Ringing Out The Oh-Ohs

Let the countdown to the end of 2009 begin.

I for one will not be sorry to see this sorry excuse of a year come to a close. And "don't let the door knob hit you where the good lord split you" on your way out 2K9.

Good riddance to this last decade as well.

Whatever it was called.

After a decade of this new millennium now, we still don't have a common easy way to refer to this last ten years. In my life time, we had the 60s, the 70's, the 80's and the 90's. But what do we call this first ten years of this new millennium?

I would suggest we call this last decade the "Oh-Ohs".

More bad than good came of this last decade.

That's an understatement.

The millennium opened with the American election and inauguration of the Dub-ya administration ruling the U.S. after a twisted electoral vote dispute over hanging chads in the state of Florida – governed at the time by Dub-ya's brother Jeb. A short nine months later we witnessed the event that changed the western world - the 911 attacks.

This led to chasing down Osama Bin Laden in Afghanistan that somehow was deferred to invading Iraq.

Fear gripped the world – most noticeably in the United States. Homeland Security became the most powerful branch of law enforcement in the lower forty-eight, highlighted by its designer security threat color codes.

I forget now how threatening fuchsia was.

As well, gas prices soared through the roof, while Iran started threatening with nuclear missile development.

China rose to the forefront of economic power – while North America watched it's jobs leave the west and move into the eastern lands of China and India.

And then came Katrina – which showed us just how Mother Nature could take advantage of a neglected city like New Orleans and turn it into a soup bowl over night. Having spent a good deal of time in New Orleans in the early eighties, this incident really disturbed me in how badly the aftermath played out.

Then there was a tsunami that devastated the populations of the Malaysian coastal areas.

And earthquakes devastating areas in China and Pakistan.

And all the while the Africans kept killing each other in a battle of the genocides.

Last year the financial meltdown as big as the great depression of the 1930's threw many in financial disparity.

Business failed.

Jobs lost.

Homes foreclosed on.

Banks failed and major financial institutions came close to folding – caused by years of corporate executive greed with multimillion dollar bonuses being paid to those very executives who put in place the practices that caused the meltdown.

The American banks received trillions of dollars in American Bailout monies. Other nations like Great Britain followed suit.

And General Motors – the company that once gauged the prosperity of North America went into bankruptcy proceedings and had to be floated by billion dollar bailout package to restructure and be overseen by a government appointed Automotive Czar.

As well, Al Gore – the very presidential candidate that lost to Dub-ya in the election of 2000 by a hanging chad – has spent the last ten years growing beards and shaving them off as he shows the world his power point presentation about the irreversible effects of global warming – and chanting "I told you so" every time we see an odd weather pattern appear.

Ten years into the millenium and we sit in a tough situation – high debt owed to China – skilled professional jobs outsourced to underdeveloped nations abroad – wars on two fronts – and some say the worse is yet to come.

And Osama Bin Laden is still nowhere to be found.

The Oh-Ohs indeed.

The western world is far worse for wear that it was a decade ago.

And many actually believe the ending of the Mayan calendar in 2012 means the end of the world.

Thanks Nostradamus. Great timing.

Let's usher this decade out with all the grief we can muster, and usher in the next decade of the Teens with all the celebration, pomp and ceremony that we possibly can.

Because while I would like to tell you that it can't get much worse – it certainly can.

But we can't dwell on how bad it might be.

We need to knuckle down now to do our best to ensure this next decade unfolds much better.

An awakening.

A resurrection.

We need to find an alternative to fossil fuels to not only stem the tide of pollutants in our environment, but more importantly (in my personal opinion) to neutralize the power and influence of the oil barons and the dastardly (bastardly) destruction the lust for oil has created.

We need to find ways to use this new technology we spent the last decade building other than to download movies and music illegally to really bring cultures together to find common grounds – lowest common denominators of understanding – to work together.

To understand each other.

We need to do something different.

If we are moving into a global shift of power – from North America to Asian and Persia – we need to understand the causes of that shift – and what our new roles will likely be. And how we can perhaps shift that balance back to a more equal level.

I believe this next decade will be ten years of the greatest opportunities mankind has yet to encounter. And how we embrace these challenges will determine our ability to grasp these opportunities to benefit of all of us.

Or maybe the Mayans are right?

If we don't start the awakening soon, the Mayan's may as well be right.

Join with me now as we kiss the "Oh-Ohs" good bye- and lets join hands and celebrate what can be. What should be.

On New Year's Eve 2009, have the one you love by your side – take their hand – and make the commitment together to embrace this next decade with all the optimism and spirit of community you can muster.

Happy New Year everybody. And raise your glass high to a happy new decade.

And next year - this next decade- may we all win.

Whatever we call it.

Staying Canadian

Recently – through facebook of all places – I have had the wonderful experience of reconnecting with a lot of my old high school friends.

And they tell me that they have enjoyed very much my stories of being a teenager in Lawrenceville, Georgia, and my adventure of moving back to the Great White North.

But – as they are Americans – and proud to be so – they often ask me why I stayed in Canada after school.

America is the land of opportunity you know.

I returned to Canada – as I have said before – simply to go back to school yet again – to get the education – to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. I knew I didn't want to slug it out doing the hard work I did in Louisiana, delivering electrical supplies to all corners of that odd and interesting state, or managing grocery stores – and especially not digging any more damned ditches.

So I returned to Canada, land where I was born but had left when I was three years old. I was a Canadian citizen – but I was not really Canadian.

The personal computer had just arrived, but had not yet made its niche on every office desk like it is today. People were just trying to figure this new version of technology out. And I found that I understood the concepts of the mainframe and mini computers – their roles – how they worked – and how they fit into the schemes of what was then called data processing.

So I studied hard for several years – occasionally slipping back into those youthful desires to have too much fun – which got me in so much trouble in my previous attempts at achieving a higher education.

But my Uncle Fred – a wonderful man who I miss dearly now – and who I can never pay high enough tribute to – had this time instilled a work ethic in me.

"Keep your eyes and ears open – and your big mouth shut!" I was told over and over again.

I still have not learned that lesson.

After the second year of school, I was fortunate enough to land what was called a Co-op" position with Revenue Canada – in their headquarters in Ottawa, right across the street from the Parliament buildings – the very seat of the federal Canadian government. The Canadian version of the American House of Representatives.

On a fairly frequent basis, as part of my duties, I would deliver documents and reports to the Minister of Finance or a Deputy Minister in charge of this and that and what-not.

One of my Mom's cousin's – therefore a cousin of mine I suppose – was a gentlemen who represented the riding of Owen Sound – Mr. Stan Darling.

Cousin Stan had held that seat for a good number of years – as conservative as conservatives can be... in Canada – and was often seen on television standing just behind then Prime Minister Brian Mulroney in Parliament sessions – and as the Prime Minister would speak – cousin Stan - sitting right behind the Honourable Prime Minister - would holler things like "here here" and "that's right" – in unison with his colleagues seated on both sides – pounding their fists on the table, face red and jowls jiggling.

A true back bencher.

"You should go visit your cousin Stan", Ma would tell me from her nice warm Pensacola paradise in Florida. "Just to say hi, and to tell him I said hi too".

So I tried, but he would never see me. Later at a family reunion, Uncle Stan claimed to my Ma that he had no idea I was in Ottawa, let alone trying to stop by to say hi.

Politicians are politicians – no matter what land you live in.

Canada, as you probably should know if you don't already, is a bilingual country. The French Canadians and the English have for years struggled in cooperating with each other. The best government jobs go to those who are bilingual, so mostly the French – who had little option but to learn English – hold the best cival servant positions.

So picture if you will – a young good old boy named Fred, still talking with a thick southern drawl, still driving his favorite little Mazda 626 with Louisiana license plates – still planning on returning to the sunny south of Florida when his degree was earned – totally French illiterate to say the least - working in a French Canadian office environment where French is the predominant language.

I made very few friends.

A beautiful girl in our office named Sylvie – who spoke only French when I was around – despised me. My nickname to her was not a French name I can repeat.

I understand it is a vulgar term .

In a second work term, I actually worked across the Rideau river in Hull Quebec. My luck there was better, but still not one that made me feel … welcome.

So I returned the following Fall to London. School started up and I had a very good school year.

My grades were all A's with the odd B here an there. When that semester was over, I decided to fly down to Pensacola to visit my Mom and Dad for Christmas.

Uncle Fred drove me to the Airport in Detroit. We crossed at the Windsor bridge – and I was pulled into customs for questioning. They examined my bags – and they asked for my identification – proof of citizenship. I pulled out my little green card – the one I had been carrying since I was three.

My picture was still that of a three year old boy.

A heavy set African American lady was the customs officer inspecting me. She watched as I pulled my green card out of my wallet and handed it to her.

"What was that in your wallet?" she asked.

Caught off guard – I held my wallet open. She pointed to my old security card from Revenue Canada – Customs and Excise. She recognized the logo. I pulled it out of my wallet and handed it to her.

"That's my security card from Revenue Canada in Ottawa", I said politely and proudly. "I worked up there on a co-op job for my schooling".

She looked at me, and her face went so sad. She told me that the terms of living in Canada and retaining my American green card meant I was not supposed to work in Canada.

"But … how was I supposed to survive if I couldn't work?" I asked. "This was part of my schooling – I had to take a co-op job for this program – for this degree!"

She actually started to sob, and told me she was so sorry she had to do this – that she wished she didn't.

I simply looked at my watch and knew I had to catch my plane.

In that blink of a moment, as this very sweet lady with a downtown Detroit accent cut up my green card while crying – I made the decision that I was going to stay in Canada after school.

Canada would be my home. I would be a Canadian.

I had already been honorably discharged from the United States Coast Guard for being Canadian. And I never really had any luck making anything work in the States.

So I thanked the lady. "Please don't be upset", I said. "You helped me make a decision I had been wrestling with."

She really was a very nice lady, and she felt much more horrible about this tragedy than I did.

I took my bag and my wallet and I turned to my horrified Uncle Fred who could not believe what had just happened, and we left for the airport.

In the car, Uncle Fred turned to me and said yet again, "how many times have I told you to keep your eyes and ears open and your big mouth shut!".

This time I looked at Uncle Fred and said, "It's all for the best".

America may be the land of opportunity, but it was clear to me that day that America didn't really want me there.

So I am a Canadian. And proud to be so.

Big Brother Little Brother

The relationship between Canada and The United States is an interesting one.

Perhaps it is more misleading than interesting.

I do not mean politically. Nor foreign policy. Although both those relationships are equally puzzling.

Instead I mean the relationship of the nations peoples. Like national siblings.

I have at this point lived exactly half of my life on both sides of the U.S. – Canada border.

The basic foundation of the relationship is generally that the Canadians think little of Americans and claim they – not the Americans - hold the high moral ground.

Americans – on the other hand – rarely take time to consider Canada's opinion and most often consider Canada an extension of itself with much more liberal and socialist laws.

To most Americans, Canada is a huge wilderness north of the border dominated by polar bears, moose, drunkards and pot-heads. The bad weather comes down from Canada, and the bad guys do their best to escape north to Canada. Other than that – how Canadians feel about Americans is basically not an American's concern.

And I think this point drives the Canadians crazy!

The Canadian on the other hand has no choice but to concern themselves with everything American. Their television is inundated with American shows, news, gossip, movies, and sports. Either by the fact they are watching American networks or that the Canadian networks pick up American content.

And quite often Canadians know more about The States than they do about their own country.

Many Canadians believe that when a police officer arrests someone in Canada – that their Miranda rights – "You have the right to remain silent ... anything you say can and will be used in a court of law…" – when in fact there is no such statement that must be read to you on Canadian soil.

More Canadians know who the first President of the United States was than who the first Prime Minister of Canada was.

Canadians have a low opinion in general terms of the American population. They consider them to be rude, pushy, and just downright obnoxious. Of course this is true of some Americans – some I have known – but it is also true of some Canadians – some I have known.

Now there are exceptions to the American populous ignorance of Canada. Border cities like Detroit, and Buffalo are more keenly aware of their cross-border neighbors. Those areas receive Canadian television content from such networks as the CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation).

In fact – a very odd twist I am seeing now in Detroit – amongst hockey fans – is a desire to be more recognized by the Canadians CBC broadcast team of Hockey Night In Canada. Canadians consider hockey to be "their game". And therefore the best players of the game must be Canadians. This point is most poignantly and eloquently proclaimed by the iconic god of Canadian hockey analysts – Don Cherry. Being as flambouyant and significant an influence in Canadian culture as well as The self-proclaimed hockey subject matter expert – he gives little public recognition to the Detroit Red Wings – clearly the best team in the NHL now for its second straight year and a dominant contender for nearly a decade.

But the Red Wings are full of Europeans. Great Europeans. Pavel Datsyuk, Henrik Zetterberg, Tomas Holstram, and Nicklas Nystram – to only name a few. And there has always been a belief by Grapes (as Mr. Cherry is affectionately nicknamed) – that European hockey of finesse is not real "Rock-em-sock-em" hockey. And those players skilled with finesse are not real hockey players.

So Mr. Cherry chooses not to applaud the Red Wings as much as Detroit fans and sports media aficionados may like. Certainly not as much as they really deserve.

And the Detroit sports fans and media are very critical – quite openly – and quite passionately – of Mr. Cherry's attitude towards the Red Wings.

But the point is not whether Don Cherry likes European players – he prefers his good old Canadian boys by far – and promotes them whenever possible – which is his perceived role as a Canadian Ambassador of Hockey – but instead the point is – to me – a person very cognizant of both sides of the border …

This group of Americans care about what this group of Canadians think!

The only other time I have ever seen such American concern for a Canadian opinion was when Canada refused to participate in the war with Iraq – instead continuing its focus on fighting Afghanistan.

I for one watch both sides of the border and I laugh. Because both sides are really so much more similar than different. Both sides hold racists views only the are targeted at different victims. Both hold very similar principles and moral beliefs but where they differ they treat the difference as though they are irreconcilable. Both hold strong patriotic emotions – and both wave their own flags a bit too much.

I find it fascinating. I find it frustrating.

And because I have lived for extensive and equal periods on both sides of the border – I see both sides hypocrisies.

And I find them delightful.