Short Cuts

I have to let all you in on a not so secret, secret.  I am an avid geo-cacher! What is that you may ask. Well, 'it is a real world outdoor treasure hunt. One locates hidden containers of all shapes and sizes using a smartphone or GPS using specified co-ordinates found on line at www.geocaching.com  No, this is not a commercial announcement for geo-caching. If you give me a bit of time to explain myself then  you will see why I mention this awesome outdoor game.

Your's truly. Found this cache will bird hunting
Yes, Timmy's in hand. Cache is a peanut butter
jar wrapped in white  camo tape. Hidden just out of sight
in a downed tree.

Back when I was a child - by definition I speak of chronological years,  I was kind of mischievous young Nish. Let me give you an example.  I recall going to church with my Aunt and Uncle as I did on several occasions. I was way, way in the back row playing and not really paying attention, as I should have. For some reason I honed in on what the preacher was saying. I vividly recall him looking over the congregation pointing his finger in dramatic fashion and bellowing, "What do you think Jonah did as he sat in the belly of that big fish?"  I sat up and said, I think he did this!" - I placed my lips on my arm and blew, making a loud farting noise. I thought it was the funniest thing that happened inside the walls of that United Church. Unfortunately, for me, my Aunt didn't think so.  You can even read back in a few of my entries to see how much of a good boy I had been.

Then there was the 3 year stretch that I would hunt high and low for the Christmas gifts that my parents bought and hid so poorly in our house. If some of the gifts were already wrapped I would make sure to carefully peel back the gift wrap where it was taped and take a look. Masterfully, I would overlap a new piece of tape over the old one - I was so clever. Or I'd wake up in the wee hours of Christmas morning and do the same thing, and sneak back to bed happy and content that I accomplished my mission. Only to put on a show of being surprised come time to actually open up my gifts. I will you in on a secret - the thrill of opening gifts was lost so I stopped after my 3 years. Mom never ever found out - until now if she reads this. By now the statutes of limitations has kicked in for this sort of crime so she can not touch me.

Then there was the time in grade 4 when our class was having a math test. It was all division questions. I hated math. I hated division. PERIOD! I played up the sick routine pretty good the day before and thought I missed the test. I was wrong. So instead of tackling the mountain of division questions I decided to look to my left where, Spidey sat, scribbling away answers to the test. So, there I go occasionally doing a few of my own questions because the teacher always walked the class ready to pounce on those who would dare to cheat in her class. Seriously, she was a scarey looking haggard thing. So in all I used to little over half  of Spideys answers. Well wouldn't you know it. I had all my answers correct and all of Spidey's answers were not only wrong but way out of the ball park. Yes, I was caught. I cheated off the dumbest guy in class.

Back to geo-caching. There is an exhilaration when I end up finding a cache all on my own. It's funny because I have a smile on my face, sometimes I even do a fist pump in the air after find a difficult hide. However, there is one particular cache have been searching for over 13 months with no success. Over that time span I literally looked for this one cache twice a month, at times in knee deep high snow spending at least 20 minutes on each encounter.You do the math!

 Finally, I decided to e-mail the owner of this cache and ask for a hint. A spoiler. A hint was given and in 2 minutes it was uncovered. The thing is - the exhilaration and the thrill that I experienced when finding these elusive items on my own was not there. My immediate thought raced back to those three Christmas when I cheated myself out of the thrill of opening a unknown gift. I am glad I found that cache but not how it came about. I felt cheated and I did that to myself.

Here is the moral of this story. It is always better to obtain the prize out of what you put an honest effort into, rather than taking a short cut.  Life does have its challenges. Out of those challenges it has its rewards. Fight for what you know you can get out those challenges. When you do and you are successful, the reward that you obtain in gaining the prize far out weighs the feelings of regret that you have in getting by taking a short cut.

Someone once said, "Don't worry so much about your self-esteem. Worry more about your character. Integrity is its own reward." If life were judged by how well I found my geo-caches I guess I would of failed the test. Be all that you can be!

Until next time,

Chi-Meegwetch

Baamaapii

Here is a cache that is hidden
in the corner remnants of an old
cabin,

A cache looking like a mossy covered rock.
Stared at it 3 X's. After that I knocked on it to discover
it was hallow.

Something Different

Well, if you know me and really take a closer look I have been sporting a new look recently.  I have been growing - well trying to grow a little goatee. Yeah,  yeah go ahead and laugh. If you know anything about First Nations men, facial hair is hard to come by.  It can be done and it usually falls from one extreme to another. Some sport facial hair and the hair itself is not all filled in. In fact there maybe 6 to 7 hairs per square centimeter (cm). Then it tends to grow longer and looks quite haggard. Almost what a patch of forest looks like after most of it has been burnt to the ground - a tree here and a tree there.  Then there are those, who may have a little more hair per square cm. and it closely resembles  a foo man chu look - you know the 'I know karate' feature. I'm one of the lucky Nish guys. Although it may not be a full scale goatee,  I still look quite admirable, in my own estimation. Now at this point some of  you are thinking, 'All those others facial hair attempts are not as admirable as yours?' Yes, that is exactly that I am saying. I've worked hard at what I achieved so far.

I heard somewhere years ago, that if you keep shaving all the time then the more fuller your facial hair grows in. Or is that something that as little kids we told each other, especially to our nemesis, Spidey. I don't know. But I recall as young, mischievous, always looking for action, boys growing up on our Rez we all decided it would be in our best interest to start shaving at an early age. We didn't realize that a Nish man couldn't grow a beard if his life counted on it.  So off we went to the store 'UP Front' one day to get some razors and shaving cream. We wanted to try something different for a change. Our usual routine consisted of  throwing small crab apples at all the old people who rented cottages along the water front and stayed there throughout the summer.  Anyways, the only money we had was to buy us each a pop - as a diversion, so that Spidey could crawl into action. Crawl he did.  We bought the pop and he stole  4 razors and 2 cans of shaving cream. The only razors back there were those steel blade ones you pop into the top and  used both sides.  We seen it on TV before, easy as pie. To make a long story short  all four of us guys started our career off shaving and ended it the same day. I don't know about the other guys but I  had at least 6to 8 nics on my cheeks and neck  with blood to prove it. So we ditched the evidence and made our way to the beach. Only to be stopped by the local cop to be questioned about stolen razors. We lied! The only thing that gave us away, besides the brightly coloured pieces of green leaves from a walnut tree dotting our faces, was Spidey. You see he had a reputation for breaking down when things got tight. The cop looked at him, didn't even say a word and Spidey broke out into his usual high pitched voice of a cry. BUSTED!

I have been sporting the goatee look at home, on my days off of work, for probably 5 weeks now just  to see how it would look. To be quite honest, I went back to my childhood rumor that if I shaved enough, maybe just maybe, I would have a decent looking crop of facial hair to wear on a daily basis. Yes, I wanted to try something different. Why, you ask? I don't really know. Maybe with age I want to try and look more distinguished. I just laughed out loud as I typed that line. I guess trying something different for me lets me expand my bubble of self confidence. It lets me see how I react if someone is really brazen enough to say, 'Hey Jake, that looks crazy.' That's ok. I'm a big enough boy to  take constructive criticism that are more or less taunts at my manhood. You know what, I really think my wife thinks it looks sexy!!! How do I know you wonder? Well I shaved it off one day and I think she pouted when she asked why I shaved. Oh yeah!
Who knows maybe I will start to shave my chest. Umm on second thought I have no chest hair to shave. Not even peach fuzz!

I want to challenge you today. Do something different. You know that thing that you have been wanting to do for a long time now but have not had the courage to try. For one reason or another you hold back due to peer pressure or the lack of self confidence. Trust me if you do it you will not regret it. You can reap a lot of unforeseen benefits. For example, I can now scratch the hair on my chin when thinking of something, and people gaze at me thinking, 'Wow he is so wise!' That is until I open my mouth to give an answer. Here is another one, I can actually feel the breeze, when it is strong enough, move the hairs on my chin. It is quite exhilarating. I now know now Data felt on Star Trek: First Contact when the Queen Borg blew on a patch of skin that she implanted on his cybernetic arm. He felt something for the very first time. He even got goose bumps. It was his EUREKA moment,  as well as mine.

Go ahead do something different. I'm sure you will enjoy it. Be a rebel.

Chi-Meegwetch

Baamaapii

See don't I look distinguished when I am thinking of something to say!

Seasons of Change

I went to the optometrist the other day..... almost sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.  I sat in 'the chair' and the doc began with the usual questions I know he repeats day in and day out. "Have you noticed a change in your eye sight?" "How are your contacts, glasses?" For a brief moment I had considered saying - nothing has changed at all. I was gonna lie but I knew he would find out the truth. So I answered, "I have noticed a change." Almost a dramatic one at that, which I didn't share with him.  He went through his exam,"What is better? A or B. This one or that one. First or Second." As I answered there was a periodic 'hmmm', 'ok'  - on the other side of his instruments. Kind of freaky really. After all was said and done, the doc looks at me and says, "There has been a significant change in your eye sight, especially up close."  My heart sank. My mind raced. My blood pressure rose. I felt faint.  At that moment he said that I would need some kind of progressive lenses.  In layman terms - bifocals. Ever see the point of the movie where everything seems to slow down and the person speaking sounds like an echo only in slow motion. Well that happened to me!   I asked, "Does that mean I have to wear old man glasses? No offense sir, it just I am not ready to wear glasses that have distinct lines on my eye wear!" *sigh* "Can I get a second opinion?" He looked surprised  and actually laughed at me. Really, what kind of etiquette is that?  "Do you perform laser surgery??"  I knew he didn't but I was grasping for anything that was a sign of hope. The only hope he had to offer me was a prescription called 'Progressive lens' - no  glasses with distinct lines that old men wear. I am only 46 yrs old. I don't need old man glasses, bring on the progressives!

Seasons of change. I still feel like I am in my 20's but to reluctantly admit  there are something I can no longer do. To brag a little; when I was in high school I was able to one step and grab the rim of a basketball net. Yes at regulation height. Today, I can barely reach half way up the mesh.;  I was able to run a 49 - 50 sec 400 meter sprint. Today I wouldn't even think of doing the 60 meter dash. Volleyball! I love volleyball. I was able to play 2 positions at once. There were things that I did that sent a WOW vibrating  through  the crowd. Things I did  made me want to take notes on myself! Sheesh even 10 years ago I could almost do that.  However, today its a totally different matter. All I have are memories.

Most recent is my back. I sent my back into almost violent spasms on a return trip with my  family from my home rez. It was a simple task of putting a 5 lb. bag of ice into our cooler.  That was mid- August. Today, a month later the lingering effect are still evident. Don't ask just believe me. My body is changing.

There are many things that are changing. It is a cycle of life we all will go through. I look outside and the trees in this part of Ontario are in the midst of change. The leaves on certain trees are changing colour and soon they will no longer bear the markings that distinguish one species from another. Yet, unlike us the trees will sprout a new clothing of leaves in 7-8 months time. I,  however,  am going to have to adapt to my changes. A better diet, less junk food,  a few more exercises. No let me rephrase that- I have to start exercising PERIOD. Perhaps even a better sleep pattern. Why adapt?  I want to see my children go through their seasonal; permanent changes. I want to rejoice in their accomplishments and cheer them on in their rough times; cry with them when they hurt and laugh with them when they don't.

I went to the optometrist the other day..... almost sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. The joke was on me. Not a bad one but one of reality. Seasons of change.  Just remember it is something we all go through. Each of us will handle it differently. As for my progressive lens, I have to laugh, because it was a few short years ago I laughed at my peers who had to get them. On final though it is a bad joke indeed!

Chi-Meegwetch

Baamaapii

Childhood Reflection

I was at the local library today, stealing the WIFI to play  game on my iPhone, when I suddenly recalled a childhood experience.

There we were with our hands pressed to the glass doors and our faces cupped in our hands..looking in. Looking for the first signs that someone was inside. The coast was clear,  with that we all slowly made our way into the library. The time frame was grade 3. It was our gang. Myself and four others - 2 of them were girls.  They hung out with us, because if they didn't, they would 'tell.'  To this day I often wonder what they would 'tell.' And who would they 'tell?' I guess that is what the scarey part was. That was Mikey, Bobby, Sarah and Lainie. The last two, they were the girls. They were kinda cool. So we let them in our little gang. Even though they threatened us that they were gonna, 'tell.'

As we walked into the library our initial reason was to get warm. Yet, deep down we knew there was more. It was a cold Fall day, the wind was blowing and there was a rain mixed with snow. That I remember. I looked at all those books. Books for both young and old. You know the ones that had pictures in them and the others that had none at all.
I really don't recall who said it first, could of even been me for that matter. The conversation of typical 8 yr olds went something like this. "Wow those books are way up there."  "One day we will be able to reach them." "Look how far I can reach up."  "I can reach higher that all of yous!"

Just then, the tag along showed up out of thin air. He always seemed to do that.  I'm sure there was that one individual who always hung around when you didn't want him to. Well, Spidey, as we called him because he seemed to have that spidey sense when we - the gang- got together to do something. For some reason when we got together it almost always ended up being mischievous, adventuresome and every so often with some police involvement. Spidey asked what we were doing, we told him nothing just getting warm. So he decided to stay. To our dismay.
Well Lainie, she was the catalyst to our many woes, said "Look!" With that she knocked a book from where it was perched to the floor. Not to be outdone by a girl, I knocked down 2 books from its shelf. With that she glared at me like I did something wrong. Not a word was spoken between all six of us - including Spidey. It seemed like hours yet it was only seconds. Spontaneously, everyone of started pulling books from the shelves. Starting from the lowest shelving to as high as we could reach - probably only the third of fourth shelf  up. Little people books, big people books. Everything our little hands could touch found itself on the floor. When we finished - all about a minute later - we found ourselves laughing with delight.  We looked around satisfied with our job, realizing what  we had ,we took off as fast as we could.  As we ran out of the library,  I recall Sarah saying, "Where is Spidey?"

We got back to our class room. No sooner did we sit down than our principal, Mr. Harrison came into our classroom.  He was a scarey old bugger. He had black framed glasses. he had gray hair on his sides and had a bald hair cut up the middle - as we called it. We called him Big Foot because he was one hairy guy.  He didn't look impressed. In fact, he was one angry white guy, that we later said.  He pointed his short stubby fingers at each of us. We were marched to the library, in single file and didn't dare step out of line. As we stood in the library, the scary principal, screeched, "WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS" With military like training we all stared ahead, not looking for we knew what he was speaking about,  not uttering a single word of blame or admittance of guilt. With one stride, Big Foot zeroed  in on Spidey - there he is again showing up out of nowhere. We knew we were done for. Without the angry hairy white guy  uttering a word, Spidey began to cry. He wailed like he was being beat to death. He sobbed so hard that he was having a hard time catching his breath.  Still looking straight ahead, each of us mumbled, "wait till after school."  So, when he caught his breath, Spidey spilled the beans. He told Big Foot how he watched us come into the library and he followed us in. He pointed at Lainie and I saying we started it all. Then made up a lie, how we made him do this - masterpiece of a mess-  with us.

That was enough evidence that Big Foot needed. Still standing in line. Not really knowing what was next, Big Foot pulled out a huge leather strap. My first thought was, "Spidey is going to pay for this." Spidey's first reaction - a wailing and hard sobbing all over again. Each of held out our hands, and as brave as an 8 yr old could be I felt the hot sting of that leather weapon come down on my hands. I didn't  cry but looked Big Foot in the eye and smiled.
Did we get Spidey after school? NO. He caught the bus home that day. As the bus drove by, he smiled and stuck his tongue out at us.

About a week later, our class had library time. Walking into that library, the mess was cleaned up, each book placed in its proper Dewy Decimal place. I even walked in the aisle that I was proud to have rearranged. I looked for the librarian. When she wasn't looking. I took two books and put them in different areas of the library. YES, I was a rebel.

I wonder to this day if those books have ever been found.

Chi-Meegwetch

Baamaapii

How do I say......?

Another school year has started for my wonderful children at home. That means I am now back at work as  a counsellor along side a group of 14 teen boys who are under my care and guidance. That being said I am now scared! And now I find myself asking a few of the boys, "How do I say .....in Ojibway?"
I traveled home this summer to Bkewanong FN, also know as Walpole Island FN. It is nestled along the southern end of the St. Clair river in Southwestern Ontario. As you drive onto my beloved homeland from the mainland you will see a  park on the right side of the road. There you will find a beautiful black marbled monument elegantly landscaped. A scene, I am sure,  that National Geographic would be proud to have in its photo archives. On its wall is an inscription that reads, "This monument is dedicated to all children from Walpole Island who attended Residential Schools throughout Canada and the United States of America." However, what is chilling is that caption below it that says, "From inside those walls no one outside heard our cries : when we left no one heard our cries from within."   You can see a photo of this on my Facebook wall.
When I was growing up I heard my elders -  grandparents, great grandparents,  aunts and uncles and generations that have now passed on speak Ojibway constantly. From an early age I repeatedly asked for them to teach me. The last time I ever asked that was when my great grandfather told me rather harshly, "You don't need to learn it, it wont do you any good!"  Thinking about it now, I think that was the day I began to think that something was wrong with me because I was 'Indian'. It was the beginning of a 25-30 year old battle of accepting who I am. Let's face it - it started from my Ojibway speaking great grandfather; plus the integration into an off-reserve school at grade 5 and the teasing we took; getting into the teen years and listening and  to the stereo types of the drunk uneducated Indians. It is a good thing  that I decided in my childhood years that I would not allow alcohol to affect my children as it did me otherwise I may have been another one.
Thinking about it all makes my head spin. Makes me stop and wonder why I didn't ask my other great grandfather, or stand up for myself when I and others were teased relentlessly. Makes me wonder why it took so long to say enough is enough and to begin to accept myself as a person of First Nation heritage. I know the reason why - it was because of those very words inscribed on the walls of that monument. 'when we left no one heard our cries from within.' It was my father, and his father, my aunts and uncles, it were individuals whom I looked up to as a child and they themselves had faced, perhaps even still are facing the same 'crisis' I had faced. They, inadvertently passed it down to us - their children.  I feel sorry for them; my heart goes out to them.
I write this blog to day for a reason.  Those feelings of inadequacy I felt as a young child, a teen and an adult all came flooding back  yesterday when I asked a boy from my group, 'How to say 'Where are you from?' in Ojibway. He looked at me ans said, "You can't speak your language?" Not in a demeaning way but of surprise! Albeit, the feelings I once lived with and thought were gone hit me hard. How did I handle this  awkward moment? I smiled and said, "I wasn't blessed to have been able to learn our language as a child." Left it that.
Yet, it made me think who can I ask to teach me Ojibway?

Well until next time

Chi-Meegwetch

Baamaapii

Oh My!

Canada is a unique country. It is defined as a 'melting pot' when it comes to its identity. Take a walk in any major metropolitan and you will see a diverse culture. It is not uncommon  to see  4-5 people from different cultural identities 'breaking bread' together.  Yet, it is unfortunate that there are still communities in this beloved country of Canada that have an 'only us' mentality.Take a look at one community in particular -Dryden, Ontario.
 Here is the story in a nut shell: Native leader from an organization called Keewaytinook Okimakanak (KO) had approached the City of Dryden to establish a transitional highschool for Native youth.  The Native communities that KO represents are only accessible year round by air or an ice road during the winter months. The idea was to set up a school and housing facility to a recently closed public school in Dryden. As a result many teenaged youth whose only chance for a highschool education in a classroom setting would leave their homes, go to Dryden where they would both live and attend school. Their  school and residence would all be housed under one roof.   A public meeting was called to bring forth a proposed by law to re-zone the school for such accommodations. Public outcry was apparent. A petition with 600 plus names was presented to the City council opposing this idea. Residents who addressed the city council brought forth their concerns  'for the students' leaving their home to attend school 1000's of kms from their home.  Hearing their concerns as reasonable as they did sound could have been easily addressed to easy any concerns. Unfortunately,  the concerns that were presented were masks hiding the real issue - their fears, their prejudices.
I have a dream that one day a transitional highschool will be established in Dryden, On. so that Native youth will have an equal opportunity for a quality highschool education.
I really thought that this city  was moving forward instead is being held back by a percentage of it residents.
I leave you with a quote from a great man Martin Luther King Jr.:
"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."

Chi-Meegwetch

Baamaapii

Here is a link to the news article in the City's WEEKLY newspaper.

http://thedrydenobserver.ca/2012/05/ko-withdraws-from-pinewood-school-project/

Is It Worth It?

It's that time of the season again, for me. Allergies. I am sure many of you who read this - how many actually read my blogs? PLEASE leave me a comment or two- know how I am feeling at this moment.
There is a leaky faucet in the kitchen here at work. Every drip of water I hear hit the stainless steel sink, my nose seems to keep in corresponding rhythm. It is irritating. Then there is the itchy, watery eyes. My eyes are blood shot red and I am doing everything to keep from scratching them - all the time. Oh,  I forgot to mention the sneezing and slight headaches I get as well.
Relief, as little as it is, comes from little white, or pink pill. Then it makes me drowsy, and I sleep. Only to have the cycle repeat itself every 4 to 6 hours.
To me that is a sure sign that 'Spring has finally sprung.' I can look forward to a wonderful summer, a nice brown tan - as if I need one and countless nights camping at some provincial park, roughing it a 30 Ft. camper with A/C.  Most of all, time with my wife and kids. As summer approaches, do not forget your most prized possession - family. Take the time to spend time with them. Actually make it a priority. Trust me, you will be blessed in the process and the ones you love will benefit from it the most.
Here are a few pictures from my summer holidays.

Now, most adults would freak out if their kids started to paint on the camper, Thankfully, the artwork was a water based paint - the kind from kindergarten.

Aside, from the Iphone app that edited the picture if you look closely at my hair, What do you see? Hair clips from my girls. They decided to 'do my hair.' I had actually forgotten about the clips in my hair and was seen in public, with my girls, with these still on. One place was a grocery store, the other was at Wal-Mart.  Only after a friend of mine pointed these out, I then realized why many people had smiling at me. If, only I could of heard their conversation at supper time.

Yes, to me allergies remind me of better things to come.  Enjoy your summer everyone.

Chi-Meegwetch

Baamaapii

Silence Is Deadly; Speaking Is Healing

Pelican Fall First Nations High school - where I work as a counsellor had a special guest today, Eva Olsson. If you ever had the privilege of sitting at her feet and listening tell her story I count you as blessed. If you haven't then trust me, I highly recommend you do. The reason I say sitting at her feet, is that I felt like a little child; I felt vulnerable, captivated and horrified.  I had tears fill my eyes and stream down my cheeks, trying to keep a calm, cool, collected composure while I sat in a room full of teenagers.
Mrs. Olsson -a Holocaust Survivor -short of her 20th birthday, she and many other Hungarian Jews were shipped away in train boxcars..to hell on earth. With pain in her voice she spoke of her experiences while a prisoner, from her capture, the loss of her loved ones,  the appalling conditions, to her release. While sharing her experiences of what the power of hate can do, she stated  the importance of standing up to racism, bigotry and intolerance.  Many times throughout her presentation, with tears in her eyes she said she feels for the young people and  their parents and grand parents for having to go through the same sort of ordeal and how it must affect them today. I was touched by those word, deeply touched.
I was humbled with her presentation. She made me think of  times I have been so ungrateful of the things I had growing up. She pleaded with us to be thankful for family - all but one sister was taken from her. She pleaded with us to be thankful for the gift of education - that was taken away from her. She pleaded to not let circumstances take over our lives with silence. She said for 55 years she was silent and healing started the day she spoke about her circumstance...and is still healing.
In the end, I was deeply touched by the number of our teens who went  up to her to thank her, only to be hugged by her. I wanted to, yet I was afraid to. So I didn't  because I knew that when she would of hugged me I know for certain I would of cried like a baby. Why? That is for another day, another story.

You know, I've shared some things about my life with this blog. It is one thing to sit 'behind a keyboard' and let you in my life, but I know I need to share publicly if I need true healing to finish its course.

Chi-Meegwetch

Baamaapii

Here is a link to Mrs. Eva Olsson

http://www.evaolsson.ca/Main.aspx?ref=splash

Goo Goo Ga Ga

I have kids! Matter of fact I love kids. Especially when they are in the baby to toddler years.
I recall, in the privacy of my own home talking to my babies in jibberish - some of you know what that means. Now, that I am passed that stage I sit back and listen to parents talk like that to their offspring- in public of all places- and note how crazy they sound.
Here are some of the things I heard this past week sitting in a children's clinic.
In a high squeaky voice: Does Emily need to go potty? Ohhh, your diaper feels warm!  I ask myself, why would Emily need to go potty when she takes a leak right in her diaper? The same mommy, when Emily hits another child on the head with a wooded block, in a stern adult voice, Young lady, you say sorry to that little boy. We don't hit here! I wonder, do you only hit at home?
In the same room where there was this creepy clown trying to entertain children by blowing bubbles. One mom says, "Oh, look at the bubbles! What are those Steven?" I'm thinking, 'Look lady you already told your Steven that they are bubbles and now you asking him what they are?' You trying to trick him? Poor kid!
Then there is Tommy and Timmy, twins - maybe 10 months. Tommy has a Diego stuffed thingy in his hands. There is Timmy trying to wrestle it from his twin brother's hands. Both are arguing in a baby sort of way. Meanwhile.... the creepy clown, is blowing those stupid bubbles at them, I guess trying to mediate the Diego-o-war. Mom steps in and says, in a silly sounding gruff voice with her lips puckered out, "Timmy you have Boots, here is Boots. Boing, boing, boing!" I guess trying to make the stuffed toy thingy hop! 15 minutes later and mom and dad are leaving the waiting room, mom pushes dad aside - no kidding - and says 'I'm pushing the stoller you can take the bag.' I'm thinking, OK BOOTS, no wonder Timmy is a bully!
Yes, I have a demented thought process sometimes. I'm sure that the parents have no idea they are doing the goo goo ga ga thing with their kids in public. I'm sure that they will continue to do so. You know what, I saw that they love their kids. I am sure whenever I get grandchildren from my children, I will revert back to the goo goo ga ga stage. Hopefully, not in public.
Enjoy your kids, they grow up way to quickly.

                                                   The Creepy bubble blowing Clown!

Living outside the Box

A few days ago I took a picture and posted it on my FB wall and on IG of a Bald Eagle sitting in a land fill site. Now, that was not the only one I saw. In fact, I counted at least 30 of them both young and mature ones. It is sad really, that this majestic bird of  prey would be sitting amongst refuse looking for its next meal.  I love seeing nature in the habitat that it was created to be in. Such as this eagle with wings spread in the air riding the hot air currents both enjoying what is was meant to be and searching for its next meal. Instead, 30 birds of prey were sitting there either on heaps of trash or a jutted rock peaking out from the surface of the ground almost begging for a meal. The white plumes that I am used to seeing were marred with dirt; almost brownish white. How sad! In reality these birds are living outside the box.
It made me wonder how many times that my duties as a husband and father stopped short of being what it is supposed to be. By nature I am a selfish person. I am short tempered and can be cynical. That in itself is a cause for alarm because I know what my family needs from me. My wife needs a strong, loving, caring and understanding man who is aware of her needs even when she does not tell me. My children need a role model that will reflect what a father really is. Loving, caring, nurturing, yet can be stern when needs to be.
You see, that is who I am really supposed to be - not that selfish, cynical person I grew up as.  If I chose to sit in the land fill and beg for my existence then I will be a miserable, uncaring, ungrateful, unloving,  unforgiving person.
I know for a fact that is not who God made me to be. To function at  the capacity that makes me live life to the fullest I need to be caring, thankful, grateful loving, understanding and approachable. I have to work hard at this - my wife will be the first to tell you that. When I do live this life, with my wings spread apart and catching the heat pockets and soaring high in the sky, my life functions as it should be as a husband and father. It is then and only then,  I know that I am functioning how I know I am made to be.
Stop for a moment and think about it:  Are you living, enjoying life with your wings spread open? Are you existing, sitting in the landfill knowing that you ought to be elsewhere?

Migwetch  and Baamaapii

Trying To Hide the Obvious!

I read an article online that spoke of the increasing pleasure, allure, mysticism, romanticizing of 'Americans -I'm sure Canadians - who are claiming Native American blood ties. Particularly to the Cherokee. It made me smile that people would actually be proclaiming this not realizing that those of us who are truly Anishinawbe - in the sense of growing up and feeling the exploitation and harassment that many lived through. By no means do I mean to offend anyone of you who are proud of  your  Anishinawbe heritage and  are fortunate that you did not live through this sort of ordeal.
I say all this to begin the real reason for this blog and its title "Trying to Hide the Obvious"
Growing up on a reserve, I  lived in a household - in which many native people can relate to - where alcohol was a normal part of living. From a very early age I related being Indian to alcohol, fighting, not finishing school and so on. Where I got these ideas from I don't know. Some of them were experienced by my Nish peers who would tease me because of how my parents lived, while others came from probably the media and my observations of life around me.  
Thus, began the path I took called a  low self image. A very low self image at that.  Right from my childhood years of playing organized sports in the nearby town and rubbing shoulders with the 'white people' on my team I always felt lower than them.  Throughout my teen and young adult years I was crippled by the fact that I 'was Indian' and had that stereotypical image keeping me from living a life free and reaching for goals that I dreamed of.
Whenever I got together in a room full of people, the nagging question on my mind was if the white poeple knew I was Indian.
Here is a small list of things I did to try and hide my Nish-ness
-  During the long days of  summer I would buy the highest UVB rated sunblock and go through bottles of it just so I   wouldn't get dark. I was  trying to hide the obvious.
-  I would wear longer sleeved shirts in the sultry summer days of Southern Ontario just to help the sunblock effectivness
-  I always tried to have more white friends than Nish friends, so I could try and hide the obvious.
-  I purposely kept my marks in grade school and high school  at a level far below my level of intelligence just so my Nish peers would not mock me.
-  I was embarrassed in post secondary school if I were asked which Native community I was from.
-  I was embarrassed to be part of anything Nish - although deep down I wanted to express who I was.
-  I was embarrassed to show my status card when purchasing items in order to receive the sales tax redemption,
- The list goes one: this is only scratching the surface.
Looking back at all the things I did to hide the obvious was really stupid. If you were to look at any picutes of me it is quite obvious - I'm Nish!  It hindered me. It crippled me. It choked life out of me.  It enslaved me. It kept me from becoming what I wanted to be when I was a child -a Medical Doctor. It kept me from becoming a productive member of society because  I was too self absorbed with trying to hide the obvious.
Today, I am proud to know that others know I am Nish. What changed you may ask? Well it was a verse out of the Bible. Jeremiah 13:23 that did it for me,  "Can an Ethiopian change the color of his skin? Can a leopard take away its spots?" My answer was No. I realized that all this energy I was using to hide what was obvious was going to waste - on my selfish thoughts. Change didn't happen over night. It was a process of letting go of things and accepting what was. Change is still happening today.
I realize now that the majority of people look at me as another human being, no different from them although they may see a  Handsome Nish guy - probably wishing there were like me.
Yes, there are others who see me and loathe the fact that I am Nish. WHO CARES!
Regrets, yes. The fact that I never reached my childhood goal. One that I wanted so badly as a teenager. One that I hope one day, one of my children may aspire to be.
Until next time.

For those of you interested in reading that article I mentioned. Here is the link:
http://www.dailyyonder.com/cherokee-syndrome/2011/02/08/3170

He called me Chief

The last time I saw him, he was in the hospital - his health degrading quickly. I had to leave and I knew in my heart of hearts this day would be my last to see him alive. I shook his hand for the last time, with a lump in my throat. He grasped my hand gently (if you knew him he was known for his hearty hand shakes one that would make a gorilla wince in pain); smiled that radiant smile of his and said, "Chief, your hands are cold. You better warm up." I smiled and said I would. With that I told him that I had to leave for a few days and would be back to see him soon. He said his 'yah, yah' like he always did. I hugged my wife and walked out of his hospital room with a tear streaming down my cheek. It was my right cheek- why I remember that I have no idea.I sat in my truck and wept, knowing that when I left our 'little city' my next trip home would be for a funeral.
This man, was my father in law. A man who had a smile that could light up a room and a laugh that could certainly be heard throughout the house. I first met him in 2002 and was introduced to that vise grip like hand shake that really, in all honestly could bring a gorilla to its knees. Over the next 10 years I got to know him he told me of his days as a child in Germany. How he lived through WW2 and how he was looked upon to help his family through the rough times. I sat listening to countless hours of his immigration to Canada and how he worked the mines from Ontario to British Colombia. To eventually settling down in a quaint village that sits on the Trans Canada Highway in Northwestern Ontario. He was a jack of all trades and at 78 years of age was still able to out work many in their 20's, except me of course - yeah right!
Well early one morning I had a dream. It was he and I riding in a bus or a train. I cannot recall. All I know was that we were the only passengers. He was laying down and still in his hospital gown. We were talking and laughing about many things of which I cannot recall. I do know we were having a great time . Then suddenly, our mode of transportation began to slow down.  He smiled at me and said, "Chief my ride is almost done."
He then proceeded to tell me, "Thank you for coming into Martina's life and making her happy. I have never seen her so happy.  Take care of her for me and tell her I love her."
With this he shook my hand and said, "Your hands are still cold, warm up will you."
Then I woke up. With a tear streaming down my right cheek.

Rest In Peace, Erwin. you will be truly missed.

Roller Coasters

A few years back while the family was on holidays we went to Canada's Wonderland. WHAT an AMAZING TIME. I went on this roller coaster - it was a new one at the time - called the Behemoth. The first drop is like a 75% grade at about 2,000 feet up (seemed like it a the time). One literally has about a 5 inch hang time off his seat and in about 2 minutes the ride is over. I did the ride 2 times. I love coasters, the thrill of drop, the speed, the hands up in the air, and the feeling of the stomach - you know what I mean.
Well today it is Feb 22, 202 and I along with my wife am experiencing another roller coaster. This time with family. My father in law is in the hospital - going on 7 days. My wife and I have been back n forth from home and work as  result. He is not doing well. Now our son - he was admitted for a bad lung infection - going on his 4th day.  Now we are balancing being with him in one room and her father in another room. I am grateful it is the same hospital. OH, did I mention that we have the mother in law who is in need of care on a constant basis and to top it off: our other kids at home, I am sure wondering what is going on. Honestly,  I write this with tear running down my cheek because of the inner turmoil of being home with our other kids and being here with our very sick one. 
I went home last night to sleep in my comfy bed. Our youngest, saw me and was so happy to see me. She crawled into my arms and started crying. There were the two of us on the couch crying together. My other two were just as happy to see me although they didn't cry I knew they were glad I was there.
I don't like this roller coaster: the drop, the feeling in my stomach, the inner turmoil. When will it stop?
I don't know when this roller coaster will end but I do know that my kids know we are there for them; they know  I am there for them.
Oh I failed to mention that our well had run dry 4 days ago and we are without water for a while. I checked today and the well is filling up again. HOPE.
All I know is that one section of this ride will end in tears and sorrow  and the other will end in gratefulness that a little one will be home and will soon be better.
I sure am grateful for friends and family who are by our side helping us here at home and in the hospital. I love communities that stick together.
Two roller coasters: one of fun and the other of life events.
Thanks for reading and praying

Destiny Loads the Gun

I read a book recently, well still am in fact. Its the story of  John Furlong, the man instrumental in bringing the 2010 Winter Olympics to Canada. He tells of a relationship with his father that is unique and to me at least, foreign. It was a close knit, looking up to his hero sort of relationship. Early in his life John's father told him, "What's going to separate you from others is how hard you are prepared to work." I read those words and it was like a blast of explosives that when off - an echo I still hear to this day. Call me empty headed or what but I really can still fell the effects of those words.
It was then I had to think of my life, up until that point. I thought back to the days of  of grad school and high school that I wanted to become the first doctor that my community had. My life took another direction - I still wrestle with the feelings if it was the wisest choice. By now you are asking yourself what happened, why did I not choose to become a doctor?  Well, it was the lack of encouragement from those who I looked up to the most during the most impressionable years of my life - my teachers. DESTINY LOADS THE GUN.  You know the usual questions, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I would tell them I want to be a doctor. I can still see the smile - now to think of it a smile of amusement - well Randall you have to work really hard and get good  grades but you may want to think of something else. All throughout school, perhaps up until about grade 10 I gave up the dream! I did get one victory out of it though, I won the grade 12 Chemistry award for my high school year. He, my teacher was one of my biggest cynics. One of the few 'role models' who I told of my ambition when driving me home from volleyball practice in grade 9 - funny I never really spoke to him much again after that.  When I won my award I walked up to him and told him I was thankful for him teaching me and was so happy to prove him wrong. YEAH BABY!
DO I have regrets? BIG TIME. If I would of believed in myself I know to this day I would of achieved a dream that faded with the sun like the morning fog.What do I do about it today? FOCUS on a new generation of children who have potential, who are not scarred by damage done from a generation before them. I am willing and able to instill in my children a lifelong experience of believing in them, so that they can believe in themselves. DESTINY LOADS THE GUN. I am going to make sure that my children are going to have such a belief in themselves that it will almost seem arrogant. When they fail - and they will-  I will be there to help them up, cry with them, laugh with them and let them know, that their hard work is going to separate them from everyone else. Destiny loads the gun; but training pulls  the trigger. If only I knew what that meant years ago. If only's, will not get me from where I am today to where I want to be tomorrow.
If only I had someone to say to me, What's going to separate you from others is how hard you are prepared to work. Yet, more importantly believed in me.DESTINY LOADS THE GUN.
Tell someone today, that you believe in them. Do not let them throw away their potential without at first letting them know they can use it.

Are you a Hoarder?

The specialty channel called A&E airs a number of interesting real life programs. One of which that captures my attention is a show simply called, "Hoarders."  A&E describes it this way, "Hoaders looks inside the lives of people whose inability to part with their belongings is so out of control that they are on the verge of a personal crisis."
One evening while watching the program, I came across the thought, "Am I a hoarder?" Over the next few weeks this thought kept crossing my mind. I set out to do a quick inventory of all the items that I am susceptible of holding on to -memory cards, clothes, and a few other things. If I had to I can part with these items - like a sweater I had since my university days. I recently found out my wife disposed of it.  I had it for almost 22 yrs. I thought I was clean.
However, this lingering thought came back to me. I then began to realize that it was not material items that I was hoarding. Instead it were the hidden things, the things that others don't know about. Haunting memories, feelings and thoughts that I don't want to reveal. The things I want to hold on to or is it that I don't know how to get rid of because I've allowed them to dictate how I feel, how I think, how I live. You know what I am talking about.
Remember that description, "the lives of people whose inability to part with their belongings."  Yep, those memories, experiences no matter how bad, those thoughts - they are belongings. As a matter of fact the longer you surround yourself with them,( the longer I surround myself with them) and wallow in them will start to incapacitate you, and affect  your job, most of all your spouse and your children.  It is a snowball effect.
Watching Hoarders is sad. Seeing how 'things they own 'control how they live.' They are on the verge of a personal crisis. Seeing the clean up process is sad. It is messy, it is hard, its.....terrifying for the 'hoarder.' Yet, the end result is electrifying, relieving, and triumphant for the 'former hoarder and the loved ones alike.
SO, the question was "Am I willing to allow all those inner ghosts, memories, past experiences, etc, etc,  control how I live; control how I think, control how I feel about myself and others? Most importantly, I am willing to let my INNER HOARDING hurt those I love most? For me the answer was simply. ABSOLUTELY NOT!
Talking helps, seeking spiritual strength helps, most of all allowing yourself to let go of all that garbage is the start of a healing process.
Is it going to be easy? NO. You will feel like running because the pain is too much. Trust me it is WORTH IT in the long run.
HOARDING or FREEDOM; DIEING or LIVING.  It was an easy decision for me at least because I was tired of living a shallow existence surrounded by JUNK - and it can be for you.
Until next time.....

The Birds and The bees

"Aerodynamically, the bumblebee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumblebee doesn't know it. So, it goes on flying anyways."

What an interesting concept. I recently had the honour of participating in a cross country relay, called "The Rick Hansen 25th Anniversary Relay."  Basically, it is a relay that honours those who are 'difference makers'  to those around them.  I'm not here to speak of myself but of two individuals who in my eyes deserve thee honour more than I. Before we did our relay each of us shared how we were chosen.  Two stories in particular stood out to me. 

The first, is that of a young man, about 13 years of age who shared that he practically raised his younger brother and sister on his own after his mother died. His father has no relationship with him or his siblings due to his own personal problems. In the end he was placed in foster care with his siblings. This young man was chosen by his teachers at school for being a difference maker in the lives of his siblings, his teachers, peers and of course me.   The second, is of a young lady who also shared a story how she was brought up in the foster care system and does not know who were parents are.  She said she was bound and determined not to let that affect her and wanted to make a better life for  herself. WOW.  

Now there are many out there in our society who would look at these two individuals and not give them a break. A narrow mind set saying what can or will they contribute to our society. That right there is where the analogy of the bumble bee comes into play. The bumble bee does not know that it should not be able to fly....but it does. It goes on doing what it was created to do. To give us the pleasure of watching it fly and hover in one place.   I can only wait with anticipation what this young man will be doing 10 - 15 years from now.  I can only wait with anticipation as to what this young  lady will be doing 10 - 15 years from now. I will have to wait and see until this young man graduates from grade 8 and tackles the challenges of high school.  I will have to wait and see until this young lady graduates from college that she enters into this coming Fall.

They are my heros! They are my bumble bees, my source of encouragement. They are my difference makers! Go and do what others think you cannot and show them that they are wrong!