Neil Crone - Enter Laughing

The 'neat' old days.

I dropped my son off early this morning to make his bus to a Rugby tournament.  He and, by the looks of it, everybody else on the team were already dressed in their jerseys,socks and shorts.  I thought that was weird.  Then I realized that for virtually every game he has played this season there was never any kind of dress code, other than the uniform at game time.  At my highschool, regardless of the sport being played, all the athletes had to wear shirts and ties to the game. You always knew if a certain team had a game that day by looking around the cafeteria at lunch and seeing who had a tie on.  We thought it kind of a pain in the ass back then and most of us kept a pre-knotted tie hanging in our locker all year because we didn't know how to tie one.  But looking back, it was a classy thing to do.  I very well remember getting off the bus at another highschool and walking through their halls as a team, headed to the changeroom.  We looked really nice and we made an impression.  We were, after all, ambassadors for our school.  Even if we got our asses handed to us on the field or court or mats, we still had a great deal of pride. The ties went back on after the game as well. I'm not sure who instituted the 'tie on game day' rule but I'd like to thank him or her for doing so.  Being part of a team, after all, is always about so much more than what goes on on the field.  That's one of the many great things about it.

Now that's what I'm talkin' about...

You know, frankly, I don't see what all the Kim Jong-il fuss is about.  He looks like a pretty nice guy, to me.  The kind of guy I'd like to party with. Can you imagine playing Pictionary or even Jenga with this cat?  You wouldn't be able to catch your breath for the laughs.  Love the hair too.  I had no idea women dug that 'newly hatched chick' look.  But it sure is working for this guy.  Plus, I don't think the world ever has to worry about trouble from a fella with man-boobs. In the words of Ghengis Khan, 'Why can't we all just get along?'

A face only a mother could love?

Yes.  We love him. How could we not? The boy who came back from a week in New York City, saw some of the most awe-inspiring art in the world, fantastic live theatre and mind-blowing culture...and whose highlight of the trip was being able to buy a real, working gas mask.  There is no divining the machinations of the adolescent brain. Luckily I can still remember a little of that time.  A time when girls and gas masks made the world go around.  And I have to admit...it is a pretty cool mask.

Keynote boob.

'W' is coming to town.  Bill Clinton and George Bush are doing a speaking tour and making a stop in Toronto.  I can understand wanting to hear Clinton speak.  Say what you will about his politics or even morals, the man is intelligent, witty and charismatic.  And he was leader of the free world. But 'W'???  Why would anyone want to listen to anything that boob had to say?  Especially at four or five hundred bucks a pop.  These dinners don't come cheap.  Bush is far more than just a bad President. As far as I'm concerned, the man is a national tragedy.  A walking shame. Villified within many states of his own nation.  People... american people...have referred to him as a war criminal. Frankly, I just think he's an idiot.  The Peter principal in action.  Then again, I suppose it might actually be entertaining to listen to him try to string  sentences together without butchering the language too badly. Who knows?  Maybe, now that he's no longer in office, he'll actually tell the truth.

Looking back and not liking what I see.

In the wake of the final chapter of the Tori Stafford tragedy perhaps you, like me, have been engaged in a little self-examination.  I'm ashamed to say that I allowed the media, even from the littlest bit that I allowed myself exposure to, to lead me by the nose down a blind alley of stereotyping, supposition and lies.  I admit that, in my private and not so private moments, I had begun to judge Tori's parents and to question their 'integrity'.  Whatever the hell that means.  I don't feel very good about that. Nor  should I.
True, they were hardly Ward and June Cleaver, but who among us is?  Who would want to be, really?
It is my great hope that, through the heart-rending story of this little girl's end, most of us will have learned a few things beyond street-proofing our kids.  Firstly, believe very little of what you read, hear and watch in the media. They are no longer in the business of telling the truth.  They, like any other form of entertainment, are in the business of ratings and advertising dollars.  Seondly, there is great wisdom in the words 'Innocent until proven guilty'.  Finally and perhaps most importantly, the unfolding of the whole story hearkened me back to the words of my fictionbal hero Atticus Finch:
 "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view - until you climb into his skin and walk around in it."  Amen brother.

There is a God.

I was having a challenging day today.  Wondering, frankly, who I needed to speak with about quitting this whole 'parenting' thing.  I stepped outside, mid-afternoon and a warm breeze brought me the scent of lilac, apple and cherry blossoms.  Magnificent. Then, as if he knew I needed a little boost, an Oriole fluttered in amongst the blossoms and began to sing his gorgeous head off.  Those were some pretty nice gifts.  And then, just when I thought things couldn't get any better...my wife asked me if I'd like a Vodka and tonic.  There is a God.

Leave the baggage behind.

Like a lot of you, I'm sure, I've been reading more and more about the whole Tamil deal lately.  One particular interview dealt with a young guy of thirty who had been born here in Canada but raised in the Tamil community.  He is, as he himself has said, as Canadian as anyone but he was also raised in an atmosphere and culture designed to remind him of his roots...where his people come from.  All well and good except that what this 'cultural reminder' amounts to, more often than not, is the sins of the fathers being visited on the children.  Don't forget the bitterness!  Don't forget the atrocities!  Don't forget our enemies!  Who does that to their kids?  Why would you go to the stress, work and financial upheaval of coming to a new country only to very deliberately drag along with you the crud from the one you couldn't get out of fast enough?  Worse, as I say, is dumping it on your children and making sure they carry the same burdens you won't let go of.
The Tamil community is certainly not the only cultural group guilty of this.  I see it in a great many cultures and ethnicities. Angry parents eager to pass along the misdeeds, crimes and humiliations visited on them by others in the 'old country'. This, by the way, is not 'culture'. It's baggage. If it gives you happiness, confidence, pleasure to identify with a particular 'culture', then by all means do so.  But why not make positive choices.  Love your culture's food, music, language, dress, rituals...not it's pain, suffering and persecution.  Lift your children up with pride, don't burden them with your own anger and sadness.

Beware the Log.

My seventeen year old son is in New York city right now. Tonight, actually as I write this, he's at the Guggenheim.  At seventeen he's seeing and doing things I've always wanted to do.  Little bastard. Sorry, make that Big Bastard.  He's actually taller than me.  Has been for a couple of years. He's gone to the Big Apple on a School trip with the fine arts dept. They're doing it all.  Five days of fun, culture, art, theatre and the best deli in North America.  Nice.  I miss him already and I'm green with envy.  I'd have killed for a trip like that when I was in school.  I think the furthest I went was a grade twelve trip to Gettysburg.  Even that was cool though.  Although I mustn't have been paying too much attention, as my chief memory of the trip was eating a Stuckey's Pecan log and feeling like I might hurl on the bus.  Well, what are we here for if not to give our children better and more opportunities than we had.  I don't think my parents went on any school trips when they were kids.  So, perhaps we are evolving after all.  Anyway Dunc, have the time of your life down there.  Just stay the hell away from Stuckey's Pecan logs.

It's called a 'Service' station.

You cannot put a price on service. I think the worst thing that can happen to any business, small or large is complacency.  The minute you start seeing customers as 'inconveniences', it's time to hang up your shingle. My wife and I had a go-round recently with a local service station over reparations from some damage done to one of our vehicles while they were working on it.  I won't go into details but the ordeal really made me appreciate those service people in our lives who understand the word 'service'.  I think of my mechanics Franz and Nick, father and son, who always, always, always make me feel welcome, looked after and appreciated at their shop.  Who, many times, have squeezed me into a very busy garage when emergencies strike. I think of my handyman friend Wayne who is polite, friendly, honest as the day is long and neat as a pin. I think of John, the guy who has kept my kids in shoes all their lives and who's face actually lights up when we walk in the door.  Not just because he's looking at a sale, but because he's genuinely glad to see us. I think of Jeff at The Interesting Music Shoppe, who actually likes to have teenagers loitering in his store.  These people get it.  And they also get my business.  It's never been rocket science, folks.

Put a little dance in your step.

A pal sent me the link to this wonderful youtube video of a dance number in Antwerp Train Station .  I've seen similar things done in other cities train stations, but I never tire of this stuff. It's such an incredibly joyous thing to watch.  Especially when all this dance and music and fun is juxtaposed against the monotany and drudgery of the commuters life. This is very much what I've been talking about with the Tamil situation lately, and many other things in this life that people feel they need to 'fight' against.  Don't fight.  Spread joy. The joy that you leave behind will do so much more for the world than any fighting you've done, regardless of how well intentioned.  A positive outlook, a loving embrace, a hopeful dream will do so much more, so much faster, than an angry fist raised in the air.  See if you can't spread a little of it around today.
Enjoy the show.