Ba-Ba-Boomers!

Another wondrous nugget of 'makes ya think' from a deep dive down the wormhole. 

I was born in the early 60's which I'm told makes the appropriate label a Baby Boomer. There's a boat load of discussions, videos, podcasts, and writings trying to solve issues and problems for Millenials ... Gen X'ers ... Gen Z'ers ... but there's a noticeably smaller amount about Baby Boomers.

Makes ya wonder why.

We Baby Boomers have influenced business around the world as a consequence of our vast numbers! As we traversed the pitfalls of life, we have first placed stress on any system that we utilized, and then as a direct result, are responsible for the burgeoning supply of businesses that respond to said stress. 

Look at the business landscape occupying the mini-mall nearest to you. Regardless of the nature of any given business, I can guarantee that it's success or failure is directly tied to its relationship with the Boomers. Case in point, the ridiculous number of eyeglass shops over the past 15 years is tied to entrepreneurs riding the wave of 40 or 50 something Boomers needing corrective lenses. Another case would be the swelling ranks of hearing aid companies as the Boomers become part of the "Eh?" crowd. IMHO, the lack of available spaces in assisted living or nursing homes right now is linked to the Boomers statistically living out their years and their kids don't wish them in their homes.

As our swollen numbers transition through Life, our aging hoard is partially responsible for a decline in businesses that were prospering a few years ago, partially due to our now fading demand for services, but also that we're retiring at an alarming rate ... 10k per day (PROOF). Boomers are closing their service-based small businesses, a trend that Forbes columnist Mark Hall postulates is due to the Millennial/Gen X children of the Boomers seeking employment in the white collar Tech industry or some related online presence, shunning mom and dad's multi-million dollar service-based businesses.

I didn't write the following diatribe ... wish I was that brilliant. My fellow Boomers, you're welcome!

They call us ”The Elderly” or "Baby Boomers".
We were born in the 40-50-60’s.
We grew up in the 50-60-70's.
We studied in the 60-70-80's.
We were dating in the 70-80-90's.
We got married and discovered the world in the 70-80-90's.
We venture into the 80-90’s.
We stabilize in the 2000’s.
We got wiser in the 2010’s.
And we are going firmly through and beyond 2020.
Turns out we've lived through EIGHT different decades...
TWO different centuries...
TWO different millennia...

We have gone from the telephone with an operator for long-distance calls to video calls to anywhere in the world. We have gone from slides to YouTube, from vinyl records to online music, from handwritten letters to email and Whats App, from live matches on the radio, to black and white TV, to colour TV and then to 4K HD TV. We went to the Video store and now we watch Netflix. We got to know the first computers, punch cards, floppy disks and now we have gigabytes and megabytes on our smartphones. We wore shorts throughout our childhood and then long trousers, Oxfords, flares, shell suits & blue jeans. We dodged infantile paralysis, meningitis, polio, tuberculosis, swine flu and now COVID-19. We rode skates, tricycles, bicycles, mopeds, petrol or diesel cars and now we drive hybrids or electric.

Yes, we've been through a lot but what a great life we've had!
They could describe us as “exennials”; people who were born in that world of the fifties, who had an analog childhood and a digital adulthood.
We've kind of SEEN IT ALL!

And we're challenging the Health Care system as we reach a ripe old age!

Our generation has literally lived through and witnessed more than any other in every dimension of life.

It is our generation that has literally adapted to “CHANGE”.

A big round of applause to all the members of a very special generation, all biases acknowledged.

Author unknown ... I looked, but I couldn't find any references.

#livelongandprosper

A little reminder

I've written before about little jewels that I've discovered on the Internet that struck a chord with me. This is the latest in that long line of shared wisdom:

At age 23, Tina Fey was working at a YMCA.

At age 23, Oprah was fired from her first reporting job.

At age 24, Stephen King was working as a janitor and living in a trailer.

At age 27, Vincent Van Gogh failed as a missionary and decided to go to art school.

At age 28, J.K. Rowling was a single mom on welfare, was clinically depressed and contemplated suicide.

At age 30, Harrison Ford was a carpenter.

At age 30, Martha Stewart was a stockbroker.

At age 37, Ang Lee was a stay-at-home-dad working odd jobs.

At age 31, Julia Child released her first cookbook. At age 51 she got her own cooking show.

At age 40, Vera Wang designed her first dress after failing to make the Olympics or Editor at Vogue.

At age 40, Stan Lee released his first big comic book.

At age 42, Alan Rickman gave up his graphic design career to pursue acting.

At age 40, Samuel L. Jackson got his first major movie role.

At age 52, Morgan Freeman landed his first MAJOR movie role, despite success on Sesame Street.

At age 57, Kathryn Bigelow reached international success when she made The Hurt Locker.

At age 76, Grandma Moses began her painting career.

At age 78, Louise Bourgeois finally became a famous artist.

Whatever your dream is, it is not too late to achieve it. You aren’t a failure because you haven’t found fame and fortune by the age of 21.

Hell, it’s okay if you don’t even know what your dream is yet. 

Even if you’re flipping burgers, waiting tables or answering phones, you never know where you’ll end up.

Never tell yourself you’re too old to make it.

Never tell yourself you missed your chance.

Never tell yourself that you aren’t good enough.

Whatever it is that sets your soul on fire, you can do it. 

Author unknown

Now before all y'all get atwitter with fears that ol' Ports is going through something ... 

RELAX! 

I'm NOT in crisis, 

NOT having heart palpitations, 

NOT struggling with where I ended up.

TBH, life couldn't be much better!

Sure, a million dollars would add some spice to it all, but we're comfortable, content, and convivial.

I'm guessing that the reason I felt this was potentially valuable enough to share would stem from its message of "You Do You" when it comes to your life's journey, and if it swells your heart, flans your flames, puts some hitch in yer G'dee up, consumes your dreams, or just plain puts a smile on your face, then its worth chasing, regardless of your present circumstances.

Albert Eistein had the diagnosis "Mentally Slow" on his permanent school record.

Henry Ford's first two car companies failed.

Jerry Seinfeld was booed off stage in his first comedy appearance.

Hungry for more? CLICK

IMHO, the key to happiness in life is believing in yourself, regardless of what your heart pines for.

As the late Gord Downey taught us in the live version of Little Bones, 

"Happiness isn't getting what you want. Happiness is wanting what you get."

They made the list!

Warning: This post contains some strong opinions about some stuff that got under my skin lately!

Gripe #1: You being offended doesn't mean we all have to change!

There's been a lot of talk on the news and on social media over the past 3 or so years about being offended, and I truly feel that many have forgotten both the meaning and application of the word. Cambridge.org defines offended as "to cause to be upset or to hurt the feelings of someone, esp. by being rude or showing a lack of respect." Listen, I fully acknowledge that we think for ourselves, create opinions that dovetail with our mores and values, and hold true to those opinions when challenged by dissent. As long as what you say is not extremism, I'll listen, attempt to understand your side, and accept your stance without offense. If I don't agree with your reasoning, I will very likely hold true to what I believe, but I'll let you go your merry way without a fracas. If we're already friends, having opposing opinions will in no way, shape, or form threaten the relationship.

The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms grants its citizens the right to hold an opinion and express said opinion freely, without fear of reprisal, as long as the opinion is not slanderous or hate speech. IMHO, much of the publicly expressed caterwauling about being offended with accompanying demands that those who hold contrary views change their ways are the purest examples of spoilt adolescent whining, and both our political and legal systems have caved under what is viewed as overwhelming public desire. 

Baldredash, says I!

Number one, we all don't have to agree! Other than a cult or other extreme situations of the like, I'm not sure that there have been many times in human history where 100% agreement existed, and prior to the bellyaching age of social media, democratic societies accepted that the majority voted in favour of one side or the other of a problem, prompting the legal system to debate and discuss the repercussions prior to instituting a guideline intended for the greater good. Some may not agree with it, but demands that the majority kowtow to the minority is a travesty in the purest sense, and personal attacks on my character simply because I don't agree with you are the surest way to ensure I won't listen any more.

Number two, just because you happen to fall in the minority doesn't mean you have a justified beef by crying foul over being offended. Moreover, if you do find yourself offended, you're entitled to the resultant feelings, but you don't get leapfrog the process in place simply because you feel slighted. 

It really boils down to respect. 

In its essence, you have a right to feel offended by things that grate you. You have a responsibility to act in a civil manner. You have a right to hold an opinion. You have a responsibility to accept the will of the majority. You have a right to express your opinion without fear of reprisal. You have a responsibility to accept that others don't have to agree.

Gripe #2: Roads are for everyone so let's try to get along!

Stating the obvious, it's summer time in Ontario, the weather is cooperating, the siren's call of my Argon18 is omnipresent, and I've a boatload of time on my hands. All of that equates to many hours each week pedalling my way to good health around the byways of Simcoe County, often times solo, sometimes in the company of the like-minded. 

I practice safe cycling habits each and every time I'm out and about by wearing high-visibility clothing, daytime lights, obeying the traffic laws, and cycling defensively, but with the summer weather comes an increase in traffic with vacationers (I'm assuming) racing to their destination, all in an effort to preserve as many precious minutes as possible. Our chance encounters are usually respectful, but of late there have been emotional encounters with drivers I can only imagine are of questionable character, shaking fists, expletive filled hollers, and aggressive driving practices leaving me and my cycling mates shaking our heads and filling the discussions during our coffee stops. 

We fully admit that we're not perfect and may occasionally roll through a stop sign after ensuring that the coast is clear both ways. Additionally, believe it or not, riding 2 abreast is intentional on less busy roads because it means when you pass us, it takes less time in the opposite lane than if we're a big string of single file riders. Please be reminded that we might swing a little wide around sketchy sections of gravel, potholes, or debris causing some of you to feel like we're hogging the road. 

If I've personally pissed you off or made you feel uncomfortable, please know that I'm not doing it on purpose and I extend my apologies.

Early in my cycling adventures, I developed a disdain for the pick-up driving 25-35 young male age group because it seemed that an overwhelming number delighted in whizzing past at reckless speeds, narrowly avoiding my shoulder, spraying throat-closing dust clouds, and spraying stinging gravel despite the empty flat concession or side road in front of us both.

This summer, it would seem that the ranks have swollen somewhat to include all manner of vehicles, not just pick ups.

Case in point, I was on a ride recently out in the Collingwood area, slogging my way up County Rd #19, an 11 km rolling uphill climb that has benefitted from a recent re-paving. The gradient is significant enough that in my present level of fitness, I have to stand on the pedals occasionally, especially near the end of said climb. As I crested one particular steep section, a Hyundai sports car gave me a 3 second blast of his horn, shouted something expletive-filled about not belonging on the road, all the while narrowly missing my shoulder by far less than HTA mandated 1.5 m. 

Exasperated only marginally covers my reaction.

Look, there are some terrible cyclists out there, that I fully admit. Likewise, there are a TON of good drivers out there who are courteous and respectful of me and my brethren. It's the very small minorities on both sides of the argument that are causing grief, and although I surmise they'll never see this post NOR will it have a positive effect on those that need reminding, I really felt I needed to get it off my chest. 

It's really the same issue as gripe #1, let's simply try to be civil towards each other.

Gripe #3: I don't match!

As many will recall, my brother Rob was diagnosed and underwent chemo/radiation treatments for cancer last fall, treatments that very nearly had the complete opposite effect with his body's reaction putting him one foot over the edge. After dealing with blood clots and bed sores, he finally got the A-Okay for cancer but his body was still reeling, requiring a a couple of rounds of transfusions to stem issues with blood chemistry.

Here we are 8 months later and he still has daily bouts of fatigue and lethargy. About 3 months ago, one of the 11 doctors involved in his case ... yes, ELEVEN ... decided a bone marrow transplant was the ticket. He got tests done at RVH and the results were forwarded to Princess Margaret Hospital because they are considered one of the top facilities in the world for this sort of treatment. As I'm led to believe, PM didn't like the way RVH did things, so off to The Big Smoke again so PM can run their own version, delays piling up high enough that our family finds ourselves a month and a half further down the road with no transfusion in sight.

During his RVH testing, the doctors asked our family to get tested to see if any of us were potential donors. The statistics favour testing siblings first so Mike, Dave and I did our duty. They next step down would fall in the laps of children, meaning Marcus and Krystyn are willingly waiting in the wings. For obvious reasons, Dave is no longer able, and my other nephew Jackson cannot due for health reasons of his own.

I just heard back from PM today, with news that I'm NOT a favourable match. Completely frustrating and maddening, to say the least. Well, lo and behold, a text blast from Mike revealed that he is positive, but not perfect. That kind of describes the four warts to a T. Of course, the crickets are chirping pretty loud from PM on whether or not they'll go with a less than perfect match. Marcus and Krystyn are still waiting in the starter's blocks.

I just want Rob to have a chance to feel closer to normal.

Despite all that we've been through over the last two weeks, I was really hoping for some good news, but here's the kicker ... the Doctors are telling Rob that his blood chemistry keeps hovering right around the cut off mark, adding more delays to an already massively delayed process. You may have guessed, but with all of these delays, Rob's recovery gets pushed back endlessly, meaning his return to some semblance of normality is also pushed back endlessly.

I hope that you can see how this got under my skin.

If you've reached this point in my little rant, thanks for seeing it through to the end. I'll fully agree that we all have things that get under our skins from time to time, but I really felt that writing about these three would help lift some of the frustration ...

IT DID!

Thanks doesn't quite cover it

My apologies for blowing up your feeds with thoughts about Dave's passing, but I feel compelled to put my thoughts to 'paper'. 

I arrived home after the service was wrapped up, the last hugs given, the sympathy messages exchanged, the flowers and leftover nibbles dolled out. Once back in the beach, I quickly shed my monkey suit (I am NOT a fan of dress clothes any more), then Joyce and I crashed on the couch feeling physically spent, mentally frayed, and emotionally exhausted. We grazed our way through a shut-in evening thanks to the aforementioned sami's 'n nibbles, distracting our attention with some Netflix. The pillow's siren call meant we were horizontal and snoring somewhat early.

I awoke my normal early and settled into the couch with a coffee, only to discover a FB message from a friend with the following:

You Don’t Just Lose Someone Once.

You lose them over and over,

sometimes many times a day.

When the loss, momentarily forgotten,

creeps up,

and attacks you from behind.

Fresh waves of grief as the realisation hits home,

they are gone.

Again.

You don’t just lose someone once,

you lose them every time you open your eyes to a new dawn,

and as you awaken,

so does your memory,

so does the jolting bolt of lightning that rips into your heart,

they are gone.

Again.

Losing someone is a journey,

not a one-off.

There is no end to the loss,

there is only a learned skill on how to stay afloat,

when it washes over.

Be kind to those who are sailing this stormy sea,

they have a journey ahead of them,

and a daily shock to the system each time they realise,

they are gone,

Again.

You don’t just lose someone once,

you lose them every day,

for a lifetime.

By Donna Ashworth (CLICK)

The words resonated with me to the extent that I felt compelled to send them privately to my sister-in-law, hoping and praying that their power would embrace her shattered psyche like it did mine. To me, it explains why the grief ebbs and swells, sometimes leaving you feeling in control, sometimes tears streaming down your cheeks. The 'forever and ever' becomes the ordeal for she and my nieces will need to face as they cope with an empty chair at the dinner table as a daily reminder that life has changed irrevocably.

My mind is aswirl with thoughts right now.

Grief is a blade sharper than the finest Samurai sword. Sparing your physical self, it cuts your soul with each reminder or thought of your dearly departed, and each time you lose them again. It's commonly held that grief is wholly personal, each of us navigating the foggy pathway in a manner that is totally of our choosing. For me, I transitioned from anger to despondence to sadness to appreciation to joy as literally hundreds of my friends, my brother's friends, family friends, and Dave's friends offered their condolences and hugs, searching the stifling awkwardness for the words to express their own internal struggle. Hitting like a sledgehammer, I begrudgingly accept my membership card to the I-lost-a-sibling club, an affiliation filled with why him's, what now's, and who to turn to's as our family helps pick up the pieces of his family's shattered life.

My personal thank you's ... Where do I begin? 

Of course, the largest, purest, most sincere of thanks goes to Cheryl and the kids for finding the strength to endure the entire celebration process with its condolences, hugs, hand shakes, sombreness, tears, and realities. There's nothing that we can say or do that will spare you from the pain, but know that we will be one step behind you to catch you if you falter.

To my mother for her strength while shouldering the horrible reality of outliving a child. Sure, she had times when the tears came unchecked, but she had the courage to accept the hugs and hands of those she greeted, engaged, and thanked. It takes a tragedy to truly see just how blessed we boys were to have parents like mom and dad. I can't adequately express the level of gratitude and love I have for her ... but I'd wager she knows ... mothers always seem to know.

To my brothers Rob and Mike, your willingness to put all else to the back burner in efforts to assist wherever and whenever it was needed, all while processing your own grief. We may not verbalize our love to each other like some families, but we know its magnitude from the twinkle of the eyes, the brilliance of the smile, or the warmth of the embrace. We have a gargantuan responsibility over the next little while and we'll need to lean on each other to make through.

To my wife for being the shining example of a soulmate, complete with hugs, kisses, and the perfect thing to say when necessary. I love you more that I ever could adequately express, but I think you already know that.

To the hundreds of people that felt compelled to come to a visitation, the service, or both, be they friends of Dave's, of Cheryl's, of Teresa's or Derk's, of mom's, of mine, of Rob's, of Mike's ... there are really no words that adequately express the volume of gratitude we all feel for so many offering support in our journey through grief. I was flattered by the number of folks who felt our relationship was deep enough to offer sympathy to me personally ... former teachers, former colleagues, longtime friends, former students ... y'all really know how to make a guy feel special!

To the staff of Steckley-Gooderham Funeral Home, especially to Tim, a former student from my Maple Grove days who expertly navigated the affair to find a time to share his own personal well wishes after connecting the dots to realize it was my brother who we were there to celebrate.

To the officiant Colin MacDonald who's obvious skills were only surpassed by his overt humanness, guiding us through the fog like the brightest lighthouse. I sought him out at the reception following the service to offer personal thanks and express my wonderment at the way he captured the essence of Dave in such a short time. His humble deflection included, "It's my duty" and "Experience blesses me with insight" before a simple smile and a firm shake of my hand.

The last thank you goes to you, the reader. 

I'll state it again, lest there be misunderstandings, but the authoring process I employ grants me a peace that I didn't know existed, and I can literally feel the positives attacking the negatives, the light banishing the dark, with each revision, addition, or deletion. In addition, I'll be looking to my two-wheeled stallion to offer me its comfort over the next few days. I can always count on the contemplations of a ride to help the healing.

Yep, thanks just doesn't quite cover it, but I'll offer it to you all anyway. 

My most sincere thanks.

And then there were four

Folks, this hasn't been a banner year for my extended family and I.

Starting with last summer's cancer diagnosis and treatment debacle for my brother Rob, the Porter clan was rocked to its foundation by the tragic and senseless loss of my next youngest brother Dave when an orange Kia Soul made the horrible and inexplicable decision to turn left in front of him as he rode his motorcycle home from work. Although we don't have a lot of details, we do know that the unavoidable collision catapulted him off his bike and the resulting impact produced injuries he succumbed to at the scene. The accident report stated that his helmet did the trick but the internal organ damage from the impact was too extensive and he was pronounced at the scene.

Anger ... Frustration ... Anguish ... Exasperation.

The waves of emotions from the news of the accident crashed like the white capped fury the NW winds pound the beaches with here in Wasaga. Anger with the 66 y driver. Anguish that he's gone forever. Frustration that life changed in the blink of an eye. Exasperation from the fallout of decisions that never should have had to be made. 

My sister-in-law survived her worst nightmare after discovering the reality while searching for Dave when dinner was missed and phone calls were unreturned. She happened on the scene just down from his office, and immediately recognized his motorcycle's wreckage. With the weight of a million thoughts crushing her, she somehow found the strength to both manage the shock and despair of two dispondant children while making the call to informed my mom her boy was gone. 

If that's not courage then I don't know anything.

My mom had to make 3 calls that she never dreamed would fall on her shoulders when she reached out to her remaining three sons with the horrible news. This was not the way life plays out, the horror of a child predeceasing her like a dagger through her heart. Belying her anguish, she demonstrated incredible bravery as her voice cracked when I answered, and I knew something significant had occurred. 

If you're a parent, imagine making that call. It's the stuff of night terrors.

I remember getting a different call that morning on September 15th, 2006, informing me that my father had passed early in the dawning light, but this was completely different. Then, I had time to grapple my demons since the cancer that eventually took him was slow and methodical, the grieving process well underway prior to the Reaper's arrival.

The resultant shock of Dave's demise left me numb, confused, and incredulous.

The dawn of the next day saw my extended family rally around it's matriarch in an effort to stem the tidal wave of emotions that were still raw and stark, but we found the company buffered the pain, allowing the occasional smile as we recounted the impact our one-of-a-kind son/brother had taken on us. My mother has oft proclaimed her success as a parent, reasoning that her skill in raising four boys as different as fire and ice was proof enough. Dave was limited edition ... it's incredibly difficult to use the past tense here ... with confidence out the wazoo, fiercely loyal, highly intelligent, a biting wit, and a mischievous grin. Many of the messages we've received from friends in the fallout rave about pranks and stunts born in that devious brain of his.

By far, the toughest act for me was the simple push of the doorbell when Joyce and I visited Dave's home in hopes of consoling Cheryl and the kids. The ensuing greetings were wet with tears amidst strangling embraces as wave after wave of anguish bubbled to the surface yet again. We offered our thoughts, shared our stories, and pondered our questions before once again personifying our love in a tight embrace. Cheryl will need us all to step forward bravely in support as she copes with the love of her life's demise, such was the family that she and Dave had created, his loss leaving a gaping hole in their tight-knit group. 

At the risk of sounding cliche, their love was the stuff of fairly tales, born out of a staff meeting at Consumer's Distributing so many moons ago, each proudly proclaiming the other as their soulmate. No sun shone brighter than Dave's face when he talked about Cheryl and his kids Teresa + Derk. I know from our one on ones that he was never happier than when he spent time with his family.

Dave and I had a solid relationship, even by brother standards. We talked every couple of months, using each as a sounding board for life's trials, and despite holding profoundly different passions, often found common ground on a few items. I, the educator, in service to the public, while he, the self-proclaimed "Geek", navigating the turbulent waters of the business world, we shared a proclivity for analyzing the happenings around us with a curious eye. We both felt strongly about service to our fellow man, me in education and coaching, he in Rotary. We also shared similar political views and rarely were at a loss for words when discussing the government's curious decisions or society's woes. When either of us was being an ass, we challenged the other in a calm and loving manner (cue the sarcasm), but that was the end of it, and it never ended with offense or hard feelings.

Dave was famous for throwing a controversial quip into the air and waiting with a grin for the reaction.

Coming from the same gene pool, we shared boatloads of moral and genetic gifts thanks to our parents, but while I embraced sports first playing then coaching, he embraced creation, first with sculpting and 3-D printing for cosplay props, then with his YouTube channel. 

I'll miss him terribly, and the upcoming service will take everything I have to hold it together for Cheryl and the kids (INFO), but the closure will bring some small respite to a tumultuous 10 days. 

My birth family started out at six, but along Life's way, only four remain. Armed with the experience of grieving my dad's passing, I know that our brains will eventually lock on to the positive, burying the pain of the loss away, allowing us to embrace our loved brother's memories, but I also know that the only way it happens is with the passage of time. 

Cheryl, Teresa, Derk and my mom, Andrea, will need to take a lot of time for this one. It falls on Rob, Mike and I to make sure they have everything they need to endure the process.

Pray for us folks.

RIP Dave. I love you.