What it Means to be Canadian (Perspectives from a 7-Year--Old)

On this Canada Day, I asked my 7-year-old to share her thoughts on being Canadian. What does it mean to live in Canada? What does it mean to be a Canadian? What makes Canada a special place to live?

Her 10 answers were surprisingly deep. That said, in case you can't quite see the deepness I've added my own "David making sense" commentary to help you get there.

1. My friends and teachers live here. If I wasn't here, I never would have met them.

David making sense... Here our 7-year-old is pointing out the importance of multiculturalism and tolerance in Canada. She also extols our education system. Digging deeper, there's a bit of the if-a-tree-falls-in-a-forest question implied as well: If she didn't live in Canada would her Canadian friends and teachers still be friends and teachers never having met her, or would they just be people? Speaking of fall...

2. Sometimes it's summer and sometimes it's winter. In some places it's cold in summer and in some places it's hot in winter. In Canada, in the summer you can play summer games and in the winter you can play winter games.

David making sense... In Canada, we enjoy an array of seasons - sometimes in a single week. That seasonal variety enables Canadians to be mediocre in all sports, instead of being really good at any one specific sport by focusing on it all year round (the exception, of course, is hockey because Canadians are the only people who have Tim Hortons to drink when their kids are playing it). We do love winning, but we love trying hard just as much. And if (when) we are disappointed with the outcome in a given sport, along comes the next season and we quickly move on. Where else but Canada?

3. I like the food. McDonald's here is better than in other places.

David making sense... Say no more about Canadian food. My 7-year-old thinks McDonald's is the culinary signature of our country. The wife and I were recently talking to some Americans in Stratford Ontario. We passed an Asian restaurant that proclaimed it served "Canadian Food". They asked what that means. We answered that it means the food is bad. McDonald's, on the other hand, is the place to get good, distinctly Canadian food. McDonald's elsewhere can't compare (unless of course you've eaten there, which our 7-year-old has not).

4. I like shoe stores.

David making sense... Shoes matter. Especially with the Canadian seasons changing all the time. You can tell a lot about a country by its footwear. In Canada, we have lots of it and many, many places where you can buy it. With two sisters in their twenties, our 7-year-old has seen her share of shoe stores and clearly she has chosen to like being there. What she doesn't like so much is shoes (and socks for that matter). She routinely spends 30 minutes trying to get her socks just right (so the little toe seam doesn't bother her, which it always does) and then her shoes just right (so that they don't put undue pressure on the socks' toe seam). Needless to say, I don't share her affinity for shoe stores.

5. Talking Canadian is nice.

David making sense... From eh to zed, there's no better language in the world. And Canadians use their language to say lots of nice things. So talking Canadian is synonymous with "nice", not to be confused with Nice (in France) where they speak French, which is not to be confused with the language that Canadians in Quebec speak.

6. We don't have tornadoes or earthquakes.

David making sense... Nothing ground-shaking here, other countries blow, Canada doesn't.

7. There's a spider living in our basement.

David making sense... Ahem. I can't make sense of this one. I don't know what she's talking about. If there was a spider living in our basement, surely it wouldn't be living anymore. Ahem.

8. People have pants. In other places people wear loin cloths (like Tarzan).

David making sense... We wear pants here, but not always and not everyone. For example, in our house, only the spider-killer wears pants. In other countries, loin cloths are a lot more common. And the problem with that is that when you're swinging through trees (like Tarzan) people can see up your loin cloth. When people say "Tarzan has balls" they don't mean he's courageous. But in Canada, where we talk nice, we'd never say something like that.

9. The baseball team has a bluejay, and bluejays are blue, my favourite colour.

David making sense... I'm just glad she didn't say hockey team. That makes her a much bigger sports fan than my other two daughters.

10. People can dye their hair.

David making sense... Clearly the 7 year old is reflecting on the freedom of expression we enjoy in Canada. People aren't persecuted for flamboyance, for looking different, for being different, and for showing who they are on the inside in how they make themselves up when they're out and about. All that said, in my family PEOPLE CANNOT DYE THEIR HAIR. Your hair is beautiful the way God gave it to you and once you change it, you can never go back to how it looks best. My wife has never dyed her hair and look how beautiful and young she still looks. So yes, in Canada people can dye their hair and all that stuff. Just not in this little corner of Canada.

HAPPY CANADA DAY!!!

Father's Daze

Yesterday was Father's Day 2016 (or it was, today, when I'm writing this). Good food, time with two of the three daughters, digital contact with the third, relaxation, Game of Thrones as a nightcap...all-in-all, a great day.

23-and-a-half-ish years ago, when I first became a Daddy, I had no idea what that meant. Not that I didn't have one, but having one and being one are two very different things (same is true of peanuts, cars, and headaches).

When the eldest was born, I didn't have that love-at-first-sight moment that some people talk of, I didn't think she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen (au contraire, new-newborns are not much to look at, all misshapen and gooey as they are), and I certainly didn't feel like my entire world had been turned upside-down (that took at least another 6 or 7 hours).

But as I got to know this little tiny person, and held her, and sang to her, and (one day) coaxed out a smile, and (one day) got her to laugh...the hook was set and I fell truly, madly and deeply in love. I used to leave on business trips from time to time and fear that I'd come home and she wouldn't know who I was. I used to get jealous when other people stole her time from me. I used to stare into her eyes and try to figure out who she'd be. And, yes, I used to watch her sleep and listen to her tiny little breaths, and feel better about whatever else was going on in my day that day. For real. That stuff really happens.

Then we had a second. And it was another girl. And being a strategist and over-thinker, I decided that once the second one was born, I would shower the older one with attention to compensate for the loss of her mother's focus. The younger one wouldn't notice for at least a few weeks and during that time I'd be keeping the older one strong. But that plan assumed I was free to partition my heart that way, which I wasn't. The new little girl had me in her spell the minute I first looked in her eyes. And her bigger sister was suddenly a new person as well. And they were two, but they were also one. And my life was a completely different thing, all about getting as much of both of them as I could.

And we were a family. A whole thing. With internal rules and processes and procedures and routines that only we really knew. And that's what it was like to be a Daddy. To implicitly belong to others, heart and soul, in a love-trance that covered everything else all the time. The rest of the world was the rest of the world. And at the end of every day I got to come home to my very favourite people in the universe. And for them, my return was like the most important thing ever. Every day.

Other (older) parents always told me to enjoy it while I can - "it's gone in a flash", or "once they hit adolescence, they turn on you". And their childhood did pass in a flash, but I think I felt every moment of it and still can. And they never turned on me. They just got bigger and better and smarter and more delicious. And we all became soul-mates...with a deep understanding of each other's weaknesses and strengths and tender spots that you have to stay away from. If there's one club that it's okay to be an exclusive member of and keep others out of, it's this club. Nobody else who isn't your daughter (or son I suppose) or father (or mother I suppose) gets in.

So there we were, hearts full and lives full, when leaving-the-nest time started to loom. A choice to make: Let them go and move on to the next phase of our lives where we sit at home and wait for the time they can afford to give us, OR start it all over again with one more? Go back to the start with the bad nights and the poop and the everything else, or ... dare I say it ... let ourselves get old?

You know what we chose. And I thought I knew what that would be like. How the new one wouldn't quite replace the old ones, but that she'd be some compensation for what we'd partially lost.

Now the older ones were still teenagers at the time we implemented this decision, so when we told them that we would be inviting someone new into the club, there could have been anger and resentment and jealousy and disgust (you know, about mommy and daddy "doing it"). But there wasn't. My first two gave us probably the single most memorable moment of my life with their reaction: The purest and most spontaneous tears of joy in the history of all humankind.

And it's been nothing but pure and spontaneous joy ever since. Anyone who has followed this blog or my Facebook posts knows how I feel about my little one. You may also know how the rest of the "club" feels about her. But if ever there's been a decision that was so clearly perfect and instantly validated as such, it was that decision to do it all over again.

How could it not be? I'm a Daddy. That's what I do best. I'll always be a Daddy. The women for whom I've been a Daddy for 23 and 21 years respectively will never ever ever stop being the babies, then toddlers, then kids, then teenagers, then young adults with whom I am forever utterly in love. And the same will be true when this latest one is ready to go off to school and then who knows where. My heart will break again and then it will be okay again because it's not an end, just a change.

So that's what it's meant and means to be a Daddy. To be in a permanent state of "Father's Daze". Happy, sad, astonished, excited, worried, proud, and completely lost in love for these incredible things that I (we) made - once upon a time, every day of my life since, and (happily) ever after.

(And yes, Daddy didn't get enough sleep once again. And yes, he shouldn't write blog posts when he's in this state because they're always mushy and not funny at all. Live with it.)

With apologies...

It's been too long since I've written anything. I'm sorry about that. In fact, I'm sorry about a lot of things. And given that today, June 8th, is the secular Day of Atonement, I would like to take this opportunity to say sorry for many of those things (for example, I'm sorry for making up the thing about June 8th being the secular Day of Atonement when it's not actually until next week).

In no particular order...

To my mother: I am sorry that years and years ago when we were all on our way out somewhere on a wintery Friday after dinner and you warned all of us to be careful on the icy steps, I went out first and lay down at the bottom of the steps moaning and groaning as if I had just slipped all the way to the bottom and hurt myself badly. That wasn't nice. Funny, yes. But not nice. Sorry.

To my father: I am sorry that I haven't done a better job of referring my enormous fan base to your new and thought-provoking blog: Atheists, Theists and Other Fools. I am also sorry that I never took you fishing when I was young. And I'm sorry that you and I never had a chance to run a half marathon together. And I'm really sorry for laughing at you when you were showing my daughters how to use crutches years ago and fell down with a tremendous thud. I'm also sorry for not being bald and fat by 50 like you always said I would be. But mostly I'm sorry for underselling your new and compelling and genuinely insightful blog: Atheists, Theists and Other Fools.

To my brother-in-law (the one who used to be my camp counsellor): I am sorry for pretending I knew nothing about how to get a blog up and running when my dad came asking for help. I am sorry for sitting quietly by as you became the IT Help Desk for my parents in my place. I'm also sorry that I'm only a little bit sorry about these things.

To my wife: I am sorry that I have never stopped telling the story about waking up one morning, opening the garage door, and seeing your car neatly parked with a big orange pylon trapped under one of the rear tires. It's small of me to keep bringing that story up and I'm sorry.

To my oldest daughter: I am sorry for pretending I could do 11-digit multiplication in my head when you were younger. I am even more sorry that you didn't realize I was faking it until you were in University math. That must have made you feel inadequate by comparison. Boy am I sorry that 8-digits is my limit. And by the way, I'm sorry that I allowed your mom to lead you to believe that plants pee, and that I let that go all the way until you were in University as well.

To my middle child: I am sorry for not being more empathetic the other night when you were truly upset that the spider you had seen in your bathroom had already slinked off into a hiding place before Mom was able to get there and remove it for you. I'm even more sorry for putting that big plastic black spider on your pillow while your back was turned and you were yelling at Mom for not getting there fast enough to catch the spider. I'm sorry for laughing when you screamed. I know that people who live in glass houses shouldn't play with plastic spiders. I'm a terrible person and I'm sorry.

To my youngest child: I am sorry for that time I said no to you - a momentary lapse in judgement that won't happen again. Daddy loves you.

To my sisters: I am sorry I didn't turn out to be gay like you always thought I would. I am sorry for misleading you by being neat, well-dressed (always in the latest polyester pants), kind and gentle.

To my one-and-only sister-in-law: I am sorry that during the years when you were in University and used to spend lots of time in our house, I used to complain to you about when you'd empty our Brita water jug without re-filling it. I'm sorry for thinking that would be easy for you when it was clearly a lot to expect. I'm sorry for that one time I was in your house years later, poured the contents of your water jug into the sink, and left it empty on the counter. I'm also sorry that around the same time, when your kids were little, I used to write obscenities on your fridge using the cute little letter magnets. I'm sorry if I haven't always been the big brother you wanted me to be. If I've sometimes left the Brita water jug of your life empty on the counter instead of re-filling it with my love and compassion, I am sorry.

To most of the people I've played cards with: I am sorry for winning so often when we've played games of skill. And I'm sorry for explaining to you when I lose games of luck that they are, indeed, just games of luck. I got that from my father and I'm sorry for that.

To all the drivers out there who piss me off: I am sorry for calling you assholes, pricks, dickheads, and the like when I don't even know you. I am sorry for doing so behind your back and for patiently explaining to my daughters in the car with me why I felt that way about you without giving you a chance to explain your side. But to be fair, if you had just moved into the middle lane when you saw the light was changing and that I was signalling a right turn behind you so that I could make the turn instead of having to wait for the light to change before going on my merry way...asshole. Never mind. Not sorry.

To all the Facebook friends I have unfriended over the years: I am sorry you won't get a chance to read my apology. (Note: I have never unfriended anybody. So this apology really goes out to those of you who unfriended me. And that makes it ironic because it's nothing for me to apologize for and yet I feel sorry for you.)

To Bacon, my childhood dog: I am sorry I wasn't there for you at the end. I'm sorry I went off to camp without a real goodbye knowing full well that my mom meant it when she said "You'd better say goodbye to Bacon because you'll never see her again." I knew what she was capable of, and yet I chose not to believe. I still love you and dream about you.

And finally, to my faithful readers: I am sorry for wasting your time with apologies I only half mean (except for the one about Bacon). I'm a little sorry for all the high-brow stuff I've written over the years that you didn't understand. I'm sorry you missed out on the gems that you didn't bother to read. I'm sorry for avoiding politics and controversy and just wanting you to have a little corner of the world where you can spend a couple of minutes every now and then in search of a smile. But I'm not sorry for who I am. You shouldn't be either (I mean sorry about who you are, unless you're sorry about who I am, in which case you should be...I mean sorry about who you are).

Until next time...David

One Evening, When You Were Seven

It was spring and I worked at home all day to get important things done.
After work I picked Mom up, I picked you up, and we went home.
I grilled some baked potatoes, vegetables and salmon.
We finished dinner and Mom sent me back out on an important errand.

We had agreed you'd have a bath before bed.
So when I came home I asked you to please go upstairs to do that.
I planned to watch an important basketball game after you were bathed and reading in bed.

But you said no, which for you is like a temper tantrum.
You said that Mom said that we should go for a walk every night because yesterday you and she went for a walk and got Dairy Queen on the way home.
And I said no, you need a bath, and that Mom had said that about walking, not me. And I was tired.
But you pouted and looked at me through your brand new glasses and said please.
And I melted, like I always do, so we went for a walk.

The weather was the best weather of any place at any time of year.
It was warm at last, no bugs yet, perfect for jeans or shorts, and long or short sleeves.
We went out on the trails, towards the troll bridge and the spooky old forest.
But once across the bridge we went left instead of right towards the ravine, and away from people.

You started talking about Mom's new car and other important new things.
You said everything is new: "I'm new because I wear glasses and I'm seven. And even you're new."
I asked what you meant but you said you didn't mean anything. Just saying words.
Playing along, I asked you if you wanted a new Daddy.

And right then you stopped in your tracks and grabbed my hand, suddenly very serious, and turned to me and said:"I never want a new Daddy."
Very important to you that I understand that clearly.
Message delivered, you started walking again, still holding my hand firmly.

Instead of turning back when I said we would, we took an extra loop that we never take.
The trees were thicker there, so there was still some mud.
We used some logs as bridges to get over those spots.
At the end of one log I had to jump off first and onto firm ground so I could hold your hand and help you jump 1000 feet in the air all the way over the mud.

Just returning the favour.

First They Came

If you aren't already familiar with the English-language poetic variations/adaptations of Pastor Martin Niemöller's "famous statement and provocative poem about the cowardice of German intellectuals following the Nazi's rise to power and the subsequent purging of their chosen targets, group after group" (to quote Wikipedia), you can read it here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_they_came_.

Scary to anticipate a future version that goes something like this...

First they came for the Muslims, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Muslim.
Then they came for the Mexicans, and I did not speak out— because I was not a Mexican.
Then they came for the Homosexuals, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Homosexual.
Then they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out— because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Poor, and I did not speak out—because I was not Poor.
...
Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

Do I think there are people seeking power in the US who might try to round up Muslims one day? Yes I do. Rounding up Mexicans, Homosexuals, Socialists, and the Poor? Doesn't seem likely. But targeting them for hatred? Already happening.

Problem is, the "conversation" is currently taking place in the context of an upcoming US election. For that reason, it comes across as politically motivated to "speak out". I suppose that was true during the Nazi's rise to power as well.

Take the politics out of it though, and see it for what it is.

It's time to speak out.

(For those who expect a fun read from my blog, I'll get back to that now. My 7 year old is doing all sorts of cute things and I'm dying to tell you about them.)

David is Troubled

This is one of those times when I know I have something important on my mind, but I don't yet know how that's going to translate into a blog post. So I'll just start...

There's a lot of troubling stuff going on in the world right now and that's nothing new. It seems like there's never been a time in my life when there wasn't troubling stuff going on in the world.

But up here in Canada I think, on the whole, we see the troubling stuff and don't sweat it too much. We are basically good people who believe in the basic goodness of people and go about our lives with  faith that ultimately goodness will prevail.

My Dad (who, by the way, despite how I may lovingly characterize him from time to time is still the wisest person I know) once told me that on the whole you can pretty safely assume that every person you meet in school, at work, in your neighbourhood (and so on) is good. Those who are not good are such a small minority that while you should look out for them, it's not likely you'll encounter many in your life. And he was right; he is right: I can't think of many people (any?) I've met who weren't basically good.

So goodness prevails, right? Troubling stuff is a phenomenon of somewhere else. All the good people here will stay that way. Our society will ultimately always believe and act as if you should "love thy neighbour" and "do unto others as you would have them do unto you". Right?

Well, maybe. I hope so.

I think we're in danger of taking our eye off that ball. I think good people are becoming distracted. I think good people are becoming fragmented. I think good people are having a hard time finding truth. I think good people are becoming cynical. I think good people are becoming fearful and angry.

• Distracted - many good people who have the energy and will to fix the world are focusing on micro-causes with micro-communities of like-minded people instead of going after the macro issues (like poverty, social inclusion, justice, ...) Many good people are busy looking for jobs, pursuing careers, studying, raising families, and consuming an effectively infinite supply of entertainment. Many good people are focused on their own creature comforts - which abound here in Canada - instead of concerning themselves with those who don't have them.
• Fragmented - we aren't reading the same news, hearing the same opinions, consuming the same entertainment, joining the same conversations, or sharing the same experiences. We are cancelling cable and turning to our own customized stream of content. There's no critical mass around anything. There are lots and lots and lots of small communities of interest, but there is far less community than ever before. We are becoming strangers to each other outside of the tighter and tighter circles into which we are dividing ourselves.
• Unable to find truth - what is truth any more? Where do we turn to find out what really happened? Which side of any given debate is right when anyone can find a 'fact' to support their position? We don't trust science. We don't trust our leaders. Just for fun, we heckle (and thus suppress) people who genuinely try to speak the truth as they see it. It is far easier to find a truth that we like than to be open to one that we don't like.
• Cynical - it is more entertaining to watch bad people doing bad things than to watch good people doing good things. If you believe what you see in television programming, most people are bad and just a few are good. Even the good ones are complex and often have to do bad things for the greater good. "Reality" programming confirms that people are generally bad, weak, selfish, ... The "media" can be used by people with enough money to apply an easily remembered label (e.g. "she's a crook") to someone who doesn't fit what those people want and have that label be accepted, without question, by the masses who rely on that medium for their "news". So of course it's becoming increasingly difficult for good people to believe that a vast majority of others are also good and well-intentioned. It is much easier to assume the worst and to believe in no one but yourself.  
• Fearful and angry - of course good people are fearful. Bad and troubling stuff happens every day. And of course they're angry and frustrated. Good people should be angry and frustrated when they see bad things happening that they can't control. There are people in the world who understand that fear and anger are essential to furthering their cause and know very well how to put those tools to use. And they do. And it works.

So take a very large population of generally good people, distract them, divide them, confuse them, make them doubtful of each other, scare them, and piss them off; your chances of having them do something bad just got a whole lot better.

It is not enough to simply believe that goodness will prevail anymore. Good people need to make sure it does.

Good schools and teachers are more important than ever. Parents that teach 'goodness' to their kids - in word and in deed - are more important than ever. Communities that band together to do good things are more important than ever. Inclusion is more important than ever. Leaders who are good people are more important than ever.

There are forces beyond our individual control that are putting all of the above at risk. But what is completely within our control is to "love thy neighbour" and to "do unto others as you would have them do unto you". Start there. The rest follows.

A Letter to My Youngest Daughter: On Your Last Day as a Six-Year-Old

Dear M.,

As I sit down to jot you a birthday note, what strikes me like a sledgehammer is that it's been a year and a day since I wrote you a letter about things to remember when you're 6. A whole year has passed and tomorrow you'll be 7.

Since you're still little, you probably think it's been a long year. And for the same reason, you're probably just as excited to be 7 as you were to be 6. But you should know that for those of us around you, each of your birthdays are exciting but also a bit sad. (Who am I kidding? Very exciting and very sad.)

The exciting part is that it's like we're all watching the magic of life play out in you. We saw you as a tiny baby, then toddling, then off to school, then learning to read and to write...slowly transforming into an amazing little person who is re-writing our own understanding of how to be. I told you all about what I mean by that in last year's letter, but trust me - it's even more true a year later.

In JUST ONE YEAR, you've accomplished so much. For example:

• You stopped being afraid to try scary things. Maybe not all of them (and that's good, because sometimes being scared of doing something is a good sign that you shouldn't do it), but when we've told you to trust us - you've learned to trust us. I watched you in the course of a few ski lessons go from barely able to move your feet to standing at the top of a hill and skiing your way down it (the best part was when your instructor told us that you screamed all the way down the first time). You tried (and loved) minestrone. You learned to jump into a pool and then dive (sort of). You learned to jump right in at a new school and make brand new friends.
• On the subject of school, you learned about homework. It's weird that they call it "work" when it's actually so much fun, but sometimes things are just named funny (like "sign language" instead of "sigh language" which is what you thought it was called). I loved seeing you rush in the door each day, pull your journal from the bag, check what your homework was (despite having been the person who wrote down what your homework was just a few hours before), and then put your head down and do it. And usually more than you had to. If you keep that up - approaching "work" with the same intensity that you approach "play" (and vice versa) - you will go far.
• You managed to make a whole bunch of new friends while continuing to hold onto your old friends. We needed 3 birthday parties this year to hold them all - one with girls from the old school, one with girls from the new school, and one with your treasured boy friends. I love that you decided to separate them this year for the first time because that way you could give each person an experience that was suited to them and you could give each person much more of your attention. Very smart.
• Then there was soccer, skating, math, french, antonyms, homonyms, synonyms, basketball, reading books that have no pictures, telling time, watching movies and shows that aren't just cartoons, losing a few more teeth, buckling yourself into the car, and so on and so on and so on.

The sad part is that each time you have a birthday, it means you're a year deeper into childhood and a year closer to not being so little anymore. Why wouldn't we want you to be little anymore? Because you are such a joy to be around all of the time and because we're afraid that a time will come when you'd rather be around other people instead of us. (Sorry, I had to stop just now to gather myself).

Remember, Mommy and I have been through this before. We watched your two older sisters grow from little, little kids into full-fledged adults. We spent just as much time with them as we do with you, and now we get to spend less time with them than we used to. BUT, they also showed us that even as they made friends and had sleepovers and went on sleepaway trips and then went away for school, that didn't have to mean drifting apart. I feel like they're nearby all the time, that I can pick up the phone and hear their voice whenever I want, and that they're thinking of me constantly (evidence: dub-smashes, texts, e-mails, snapchats, facebook 'likes' and messages, whenever-they-can visits, etc.) Some of that is because it pains them so much to be apart from you, but some of it is also because it pains them to be apart from us (I hope).

Your world gets much, much bigger as you get bigger, but at its centre will always be your family and your dearest friends. The sun isn't something you have to go out and find, it's where you started and it's what will always pull at you and keep you from flying too far out from who you are.

So that's why we're happy and sad as you turn 7. We'll keep the sad at bay so you don't feel it, but later on when you read this I hope it will make you feel even more love and loved than you do already.

Happy birthday my sweetest little girl. Enjoy 7.