56 and counting!

Having a solid self-concept is paramount to a happy life ... ya gotta feel comfortable in your own skin! If that's priority numero uno, then having a few true friends would be a very close second, IMHO.

My oldest friend on this planet is Michael Tough ESQ. If you haven't guessed it already, he's the one with the 70's FRO! The others are my cousin Warren, in the vest, and my brother Mike, when he was still cute. Of course the Adonis on the left is yours truly.

I was introduced to Mike waaaaaay back in 1967 when my parents purchased a semidetached on Gaylong Court in The Big Smoke, a move prompted by my dad finishing his Med School experience at Queen's in Kingston. The house that would be in prime view if you looked out from our living room window was owned by Jim and Betty Ann Tough with their children Karen (age 8) and Michael (age 6), and since Mike was of similar age, we naturally gravitated to joint adventures on our dead end playground, along with a host of other similarly aged children who lived on the court.

We got up to a bunch of shenanigans during the 4 years of our neighbouring, and despite my then relatively young age, I can still conjure up some dusty memories that prompt a wide smile ... like 'Kick the Can'! We played that a ton!

Like all good things, that came to an end when my parents chose to move north to the then small city of Barrie (pop ~16000) in 1971, where my dad would begin to establish his soon-to-be famous career as the only Orthopedic surgeon in the area for a good many years, affectionately becoming 'Doc' to the thousands who were recipients of his boundless compassion. While I was excited to move into a new set of surroundings, complete with a whole horde of new similarly aged companions to choose from, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I missed my adventures with Mike.

It would have been easy for the story to end there, but it most assuredly did not!

Fortunately, my parents and his parents had forged a tight bond, especially since their oldest Karen was a tragic victim of a traffic accident, and were compelled to continue the relationship, an olive branch extended to Jim + BA to visit regularly. As you can imagine, the assistance my parents so willingly offered as Jim + BA as they navigated their grief was priceless. Since our new place on Varden Cresent in Barrie's east end featured a pool, it provided long afternoons of delightfully cool frolic as stories and beverages were shared of life's daily escapades spent in different cities. The Tough's would expand their family by adopting a cherubic-faced little bundle of joy Jennifer, adding a wee bit of estrogen to our testosterone drenched gaggle of ganders.

When the decision was made to move the Porter clan across town to Sunnidale Road in Barrie's west end, complete with pool and property bordering on the wilds of Sunnidale Park, the continuing visits created a whole host of new memories, not the least of which was the beginning of a 50+ year Civic Holiday tradition for our families. You see, my father felt that he wasn't busy enough ... he says with dripping sarcasm ... with his day job of stamping out disease and relieving suffering, so he joined the Barrie chapter of Rotary and quickly got dug in like a tick! At that point in history, one of the main fund-raising efforts was the annual Rotary Chicken BBQ, held during those years at St Vincent Park on the north shore waterfront of Kempenfelt Bay. While XY's manned the temporarily-built cinder block fire pits all day (photo at right), arriving home to pollute the pool with our sooty, sweaty, peanut-oil infused selves, the XX's stuffed hundreds of little cups with coleslaw to be included in the dinners. 

Truly teamwork at its finest! There were so many of us that my dad's pit was manned solely by our group! A thousand apologies for the crap resolution of the photo, but from L to R, that's my brother Rob, Doc, Mike's dad Jim, and the aforementioned Adonis.

Since we haven't yet figured out how to stop or slow the clock's eternal progress, the families grew by generations as grandparents greyed, the kids found partners, weddings and grandkids ensued, and the Rotary Club discovered that beer tents at the Annual Kempenfest Art Festival weekend were more lucrative, retiring the Chicken BBQ, but not our yearly familial rekindling. For those that recall our childhood home on Sunnidale, you're already aware that it featured a 12 car driveway ... not an exaggeration ... and the ensuing car lot appearance as 10 families invaded my parent's home for the day signalling to the neighbourhood that 'Doc' and the 'Dragon' were entertaining again. 

This photo is Mike's family at his daughter Rachel's wedding to Ian Brown. His oldest Sara is on the far left and youngest Rebecca is on the far right. His wife Trish is between Sara and Ian.

Eventually the clan outlived the homestead, my father passed, our kids became adults, and my mom sold the childhood homestead to take on condo life on Barrie's waterfront. Without skipping a beat, the Toughs declared that the tradition would not go the way of the Dodo, and Mike generously volunteered to host in the lovely hamlet of Belle Ewart. By now there were great grandkids joining the festivities, and Club Tough was every bit the theme park that Club Porter had been. What started with the chance meeting of 2 couples in 1967, the family trees have intertwined their roots, swelling the numbers, forging friendships stronger than the heaviest chains.

We're still having the 2023 version of our Civic Holiday meet 'n greet this August, of that there's no doubt!

Mike and I recently decided that we needed a boy's afternoon so a little golfing was in order, and since my amazing children Maddi+Chris and Keaton+Jessica had gifted me some free rounds at Silver Brooke in Lisle, we enjoyed an amazing ... sights and weather, not golf prowess unfortunately ... afternoon sharing stories from the past 12 months. Fortunately, our beautiful brides had loads of catching up to do too, so Joyce and Trish enjoyed the companionship of a Wasaga Beach stroll, far exceeding the 70 words a minute speed limit. The day was capped by a delightful meal, more stories, a few wobblies, leaving us with huge grins, sparkling eyes, and new memories.

Surround yourself with good people and life will be all you can handle!

Blessed, folks, that's the state of my life right now!

Hmmm

Canada Day 2023 has come and gone. In its wake, I've been pondering the 'state of the union' following a short video I stumbled upon while scrolling through social media. The video was centred on Canada, its annual celebration and it's history, with homage paid to the plight of the indigenous. Watching it, I was reminded of a talk that BNC Native Studies teacher, Drew Forsyth, was having with his class when I popped by to say hi one day while supplying at BNC. In his lecture, Drew was explaining to the class the curiosities surrounding some of the names of regions, townships, cities, and even provinces that stem from the indigenous origins.

If you haven't been inside an Ontario school (elementary or secondary) during the start of the day, you may not be aware that an acknowledgement to the area's indigenous is read. In that acknowledgement (see below), the Anishnaabeg are identified as the people that were directly impacted in this part of the world by colonialism during the early years of the Dominion of Canada. 

Simcoe County District School Board acknowledges that we are situated on the traditional land of the Anishnaabeg people. We acknowledge the enduring presence of First Nation, Métis and Inuit people on this land and are committed to moving forward in the spirit of reconciliation and respect.

The acknowledgement recognizes this land as Anishnaabeg, and are absolutely deserving of our acknowledgement. While it is true that the Anishnaabeg were the most recent indigenous peoples to occupy these lands as members of the Three Fires Confederacy, it is curious that there's no mention of the massive contributions of the people that came before them. In fact, the Huron-Wendat nations occupied this region for thousands of years up until 350 years ago, and are the reason that Simcoe County is a part of Huronia Region, a confederacy that stretched south to the Ohio Valley and Virginia, and thanks to an influx of Jesuit missionaries and their record keeping, explains the many references to the Huron and the settlement at Sainte Marie among the Hurons in Midland.

Once you gain a full breadth understanding of the facts, there's a lot of head-scratching. Thanks to a resource I found (CLICK), some clarity was gained.

Huron-Wendat
Coat of Arms

The term ‘Huron’ was a term used by the French to refer to the Wendat, and is actually not rooted in indigenous language, stemming instead from a demeaning nickname that means ‘boar’s head’ in French, a reference to the men's hair style, insinuating the appearance of ruffians. The H-W population was reduced by half from approximately 20,000 to 9,000, the result of ravaging epidemics of smallpox, influenza and measles 'shared' by French settlers living in close quarters with the nations. Being 'new' diseases to North America, the indigenous had no previous exposure and were ravaged by the infections. The Wendat were trading partners with their northern neighbours, the Anishnaabeg, as well as others across the Georgian Bay area, all of whom were allied with the French. They were at odds with the Iroquois nations to the south that were allied with the British and Dutch. The Wendat were recognized as the largest and most profitable fur trading partner for the French so when resources for the fur trade dried up, first in the southern regions inhabited by the Iroquois, and slowly moving northward, it prompted the Five Nations to attack the Wendat in 1649. 

Some historians argue that the Five Nations attacked for economic reasons, but their historians maintain that it was an attempt to reclaim numbers lost during the epidemics that had decimated their populations. The Five Nations moved into Wendat territory, dispersing the populations in this region. Some joined their attackers since they spoke the Iroquois language, some moved north to join their Anishnaabeg trading partners, some moved east to what is now known as Wendake (Quebec), while others returned south to Ohio and Michigan, later being dispersed as far south as Virginia in the US government's relocation policies.

The Five Nations remained in the area of Simcoe County for approximately 50 years, before the Anishnaabeg nations pushed them back south and settled in this territory. The Anishnaabeg have been in this region since the late 1600s, leading to their being credited in the land acknowledgement.

Land Acknowledgement problem solved! 

What about the obviously indigenous rooted names of Canadian cities and communities? Thanks to the site The Canadian Encyclopedia (CLICK) and Wikipedia (CLICK), I was able to find some explanation for other oddities that are not clearly understood by a large number of my fellow 'Boomers' because the history curriculum of our youth did not include these particular justifications ... or, at least I don't recall them.

Starting with our country, the name Canada comes from the word meaning "village" or "settlement" in the Iroquois language spoken by the inhabitants of Stadacona and the neighbouring region near present-day Quebec City in the 16th century. Jacques Cartier was first to use the word "Canada" to refer not only to the village of Stadacona, but also to the neighbouring region and the areas down the Saint-Lawrence River. The Mohawk word 'kaná:ta' and the Seneca word 'iennekanandaa' gave rise to the eventual English translation of Canada.

The province of Ontario is derived from the Huron word onitariio meaning "beautiful lake", or kanadario meaning "sparkling" or "beautiful" water. While there is no shortage of either in Ontario, it is again interesting that we take the name from the language of the Wendat (Hurons). For Ontario's easterly neighbour Quebec, the name comes from the Míkmaq word kepék, meaning "strait" or "narrows". If you look back one paragraph earlier, you'll recall that the name Canada stemmed from the Mohawk + Seneca language. The Míkmaq territory was more maritime so it is curious that they are credited with the roots of the name Quebec. On Ontario's west side sits Manitoba. its name derived from the Cree word manito-wapâw meaning "the strait of the spirit or manitobau" or the Assiniboine words mini and tobow meaning "Lake of the Prairie", referring to Lake Manitoba. In this case it makes sense because the Cree dominated the northern areas from Saskatchewan to the Maritimes.

There are hundreds of other examples, but I think I've made my point. If you're Jonesin' for the full list, CLICK here.

The name Toronto is derived from the Mohawk word tkaronto, which means “where there are trees standing in the water.” Interestingly, the word originally referred to The Narrows near present-day Orillia, where the Wendat and other groups drove stakes into the water to create fish weirs. French maps from the 1680s to 1760s identify present-day Lake Simcoe as Lac de Taronto. The spelling changed to Toronto during the 18th century, and the term gradually came to refer to the large region between Lake Simcoe and Lake Ontario that included the location of the present-day City of Toronto. As the English took over more and more of the land in the area, the name Toronto came to replace the name of York, the settlement we know it as now. There are plenty of others too, like Ottawa, Mississauga, Oshawa, or Etobicoke. Closer to home, Adjala-Tosorantio, Tecumseh, and Penetanguishine, but my personal fav Wasaga comes from Nottawasaga, Algonquin language meaning 'Iroquois' and 'river outlet'.

Coming full circle to the Land Acknowledgement, the Wendat (Remembering that the French nicknamed them Hurons) that occupied this region for thousands of years, subsequently succumbing to amalgamation with the Anishnaabeg or Iroquois after the Beaver Wars in 1649, leaving an obvious thumbprint behind with many members of the First Nations in the area. Although the historical references are convoluted and heavily influenced by European translation after generations of re-telling, this area adopted the name Huronia thanks to the French's insistence that the Wendat (Hurons) dominated the region, thus the area was named for them even though they weren't the people that colonization displaced.

I guess I have to confess that I either 

(a) didn't pay close enough attention to social studies' teachings or 

(b) the curriculum didn't include an explanation that caused me to question its validity, 

but either way, I felt a yen to understand a clearer picture now that I'm approaching senior citizen status. Granted, it's a very confusing situation, but that doesn't mean that I should shrug and walk away. 

If you already knew all of this because you were a better student than I, good on ya!

If you just learned a thing or three, good on ya!

Either way, I'd bet it was a good day!

You've got a friend in me!

As humans, we crave affiliation, connection, and familiarity, so when we finally secure true friendships, the kind that can be placed on hold, seemingly indefinitely, and restarted with a nod, grin, or jab, we grasp those reins with a vice-like grip, and do everything in out power to ensure those in the circle understand their value. Like singer Randy Newman's little ditty You've got a friend in me, made famous as the theme song from Pixar's 1995 "Toy Story", we need to be reminded every once in a while that we can rely on some in our lives to have our backs. Building friendships like the ones we cultivated during my years at Barrie Central takes time, allegiance, and consternation, the roots running deep, the limbs spreading to capture the life-giving light of kinship, a longevity of decades the goal.

With the passing of Canada Day 2023, 16 bosom buddies marked the completion of the school year with an annual pilgrimage northward along the byways of Muskoka. Ox Narrows the destination, we rendezvous at the cottage of one of my bestest buddies, Ron Andrews, for the Barrie Central Boy's Cottage Bash on the forested shores of Kushog Lake. Marking the 11th time in 14 years (Covid, eh?), we push our familial responsibilities to the side to celebrate those cherished bonds, reacquaint with the like-minded, revisit the memorable, shine the lustre of the figurative chains that bind our collective. We inevitably find ourselves gasping for oxygen as our diaphragms spasmed thanks to gems of the purest hilarity like, as so eloquently offered by one of those colleagues, "monkeys discovering ice cream". 

I've written at length about my feelings and opinions stemming from my years at ol' BCC so I'll beg your forgiveness at the risk of repetition, but I arrived home in the Beach this year with a profound sense of contentment that I was a part of something remarkable, something that i'd wager very few high schools can lay claim to, and that connection spurred me to share thoughts surrounding it's glowing warmth. 

We're quite the eclectic bunch, if I'm honest.

Stemming from a wide assortment of backgrounds, talents, lineages, and experiences, the one unifying force is the genuine affinity we share for each other's company, the pure delight of proximity evident on the group's faces as we arrive in shifts thanks to the water-locked nature of our host's Muskoka oasis, his 'tinny' the only means with which to join in the festivities. Our highlighter-green tank tops, custom designed and produced, emblematic of both location and remembrance, easily identify the members of our cadre from across the water's expanse. Our group is a reflection of the high school halls that spawned us with stereotypical groups like jocks, techies, artsies, rockers, and academics represented, creating a gloriously Canadian Multicultural regiment of educational warriors, some retired, some still toiling in the trenches, but all a part of an exclusive fraternity that no longer pledges members with the wrecker's ball fate of our beloved alma mater.

Considering both the consanguinity and maturity of the group, the well lubricated gears instantaneously spin at dizzying speeds as the good natured scurrilousness of our banter results in belly laughs that echo down the lake with ferocious intensity. No one is spared, but all accept the barbs with a sheepish grin and a school boy giggle, the tables quickly turning on the tormentor as familiar themes of discussion are dredged from our grey matter. No topic nor persona escapes our collective, highlights and lowlights of our shared experience the logs that fuel the flames of our delight. Like any quality gathering, the fare is potluck with waves of deliciousness the target of delighted appetites that would never populate dietary recommendation lists. With each left to his own devices on choice of beverage and protein, the afternoon on the dock is punctuated by PHSSSST, MMMMM, and HaHaHaHa while the sun shines high in the horizon. With yet another glorious Kushog sunset, the complex smells of an assortment of BBQ fills the property and we are chased inside to escape the bloodthirsty of clouds of insects. 

The banter always extends deep into the wee hours of the night, some staying the course, others surrendering to exhaustion partly due to habit, partly due to the completion of an always hectic June. 

The morning after ALWAYS lives up to its name!

Buckets of coffee wash down the traditional breakfast hash and toast, cobwebs are swept out of the grey matter, sunglasses are worn religiously as antidote to the glare, and the conversations pick up right where they left off. Attempts at clean up are made but we all know that our steps will be retraced by Ron when we're gone, the inevitable result of 16 well lubricated old farts inside 900 square feet of shelter, and we struggle to adequately show him our gratitude for continuing to share his little slice of heaven with us. At the close, all that remains are the warm embraces and thanks for another epic night of friendship.

To my 'Brothers from another Mother', please know that your continuing allegiance means the world to me, and I truly hope that we will continue to celebrate our little fraternity for years to come.

Legacy complete

Life in the local education circle will soon change, a direct result of a happening at the close of June 2023. 

For a collective 95 years, 3 Uber influential, charismatic, brilliant educational leaders will push the 'I need a change' button and sidle into their retirement years, and like many in the system, I am of two minds with this particular changing of the guard. While I truly couldn't be happier for them since I consider each to be a good friend, I am a little sad that their loss will be of significance to the educational community by depriving the coming generations of students the opportunity to experience their sheer awesomeness.

Greg Brucker and Pete Bowman will be long remembered as trend-setting Principals with huge hearts, wide smiles, and tremendous charisma. Doug Woods has also profoundly impacted the schools he's been placed as a respected and beloved Vice Principal, he too possessor of a wide smile, engaging personality, and huge heart. All three have bettered the lives of students as both teachers and administrators, the student's affinity for them readily apparent as they interacted in the hallways, gymnasiums, fields, and classrooms. Like all administrators, their influence started at the chalkboard, the stories of their popularity like whispers on the wind to the rest of us, but seeing their brilliance firsthand as my colleagues and I adopted the pupil role, it's as clear as the prominent nose on my face. 

I've led a blessed educational career, thanks in part to the pure luck of great administrators. While I haven't necessarily agreed with each's pedagogy, their leadership has prompted both respect and growth, the mark of true leaders. From Harry Hughes, to John Dunlop, to Mary Ellen Smith, to Craig Hawkins, just to name a few of those who impacted my growth, my career peaked with my 'swan song' 12+ years under the supervision of two giants in the Biz, first with Russ Atkinson and then with Greg. That's frickin' awesome sauce for anyone who knows Russ and Greg because they are widely held to be some of the best to ever have steered the ship, not to mention both were named as Outstanding Principals by The Learning Partnership. Not to sell Pete and Doug short because they were amazing VPs when we shared the halls and would certainly have secured spots on my personal top 5 list but I wasn't ever gifted the opportunity to crew the ships they captained. 

Greg Brucker has been my dear friend since I was 13 and moved with my family from Barrie's east end to Sunnidale Road, 4 houses down from his parent's place. Although a year younger, we quickly connected through a mutual love of being active, the somewhat new craze of skateboarding being the lynchpin. We spent many an hour together zooming around the neighbourhood streets, he on his Kryptonite wheels, me on my YoYos ... IYKYK! Being residents of 'Snob Hill' (not so affectionate 70's moniker for Sunnidale Rd), we eventually offered our abilities to the already stellar REP of Barrie Central through our shared love of athletics and willingness to work in the classroom. As the teen years flew by, we spent a boat load of hours doing adolescent things, getting up to our collective no-good while bursting into belly laughs even Santa would be envious of. With parents who were educators, it was no surprise when we both chose to follow in their footsteps as a career choice. 

Without Social Media to fuel our connectedness, we toiled in the trenches separately, every once in a while crossing paths thanks to educational opportunities, but it was pure kismet when we joined forces thanks to his placement as captain of the good ship Central. 

At the risk of treading on some heart strings, the combination of sheer educational brilliance with a long-standing affinity for each other's company, I'd have to rank my years with Greg as being the coup de grace of my career. Although we will most assuredly still go out of our way to stay in touch in retirement, I'll miss the familiar "Mr Port-aire", his personal greeting of habit, his genuine smile of connection, and his renowned razor-sharp wit. He's easily one of the most intelligent individuals I've ever shared a friendship with, making the tremendously difficult task of leading a high school look like it's a walk in the park. The highest praise I can offer to ensure that Joe Public will grasp the loss would be exemplified by the 1000 watt smiles on the painted faces of dozens of students who interrupted their North Fest fun and frivolity to go out of their way to offer their congratulations to him.

I personally feel that's NOT a normal occurrence!

Pete Bowman and I first met through our days at BCC when he was the leader of the Barrie Alternative School that was attached to Central. I was immediately drawn in by his 'larger than life' personality, quick grin, and genuine compassion, but it was the time we spent together when he became North's VP, then Admin Rep on GBSSA council, that I grew to appreciate his leadership skills. When he was promoted to Principal at OSS, I knew that what was Orillia's gain would be North's loss ... my loss, if I'm being selfish. Obviously a key component to the job, Pete also brought his Uber sharp mind to party. 

He just flat out gets it, of that I'm sure!

Doug Woods and I have also known each other for a large number of years, working together at first BCC then BNC when he was placed in both as VP. I could copy snippets of my descriptors for both Greg and Pete, paste them in right here, and they'd fit like the proverbial glove, but I think one of Doug's greatest assets are his 'Cool Hand Luke' personality. He rarely gets flustered, and always seems to have nailed the analysis of the situation. Like Pete, we also shared time on GBSSA council, but like Greg, we also got to know each other better by sharing time outside of the school walls. With Woodsy, it was our shared love of cycling that afforded us hours in the saddle to 'think-pair-share' (to coin some edu-lingo), a habit that has a high degree of likeliness to continue now that he has freed up some time. 

The perfect phrase that begs when describing Doug is 'Salt of the Earth'.

So, all of this begs questioning ...
What will the local school scene look like in their absence?
Will others be capable of filling in the gaps?

Who knows? I have my own ideas, but for once I'll keep them to myself. 

I'll simply end by sincerely thanking this trio for the impact they've made on my life and wishing them much happiness as their sights refocus after so much time and energy so willingly given.

Look! Up in the sky!

I'm sure that you all know who Tom Hanks is.

In the event that you just took up residence on Planet Earth, Hanks is an Oscar winning actor who's collection of work is extensive, varied, and inspiring. His voice is one of the most recognizable in the 'Biz', instantly identifiable by young and old alike, whether it's the charming drawl of Forest Gump, the phrenetic gibber of Toy Story's Woody, of the resounding yawp for a shipwrecked comfort, Wilson. Hanks himself tells the story of sharing an elevator ride with a youngster and family, and when a parent's revelation that Woody (of Toy Story fame) stood across the elevator was met with extreme disbelief, the single line uttered, "Guys, we gotta get back to Andy's room!" prompted a wide-eyed, slack-jawed reaction incredulity as the youngster instantly connected the dots thanks to that iconic voice.

Hanks was the keynote address at Harvard's graduation 2023. Although a lengthy affair, the 'CLICK' will be well worth the minutes invested. 

One of many themes in a brilliant speech was the insistence the graduates embrace their super powered propensity for change, putting a thumbprint on the world, because "... there has never been a graduating class that has not faced the greatest challenges of all time. That come every spring, the maelstrom of history swirls so wildly that no matter the year or the era or the generation, there is always an atmospheric river of events that makes right now the hinge upon which our fate is turning." A challenge, if you will, to meet the impending times of conflict and strife with passion and commitment, a passing of the torch as it were. He succinctly summarizes his challenge, "We all have special powers and abilities far beyond the reach of other mortals. Some of us can repair a screen door with ease. Some of us can take care of a five-year-old kid and a toddler for 24 hours a day and never stop loving them. Some of us make sense of physics and economics and global policy. Some of us survive somehow on minimum earnings. Some of us graduate from colleges despite years of lockdowns and Zooms. Now these achievements are all stellar, even though yes, we are all but human. Still, we’d like to look up in the sky and see not a bird, not a plane, but well, someone who is young and strong and super who will fight the never ending battle for truth, for justice and for the American way."

Hanks warns the graduates that the task of his challenge will not go smoothly, "The work is the keeping of the promises of our promised land, the practice of decency, the protection of freedom and the promotion of liberty for all with no exceptions. And man, that takes on a lot of work." Using infallible logic, he pokes the ogre of indifference, his appointed threat to the American way, squarely in its chest, "The American way could be exampled, would you respect the law and the rights of all? Because if you don’t, who will? When your food is brought to you, will you thank the server? Because if you don’t, who will? Would you pick up the litter that has missed the recycling bin? Because if you don’t, who will? When you vote your conscience and make sure your neighbour has the opportunity to do the same with theirs, because if you don’t, who will?"

It is the summation of his address that left me pondering his argument, so much so that I re-watched to ensure I understood his message. In an act of profound bluntness, Hanks identifies the 'elephant in the room', lest there be those listening that miss the point. "Truth has synonyms such as honesty, honour, transparency. And yet, the common practice of so many is to play fast and loose with those very words, to create enemies, to claim victimhood, to raise the mediocre into merit and to make cloudy a vista that is actually crystal clear." In its essence, he is calling out those who would use fake news as a means to an end.

The battle for truth is the work he referred to earlier, amidst the daily insurgence of half-truths and fake news, to employ resistance to sit idly by, to spectate from the sidelines, to be lured to the 'Dark Side' that is indifference. "Ignorance and intolerance can be replaced by experience in the wink of an eye, but indifference will narrow the vision of America’s people and make dim the light of Lady Liberty’s symbolic torch." Hanks simplifies his point, that all in attendance will understand his urgency, "Every day, every year, and for every graduating class, there is a choice to be made. It’s the same option for all grownups who have to decide to be one of three types of Americans, those who embrace liberty and freedom for all, those who won’t, or those who are indifferent."

His challenge is simplistic in it's essence. Now that you've graduated into the fray of adulthood, you're tasked with making a choice to either fight for Truth, Justice, and the American way, thumb your nose at those time-tested values, or shrug shoulders in an act of indifference ... but choose you must. "The never ending battle you have all officially joined as of today, the difference is in how truly you believe and in how vociferously you promote, and how tightly you hold to the truth that is self-evident, that of course we are all created equally yet differently." Those last few words are the paradox that begs solving. Can we embrace being created equal while at the same time be cognizant and tolerant of differences?

I strongly doubt that Hanks himself penned this diatribe in a solo effort, yet should I be wrong, good on him! After spending a winter in the USA, listening to the opinions, the polarized news casts, and poolside chats, I'm a fan of his message, regardless of its origin. And it's not just the Americans! The Earth as a whole could use some super-powered help right now. 

I'll state it in different words ... it's NOT offensive to be different, but being different doesn't diminish one's inherent value.

To the thousands of grads this spring, which of the three options will you choose?

More importantly, which of the three will we as a society choose?

Heavy stuff!

I wish I had met him!

Our daughter Maddison fell hard for the son of Oshawa high school sweethearts who recently reacquainted themselves with their O'Neill CVI graduating class of 1980. Life proceeded as it almost always does, leading to beachside nuptials joining Chris Cove's family with ours. The courtship and subsequent wedding weekend allowed Joyce and I the opportunity to create a new friendship, a chance crossing of our Life's paths.

Tony and Cheryl Cove, as previously stated, were O'Neill high sweethearts, and judging by the quality of human they both are, it's highly probable that their cadre of friends was expansive and varied. Cheryl recently shared a Blog ... y'all know I'm a sucker for great writing ... penned by a OCVI friend, Lynn Martin, that embraced the memory of a fellow classmate who passed from a courageous battle with cancer. 

Meet Peter Bacon.

Reading the piece, I became both dour and enlightened at the same time as the image of a truly amazing individual slowly materialized, the focus sharpening to 4K quality with a simple YouTube video. What sticks with me is the brutal honesty of the horrible damage cancer and its treatment have on the inflicted, but despite that, the incandescent glow of Peter's smile combined with his obvious passion for music is heartwarming and delightful. 

Below are Lynn's own words ... She's obviously a gifted writer, compassionate, and empathetic. After reading her piece, I was immediately saddened that he passed and that I never had the privilege. 

Thanks to Lynn!

And thanks Tony and Cheryl for gifting your son to our world. 

We are DEF pleased that our paths crossed!

When Paths Cross
Have you ever given thought to the number of people we cross paths with in our lifetime and the impact they may have in doing so? Some we may only meet for a brief moment in time, some ebb and flow in and out of our life over the years, some are a constant for the duration of our time here on earth. It is in the crossing of paths we feel the impact of that person touching our life, for however long that may be.

I was recently reminded of this kind of impact through a long-lost fellow classmate, someone I had not seen in 40+ years. Allow me explain. 

In May 2020, my graduating year from high school was planning a 40th reunion. Unfortunately, Covid put an abrupt halt to those plans, but after 2 1/2 years of rescheduling numerous times, in October 2022, we finally managed to get a date on the calendar.

Thus our 40+2 reunion happened.

I feel so fortunate to have had a very positive experience in high school. I had a wonderful group of friends and a solid place to fall while navigating my teen years. I recognize this is not the case for everyone. What I find most interesting in having the opportunity to reunite as adults, thus crossing paths once again, is to listen to everyone’s stories and experiences, how they perceived life in those formative teen years and of course, where life has taken them.

As adults, the differences &/or misconceptions we may or may not have felt as teenagers, all but fade away as we share laughter and stories of our memories and experiences of those days we spent together oh so long ago. While in the midst of planning our reunion, one of our committee members shared with us that sadly, one of our former high school classmates had just been diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer.
His journey & his openness to share his experience, is largely what prompted this post.

Peter Bacon was a talented musician, remembered by anyone who attended our high school in that era. To be honest, I didn’t know Pete all that well in those days, our paths didn’t cross a whole lot in our social circles, but I certainly knew who he was. He was that cool guy, much too cool for the likes of me, who blew us away with his talent, as he cranked out tunes on the piano during our Folk Club concerts.
Until recently, I knew even less of what Pete’s life had become beyond that era. But it seems our paths were destined to cross once more, through his candid and open attitude in sharing his challenging journey.
What struck me most in every message he shared, in spite of the diagnosis he was facing, was his positive attitude, his never-ending sense of optimism, his immense gratitude for each and every day he was gifted, and for all of the love bestowed upon him.

Sadly Peter lost his fight with his cancer on May 10, 2023. A few weeks after his death, Peter’s family extended an open invitation to share in his Celebration of Life, live-streamed from Cabos, Mexico, where Pete resided and performed for the past number of years. I found myself opening my computer and listening to his family and friends honouring his life, learning so much about the classmate I once knew briefly, so many years ago. I learned of a man who lived his life doing what he loved most, entertaining & touching the lives of people who had the opportunity to hear his music. His smile, his goofy faces, his love for music and his positive energy shone through in every picture, every video and every person that spoke about him.

As his Celebration of Life drew to a close, I closed my computer and found myself uttering, “WOW”, out loud. Although Pete’s life was taken much too soon, I couldn’t help but think what a full & glorious life he lived.

Peter, thank you for inadvertently and perhaps even unknowingly, meandering back across my path. Thank you for reminding me how very precious life is and that regardless of the challenges we are facing, there is joy to be found in each and every moment we are gifted. I wish your family and those closest to you, lighter hearts in the days ahead, as they move forward without your physical presence. May they find peace in knowing you were surrounded in love, and clearly left an impact on each and every life you touched. I hope wherever you are, you are have found yourself a piano, once again basking in the sharing of your joyous gift of both music and love.

We can never know the impact we may make in crossing paths with people as we make our way through life. I encourage you to carefully & lovingly leave your footprint in the most positive way possible.
I leave you with one of Pete’s inspiring videos he shared, post brain surgery & in the midst of treatment. His attitude inspires me and I have no doubt he will forever be held in the hearts of all who loved him. Play on my friend! 

I am ever so grateful our paths crossed.

Hugs,

Lynn Martin

Remembering

Father's Day 2023 has come and passed, leaving thousands of photos and sentiments as the evidence of a busy day expressing gratitude and love to those that sired us. Some were present to receive the hugs, gifts, and treats; some fondly remembered for all they did while living their lives amongst us. Granted, there will be children that see the day filled sadness or sorrow, prompted by regrets spurned from their continuing grief, dealing with their loss in a personal way and timeline. 

It's an odd holiday, if I'm honest.

When ranked by popular opinion, the overwhelming favourite is logically different dependent on the region the survey is given. Give it in North America, the number one holiday is Christmas with its gatherings, feasts, libations, and gifts, surprisingly popular in a wide variety of regions in the world, even those dominated by non-christian faiths. Give it in other parts, you'll find New Years topping the list ... maybe two billion Chinese can't be that far wrong!

A quick Internet search reveals a plethora of sites with lists with one source (CLICK) that offers a chart that includes percentages of respondents, and as one scans down it you pass Christmas, Canada Day, Hallowe'en, Thanksgiving, and Victoria Day on your way to Father's day, ranking a curious #19 at 0.4%, barely outpacing St George's day, Discovery Day, and Islander Day. 

Be that as it may, it's still filled to the brim with heartfelt well wishes offered in appreciation and recognition of the sacrifices and guidance of a long-passed youth. 

You never know how much time you get with your loved ones, but the harsh reality is exactly as the saying goes, "Nobody gets out alive!" so it's forgivable to take parental love and generosity for granted until it's too late. Like so many, I'm reminded of my father each and every time I look in the mirror, his hooked nose, lantern jaw, dimpled cheeks and twinkling eyes staring back at me. Yes, there's portions of my mother too, but truth be told, it's readily evident which DNA expressed their dominance. 

My own father passed frustratingly young, succumbing to a cancer of unknown origins, even after a post-mortem. Known simply as 'Doc' to the hundreds of thousands in the greater Barrie area, a moniker that reflected being the solo orthopedic surgeon at RVH for years, he emulated the man that I wished to become. When I reminisce about childhood events, the point where additional orthopods came to town is marked by his more regular presence in our family happenings. What many don't know about growing up in a doctor's family is the willing sacrifice of his family for yours as he lived up to his Hippocratic oath, resulting in being regularly absent or arriving late for events of significance. As the time passed, bringing with it an enhanced maturity, it gifted me the ability to understand his sacrifices and grew my gratitude that he was able to balance it all. 

We all have regrets. 

For me, it was not doing as thorough a job of showing him that I understood why things happened that way they did, and visibly thanking him for doing it. Yes, I feel that I expressed my appreciation for all those moments that were jointly just ours, and as I grew emotionally, I was able to openly show him my love, but I look back now, almost 17 years since he passed, and I feel strongly that I could have done a little bit more. I regret that he was robbed of the opportunity to experience his family in it's full glory, his four boys growing their own versions following the recipe so willingly shared by he and my mom. I regret that he was robbed of seeing my own children as they transitioned through adolescence, the character-building teen years, discovering adulthood's gifts by finding a partner to walk Life's paths with ... he'd have loved Maddi's Boo Chris and KP's Jess.

I love you dad, and I thank you for the million examples of generosity and love you showed me.

I'm proud to be your son.

I hope that you got to enjoy a happy Father's Day, whatever it looks like up there.