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?

This Past Weekend in Indianapolis: A Wormhole to 1980

From 1977 to 1983 I spent most of every summer at a camp in Zionsville, Indiana - my first 3 as a camper, my last 3 as a counselor, and the year in-between (1980) as a member of the work/study program called Avodah. That was 35 years ago, and this last weekend some of us reunited to commemorate that milestone. (Note: 35 isn't much of a milestone, but we missed 25 and 30, and waiting until 50 when we're all 65+ might not have been a good idea.)

The Avodah program was a brilliant concept, introduced into the camp program in 1979 as a way to stop paying a small work force to do camp dirty work (serving food, washing dishes, cleaning toilets, and so on), and to replace them with eager young people who would happily pay (or have their parents pay) the camp for the privilege to do those very same tasks.

The program also added a one-year buffer between junior counselors and final-year campers, greatly limiting the number of sordid camper/counselor relationships that had - until then - been a time-honored camp tradition. So not only did the Avodah program kill 2 birds with one stone (3 if you count the new source of revenue), it even took care of the need to have someone around to dispose of the 2 dead birds and re-rake the other stones after the one stone had been cast.    

But back to the reunion...

The idea of a reunion sounded great when the organizer and catalyst (who I won't name because I try to avoid naming names in my blog as a general rule, unless it's Rob Ford, former Mayor of Toronto) first sent out the invitation that I immediately accepted. But as the day drew nigh, I started getting a little nervous about the whole thing. What would it be like to see old people who I last saw as teenagers? Would I recognize them? Would they remember me? Who would I hang out with? Would my stunning youthfulness and overall dashingness inhibit our reconnection?

Furthermore, going back to the camp itself was daunting. Yes, it held great memories for me, but also some not-so-great memories: Wolf spiders lurking under boxes awaiting the opportunity to pounce on 15-year old David who had paid for the opportunity to move those boxes so that someone else wouldn't have to; a boys' bathroom complex that has been, for well over 35 years now, the setting for the climactic scenes in many of my nightmares (I wish I was kidding); the bunk onto which my ex-counselor now brother-in-law had thrown me, overhand I believe, in order to demonstrate his alpha-ness to my cabin-mates; and so on.

The travel-day came, I met up with my Toronto pals at the airport, flew to Indy (a direct flight now, not so back then), picked up rental cars, checked into the hotel, and then headed over to camp.

The experience that began the moment we drove through the gates and lasted through the weekend was an odd one for me. I think I'm a move forward person. I don't like to dwell on things. I look ahead, not back. I know who I am and where I'm going, and I don't spend much time reflecting on how I got here. But here I was re-entering my youth; re-acquainting myself with people who, when last I saw them, looked very, very different; and re-tracing steps I had last taken two-thirds of my lifetime ago.

Upon arrival, I discovered a clump of middle-agers clustered together in the throes of hugs and greetings and reminiscences. I youthfully strolled over to ask them where the people attending the reunion were supposed to go, only to discover that they were those people. With each individual I met, I had a moment's confusion as the clerical staff in my head searched old cabinets in cobwebby rooms to find the right paperwork...but then came a flooding-in of the memories - the voice, the facial expressions, the face, the shared events - all there undamaged and undiminished despite the years in storage.

The place had a similar effect. Dinner in the dining hall brought back the protocols ("you kill it, you fill it"), the horrid, horrid (horrid) food, the noise, the chaos, and the times we had there. Walking the paths here and there through the camp triggered site-specific memories and a general reminder of just how much I was able to sweat on muggy and hot Indianapolis summer days. The campfire offered the local mosquitoes the opportunity to re-inject me with the venom of their love. And each time, the same internal reaction..."Oh yes. Now I remember...".

It was the people, though, above all else, who made the weekend so momentous for me. I had been worried on the way down because I could not remember beforehand who I had been close friends with amongst these people I would be meeting again. By the end of the first night, I knew why I couldn't recall that seemingly important detail: I had been friends with everyone. We had been united in servitude all those years ago. We had sweated together, worked together, played together, moaned and complained together, sought sanctuary off-camp or in the (air conditioned) library together, ... and had become a community and a family and a gang and a circle of friends that, as it turns out, still held fast. Some friends weren't there with us on this weekend for all sorts of very good reasons (I can only assume), but we had them with us too as it all came rushing back.

I can't believe I forgot that...how it had been amongst all of us. I won't forget it again, having instantly renewed with so many what had been too long set aside.

In the dining hall, decades ago, a camp visitor taught us a song with three words: "everything is connected" (there could have been more words than that, but I can't be Shur). Those words became a bit of a password for people who had been there that night. And this weekend made clear why those words were so resonant. We were connected. We are connected. To each other. To the place. To the time. Over time and over distance.

The weekend was as close as I'll ever come to crossing through a wormhole. I was back there, flesh and blood, in 1980 (and '77 and '78 and '79 and '81 and '82 and '83) with people I love. They're doctors and lawyers and rabbis and other equally important things now, but they are also my friends.

My advice to 17 year-old David: stay connected. There's a lot of you in these people and you're not completely you without being with them from time to time. (More advice: Dress better. Girls like that.)

Sappily yours...David

Verse for the Intensely Sensitive

Upon a Banana Slug I Stepped

 

Surrounded by ancient West Coast giants,
Tops swaying in the salt-steeped air,
I walk, sandals in hand, on a whim,
Borne of the moment and an urge to touch the land with my sole.

One moment, one step, the cool and gritty soil;
The next, a fleshy pulsing warmth;
A warm and slick sensation;
There beneath my foot.

Paradise lost just then, dreams dashed of uprooting my eastern life;
To thrive forever here on this island amidst the trees.
For here there are banana slugs awaiting any step;
And thus here I cannot be.




Gateway to an Encounter

You spin your web in places dark and cool;
And in the sun where it is bright and warm.
In corners, amongst the trees, and across furniture unused too long.
And there you stake your claim.

But trails guarded by pairs of yellow poles are for me;
Raised to keep cars out and people between.
They're not for you, small spider, those twin gateways;
Not your place to cast your threads.

For when I do come whisking through;
And feel your silky sticky strands across my arm;
I cringe, but cannot stop.
And you and I are momentarily locked in a losers' tangle.

Keep to the corners and amongst the trees and across furniture unused too long;
And behind and under boxes in cellars and attics.
Those places I will cede to you.
But the trail is mine and you intrude here at your own peril.

It Is Frowned Upon in Public Places to Do That

The sensation comes unbidden;
A need that needs fulfillment.
Its source no longer matters;
It was yesterday and who remembers now.

But it is frowned upon to meet this need;
In public places where people gather;
And raise their judgmental eyebrows;
At people being natural and self-gratifying.

So I try to hold it in;
Clenching hard with muscles no one sees.
And I fail, because those muscles are weaker now than years ago.
And people take note and turn away.



Polite society doesn't think it is okay
For those alone, in a crowd
To spontaneously release
A laugh.

Inside Out - A Daddy / Daughter Review (5 teardrops and no spoilers)

On Father's Day, I had the pleasure of spending a couple of hours in the cinema with my 3 daughters watching Pixar's latest release: Inside Out.

Here is my Daddy / Daughter review...

Note: If you haven't read one of my Daddy / Daughter reviews before (since this is my first, you may not have), don't worry about spoilers. I will make almost no reference to the content on the screen. Just the Daddy / Daughter experience of watching the movie. 

First off, Inside Out receives my highest Daddy / Daughter rating - a stunning 5 teardrops!

The lights dim. I am sitting between Daughters 1 and 2, with Daughter 3 one further seat over (next to 2). Daughter 2 is six years old. Daughters 1 and 3 are twenty and twenty-two, but in no particular order.

First up, we are shown a Pixar short, Lava, a beautiful and simple song/film about a volcano's search for love. Nice. Partway through, I sneak a glance at Daughter 3. Her eyes are glistening. Nothing from Daughters 1 and 2 yet, but certainly an omen that we're in for an emotional afternoon.

Inside Out starts. The main character, Riley, is born. We see her first glimpse of the world - her loving parents - in the opening seconds of the film. The waterworks start for Daughter 1. Riley looks a bit like Daughter 2. Uh oh.

A few scenes later - still in the early moments of the movie - Riley is 11. I hear Daughter 1 whisper "She's growing up so fast.." with a barely suppressed snivel. She glances at Daughter 2 who is stone-facedly alternating the shoveling of handfuls of Swedish Berries and popcorn into her small mouth. Ugh. 

Daughter 3's head is turned away but I know her eyes are wet.

And so it goes. Scene after scene. The movie is about emotions. At one point, it's also about how memories of childhood inevitably fade away and are forgotten. Daughter 1 loses it. Fully overcome. Daughter 3 is still looking the other way. Daughter 2 asks for some of Daughter 1's Mr. Big Chunks (which probably isn't what Daughter 1 actually purchased at the concession, but it's a funny name nonetheless.)

Daddy's feeling it too. Must not show daughters that Daddy feels things. Even...though...Daughter 2...I mean Riley...is growing...up...

Now, the movie's nearly over. The culminating moment is at hand. Daughter 3 can't hide it any more. She's now openly weeping. Daughter 2 is staring at her wondering if she hurt herself or something. She's also wondering if Daughter 2 has any caramel corn left.

Daughter 1 sees/hears Daughter 3 wailing. Joins in, but adds a bit of laughter to the mix. Laughing at the emotional wallop of the film. Laughing at her own feelings of loss and love of family. Laughing at her Daddy's feeble attempt to avoid detection.

Daughter 2 glances at Daddy, who is still futilely trying to cover up his sobs by turning them into chuckles. She is fooled. Daughters 1 and 3 know better. The mask is down. Daddy's human. Daddy cries. But Daughter 2 - who seems to feel nothing but a hankering for sugar or salt - doesn't catch on. She'll have more time believing that Daddy is superhuman. The innocent and all-too-brief time that will define her fleeting childhood...which...will...be over...in the blink...of...an eye. Sob.

---

Inside Out is a great, great film. Like a smart prizefighter, it knows exactly how to work you over and weaken you up so that when it comes time to land its crushing blow, you are utterly defenseless.

A must-see. 5 teardrops.

The Horrible Story about Sweet Little Forest Critters (contains scenes of graphic violence)

Bunny awoke with a start from a horrible dream. He had been in the forest with some of his forest pals. There had been a thunderous noise approaching that sounded like a gigantic herd of monsters. He hadn't been able to move. With the ground shaking and just as the dark shadows of the onrushing crowd of beasts were coming into view, his eyes had snapped open.

He had to warn his friends.

He found them at the usual place on the forest trail: Snake, Frog, and Snail.

"Guys! Guys!" he shouted with panic in his voice, "There's something terrible coming. It'll kill us all. I've seen it."

His friends, who had been chatting quietly, looked up, paused, and then started to snicker. "Oh Bunny, what issssssss it now?" asked Snake quite unconcerned by his skittish friend's warning.

"A herd! A terrible...enormous....stampeding herd...of monsters. It's c-c-c-coming. I know it is!" Answered Bunny, voice halting with panic.

"Ohhh...a herd," answered Frog, barely suppressing his laughter, "a giant herd of monsters, is it?"

"Sounds downright nasty, doesn't it?" continued Snail, making knowing eye contact with Snake and Frog.

"We need to run away! NOW!" Shouted Bunny, oblivious to to his friends' mockery.

Composing himself, eyes glistening as he barely contained a chortle, Snake answered Bunny: "Well, friend, if a giant herd of monstersssss ssssssuddenly showsss up, I would never run away. With my sssssserpentine movement I can elude any creature under the ssssssssun."

"And I," added Frog, "will simply vanish from sight using my amazing camouflage."

"My super-strong shell can withstand a crushing blow from any creature," bragged Snail, "I'm in no danger either."

"Why don't you hop off like you alwayssssss do and leave usssssss alone?" added Snake, "Your frightened, ssssssssstuttered warningssssssssss are sssssssssstarting to ruin thissssssssssss beautiful morning."

"Now, SHOO!" said Frog, punctuating his final word on the matter with a cruel laugh.

Bunny was about to insist, once again, that the danger was real but instead he grew very still as his big ears picked up an approaching rumble. His eyes grew very large. And with no further thought to the safety of his friends, he darted off into the forest, as rabbits are wont to do.

His friends, a few moments later, also heard the growing noise. With dawning understanding, they prepared their defenses. Snake started slithering back-and-forth, back-and-forth. Frog flattened himself against a leaf that matched his skin tone perfectly. Snail pulled all his gooey sensitive parts into his shell.

And just then, a group of recreational runners appeared on the trail, towering over the small creatures. One stepped on Snake despite his agile movements. Another landed square on the back of the invisible frog. A third crushed Snail's shell without even noticing. And off they ran, further down the trail and out of sight.

With the sounds of danger slipping further off into the distance, Bunny returned to the scene of devastation. Snake was torn in two. Snail's gooey parts were dripping out of shards of shell. Frog was flattened under a tread that clearly read "New Balance".

He felt a little sad, but surprisingly, he also felt pretty good. He was alive, after all. The sun was shining. And the peace and tranquility of his forest home had been restored.

"Bye guys," he said, as he hopped off to his favourite leaf-nibbling spot, chuckling to himself that Frog's final word had been "Shoo."

Moral of the story: While it might seem like snakes, frogs and snails are really cool, they are in fact jerks and bullies. Bunnies have lots and lots of sex, poo where they want, and dart away from me long before I almost step on them when I run the forest trails. Bunnies rule.

Something Special for Mummy

Jeffy opened his eyes. It was starting to get light outside.

Then he remembered how at bedtime last night Mummy had told him that he "had to be a better boy tomorrow" and that she was "frustrated with how much trouble he was causing lately". Worse, she had used her sad-angry face when she said those things (which made Jeffy more afraid than when she used just her angry face).

Then he also remembered that today was Mother's Day, it was not a school day, and that on days like today he was allowed to get out of bed and read a book as long as he didn't wake up Mummy and Daddy: "Mummy will be happy with me if I sit and read a book until she wakes up," he thought.

So he got out of bed and he went downstairs to find a book that he could read on the small, blue couch Mummy and Daddy bought him on his last birthday.

Before he got to his couch in the den, though, he had to walk past the family room. That's where he saw the tv and the clicker sitting on the foot-rest thing. This gave him a different idea.

"Hmmm...", thought Jeffy, "Daddy showed me how to turn on the tv and he told me the number that has all my shows on it. Mummy will still be happy with me if I sit quietly and watch tv without waking her up."

So he picked up the clicker and pointed it at the tv. But before pressing any buttons, he saw the smiley face sticker on the back of the clicker and started pulling at it with his fingernail. Before he knew it, the sticker came off in his hand and the little door on the back of the clicker opened up. Out fell four small batteries.

"Oh no. The clicker needs batteries to work and I'm not allowed to touch batteries," he realized, "but sometimes Daddy turns on the tv by touching the button on the bottom of the picture. I can do that and Mummy will be happy that I didn't touch the batteries and still watched tv without waking her up."

He walked over to push the button on the bottom of the tv. But next to the tv he saw his markers in a bag, right where Mummy had put them after he finished drawing last night before bed.

Jeffy got an even better idea: "I'll draw Mummy a picture! She loves when I make her pictures. And I'll write Happy Mother's Day on it just like they showed me at school when I made that flower card for her."

He grabbed the markers and brought them to the kitchen table. He sat down and poured them out of the bag so that he could draw (some of the markers rolled onto the floor, but he was already sitting so he left them there for now).

Then he realized he needed paper, and paper was in the den.

He stood up and went over to the den and up onto Mummy's desk where the printer sat (the printer that held the paper he needed). He reached into the printer and pulled out a few pages. While he was doing that, he noticed his Mummy's big coffee mug with some coffee still in it.

Jeffy got another great idea: "I'll bring Mummy's coffee mug to the kitchen and put it near the sink. She loves it when I help clean up after dinner and bring my dishes to the sink. This will make her so happy."

He took the mug, tucked it under his arm that was holding the paper, and tried to slide down from the desk. But the desk was a little higher than he thought and he hit the floor hard. This knocked the mug out from under his arm and it spilled on the desk, on Mummy's computer, on the chair, on the carpet and on the paper.

Jeffy wanted to cry, until he saw the shape the spilled coffee made on the paper he was still holding in his hand. It looked like the trunk of a tree! "Mummy loves trees and the park. I'll draw her a picture of a tree in the park using the spilled coffee to be the trunk. That will make her soooo happy. It'll be the best picture ever."

He went back to the kitchen, slipped a bit when he accidentally stepped on a marker, but regained his balance and sat back down in one of the kitchen chairs (wiping his coffee-wet hand on the chair so that it wouldn't get on his picture). He found a green marker by digging around in the pile of markers on the table (a few more rolling off the table as a result). And then he took the top off the green marker and got ready to draw leaves on top of the spilled-coffee-trunk. But try and try, he couldn't picture in his head what the top of a tree looked like so that he could draw it on the page.

He remembered the potted tree at the front door and decided to push it into the kitchen so that he could look at it as he drew his tree picture. Still holding the topless green marker, he walked to the door and tried to push the tree. It was heavier than it looked but when he lay down and put his hands against the wall he was able to push it hard enough with his feet so that it moved...and then started to tip over. He tried to grab the falling tree, swinging the green marker wildly along the wall, then the floor, then the pot, but didn't get his hands onto it in time. It fell with a loud crash.

Then he heard running footsteps upstairs and saw his Mummy coming down the stairs with her worried face.

Without even making it to the bottom of the stairs, she stopped, looked around, and saw everything all at once: The clicker lying in the family room with its door open and batteries scattered all around it; Coffee puddles on the den carpet and on the desk and on her computer; Markers strewn all over the kitchen floor and table; Little wet hand marks on the kitchen chair; Fresh, green lines on the hallway wall and floor; Her favourite potted tree lying on its side with dirt spilled everywhere; and Jeffy lying next to it on the floor looking very guilty.

"Are you okay, Jeffy?" his Mummy asked, with her worried face changing into her sad-angry face.

"Yes Mummy," he answered.

"Can you tell me why the house looks the way it does right now, Jeffrey Randall Belmont?"

"Because I wanted to make you happy for Mother's Day," he answered.

"And how was this going to make me happy?" she asked.

"I was going to be downstairs all by myself, let you and Daddy sleep, and read a book. Then I decided to watch tv instead. Then I decided to draw you a picture instead. It was going to be a picture of a tree in a park. And I was going to put you and me in the park playing."

His Mummy walked over to where he was still lying, picked him up and carried him into the family room. She put the batteries back into the clicker and turned on the tv. They lay down on the couch together. And that's where Jeffy's Daddy found them snuggling an hour later when he finally came downstairs too (he didn't hear the crash because he slept with plugs in his ears).

Jeffy's Daddy asked what happened. Jeffy's Mummy said, "Jeffy made me happy by doing some really sweet things for me for Mother's Day, and we're snuggling. Would you mind cleaning up a little while we finish?"

"Okay...", he said, before continuing in a quiet whisper (so that Jeffy couldn't hear him): "... but Mother's Day was weeks ago..."

Jeffy's Mummy ignored him and kept right on snuggling with her sweet little son for whom every day was Mother's Day.

The End

An Open Letter to Door Dekers

If you've ever walked in a crowd through doors that swing shut on their own, you've probably encountered a Door Deker (term coined here on this date in Toronto, Ontario, Canada). Heck, you might even be one. Door Dekers are those who make their way through doorways in crowded places and carefully avoid touching the closing door - at all - thus ensuring that it swings shut in the face of the person behind them. It is to those people that I address the following open letter...

To all Door Dekers,

On behalf of the people who walk behind you in crowds, trying, as you are, to make their way somewhere important... you need to know what you do to us when you cross the threshold of a closing door without intervening in its momentum towards closure. We can only assume that you don't know, because otherwise we'd have to think that you are selfish and sadistic individuals (I choose my words with care, because my intention is to inform and not to inflame).

When you deke a door, for whatever reason, you are ensuring that it will collide with our noses (our most protrusive body part when we're walking forward in haste) and forcing us to take countermeasures that involve sacrificing some other part of our body because we like our noses.

Perhaps you have learned about the spread of infection and how touching unclean surfaces can endanger your health. Perhaps you are unaware of common courtesy. Perhaps you are deep in thought and oblivious to the fact that you are walking in a crowd. Perhaps you are texting and with your hands occupied, don't wish to bring another appendage into play. It doesn't matter the reason because the result is invariable and inevitable: By avoiding contact with the door, you are forcing contact for the person behind you.

Now, let's be clear; our ask of you is not that you hold the door for us, stepping aside gallantly so we can pass in front of you. That would be asking a lot, I suppose, and completely unnecessary. Instead, the ask is that you somehow slow the door's swing, with a shoulder, with a sleeved arm, with a foot, or with your hand if it's available and you're not concerned about infection. Imagine how that would help those of us who are behind you. And it seems like so little. A trifle, really.

We are people too, those of us who walk behind you. We have loved ones. We have somewhere to be. We have lives. In other circumstances, we could even be friends of yours. But when you deke a door, you are telling us that we don't matter; that you'd prefer to cause us pain (or at least annoyance) rather than violate your own desire to not have a door touch your body.

Enjoy the rest of your day, but know that our day won't be what it could have been because you, dear door deker, are a prick.

Sincerely,

The People Behind You.