- 2 min read
Our parents are precious. The time with them is limited. And, life is always short. When I look back on this month, I'll be glad I took the time to call and to honor him on his birthday.
Daddy is like air -
He’s practical, sensible, dependable and not in your face, but he’s there. He is silly and tells terrible Dad jokes that make no sense. None. He finds his jokes funny. They are not. My sisters and I have been scolding him for his jokes since the 80s. Just recently, he was hung up on; the person thought they were dealing with a delinquent prankster. He said, in wonder to my sister, “I thought I was funny.” Oh dear.
"Girl, you think
you know
everything."
TOP LEADERS LOOK LIKE US, TOO
My Dad lived through Guyana's struggle for colonial independence from Britain.He told me a couple of months ago that the Prime Minister of Guyana would visit Montreal. Together, the recent emigrants would discuss the future of his homeland. So, that explains the picture of PM Forbes Burnham in our family photo album. As a kid, I would scoff at my Dad's false patriotism and say things like. “and who has a picture of their prime minster in a photo album, like you guys are friends or something!” He would just say, nothing or something like “little girl you think know everything.” But he never proved himself.
WE PLAYED TEA PARTIES ON HIS BACK WHILE HE NAPPED
PRESENCE AND GRATITUDE
Growing up, the best thing about our Dad was that he was there. When someone is like air, it is easy to forget to be grateful for how they are. You forget that you learned to fix cars and to be responsible for yourself. You forget that their back was the support for your tea parties and so many things. You forget that they kept a picture of a prime minister that looked like you so you would believe it was possible.
A wonderful day at the Pacific coast with my Dad
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- 1 min read
Updated: Mar 30
“Isn’t your friend Martha 80 something?” Our son waited for confirmation.
“You are the same type of people, Mom." He smiled. “That’s why you are friends.”
Then, he paused in a moment of pensive reconciliation. “Didn’t know it worked like that — you know, getting along with people. Cool.” I didn't really get a word in. Plus, I was mesmerized by J's observation.
Our friends were exceptional in how their hospitality included everyone.
Bill, our host, entertained us playing jazz improv. Then encouraged our son to take over the keys and play his pieces and to improv as well.
Our tween had added to the discussion over a wonderful dinner. The gathering had exposed him to inter-generational friendship.
How often do we create opportunities for tweens and aged-experience adults to be in the same conversation?
It is important for these two generations of spiritual teachers to interact. J’s insight reminded us, as parents, that we all can learn from what is shared when friends across generations are in conversation with each other.
- 2 min read
I remember the exact moment I decided that I am chain breaker. It was summer of 1989. Many of you weren’t even alive. I had received a letter in the mail from a white woman who I went to high school with. I find saying she was white a bit hilarious because who else went to private school in Canada in the 80s. But, lest there be any confusion, that’s been made clear. We ran into each other in my last year of university. She had just started her post secondary after spending years to find her passion. She was also 6 months pregnant. Unplanned. The baby was part of the freedom of finally being part of campus party life. Her parents were super disappointed by the circumstances. It happens. My parents were good natured. My mom always inquired after her. I took time away from school to visit her newly delivered little one with my hand knit baby sweater that I had made as a gift and probably with whatever my mother had provided to go in am envelope. I don’t remember that part but my parents were like that since time. So, it is a given. I opened a letter I received over the summer, expecting a baby picture. Instead, it was a carefully penned recitation asking me to put $1 or some similar amount in an envelope. Send it back and then write 12 of my friends and have them do the same. In the P.S., there was a personal note about what had gone on to cause me to be hand selected to receive and send in this chain link. One that I wasn’t to break because of the bad luck that would befall me. I was at the kitchen table. Standing. I remember this clearly. Thinking and I didn’t swear as colorfully as I do now. But, the sentiment was along the lines of why did she send me the envelope of her burdens? And then I thought of Endora, Sammantha, and Serena, role models of mine, and where the heck I could find the reverse-a-spell to off load whatever curse the letter had brought. Then, I threw the letter in the garbage. I hate chain letters. I hate that people think it is okay to threaten the peaceful flow of my life with promises of financial peril or worse yet that God himself will roast and toast me. Sometimes I get the one that used to come in email on my Facebook Messenger or WhatsApp — an application whose sole purpose is to send chain mail electronically. There’s the pretty ladies, the wonderful mommies, and both of those come with flashy graphics. Each with their own hunt for a zillion people to brighten up their day. Most are threatless. Some the failure is implied as the threat. Some appeal to your sense of bettering the world. On one or two occasions, I have really liked the graphics, stripped out any threats or obligations and sent on to a person or two because like confetti - spontaneous flashing graphics can be pure joy. But, mostly, I break the chain. I haven’t found the spell to counter the impending doom yet though.