A Dad's Letter to His Daughters

Love is an amazing measure

You can love many people

But you will never love two people in the exact same way

Each measure of love is unique to that individual

It should not be measured in how much or how little

It should simply be measured by that you do love

The main aspects of love are appreciation and caring

Combined it will always calculate you a unique measure of love

You only need one or the other, both are not required. But love is more fulfilling if both are present.

Love can be extended to anyone in your life; near, distant, familiar or even obscure.

If people love you, do you have to love them back? If you love someone, do they have to love you back?

No. Love shared by two people are always at two different measures.

You may love your friend enough to think of them as your best friend. That friend may love you back, but they may refer to another as their best friend.

Familiarity with someone should not be confused with love, unless that familiarity brings appreciation and or caring.

Infatuation is not love, not yet. More than likely though this is a transient or temporary love that could potentially dissipate to familiarity. But infatuation could also potentially grow into a very high measure of love.

You never know.

But when someone tells you they are “in love with you”, understand that their love for you is an infatuation.

People who truly love you do not say “in” or “out”.  They simply do love you.

So what is “romantic love”?

This is the most rewarding love, when shared with another.

This is the cruelest love, when the measures of love between two people differ significantly.

Romantic love goes beyond caring and appreciation – although caring and appreciation are the foundation of all loves.

Romantic love often extends to include passion, desire, commitment, and then contentment.

Romantic love most often begins as infatuation, which entwines the passion and desire.

This is the most dangerous phase of love.

This is the phase of love that requires the most courage.

This is also the phase of love that requires the most caution.

Because, as I said earlier, infatuation can end as quickly as it begins.

And should the end of infatuation occur for the other party before it occurs for you, the pain can be devastating.

And should the end of infatuation occur for you before the other party, I urge you be honest and polite as you dismiss it. Be kind.

But be cautions of the desire and the passion you feel in this early state. Acting to aggressively may well have very severe penalties.

I implore you as someone who loves you and wants only the best for you, that when you feel the strong passions and desires of infatuation, please employ patience and restraint. Not forever. But until you at least gain an understanding of how transient – how temporary or how potential the prospect of feeling commitment and contentment from this love appears to be.

Do not waste your passion and your desire on temporary infatuation. It is dangerous. And potentially costly.

You will know love when you feel it.

And you will recognize romantic love when it blossoms from infatuation.

And you will know when infatuation ends

And you will know when true love takes over as you desire to commit to that love and quite content to do so.

Loves will come.

And loves will go.

Some will pass quickly.

Others will endure a lifetime.

It is important to be honest with those that you love about your love

But it is even more important – and a prerequisite to your own happiness – that you be honest with yourself about your love for others.

Peddling Papers

Remembrance Day has come and gone again.

My Dad’s birthday was November 11th or Remembrance Day here in Canada. Everyone here dons a red poppy pinned to their lapel to remember our fallen soldiers.

When I was a little boy, I always felt bad for Dad having a birthday on Remembrance Day – because everyone would be remembering other people and nobody would remember his birthday.

Birthdays are important when you’re a little boy.

But since Dad passed away some 22 years ago, I spend a good portion of that day simply remembering my Dad.

My Dad had some really great sayings.

When he would greet us in the morning he would ask “How’s your belly for spots?” instead of “How are you?”

When someone would offer Dad something he would smile wide and say “We take all free gifts”.

When he would find my brother and I to be a bit to rambunctious, he would tell us to “go peddle your papers” or “go play in traffic”.

But my favorite expression was used anytime that my brother and I and Dad would know that we were in trouble with our Mom.

Before Paul and I could even conger up any feasible resemblance of an excuse or alibi, Dad would simply smile at and almost with a wink he would say to us

“You lie and I’ll swear to it”.

This year I was thinking about all the technology that has evolved over the last 22 years. I was thinking about how it was too bad that Dad didn’t get to experience how personal computers would have revolutionized how he did his job as the Manager of Southern Region for Business Products Sales for the 3M Company.

He likely would have fought it.

Dad would spend hours working on the visuals – the transparencies that he laid on top of the lighted screen of the overhead projectors he sold to schools and businesses as he prepared to give presentations to very large audiences.

Of course, programs like Microsoft’s PowerPoint would have made this task a breeze – although Dad was very much a person to pay attention to detail.

Spreadsheets and word processors would have greatly helped both my Dad and my Mom – who appointed herself as Dad’s private secretary.

They were a great team.

But Dad got very sick in 1983. He was forced into an early retirement just a year or so before the very first IBM PCs came onto the market. Dad passed away in 1990 a couple years before the Internet came along in such a way that the public could access it.

Dad never saw e-mail, or instant messaging. He never saw a web page like this one. He never would have dreamed of things like Skype or Facebook or Twitter or YouTube.

Or the iPhone.

In retrospect – much of what the personal computer came to be replaced what the very business products my Dad’s teams sold.

Except Post-It notes.

Sad, Dad never saw the 3M Post-It notes. And the computer never really found a way to replace them.

And Dad never saw any of the professional social networking sites like LinkedIn.

My Dad often told the story of being hired by Blue Cross Blue Shield in Michigan – about how when asked what University he went to, he replied “Why the University of Western Ontario”. When challenged by whoever he told the story to, he would rebut, “I most certainly did go to Western, every Thursday … to sell Encyclopedia Britannica”.

And Dad would laugh.

I like to tell that story on behalf of my Dad now. But that was then – before the Internet - before Google – before being able to validate such facts nearly instantaneously online.

I don’t think my Dad would have tried to pull that kind of stunt today.

It’s funny though, because most people I know have their professional credentials on LinkedIn. Their whole resume is on their profile; their education, their certifications, their acquired skills, and their employment history.

It’s all there.

IT people are funny when it comes to listing their skills on a resume. It’s as though they list every technology they ever heard of as a skill they have acquired. There seems to be no regard as to what they will do should they get hired to work with that technology they know by name only.

And now, others can attest to your mastering the skill. They simply click on the skill link in your list of skills and select Endorse.

That person does not have to prove that they know that you know that skill. But with a mere click of a mouse such a claim becomes a verified fact.

Or as my Dad would have said, “You lie and I’ll swear to it!”

Being Santa In Our Hearts

I have said it time and time again.

I am not a winter person.

But it's not quite winter yet. It's still fall.

It's December and Christmas has been charging full steam at our Calendars now for the last two weeks.

Last year about this time, my eldest daughter Alannah was questioning Santa Claus. So she and I had a long discussion about how Santa lives in your heart in the faith you hold that he exists. I wrote about this last year in a story called "Believe and He Exists".

But a year to an eight year old seems like an eternity. It does not seem as recent as it does to a nearly fifty year old Daddy.

So I shouldn't be surprised that last year's conversation has slipped out of her mind.

She seems to want to be grown up at only eight years old.

Meanwhile, our youngest daughter Ashley-Rae is seven. The same age Alannah was last year, but Ashley-Rae understands believing – and does not throw such logical explanations at us in such a well structured case of court room prosecution style that the fat man in the red suit is fake.

"You're Santa Claus Daddy, what do you think I am … stupid?" says Alannah, my future crown attorney.

Hmmm ….

I was getting ready for work last week. Standing in front of the bath room mirror brushing my teeth, I saw my own reflection.

I am heavier this year. Nearly two-hundred and forty pounds. Okay, I'm fat.

My hair is a bit longer in the cold weather – not nearly as short as my profile picture suggests. And every year in the cold weather I grow a beard. Not just the white goatee like my profile picture suggests – so this year more than years before – my beard is growing in white.

And it's pretty full.

See where I am going with this yet?

So this year I will continue to let my hair fill in. And I will let my beard grow as long as I can in the short four weeks left.

After this divine revelation presented in my bathroom mirror reflection – I bided my time for Alannah's next session of professional analysis. The clincher was at the point where she restated her position that "Daddy, you're Santa Claus" as her clinching argument.

"What does Santa Claus look like?", I asked.

"He is a big fat guy with a white beard", her voice raising an octave as she said "beard" – questioning where I was going.

"Yup", I said.

She picked up a shopping flyer left behind on the kitchen table from her weekly shopping planning excursion through the ads in the newspaper.

"He looks like this Daddy, but this is not the real Santa Claus".

I took the flyer from her hand. I looked at the picture. I held it up next to my own face.

"Look familiar?", I asked.

I pulled my reading glasses from my shirt pocket and I put then on the end of my nose, like the Santa in the picture.

Alannah just looked at me.

I asked her if she remembered our conversation from last Christmas – that cold evening in the garage where I explained that Santa Clause is in your heart – and lives in your faith – like the baby Jesus lives in your heart – lives in your faith.

"Oh yeah", answered my little girl slipping out of her analytical grown up persona and back into my little girl with an open heart.

"You have to believe for Santa to be real", I reminded her.

She looked at me, and she looked at the picture again. And then she looked at me.

I just gave her a little wink, looking down at her over my spectacles.

She gave me a hug, and then without a word she ran downstairs to the area around the pool table – where our indoor decorations were pulled out of the closet waiting in their boxes to be re-allocated around the interior of our lovely home.

She came back upstairs with a handful of read Santa hats. She handed me mine – with the name "Daddy" written in glitter and glue on the fluffy white fur bottom of the hat.

I put it on.

"Oh my …" said Alannah. "But your beard is not long enough."

"Not yet, I still have four weeks your know"

Alannah smiled and ran off to play with her sister.

Again, like last year, our conversation ended with my uncertainty of its effect.

But this year, I am a bit behind an eight ball now.

The next move is mine – and I really don't have a clue what to do.

I believe sincerely that Santa Claus lives within the heart of all that believe. He lives in our faith, and he lives in our actions.

But all I did was play off the fact I got fat, my beard happens to be white, and my now aging face with my wrinkled eyes looks a tiny bit like Santa's – if the light is right and I wear my spectacles on the end of my nose.

Now I have to back up this big impression with something substantial to make a lasting impression on my future female Clarence Darrow. If Santa lives in our actions, what should my next action be?

What do I do now? Any ideas would be greatly appreciated?

How do I get myself in messes like this?

Finding Our Way

The world is full of people that want to tell you what you can do, and what you can't.

Some are people who sit in stations in life that you might perceive to be above you. They certainly perceive their station to be above you.

Some are peers who simply can't help but give you their opinion of you as constructive advice.

Some are people that feel they must put you in your place.

Some are people that truly care about you – deeply - and want to help you avoid making the mistakes they have made.

In this list of people, I find only the latter to be worthy of consideration.

If you can weed out those people who truly care about you, then listen closely to their advice. You don't have to take it, but you certainly have to consider it.

I take their consultations seriously, for in many cases they may also have a stake in the paths I choose, and the outcomes those paths lead me to. They will be travelling these new unknown paths with me, and they will share equally in the rewards that result.

That is why it is so important to surround yourself with positive passionate people in your life – whose values closely match your own.

The people that I truly admire in this world are those that followed their dreams – undaunted by those who told their dreams could not be fulfilled.

It takes a certain discipline to move forward while others around you shout loudly how mistaken or foolish you are for choosing the path you're taking after you have committed to that direction.

In this lifetime, there is really so little time.

In the blink of an eye – opportunities we may think will exist forever evaporate like the morning dew of late summer, there until the sun moves overhead to absorb it back into the air.

We have to take these opportunities as they present themselves to you. You have to pounce on them quickly and decisively. Commit to them with the passion that brought them to your attention to begin with – for the next moment – they may be gone.

I would like to tell you that I am a rational man. Rationale with clearly thought out plans – drawn out into neatly diagramed specifications – each line clearly labeled to denote the relationships of each component of a solution to the problem at hand. In my profession this is true, but in life – my diagrams in my mind are much less detailed. But in my mind – as I think about the future moves that I will make in my life, I have only boxes to signify desires – passions – the things I would like to accomplish. And like a poorly designed system – these boxes that depict future ambitions often have no lines drawn between them to map out the avenues that I will take to move from one to another.

The future often seems to hold two possible paths.

One that is the series of clouds and black boxes that we have not yet drawn the lines between yet – let alone put a label to for clarity of the approach to reach each one.

The other is that path that looks quite clear – only because we have travelled it for some time already, and the line continues straight on to the horizon – with little changing – with few curves or forks in the road forcing decisions.

Perhaps the safest path to take moving forward is to stay on the straight line of known outcomes as long as needed until we find the opportunity to move closer to the paths with no lines yet drawn – and hope the lines will appear as the goals and objectives move closer into view. Perhaps the lines will be labeled like street signs, to give us confidence the roads we find ourselves on are the right roads to travel.

Perhaps.

To move in such a new direction takes confidence in our abilities.

But it also requires the odd leap of faith.

And as we know that each step we take forward to move towards such disparate goals and objectives – faithfully and confidently – we have to believe that we are absolutely right in our conviction – and know that self-doubt is but a passing milestone as we continue our journey – and that doubt will also evaporate as we near our destination.

Along the way the naysayer's voices will sound louder as we encounter them. Their consternation more biting as our confidence starts to waver, more convincing as our commitment comes into question.

But hopefully you, as I have been so fortunate, will have those that truly care about you cheering you forward and urging you on to make that next step. To go where the naysayers declare you have no place to be. They will drown out those chants of "you're not good enough" or "you must be crazy for thinking you can do that" with their own encouragements of "just a little further now" and "you must work harder now, you're almost there!".

I have had the experience in life to have made some of these journeys already. I have had more than several occasions where my leaps of faith have taken me to better places than I was before. They have brought me now to a place of contentment with a beautiful wife and two lovely little girls. To a beautiful home. A loving family.

But again this need to take yet another leap of faith will soon stare me in the face. And this time my family will join me – so there is more at stake than to simply follow my own heart. I must also ensure that their needs are being met, that their goals and objectives are as equally included in my decision making as my own.

Because they are my voices of confidence now. Their voices will cheer me on past the naysayers who have already come out of the woodworks to try to deflate my ambitions. And they need also to feel the reward of where I am going – even though I know not truly where that destination exactly is ... just yet.

This time we will be going there together – and when we arrive – after the long series of little steps along the way are behind us – we will look back together and realize we are there.

The destination is merely the outcome.

The journey is a road of new experience we will obtain as we approach the destination. And life is comprised of journeys – not destinations. And each step of this journey – as small as most steps will be – will each add to the legacy of experience that defines us.

We will be judged by how we travelled the journey through life – not by the destinations we reach. And I have a wonderful collection of travelling companions. Companions who - with their love and shared commitment - will drown out the shouts of the naysayers.

And I will need their support every step of the way. And they will need mine.

Because the world is full of people that want to tell you what you can do, and what you can't.

Just because I don’t go to church does not mean I do not believe in God.

Just because I don't go to church does not mean I do not believe in God.

I think this is a fairly common approach these days to faith.

There are those who believe that church is the foundation to faith.

And there are those who believe that there is no God.

And somewhere in the middle there are those who – as I just stated – believe but do not think the answers are to be found in cathedral and read from a book.

Well, I honestly do not mean to state this so dismissingly. The book is the Bible, or the Koran, or whatever other doctrine may be held up as indisputable truth.

So I really should capitalize the "B" in Book.

And I do not write this lightly. I do not state this mockingly, nor with any meaning of malice or contempt.

If I were to be measured my position between two sides of the spectrum, faith or atheism, I am certain I would be placed much closer to the side of faith.

"Then why don't you go to Church?" you might ask.

I have gone to church in my days. Many different churches actually. Like many of you, I have gone to listen and to try to objectively discern what it is that I believe. My faith is to the extent that I do know that God is there. And I do know that God is a compassionate, loving, completely objective deity.

God – in my faith – does not choose sides.

He does not choose sides in times of war. He does not answer one person's prayer to be chosen over another. All – in my faith – are God's children.

Even the atheist

And in every church I have gone to, I have always felt that the person standing before and speaking from the Book, is actually trying to sell their faith to me.

The person standing before me has devoted a great deal of time and consideration to their own exploration of their church. At least most of the time, anyway. And I do not belittle that commitment in any way. But I know this person before me is only another person of flesh and blood. And their conviction to what is true – for as strong and devoted as it may be – is their faith – and their opinion.

Let me try to put it this way.

Think of a person that you know. A person known by many in your social circle. Think about how you feel about this person. List out twenty or so attributes of this person on a sheet of paper.

Then think of those in your circle who also know this person very well. And put yourself in each of those other person's shoes – look through their eyes – and try to think what attributes they may see in this same person. Do that several times over for others in the circle – then compare your lists.

The lists will be different.

Each of those eyes you looked through will have had different experiences with this person. Some good. Some bad. The positive and negative experiences they have had with this person will be different.

Experience is what shapes our opinion. And in my thinking, experience is the most influential definer of faith.

Now think how differently each of those people's experiences with God must be. Because God is so much closer and in one's own heart. Those experiences each shaped their faith in God. Some in disappointment, some in appreciation, some in love and devotion. Some in betrayal.

Because – in my own personal opinion – a God who loves everyone equally cannot please everyone He loves.

And as that person stands before me and reads from the Book, and talks about what each sentence means – I realize that this is what that sentence of the Book means – to them. Some have been taught this is what it means. Others have come to their own conclusion as to its meaning. And some will question what it means.

My Dad taught me as a boy that faith is very important. But how that faith is to be defined is up to me. That I can strengthen my faith anywhere. At home, in my car, at the office sitting at my desk. And that there is risk in the formal accommodations of a cathedral or Church setting. Because the underlying foundation in faith is confidence.

And the formal setting of church is as likely to shake one's confidence in their faith as it is to reinforce it.

So what do I believe? My faith is pretty simple actually.

I believe that there is indeed a deity greater than us. And as I said – He is loving, kind, compassionate. And He loves all of us exactly the same. And that in return for all that He has provided us – all He asks in return is that we do our very best.

Be honest.

Be kind.

Be generous.

Be of service to your fellow man.

Do not take advantage of others misfortunes to profit.

Be understanding.

Be fair.

And be sincere.

Sound familiar?

Imagine if before each action we could take, we could consider these eight points. Our resulting action would have to meet the criteria of these points. Imagine if everyone else did the same.

There would be no bigotry.

There would be no contempt.

There would be no hatred.

There would still be differences of opinion. There would still be diversity in our approaches to life. But there would be no indignation towards others.

And in my own personal opinion – I believe that the great prophets of history were trying to express these same principles. But those that heard the message interpreted it to be a threat to whatever power they held. Perhaps because it was simply inconvenient. Or perhaps because these principles contradict the means by which they reinforced their power.

And in my opinion – this is where the multitudes of division came from to give us the vast array of religions we have today. Each taking a slightly different slant on each of those eight points. And to reinforce their power they insisted that to deviate from their slant will condemn you to an eternity in most horrific prison – hell.

Personally, I do not believe that when we die, we go to heaven or hell. That these are simply tools to restrict our freedom of thought by promising us what is truly the greatest unknown. What happens to us after we die. "If you do like I say, you will live in a glorious after-life", is the promise – much like the promise that a parent will make to their children that a great education will being a bliss full adulthood. "But should you stray from this instruction – you will be condemned to the most horrid existence – forever – with no chance for reprieve".

It seems so childish to me when I put it in these terms. And destructive.

And manipulative.

I believe we make our own heaven and hell here on earth. Simply by the principles we follow. And our hearts commitment to those principles. If a strong principle belief is that you should be rich, yet you life in poverty, your greed shall condemn you to the hell of your failure to achieve wealth. Should you realize you are happy without the wealth – you will suddenly be free of your burden, and achieve a level of peace you might consider to be heaven.

Will I encourage my two little girls to go on to get higher levels of education? Of course I will, because my experience has shown me their opportunities will be much greater if they can achieve such a goal. But it does not mean they will be condemned to a life as a fast order chef if they don't. And they may be well and happy as a short order chef.

I will encourage my daughters to believe in what they want to believe. And I will try to explain the eight principles I listed above. And I will try to show them by my own example. Although at times my example will fail.

Because I love my little girls with all my heart. Equally. Like my Father did my brother Paul and me. Like I think God loves us all.

And I think the God I have put my faith in leads by the best example anyone could follow.

The Grandma’s Birthday

Today is my Mother-In-law's Birthday. She turns seventy-seven years young today.

I have told all kinds of stories that are about this one of the two Grandmas. But I probably haven't really given you a taste of how great the Grandma's in our family really are.

Joan is known in our household simply as Grandma or Grandma D when a distinction between the Grandmas is needed. The only living Grampa we have in our family is Joan's husband Glenn. And Glenn is known to my little girls as 'Nonos'. I used to joke that hi sname 'Nonos' came from his ability to say no. But nothing is further from the truth as Glenn is one of the most generous men I know. But he covers his kindness with a very thick crusty mask.

Nonos working life was spent as what I would see to be a project manager of large construction projects – mainly road construction around the world. He was seriously injured when he fell from a cliff in Africa. But work such as that, dealing with tough and rugged people, requires a gruff and rugged leader. And that was – and still is – Nonos.

The Grandma and Nonos participate in the local Legion. For those of you who may not know, in Canada, the Legion is a national association of social and community clubs supporting the Veterans of our Armed Forces. The Grandma and Nonos are very involved with their Legion, as Nonos' recently held the presidency of the local and now stands a past president.

As president, Nonos brought the Legion back from near bankruptcy and certain closure to a profitable and more desirable state for their membership. Now as past-president – Nonos is watching his hard work wash away as the practices of the past drain both the membership and their financial state.

Joan supports her husband's endeavors completely. But the beauty of their relationship stems from the adage that familiarity breeds contempt. I have never met two people who care for each other so much but hide it so well in their day to day battling.

But this the Grandma's birthday. I only tell you about Nonos so that you better understand the this one of the two Grandmas. Both Grandma and Nonos are very social people. Both enjoy a party if you will. And both do their best to bring that party atmosphere with them as they tackle the common challenges of ever day life.

I have not met anyone who dislikes the Grandma. My own Mum – the other Grandma – enjoys Grandma D very much. And when the two are together, well – things just happen.

Today, my family – which currently includes our Irish visitors Ray and Shell – will pack up the car and head over to the Grandma's house for the day. We will sit in the back yard and enjoy the pool and the perfect summer weather. And the girls will be dressed in the summer dresses, and Ray and Shell will enjoy with us this special day with the Grandma.

It will be a day we all remember. A day that my little girls will always remember.

Happy birthday, Grandma D.

Sunday Mornings

I have always been a fan of Sunday morning.

I can easily understand why Christian faiths commonly hold services on Sunday morning.

It just seems so spiritual. Clean. There is something very wholesome about Sunday morning.

I think that should I ever find myself shipwrecked on a desert island, with no watch or calendar, I would easily recognize Sunday mornings from the rest of the mornings.

It just feels so inspirational.

On this particular Sunday morning, it is my daughter Alannah’s seventh birthday. The sun is out bright with that beautiful yellow hue that can only be experienced on Sunday morning.

It is minus twelve degrees Celsius. That’s eleven degrees Fahrenheit. It is cold. And windy. But the yellow hue of the sun replaces the draft of the cold winds inside our house.

Later in the day, Darlene’s family will come over for the family birthday party. By then it will be afternoon. And the magic of Sunday morning will have dispersed, to arrive again next weekend.

There will be excited little girls running around the up and down stairs. Left over packaging and tags from presents received both yesterday and today will be lying around visibly to signify the celebration. There will be drinks poured by the adults with glasses that clink.

There will be love.

But my bags still need to be packed; my clothes for the week to be folded into piles and put into my travel case; the work to be done this next week to be available as I ride the train to Toronto tonight.

Right after birthday cake.

I will be away for a week. Tomorrow Alannah is hosting the morning announcements at her school, reading a fairly lengthy piece over the public address system. And I will ask her tomorrow night by phone how it went. And I will tell her how proud of her I am. My little first grader.

Over the phone.

Thursday is Valentines Day. A day I would try to avoid at all cost – until I had two little girls. Valentines Day is very special to little girls. It rivals Halloween.

I missed last Halloween too. I stood in a parking lot at the corner of Yonge and College with my cell phone, talking to the girls while they tricked and treated last October. At the same time trying avoid a bum begging for a smoke.

And I missed Ashley’s Christmas play as well as the Breakfast with Santa event.

And I think the girls notice. Because they were quick to repeat back to me what I have already missed since starting this new role with the company last fall.

But they are not going without. My absence does not cancel these affairs. And Mom still attends. And I still tell them how proud of them I am every night on the phone.

The fact is that this is a great opportunity for our little family. And with each opportunity worth reaching for, a little sacrifice is often required.

The fellows that I am travelling with are fine fellows. They are good company, and good team mates. And we are starting to resemble a team as we move in our unified front.

But still, I am not looking forward to ending Alannah’s party early so the family can drive me to the train.

I am so proud of my little clan. I am so proud of my wife to the way she has accommodated these new twists. And my little girls understand. And while they don’t like it, I know they understand.

Sunday mornings are just wonderful. The gentle music on the radio. The yellow sun shining bright on what looks like frozen tundra. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and toast wafting through the air.

Sacred.

It’s the Sunday nights I am not to crazy about.

Becky's Big Day

On my desk at work, I have tons of photographs.

These photos are set up in various holders and frames, scattered amongst my various toys like my Don Cherry bobble head, Alannah’s t-ball bobble head, sponge stress balls, globes and even a stuffed Maple Leafs zamboni.

Some would say that such a display suggests I don’t take my job too seriously.

In truth those toys and photographs are there to help me not take my job too seriously. I can be a bit obsessive about what I do. I have to watch it some times.

So I play.

And I look at my favorite old photos.

My screen saver on my PC is full of new photos – pictures taken since digital cameras became the norm, not the novelty.

But I have not yet scanned in my old pictures.

I have some great ones: friends I went to University and College with, my beautiful wife from the days when we met, days when Paul and I were kids in Lawrenceville.

My favorite pictures are of family. And in particular my Brother Paul’s family – since my little family came along with the digital camera.

And in this collection are two very special pictures of a little girl, my niece, Becky Brill.

In one picture she is about two or three years old, and sitting in a chair opposite her dad. They both have their feet up on a coffee table, and because her dad has his foot up on the coffee table, so does Becky. And because Paul is reading a book, so is Becky.

But Becky’s book is upside down.

In the other picture, I am holding Becky as one would commonly carry a four or five year old, on my hip with my right arm supporting her. And she is smiling big. And so am I, which is odd for me in pictures.

When my co-workers see these pictures, they think the younger one is of my daughter Ashley-Rae – because Ashley-Rae looks just Beck did then. The older Becky they think is Alannah – as Alannah looks like Becky at that age.

These Brill girls are all pretty.

Becky and her younger brother Ben were both raised mostly in Mexico, while Paul and Leigh were down there as part of various projects. Construction projects if you will. They returned to the American Gulf coast – resuming life in Baker, Louisiana – just north of Baton Rouge.

I have had such little chance to spend time with Becky and Ben when they were in Mexico. But those times I did were very special.

As you can see in these pictures, Becky has grown into a fine young lady.

And I hope both of my girls grow to become even half the young lady that Becky has become.

Today is Becky’s birthday. She is now eighteen. Look out world!!

Happy Birthday Becky. I am very proud of you.

Ashley, Alannah, and Hannah Montana

When my daughters were babies, and then wee little girls, their rooms were adorned with bright colors, and cartoon characters. As they grew older, they identified to us who their favorites were.

For most of that time, their rooms were adorned with characters from the Dora the Explorer cartoon. Spanish and English words mixed together as Dora proved to be a very positive impression on them, showing that little girls can be seen as the person others go to for help.

But now, adios to Dora and Boots the Monkey.

Hola Hannah Montana.

My goodness.

The cute cartoon who wears orange shorts and pink t-shirts – and carries all her super tools in her back pack – who gets all her directions from an amazing map – who challenges such villains as Swiper the fox and hordes of crocodiles and spiders – has been replaced by a southern drawled 14 year old tight ripped blue jeans wearing teeny-bopper who disguises super-stardom with a blond wig and sun glasses.

Dora’s catch phrases such as “I need your help” and “Swiper no swiping” have now been replaced by Billy-Ray Cyrus daughter Miley’s teeny bopper catch phrases such as “Do ya think?” and “Sweet Niblets”.

Don’t get me totally wrong – Hannah’s songs – written I guess by her Billy-Ray dad – have very positive messages for the most part. Very empowering for teenage girls. There are much worse role-models out there like your Brittany’s and Paris’s, your Madonna’s and your Christine’s.

“Who said I can’t be Superman?”

That is exactly what I want my girls to believe.

Well done Billy-Ray – it beats the hell out of “Achey Breaky Heart”. I can't really speak though, because I too really want my mullet back!!

Maybe everybody's growing up?

Deep sigh.

But now my daughters – seven and five are covering up their Dora blankets with Hannah throws. Their Dora t-shirts are worn with Hannah blue jeans. And the Dora posters covered up by the Hannah posters.

Dora's best friends are a monkey, an armadillo, and a wily fox she can’t trust.

Hannah has boy friends, lives a rock-stars life, and gets into more adult situations.

My little girls don’t need boy friends yet – not until they are in their thirties and well entrenched in their careers.

But you can't dictate these things. You can try to nudge - nudge them down the path you want for them - but you cannot drag them down it kicking and screaming.

Thanks a lot Disney.

My girls didn’t even have a chance to meet Mickey yet.

Boxing Day At The Log Cabin

Yesterday, we celebrated another Brill Family Boxing Day at the stately Log Cabin I told you about last year.

And while we in Windsor celebrated our Christmas in an environmentally friendly green manner (there was no snow – only green grass) – the Log Cabin was very white. And my Cousin Sarah – my pseudo-little-sister - and her husband Rene had their stately rustic home done to the nines for Christmas.

All the kids took off into the night to walk the dogs into the deep woods. They returned telling tales of coyote tracks and blood trails.

I didn’t think it was still legal to let your kids have an adventure.

But all returned home and the head count that returned matched the number that had left. There were no injuries.

Just a freaked-out Mom here and there.

As the night wore on and the kids started to wear out, the snow outside started to fall again. We settled down at the dining table for our second Christmas Feast.

Our second night of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, yams, and cranberry sauce.

As we sat sipping coffee, the little-ones and big-ones alike reminded us that we had not yet achieved our primary objective. We had not yet exchanged gifts.

The chaos of family gift exchanges can never be truly well documented. It is more like an eruption of paper and ribbon sent miles into the air by young hands ripping cardboard to get to the gift inside.

And when the ribbon had cleared and the paper finally settled to crumpled piles on the ground, I found that I been presented with a home made gift from my cousin Jenny – one of my pseudo-big-sisters.

It is a hand made snow globe. Inside sits a picture of me, in my car, being towed onto the farm by Uncle Fred’s tractor. If you turn the key on the bottom, I believe it plays “Let It Snow”. On the other side of the picture, Jenny had written in gold ink: “Don’t be afraid of a little snow, Freddy”.

I damn near cried.

But I was cool.

My little family stayed the night, while the rest of clan headed to their homes in Kitchner, and London.

My little girls are about 3 years younger than Sarah and Rene’s two little girls. My little girls revere both Justine and Paige as much as they do Hannah Montana. This is truly the only real sleep over my little girls have ever had. It’s a big deal.

The next morning we awoke to a good little snow squall. The weather station was calling for freezing rain just south of us. And you have to go south to get to Windsor.

Big huge flakes were falling; covering the ground and roads quickly. To the kids; it looked like heaven.

To me, it looked like lousy driving weather.

It would have been grand to stayed with Sarah and Rene another night.

But we were not prepared.

We did not have another change of clothes.

We did not have either Darlene’s or Ashley-Rae’s prescriptions.

And Rene’s family were coming that afternoon. Sarah and Rene were going to throw the exact same party all over again.

They certainly did encourage us to stay. They almost had me sold. It has been some time since I saw his mom and dad, his brothers, his family.

But this was their Christmas day together. It was their time to exchange gifts. The table was set to fit their family members.

Little girls would not be understanding when presents are being exchanged that there are no presents for them.

So we decided to head home. Through snow, over the freezing rain.

But not before both Alannah and Ashley-Rae cried. They wanted to stay. They wanted to play. They wanted to live there instead.

Once on the road, the four-wheel drive of our jeep got us easily out of the snow, and the snow turned to simple rain just a few miles south of the log cabin. The enchantment of the trip was gone. It was just a rainy December drive home to Windsor.

But next year, next year maybe we can plan this better. Plan this differently. Let the girls stay and play longer. Let them get to know their cousins better.

Maybe.

Happy Thanksgiving Americans

I know that I am Canadian. And I know that the November Thanksgiving holiday is for the Americans.

I know.

But I still like it. Although I am not certain that I like it better than ours.

The Canadian Thanksgiving is held in early-mid October. It usually sneaks up on me when I am not expecting it. It is supposed to occur just after the final Canadian harvest is reaped from the land.

It is generally a Sunday holiday and inherits some of the general attributes of a Sunday.

The American Thanksgiving is of course on what I thought was the last Thursday of November. It also celebrates a successful harvest. I think I like that it is held on a Thursday much better, as it gives the feel of a day off that you should be working – adding yet one more thing to be thankful for.

And while they are at it, they take the Friday off too!

You can’t knock that, can you?

Both are similar – both traditionally expect turkey dinners with mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing and cranberries. Both are meals completed with pecan, pumpkin or apple pies for desert.

The difference is however that in Canada we are inundated by the American media reminding us that they get this great holiday, while for us, it is just another work week.

We actually suffer from “American Thanksgiving Day Envy”. And we might be a tad bitter.

Both events are fall events. The Canadian event has the color of the leaves in the trees. The daylight lasts longer, and often I have even played golf on Canadian Thanksgiving day.

The American Thanksgiving day has the mythology of Pilgrims – Quakers for the most part – celebrating with their new native friends they mistakenly dubbed to be “Indians”. I have always wondered why the NFL did not insist the Patriots play the Redskins on this holiday.

Perhaps it was discussed and dismissed as “too predictable”.

On the topic of football, it is traditional on Canadian Thanksgiving to actually watch a Canadian Football League game. It used to be that you could watch Ottawa vs. Saskatchewan - the Rough Riders vs. the Roughriders. Ottawa vs. Saskatchewan. But Ottawa dropped their team recently – so the games are usually the Alouettes vs. the Argonauts.

It's even funner to watch it on the RCO - the French-Canadian side of the CBC.

My daughters bring home a ton of “crafts” from school every day. Things they have colored, cut out, pasted together, and present to their Mother and I as artwork worthy of precious fridge door space.

I noticed this year at Thanksgiving time they brought home construction paper and tape versions of Pilgrim hats. I asked them both to ask their teachers how many Pilgrims ever migrated to Canada. They did – eventually – from Dutch Pennsylvania – our family was part of that migration - but I don’t think they were still known as Pilgrims.

I think it must be cheaper for the Canadian primary schools (elementary schools) to use left over American artwork rather than make our own.

How many maple leafs can you color anyway?

In any case, the underlying foundation of both versions of Thanksgiving is to be thankful.

In the Canadian sense, thankful that the harvest was successful and there is food enough for the 6 months of winter. Thankful you won’t starve.

The American sense is to be thankful for being American, and to get a jump start on your Christmas shopping on that Friday you have off as well. Oh yeah, and all that stuff about family and friends.

Happy Thanksgiving to all my American friends and loved ones. We in Canada are thankful that you are still thankful. As long as you’re content, we know you won’t be invading us.

I will be thinking of you as I sit at my desk pounding out work this Thursday and Friday.

And to those of you Americans who have me on your gift list this Christmas, I am now a 38 waist with a 30 inseam.

Yes, I have put on a little weight.

I think it all started last October on our Thanksgiving day.