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November 24, 2006
Newfoundland Fur Industry Offers An Apology
ST. JOHN’S, Newfoundland (AP) – Danny Simpson, spokesperson for the Newfoundland Offshore Seal Hunt apologized today for any misunderstandings brought about by members of his organization.
“See, what was happenin’ dere eh, was dat we done heard dat dere was anudder baby seal what got itself born so naturally, y’know, what wit all da publicity an all dat, da boys got dere boats all started up and was getting’ ready to go an get it. An it was really kinda dumb when ya tinks about it ‘cuz it’s not even the season eh. But dere we was, all stoked up wit Timmy’s donuts and coffee eh, an I tell ya, dey wasn’t ready for us or nuttin’, an den we done heard dat da baby seal wasn’t really a seal eh. See it turns out dere’s a German girl, an her name is Heidi Klum. Apparently she done popped an dropped a baby wit da help of her husband, dat singer guy, Seal. Y’know, da black guy wit da complexion issues. So as soon as we done got dat all straight eh, we shut down da boats, put away da clubs an went back to bed. But apparently some of da boys found a bottle or two and done made a ruckus down at da Broken Cod Pub. An so we wanted to apologize for da misunderstandin’ an wanted to say to dat Heidi girl dat she and her husband can bring their baby Seals here to Newfoundland an we ain’t gonna club dem to death or nuttin’ like dat.”
Johan Riley Fyodor Taiwo Samuel was born Wednesday weighing 8 pounds, 11 ounces. Mother, baby and father are proud and doing well.
~ AP
Posted by Anonymous Pundit at 07:53 AM | Comments (0)
November 13, 2006
I Held My Son’s Hand
Ok. I’ve been on what seems like a terrible hiatus. I don’t know how to explain this to anyone, myself included, other than to simply say that I have been hung up on a particular notion or idea. And I got it in my head or perhaps heart to hold off on making my usual posts until dealing with this. So here goes, the best way that I can, and I hope that when it is done it makes sense to you, and more hopefully to me too.
I may jump around a bit on this one, but for it to work I have to go back to when it got into my head that I had something I wanted to say. When I first noticed something that I have been watching ever since. Never forcing, just watching.
It’s April 2, 2006 and I held my son’s hand……
I’ve become very conscious of some things these last couple of years. Friends. Family. Love. Children. And time. Time, the one unavoidable and incurable disease that takes us all.
I’ve come to the somewhat cynical conclusion that the world is just one great big palliative care unit where the end is known before you walk in the front door and all we’re trying to do is manage the quality of the time we have left, with some being far better than others at the task. And this heightened, acute awareness that I now have gave me cause to notice something the other day.
My kids had been visiting me over spring break and we were shopping for clothes and shoes. A task that can be trying at best and absolute discomfort at others as they are still young enough that purchasing clothing is a task rather than a joy and lord knows there are sooooo many other more important things to do like picking your nose, tormenting your sibling or having to go to the washroom….again…as the sales clerk goes to find yet another pair of shoes that are sure to be the wrong color or shape.
So there we were walking in the mall and my son who is twelve reached out and grabbed my hand. I know him and I knew he didn’t grab it because he was scared of something or intimidated by the mall experience. He held my hand because it’s something we’ve always done. A touch that’s bonded us since birth. No shame, or shyness, just a boy holding his dad’s hand, and out in public no less.
And so while walking and talking I got to thinking about my own father and I couldn’t remember the last time I held his hand, and I felt kind of saddened about that. I tried to remember, “Was I twelve, like my own son? Were we on a holiday somewhere? Out for a walk in the neighborhood? Shopping at a mall?” I couldn’t remember and I had the sudden urge to find him and hold his hand so he could feel what I was feeling with my own son right then, but I couldn’t as distance and circumstance made it impossible.
More importantly though, I also got to wondering if he could remember the last time we held hands. And I don’t know if he can. And not because he’s old, but rather, I wonder if he noticed it and remembered at the time. I can honestly say, I don’t remember. We weren’t really a hand holding couple of guys I guess.
I wonder who of us can remember the last time they held their dad’s hand?
Now before I get too far I want to point out that I am being pretty specific here about us guys. Daughters seem to be able to hold their dad’s hands any damn time they want. And guys can hold their mother’s hands anytime as well. From birth through teens, their wedding day and even as adult children, girls have it easy. But the touch of a hand is an intimate thing and as boys change from young children to older children and then to adults, somewhere along the way the touch seems to get lost and it saddens me in a way I hadn’t considered in the past.
As I said, I hadn’t thought too much about it before now.
I don’t know everything about this big old world, and perhaps there are places or cultures where adult men hold hands without any casual onlookers thinking thought of perversions. But right or wrong that seems to be the way it is here and I know that day will come when consciously or unconsciously my son stops reaching out for my hand.
Jump to…….
It is August 14th and we’re in another mall. West Edmonton this time. The kids have been with me for a month now and I’m driving them to their Winnipeg home. We chose the long way home through Kamloops and the Columbia Ice fields and now we’re in Edmonton for a couple of days. I’ve been conscious all summer of the times my son reaches out for my hand which he does from time to time. It’s never planned, it just happens. The only difference is that I notice it now and wonder. Every time it happens the calendar in my head logs the event so that when I realize the time for holding hands is past, that I will be able to say, “The last time I held my son’s hand? Yeah….as a matter of fact I can remember. It was on such and such a date and we were…..” and the blank will be filled.
On August 20th Winnipeg was again retreating into the distance by way of my rearview mirror as it had two summers before. It doesn’t get any easier this leaving my children for weeks or months at a time. My eyes stayed dry just long enough to get out of the driveway so my kids didn’t see my cry. But life is what it is right? My son walked to the corner gas station with me this morning. He held my hand half the way and swatted at mosquitoes the other half. I drive along holding the steering wheel imagining the sensation of his fingers in mine. And again I wonder.
Slide on to…….
It is November 8th. The day after my son’s 13th birthday and here I am flying home to Winnipeg. It was a busy morning and I saw the kids off to school before hopping into the rental car and driving to the airport. Too busy for anything other than getting packed. The night before, late, just before bed, he reached over and grabbed my hand. He sort of tucked in close to me on the couch, in the way a person does when they know you won’t see them again for a while. He thanked me for a nice birthday.
I don’t know if he was conscious of how he was holding my hand, but his fingers were tracing the furrows where the knuckles bend. His finger tips ran along the edges of my own fingers, finding the ends and eventually burying his hand into the warm confines of my much larger paw. He may not remember the details as I do. He may not remember that in total, he held my hand for maybe four minutes. But I do. And I won’t forget either.
So now I am finishing this off, five days later on another trip. A ferry ride to Vancouver that has given me pause and a chance to write. A pause to wonder if that was indeed the last time my son will reach out for my hand as he has in the past. And I state it that way because as these months have past I have given thought to the touch of hands. I have wracked my brain trying to see if I could dredge up a memory of when I last held my own father’s hand. And as I said near the beginning of this, I can not.
But through the years I have noticed that there does come a time when a son will again hold a fathers hand and it seems that more often than not, it is when the father is lying in bed, unable to get up anymore and there is a son holding the father’s hand, maybe trying to get back a sense of what it was like to hold his hand when he was the big one, the strong one, the one who gave comfort rather than needing it.
And so you see, maybe I just needed the extra time to watch over these months past. To see if there really was a pattern. To see if there really was something to this notion of mine. To see if there really is something to be watched for that will be missed. To heighten my awareness of and perhaps my sadness on that day when I realize that my son may have stopped reaching out for my hand until some day in the future when he knows there is nothing else he can do for me before I die.
Maybe I just needed the time make up my own mind to be more aware of my own father and how he holds hands with his grandkids and to make up my own mind that maybe, just maybe, I can find an excuse to grab his hand again before I hold his hand goodbye.
~ AP
Posted by Anonymous Pundit at 10:38 PM | Comments (1)