about how and where we direct our attention seem endless. Our natural course seems to be to gratify our individual wants because we can. Yet we can't forget about the containers that need to be in place to hold everything together; the networks we need to hold the networks together; or the gravity we need to keep us in orbit around the same things.

Sure, the container might have been too confining before; the gravity may have weighed us down too much. And now we have networks in place and communities of interest that allow us to explore things with others who are like us: Lots of freedom; loads of access; tons of control. But let's not lose sight of the value and importance and reality of our bigger communities. Our collective identities that should - from time to time - take precedent over our individual and sub-community interests.

If you listen for a while to 60's on 6, you'll hear not just a common sound, but a consistent and common purpose. Love. Harmony. Fixing the world. Hokey, right? Quaint, right? Naive, right? It's so unfamiliar now to hear such a coherent and shared focus from a generation. And so easy to laugh it off.

But I wonder...Will my 6 year old's generation rally together to save the world? Or will they have individual and diffuse existences without a shared purpose that defines them? What could they do if they collectively decided to fix something? How much could they accomplish, that no previous generation was able to, precisely because they have the freedom and access and control and authority and smarts that no previous generation had? Could you imagine what they could do if they can find the will and set their minds - collectively - to accomplish something really big for their city, their country, or the world? And can you imagine the damage they could do if they rally around the wrong things?

I don't have any suggestions beyond sharing these rambling thoughts and doing my best with my 6 year old. Maybe her daughter one day will hear about something really magical that happened to fix everything and ask her if she was alive for that. And maybe her answer will be that not only was she alive for it, she (and everyone else) made it happen together. Because they decided to and because they could.

Wouldn't that be amazing?

What are you doing on the toilet? (A personality test)

Okay. Sometimes you need to take a break from what's going on in your external environment (sports, politics, a steady stream of depressing news) to reflect on your internal environment. Sometimes you need to ask the hard questions about yourself, even if those questions are tasteless and awkward to ask. With that said, I now invite you to spend some time with me, exploring how you're using your most private time of all, and what that has to say about who you are.

(For sophisticated readers, stop reading now. For even more sophisticated readers, rest assured that all of the puns you come across below are intended, even if they're not).

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What are you doing on the toilet?

Context for the test: We have more choices than ever about how to use those times when we are stuck on the toilet (not stuck in a literal sense, of course, but stuck in that we have no choice but to be there - I refuse to get more specific than that). What do your choices say about your personality? Sit back, relax, and take this test to find out.

For the most accurate results, choose the option that best fits your usual experience. All answers and results will remain anonymous.

Question 1: How long are you there?

A) Absolutely the minimal amount of time I need to be.
B) The minimal amount of time, unless whatever else I'm doing holds me there for a bit longer.
C) As long as I can get safely away with.
D) Much longer than I should be.

Question 2: How do you prepare?

A) Each and every time, I am in by necessity and out asap - so I go in strictly "as is".
B) I will sometimes grab my device or something else to do if I expect a long visit.
C) I usually make sure I've got something to do, and my bathroom at home always offers options.
D) I will not sit down until I know how else I will keep busy (even if that means cutting it close).

Question 3: Will you connect with others whilst seated?

A) Absolutely not. That's disgusting.
B) Only if I've got my device and only inbound text or e-mail.
C) Yes, when someone reaches out to me on an important matter once I'm committed.
D) For sure. But I go on mute during moments that might be noticed. Or not.

Question 4: What's your distraction of choice?

A) Quiet reflection.

B) A good book (but not The Good Book), magazine, newspaper, or crossword puzzle.

C) Netflix, YouTube, Facebook, a good game, a good playlist or some other go-anywhere social media or entertainment source.

D) All of the above plus anything else I would do anywhere else (with my pants around my ankles).

Question 5: Which statement best describes your perspective on toilet time?

A) It's a necessary evil.

B) I'm cool with it, but it's a private experience for each of us and should be treated as such.

C) I must admit that I look forward to it a bit and sometimes go there when I don't have to.

D) It's often the best part of my day.

Question 6: What about public toilets?

A) Public toilets are strictly a last resort.
B) If the bathrooms are clean, I don't mind being there as long as no one else is in there to hear me.
C) I treat them pretty much like the home one, but I like to have headphones in so I don't hear what's going on around me.
D) Any time. Any place. No difference to me.

Question 7: Your phone rings while in a public bathroom stall. What do you do?

A) That could never happen.
B) I quickly decline the call and text that I'll call back.
C) I answer, speak in a low voice (but not too low), and get off the phone as quickly as possible.
D) I answer the call and have a perfectly normal conversation.

Question 8: Which phrase best describes your personality (with or without respect to what goes on when you're on the toilet)?

A) I'm introverted, repressed, too proper to even take this quiz, I feel a little bit superior to anyone who would choose anything but A) on this question and far superior to anyone who would write a quiz like this. I am old, and feel older inside.

B) Toilet talk embarrasses me, but I try to be open to new things. I am sociable and polite. I am empathetic, intelligent and giving. Life-long learning is important to me.

C) I am a fully actualized person with few hang ups. My social status matters a lot to me. I am a good leader when I have to be, and a good team-mate always. Look out world, here I come!

D) I am boorish, slovenly, loud, and socially backward in many other ways. I am also fun-loving and live life with gusto. Some people like me. Some people don't like me and to hell with them.

Assessment

Give yourself 1 point for every A) answer, 2 for every B) answer, 3 for every C) answer and 100 for every D) answer. If your score is...

<10      You took this quiz despite how you feel about it. Interesting. 

10-16   You are evolved and have a strong sense of self. Or you lied.

17-24   Your attitude towards the bathroom is what most people would consider normal.

25-200 You walk a fine line between socially acceptable and not. Careful about your one D) answer.

>200    Somebody should have told you long ago to reel it in. If you're wondering why people give you funny looks all the time, wonder no more.

Total your score for questions 1-7 and divide by 7. If your resulting score is...

1.00-1.99    Your answer to question 8 should have been A) or B). If it wasn't, you wanna be cooler than you are. Wake up!
2.00-3.00    Your answer to question 8 should have been B) or C) and it probably was.
3.00-100     Your answer to question 8 should have been D). If it wasn't, think again.

A Great Moment

There's nothing sudden about great moments.

According to Webster, a moment is: 

"A very short period of time. A particular time. A precise point in time."

Great moments, though, don't just happen in isolation, out of the blue, without a context that might be minutes or hours or days or weeks or months or years or decades (e.g. 22 years) long. There's nothing short, or particular, or precise about great moments.

One of the great moments in my life took place on a beached surf board with my two older daughters - sodden, exhausted, starving - after a morning in surfing lessons in the cold ocean on a cloudy day on the west coast of BC. The moment involved some cobbled-together turkey-and-tomato sandwiches and a flash of sunlight triumphantly penetrating the clouds, at last. But take away the grey morning, the damp clothes, the aching muscles, my beautiful daughters, Mom's absence because Nonno had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer...and take away the drive across Vancouver Island listening repeatedly to "Hey There Delilah" and the cabin in the woods the night before and our complete failure collectively to actually stand up on a surfboard...and you basically have a so-so sandwich, shitty weather, and a lot of chafing.

Jose Bautista hit a home run last night. Great moment.

Here's why:

• Before hitting the home run, Bautista had basically been a complete playoff bust despite being one of the top players in baseball since "suddenly" emerging as a superstar a few years ago, and despite his usually clutch performances, and despite a career which to that point had never included the playoffs. Bautista is the guy you don't want to make mad - usually - having made a notable habit of punishing opposing pitchers and teams when they pitch him inside or anger him in any other way. But here he was, late in a series, having failed to deliver in those kinds of moments several times. Would he now and forever be known for his feeble pop-ups instead of  his grandiose home runs? A playoff under-performer? A choker? No. In this defining moment, he rose to the occasion...
• And before Bautista had the chance to swing the bat, there was the Texas infield, not once, not twice, not three times but FOUR TIMES blowing relatively routine plays. That doesn't happen. Ever. But it happened last night, opening the door for Bautista's at-bat...
• And maybe that happened because in the top of the inning the crowd got ugly, emotions ran high, players waited around and milled about, and did everything but what they usually do - especially on great teams - which is to play baseball and make routine plays. And some of the young players were suddenly a little more nervous and cautious and caught up in the moment...
• And all that certainly happened because of one of the weirdest plays I've ever personally seen - again, a usually routine moment where a catcher lobs a ball back to the pitcher, turned into yet another sports disaster for a city that has known nothing but sports disasters for over two decades. (Or so it seemed at the time...)
• Which drove some usually well-behaved fans to drink and misbehave, embarrassingly and dangerously delaying the game further by throwing beer and other watery beverages onto the field; behaving so because of those same 22 years of frustration and their fury with the "Gods of Sport" once again throwing their fickle support behind the other team...
• And the game being a game only because Marcus Stroman - who wasn't even supposed to play baseball again until next year - rose to the occasion of getting a start in the biggest baseball game in the city in forever. Stroman, pitching in a deciding Game 5 only because his Manager and the rest of the braintrust for the Jays, believed in him and made moves in Game 4 (to preserve a Game 5) that were both controversial and fateful - but in a good way this time...
• And the Jays being in the playoffs only because their GM - a Canadian for heaven's sake - did everything right in assembling a team that grabbed the brass ring in the second half of a season that seemed otherwise doomed to mediocrity and underachievement, just like each of the years that preceded it, in every sport that matters in our insanely loyal city...
• And all of that taking place in Toronto, where we always feel under-loved and under-appreciated and conspired-against, and also fiercely proud.

Take away Bautista's back-story, and the teams', and the craziness in the top of the seventh, and the fans and the madness that has swept the city, and the four games that preceded it, and the second half of the season, and the first half of the season, and the 22 seasons before, and the Leafs, and the Leafs' loss to Boston a few years ago, and Wayne Gretzky hauling down Doug Gilmour in 1993, and all of that...and all you have is a home run. A nice home run.

But instead, we have a GREAT MOMENT that won't be forgotten for years and years and years no matter what happens from here on out.

Go Jays Go.

10 Reasons to Put Life on Hold for the Jays

The Go Train doors slide open at the Exhibition stop. Nobody gets on and nobody gets off. A few leaves blow by on the platform, enjoying their temporary freedom. If the two weeks of the CNE marks the end of summer, then surely the windy, vacated Exhibition Go station - crowded and hot just 6 weeks ago - signals the inevitably of fall, and then winter.

For the last two decades, at this time of year, the fall has been the time for Toronto sports fans to turn their attention to hockey and basketball - as painful as that's been for the last two decades. And it's been the time when the non-sports-fans and the non-baseball-fans and the non-Jays-fans have continued to ignore what they've always ignored.

But this year, baseball - the sport of summer - will continue to command attention in this city, for at least another weekend.

Toronto is electric. Jays fans are coming out of the woodwork. And new 'interested-parties' (I won't call them fans, yet) are somewhat reluctantly, or in some cases whole-heartedly, turning their attention to the team.

For those who - like me - live and die with every success and every failure of this team, you already love them as much as I do. But read on if you want to check if we're in sync on the why. For those who find themselves in the uncomfortable position of needing to appear like you're a real fan, read-on to gain some talking points that you can co-opt for your own purposes. And - for those of you who are still stubbornly insisting on not caring - hear me out. Maybe it's time for you to join the rest of the city - and the country - in a love-in that has the potential to give you something you'll remember for a long time.

So, without any further preamble, here are my own personal reasons to put life on hold for the Jays:

1. Baseball is a very relatable sport. (When I say 'sport', I don't mean darts or golf. Sorry.) There are short players and tall players and skinny players and fat players and speedy players and slow players and smart players and not-so-smart players. They aren't hidden behind masks and layers of equipment. They wear stockings, a dumb little hat (which they replace with a dumb hard hat when they bat), and a little glove to prevent blisters when they bat. You could have been a professional baseball player. I could have been a professional baseball player.
2. Baseball is a thinking person's sport. To the casual observer, it may (and does) seem slow. But at every moment in the game there is a showdown between two people...both of whom really, really, really want to succeed. They are trying to out think and outguess each other. They are trying to overpower each other. At any moment either can be a hero or a goat. No lead is ever too big. There isn't a clock that runs out. Just match-up after match-up after match-up - chess played with bats over and over throughout the game. (And, if you're good with a remote, you can watch an entire program on the PVR while watching a baseball game at the same time and not miss a thing on either side).
3. This year's Jays are a team. They went from being a bunch of individuals over the last few years to suddenly and remarkably emerging as a team. If you study team dynamics at work, you can learn a lot from the transition the Jays have gone through. Egos have been checked. Players care about each other. Players support each other. They behave like children. They smile. They laugh. They pick each other up when bad stuff happens. A few individuals joined the Jays this year and seem to have led the transition to a new frame of mind. Not by accident mind you, but through a careful selection process by senior management - chasing great players who are also great people. It seems to have worked, and isn't that good to know?
4. This year's team is a Cinderella story. How can a team be World Series favourites and a Cinderella story, you may ask. Halfway through the season, the team's record was as mediocre as mediocre can be (is it possible to be extremely mediocre?) Then some good stuff happened, some great new pieces were added, and from out of nowhere a comeback worthy of Cinderella was fully underway. The Jays - the downtrodden perennially mediocre team - were suddenly chasing down The Damn Yankees, then overtaking them, then leaving them in their dust.
5. The Jays have it all. They have the best offense in baseball. They have top-5 defenders at almost every single position. They have some of the top pitchers in the league. They've got old grizzled veterans trying to end their careers with a bang. They've got players younger than one or two of my daughters who are trying to start their careers with a bang. 
6. The Jays have Marcus Stroman. He's young. He's a starting pitcher. He's a phenom. He's an underdog - too short to be a professional pitcher. Injured for the season before the season started. He's an optimist. He took the injury in stride and overcame it. And used his rehab time to finish a degree. And if that's not enough, he seems to be the happiest person you'll ever see in your life, with a smile that is infectious. I met Pinball Clemons once in a business meeting. I came away shaking my head about being in the presence of a person who seemed to really understand life and exude pure joy. Marcus Stroman seems to be made of the same stuff. And even if that's not true, why not believe that of him for now?
7. The Jays have Josh Donaldson and Russell Martin and Troy Tulowitzki and Bautista and Encarnacion and, and, and... Top to bottom their players are formidable offensively, great defensively, and yet able to subjugate their own individual games for the overall good of the team. Taking walks when that's the right thing to do. Passing the torch from player to player in the batting order. Tipping each other off on what they learned from their failures in a given at-bat. Sacrificing their own safety to try for an out that will bail out a pitcher. A team of stars and still a team. A team that wears down other teams with a staggering number of clutch performers who could each individually win any given game with a swing of the bat or a defensive gem. There is no weak link in this chain.
8. The Jays Manager is John Gibbons. Talk about the underdog, the downtrodden, the scapegoat, the disrespected... John Gibbons is all of that. Many, MANY people thought/think he's unfit to manage a Major League Team, there because of his friendship with the GM, doing nothing to contribute to wins, and being the reason - every time - for losses. And yet, here he is. Seeming to have a bunch of star players playing as a team, earning their respect, treating them with respect, and getting the most out of everyone. If for no other reason than John Gibbons, you should be cheering for this team's success. Gibbons is an 'every man' who speaks like a character from 'King of the Hill', and is suddenly in the middle of an amazing story.  
9. The Jays defense is absolutely beautiful to watch. If nothing else gets you watching, pay attention to this team's defense. Ballet, gymnastics, athleticism, determination, and sheer grace. In any game you might see a defensive feat that appears superhuman. If you don't believe me, watch the highlight reels from throughout the season. Great offense is exciting. Great defense is beautiful.
10. The Jays have already won. For those of us who have been watching from the start, and over the last few years, all we wanted this year was 'meaningful baseball in September'. We got that and more. The rest is absolute gravy. Even if it's only 3 more games against an equally great team and story (the Texas Rangers) - there's no chance that we can look back at this season and deem it a failure.  AND, the Jays have already beaten out the Yankees and Red Sox and Orioles and Rays. And really, isn't that what matters most?

Looking forward to the upcoming weekend.

I Plant a Seed

The old man slowly got onto his knees and began digging a small hole with an antique-looking hand shovel. His grandson, sitting cross-legged on the ground nearby, asked
"What are you doing Grandpa? Can I help?"

"Oh, I'm just digging a hole. But if you want to help me, you can sit right there and listen to why I'm digging it. Okay?"

The small boy nodded his head and waited patiently for his grandfather to start talking again.

"When I was about your age, I was so excited about all the things I would do when I got bigger. I wanted to be a fireman. I wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to be a teacher. I wanted to do things that would make my parents proud of me. I wanted to do things that mattered and would help people. I had so much energy and love and hope and I swore I would do all of those things once I was big enough and knew enough. But I was just a small boy so all I could do was wait to be bigger. Understand?"

The boy nodded. "Yes, Grandpa."

"By the time I was a young man, I had changed and what I wanted to do had changed. I had a lot of energy and passion. I still wanted to matter and to do things that mattered - to change the world, but now I also really wanted money so I could buy lots of things and impress the girls. And because I wasn't very good at school, I decided to stop my education and get a job instead. I worked hard, I earned enough money to move out from my parents' house, but I didn't really do anything that mattered. Too busy. Too hungry for things. Too focused on myself. You see?"

The boy nodded again. "Sort of."

"Then a time came when I met your grandmother. We fell in love and got married. Now I felt like my life had really started. I had to work two jobs those days, just to earn enough money to buy a house - this house. We made plans for our life together. We were so full of hope and excitement about the future. We decided to have children and then your mom and your aunt were born one after the other. I remember talking to grandma all the time about the wonderful things we would do together. Things that would matter. We were going to take a year off work and help people in Africa. We were going to start a school together. We were going to give our kids all the education they would need to become doctors or teachers or something else that would really matter. But all that had to wait for the kids to get bigger. And we didn't really have the time for any of that anyways. Life gets so busy when you have kids and barely enough money and by the time we were done with work and the kids each day, we'd only have enough energy left to fall into bed and go to sleep exhausted. You with me?"

"Yes, Grandpa."

"Everything sped up then, sort of. The kids grew. I got lucky and opened my own store successfully. Money stopped being a problem. I started to matter to the people who worked for me. Despite what was going wrong in the world, everything was going right for me and grandma and the kids. We were happy and felt so powerful. Our kids had everything they wanted. We were busier than ever, though. We got caught up in winning on everything. More money than the neighbours. More stuff. And that meant less time to help other people. Less time to make the world a better place. Right at the point in our lives when we really could have used our money and our power and our strength to do something that mattered,  we were focused on stuff that didn't matter. Know what I mean?"

"Sure, Grandpa."

"Then suddenly I woke up one day and I was old. The kids moved out and started families of their own. I sold the store so I could retire. I started to feel tired all the time. Believe it or not, I was smarter than ever. They call that wisdom. And I had more time than any other point in my life since I was a kid. But at some point you lose the drive to fix things. The things you see around you that need fixing are clear as day and really bother you, but now it's someone else's job to take care of what matters. Nobody takes old people seriously. And even if that weren't true, it's really hard to get out of bed each morning, let alone repair what's wrong with the world. You know?"

"Not really, Grandpa. I mean...I still don't really get why you're digging this hole and telling me all this stuff."

"Patience, boy, I'm getting to that now... You see, I've finally got time on my hands to do important things. I see what needs to be done because I'm old and wise. I understand at last what really matters. But I no longer have the energy, the passion, the influence or the strength to do just about anything myself. So here I am using the little bit of power that is left to me to plant a seed. A seed that I can only hope will one day grow into a great big tree that will give comfort and nourishment and shelter and inspiration to someone who understands what matters early enough in life to do what has to be done."

"Can I help?"

"Of course. That's why I asked your mom to bring you here."

A Tale from the Zombie Apocalypse

Nathan woke with a start. His lips were parched. His head was pounding. He was consumed by hunger. The unfamiliar room around him was lit by a grey dawn seeping in through drawn blinds. Besides the rasping sound of his own laboured breathing, the only sounds he heard were some shuffling feet and a low inhuman moaning coming from some distant hallway.

As his eyes came into focus, he realized that he was in a hospital room. No nurses. No doctors. No other patients. "Oh damn," he thought, "must be the zombie apocalypse."

Lying there, contemplating his next move, some memories returned to him. His wife Patty had sent him out for some bread. It had been earlyish that day - a Saturday, he believed - Patty and the three girls had been sprawled out in the family room, watching something on tv. With surprising clarity, he recalled that they had just started re-watching The OC from the beginning, and were somewhere early in Season Two. The little one was hungry and wanted some toast, and hence the errand to get some bread. But how had he ended up here?

Then he had flashes of a memory of the first few minutes of his drive to the corner store, an on-rushing car going way too fast and swerving onto his side of the street, and the rest was blank.

Now he found himself in what looked like a big city hospital, alone, and clearly in dire straits.

Nathan was never a quitter, and he certainly wasn't going to let a small brush with death, a zombie apocalypse, and a bit of distance keep him from returning to his family...if he had a family to return to. So he slowly eased himself into a sitting position, then onto the floor, and he began what would turn out to be several weeks of scavenging the hospital for food, drink and makeshift weapons, working his way back into strength, and developing a plan for how he would make his way back home.

By the time he finally left the hospital on his homeward trek, he was ready - armed, well fed and well stocked, in the best shape of his life, and deeply driven to overcome whatever stood between him and his family.

First there was the matter of fighting his way out of a city swarming with the undead. That took a while. The suburbs and countryside weren't much better. Between bashing brains and dodging the awkward but surprisingly determined creatures, it was pretty slow-going. Despite that, Nathan kept moving forward.

He joined up with other bands of survivors when their direction aligned with his. But a time would always come when he'd be back on his own, following his solitary path home.

The thought never crossed his mind that his journey was in vain. It never occurred to him that he would find anything other than his family as it had always been, awaiting his return. He just kept going with a doggedness that surprised even him, not letting the clouds of doubt darken his spirit.

Finally, months and many life-threatening skirmishes later, he reached the edge of his town.

Like every other place he had encountered on his way, his own community had clearly been over-run and was now a wasteland. No children played. No dogs barked. No cars moved on the streets. There were a few zombies staggering about mindlessly - some he recognized as old acquaintances - but not many. And now he was mere blocks away from an anticipated reunion that had played out over and over in his head for months.

Looking about, he saw the corner store that had been his destination that fateful day months ago: windows shattered, parking lot strewn with rubble and carnage, and dark inside. Remembering the morning before all of this happened, and a time when the old Nathan had chosen to drive his car the few blocks to the store rather than walk, he realized how far he had come; he now looked like an action hero and had just crossed countless miles with nothing but his own two feet, a previously untapped strength, and sheer force of will to carry him.

Then he remembered one more detail from his last morning at home: A loaf of bread. He had been sent out to buy a loaf of bread! On a whim, he crossed over to the store, carefully climbed through he window, and looked about to see if there was anything left that hadn't already been scavenged. Sure enough, under an overturned shelf he found a relatively well-preserved (if slightly flattened) bag of WonderBread. He picked it up and set off to cover the remaining few blocks that stood between him and the end of his quest.

At last he found himself on his overgrown front lawn. The windows of his home were boarded up and the house was dark except for a faint flickering light emanating from within. His heart pounded with anticipation.

Unable to see inside, he decided that his only prudent move was to carefully try the front door and be ready to deal with whatever lay inside. He did that. The door opened with a slight creak.

Inside, he saw that the flickering light was coming from the direction of the family room. He quietly crept toward it. Peeking around the corner, he took in the entire scene all at once: the light was coming from his old, faithful television which had been connected to a small generator; also connected to the tv was a DVD player with boxes of The OC DVDs neatly stacked on top; on the screen an episode from Season One was playing; and there, sprawled out in the room, were Patty and the girls.

He wasn't sure at first that they were okay, but as he stood there observing them silently, he could see that they were indeed alive, gazing at the screen with very human eyes, breathing normally, and seemingly much as he had left them months and months ago.

Overcome with joy, he cleared his throat with a distinct "ahem" so that he wouldn't startle them and stepped around the corner. Nothing. So he tried again, speaking in the calmest voice he could muster: "Girls...it's me. I'm home at last!" Nobody reacted. Then he stepped closer to the tv and spoke again in a clear and much louder voice: "GIRLS! I'M HOME!"

"SHHHHHHH! We can't hear the tv and this is the best episode ever!", came the response from his girls, more or less in unison.

Nathan had imagined many versions of this scene on his long journey home. In none of his imaginings had he been shushed. In a last attempt to salvage some dignity, he held up the loaf in his hand and asked in a falsely cheerful voice: "Anyone want some bread?"

Patty shifted her eyes in his direction, looked at the bread and answered "That's white, the girls only eat multigrain." She then returned her gaze to the screen.

Nathan left the room, sat down in the kitchen and ate a few slices of bread while he waited patiently for the episode to end. Outside, he heard a horde of zombies shuffling by and thought to himself, "Sure glad I don't have to deal with those anymore".

He was home...and the Wonderbread was wonderfully soft.

A 6 Year-Old's First Real Milestone

Today is my 6 year-old's last day at the school she's attended since she was about 18 months old. She had her 'graduation' at the end of June, but then spent the next couple of months attending daily camp-like sessions at the same place. Therefore, no real change yet.

But today she leaves the school and after a week's vacation will start Grade 1 at a brand new place, with new teachers, new kids, new procedures, ...new everything.

She's feeling - for the first time in her life, I believe - what genuine change feels like. The signs:

• "Daddy, I don't want to go to Grade One."
• "Daddy, I like where I am. Do I have to go? Can't I just stay here?"

I feel for her. As I write this post, I'm getting sad.

The school she's leaving has had an amazing impact on her life:

• The teachers are beautiful people who appear to enjoy being around kids all day long. They sing. They smile. They hug. They seem to love what they do. And the kids feel it. I could NEVER do what they do; 30 minutes with my truly wonderful child and I need a break (okay, 20). To the teachers that she is about to leave behind, I say thank you for what you've done to shape my daughter. She is a reflection of your devotion and she will carry you with her always.
• The school's program has far exceeded our expectations. We first put her here because we needed daycare and it happened to be a 3 minute walk from our house. About a year in, we realized it was a school (when she started speaking French in the back seat of the car one day). She has learned so much, and she's learned to love learning. She reads. She writes. She does math. She knows some Sign Language. She's got a better sense of the geography of Canada than my older daughters do. And she's got table manners that put us all to shame.
• Speaking of the table, the school has fed her healthy and organic food for the last 4+ years. We've relied on the fact that she eats well at lunch - so much so that we've been feeding her God-knows-what for dinner without guilt. We don't even know for sure what healthy food she likes and dislikes. One day, for example, we were in a Sushi restaurant and my older daughter ordered seaweed...turns out the 6 year-old loves seaweed and eats it at school. And tuna. And other good stuff. Now all we have to do is to get her to train us to give her healthy food at home. We don't know what's going to happen in Grade 1, when it's up to us to send her to school with lunch, and then feed her again at dinner. But that's a whole 10 days from now so we have plenty of time to figure it out.
• But above all of that, she leaves behind an amazing group of friends with whom she has shared most of her life so far. The kids at this school are all amazing. They have great manners. They love each other. The play in structured and respectful ways (the girls, at least). They're smart. They're wonderful in every way kids can be wonderful. They have very tight relationships, and the circle of parents has likewise developed that kind of relationship. We've committed to continuing to get together as an extended family once a month for as long as we can and we've got social media on our side, but I still worry that we will let other things (like life) get in the way. These kids can be lifelong friends, and we're hoping the parents can be too. I don't know that the 6 year-old will ever have a more nurturing cocoon around her again (like the one she's enjoyed while amongst these families at this school) but I'm thankful for the 4+ years that it has contributed to her growth and her love of people.

Sure, things will be good as she moves on to the next school, the next grade, new friends, and so on. But change is change and as she'll soon find out, it's always bittersweet.

I'm really melancholy today. I don't know for sure what she's feeling (because I'm not home right now) but I hope she relishes the final few hours of this phase of her life.

Sniff.

Today is the first day of the Ex!

Today is the first day of the Canadian National Exhibition 2015. I love the CNE and have loved it all my life.

For those of you who don't live in, or didn't grow up in Toronto, the CNE is a great big fair that runs for the last 2 weeks of summer (not actual summer, before-school-starts summer) every year. It's been an annual event in Toronto forever, starting as an agricultural fair long before any of us were born.

It's loud, crowded, hot, over-priced, exhausting, dirty in places, and completely awesome.

I've been going to the Ex (as we lovingly refer to it around here) since my Mom started bringing us there as wee children. (My Dad was busy). I've tried to do the same with my daughters whenever we are in the city at the end of August and I think they love it too, but they can't possibly love it as much as I do.

Why?

The Ex is great now and back in the day it was more or less the same. BUT, back in the day, the rest of the world was way less awesome, and the Ex was where you had to go to encounter awesomeness. 


The Food building had food you couldn't get anywhere else: Tiny Tom donuts, paper bowls of spaghetti for less than a dollar, bags of candy, back bacon on a bun, and an array of international cuisine that blew my childhood mind (I didn't eat any of it, mind you, but I could have!)

The shopping building (Shoppers' World?) had stuff you couldn't buy anywhere else with Exhibition Sales offering prices you couldn't find anywhere else. The Better Living building had marvels of new technology and comfortable couches that - again - you couldn't find anywhere else. The Horticulture building had plants! There were horses jumping over things in the horse building, and calves being squeezed out of their mommy cows in the cow building (not actually called that, but I didn't want to refer to it as the 'building that smells like poop').

And you couldn't experience these tastes and sounds and smells anywhere else or in any other way than by attending in person. There was no Internet. There weren't food courts. American stores were only in America. There was no Canada's Wonderland to offer you funnel cakes or waffle sandwiches. There was only the Ex.

Ah the memories:

• Doggie doggie! Doggie doggie! (I won one once and named him "Clem" because that seemed apropos for a giant ugly orange dog wearing denim overalls).
• Carlsberg horses trotting around in circles (which doesn't sound that fun, but for some reason I thought it was back then).
• The Air Show, with screaming jets flying overhead. And a water show with boats and skiers and the like.
• Again, Tiny Tom donuts, being extruded into boiling hot grease with little David pressing his face against the plastic imagining how good they'd taste (Cinnamon powder? Icing sugar? Plain? Oh, the dilemma).
• Nickel Pepsi. Or Coke, depending on what year it was.
• Street performers, clowns, magicians - so much to see and so little time.

The Ex was the end of summer. It was always a bittersweet time of year. After the Ex, the only thing left before school was sleeping over at someone's house to watch the Labour Day Jerry Lewis telethon. Then it was school and boringness for another 50 weeks.

My youngest starts grade one this year and my eldest is off to a faraway land for yet more university. Middle is getting near the end of her undergraduate degree. September's going to be busy at work. The world keeps moving forward. And only the Ex remains lovingly the same.

I hope I can get there this year.

The Green Glass

This story is inspired by real events...

Once, when David was very small, one of his 3 older sisters said to him: "Today is Mom's birthday. We're all walking to the mall. Do you want to come with us so you can buy her a present?"

David loved his Mommy very much so of course he wanted to go to the mall and buy her a present. But being very small, he only had one dollar to spend. "What can I buy Mommy for one dollar?" he wondered.

When they arrived at the mall, they went to a great big store that their Mom loved to shop at. David called it "The May" even though everyone else thought it was called "The Bay".

In The May, David looked around for something that he could buy for only one dollar. Dresses were too expensive. Shoes were too expensive (and Mommy always needed new shoes because she used them to crush spiders). Gloves were too expensive. Necklaces were too expensive. Mommy didn't wear earrings, and they were too expensive.

Just when David was starting to feel sad because he couldn't find a gift that he could buy with his one dollar, he found himself in the kitchen section. And there, on the shelf, was a sparkling new green glass that was only seventy-nine cents.  It looked something like this:

He stood on his tippy toes so he could reach the green glass, carefully pulled it off the shelf, and carried it over to the cashier. The cashier looked at little David and the green glass in his hand, smiled sweetly, took his one dollar, gave him some change, and then carefully wrapped the green glass in white tissue paper before putting it into a May bag. David said thanks and told the lady that this was a birthday present for his Mommy, and that made the lady smile even bigger.

He then found his sisters and they all walked home together. During the walk they asked David what was in the bag that he carried so proudly, but he didn't tell. All he said was "It's Mommy's birthday present".

When they got home, they all gathered in the living room to sing Happy Birthday to David's Mommy. Each of his sisters gave her a present. David's Daddy gave her a present. And then finally it was David's turn.

He handed his Mommy the May bag containing the glass and said "Happy Birthday Mommy! I bought this for you all by myself with my own money."

She carefully opened the bag while everyone in the family watched. She pulled out the tissue paper and unwrapped the green glass. She smiled and pulled David close to her. "This is the best present ever!" she said, before kissing him and hugging him even tighter than normal.

David's older sisters and his Daddy watched the scene in silence for a few seconds, and then burst out laughing. It wasn't friendly, loving laughing either. It was mean-spirited bullying kind of laughing. Like they were teasing David. The laughter made David feel very sad, and even worse, he didn't even understand why they were laughing. His Mommy whispered in his ear "Don't listen to them. Your present is my favourite of all. You're the only one who really knows what I like."

That made David feel better and he tuned out the sounds of the rest of his family, snuggled into his Mommy's arms and was content. Then she carried him into the kitchen, rinsed the green glass, filled it with milk, took a sip, said "mmmmmmmmmmm", and then handed the rest of the milk to David to drink: "Try it," she said, "the green glass makes the milk taste delicious!"

When they were done enjoying the milk, David's Mommy and Daddy put him into their car and drove him back to the University of Waterloo where he was just starting the third year of his Computer Science studies. "Thank you for the best birthday ever," said his Mommy, as she said goodbye and drove away.

The End.

I added the last paragraph - which isn't true - because I still carry scars from the merciless ridicule I have endured over the years because I loved my Mommy so much that I spent all of my money on a green glass for her birthday. My Analyst suggested that maybe if I write about the incident and add a little bit of humour, I can finally get past the pain and humiliation inflicted on me by my family members. But he's a Systems Analyst, so what does he know?

Final thought: Who from my family can remember what they bought my Mommy for her birthday that year? Which present do you think my Mommy still remembers? Huh? Huh?