Life can be described in terms of seasons, and has been in poetry and song. To me, life can be divided into seasons: 0 – 20 is springtime, 20 – 40 is summer, 40 – 60 is autumn, 60 – on is winter. Not everyone is fortunate enough to experience all four seasons.

Springtime is about growing to adulthood, a time when there are so many influences and circumstances which are beyond your control. Summer sees a person shaping his own destiny. It is a time when you reach the height of your physical and mental powers. In autumn, we harvest what we have sown. Hopefully, we have planted well. With its beautiful colors, it can be a wonderful time. Winter is part of the natural cycle. Hopefully, we’ve made good choices and learned from our mistakes, so that we have gained wisdom. If not, winter can be a time of bitter cold. We are likely to suffer to some degree in winter; hopefully, we can accept the cycle of the seasons to keep our inevitable decline and death in perspective. We are fortunate if the worst of winter is brief.

My friend Ken Cooper recently passed away at the age of 92. Ken was a fine man and a great Canadian, although you won’t find his name in history books. He was a husband, father, soldier, veteran, and a role model and mentor to me.

I met Ken at a local Calgary Public Library branch meeting in 1988. He was sixty-nine years old at the time. We were among a group of a dozen people asked to give feedback on the future direction of the library. During the course of the meeting, one lady spoke against the new $5.00 annual fee being instituted for library users. She felt strongly, as an advocate of literacy and a mother of young children, that the library’s resources should be available free of charge to all Calgary citizens.

After she made her views known, Ken put up his hand and politely stated, “Ma’am, I understand what you are saying. However, I spent four years in a German prisoner-of-war camp, and I would pay a thousand dollars if I had to for the privilege of accessing library books.”

His point was gently and matter-of-factly stated, and he was appreciated for his contributions that evening. War both horrifies and fascinates me, and I made it a point to make his acquaintance when the formal part of the evening was over. He and I became friends and I would bring Ken in to speak to my elementary and middle school classes each Remembrance Day from 1988 to 2000, after which I left full-time teaching.

In my classes, Ken proved to be a highly effective communicator. He was concise and sensitive in his story telling, leaving the most graphic and horrific details out. Even with this censored version of his WW II experiences, the children were spellbound. He was able to laugh about the two different times he was wounded, one which left him missing half of one finger, the other which left him with a piece of one buttock shot off.

There was always a thread running through his presentations for the students – war is insane and we need to work on negotiation, conflict resolution, and peace initiatives to avoid war wherever possible.

His presentations, after an introduction by me and a short opening statement from Ken, were question driven. One of the more unusual questions occurred when a student queried Ken about what to do if you had to answer the call of nature during a fire fight while pinned in a small foxhole.

Ken responded with his own question: “If you stood up to loosen your belt and took your pants down, you’d get shot. What would you do in that situation?”

The student exclaimed, “I guess I’d have to go in my pants!”

Ken replied, “That’s what we did.” Ken never once glamorized war or made it into a glorious, macho adventure.

Ken is my last friend or relative of the generation whose toughness and practicality were forged through growing up in the Depression and experiencing war. I miss him.

I admire him for his war time service and post-war service in the Canadian Armed Forces. While I long for a world with peace and justice for all, I am keenly aware and appreciative of those who put their lives on the line for ours and others’ freedom. It is somehow fitting that Ken passed away on Canada Day. Ken, more than most, earned his rest from life’s trials and tribulations and a tired, failing body. Rest easily, my friend.

He took Canada’s New Democratic Party to its greatest success in its fifty year history just three months previously. While it is sad that he never truly got to lead the opposition in Parliament, I’m glad that he had some time to savour his party’s historic results. While I’m not sure that it isn’t an aberration, fated to last only four years, it was a remarkable achievement, something I didn’t expect to see in my lifetime.

A great part of his party’s recent success was in no doubt due to his personality. He came across as a principled, genuine, caring human being, with a zest for life and a lively sense of humour. (Take note, Stephen Harper.) The public and the private man were apparently the same. “There was no guile,” Stephen Lewis noted in his eulogy.

I admired his caring for those who were victims of discrimination and violence and those who were denied their legitimate rights. He stood up for those who were vulnerable, among others gays, minorities and abused women.

His funeral service last Saturday was warm and entertaining, featuring several musical performances as well as several speakers. Notably, few tears were shed by the audience in Roy Thomson Hall in Toronto. This speaks, at least in part, of a life well lived, of a person who made the most of his 61 years.

I hope Jack Layton has inspired some of the young people with whom he came in touch, with his humanity, service to his country, his kinship to all his fellow human beings, his joie de vivre, and his relish for a good, fair political fight. In this life, you don’t get what you want, you get what you fight for. Layton was a principled man who fought for middle and working class Canadians. In an era when big corporations too often dictate government policy, commit crimes and bring our financial system to the verge of collapse, facing few consequences in the process, we need more people of his ilk.

The oddest aspect in a week of mourning was a mean-spirited column by National Post writer Christie Blatchford. She writes of Layton’s last letter to his fellow Canadians:
“And what to make of that astonishing letter, widely hailed as Mr. Layton’s magnificent from-the-grave cri de coeur? It was extraordinary…because it shows what a canny, relentless, thoroughly ambitious fellow Mr. Layton was. Even on Saturday, two days before he died, he managed to keep a gimlet eye on all the campaigns to come.
The letter is vainglorious, too. Who thinks to leave a 1,000-word missive meant for public consumption and released by his family and the party mid-day, happily just as (CBC’s) Mr. [Evan] Solomon and his fellows were in danger of running out of pap?
The letter was first presented as Mr. Layton’s last message to Canadians, as something written by him on his deathbed; only later was it more fully described as having been ‘crafted’ with party president Brian Topp, Mr. Layton’s chief of staff Anne McGrath and his wife and fellow NDP MP Olivia Chow.”
Christie, give me a break. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well as he lay dying?? Perhaps he required some help?
She adds, “Who seriously writes of himself, “All my life I have worked to make things better?”
Wow! This is one nasty commentator. Ms. Blatchford evidently let her political perspectives, which differ significantly from Mr. Layton, colour her article. (Note to self: don’t annoy Christie Blatchford if at all possible.)
As for “All my life I have worked to make things better?” being vainglorious, it struck me a simple and humble statement from someone who genuinely cared for those who were victims of discrimination and violence and those who were denied their legitimate rights. He stood up for those who were vulnerable, among others gays, minorities and abused women.

This is not the rant of your typical modern athlete who talks of himself in the third person and who proclaims his greatness and outstanding athletic and personal qualities. He championed, among other causes, The White Ribbon Campaign in 1991 in Toronto, an international effort of men and boys working to end violence against women which has now spread to over 57 countries around the world. This is just one of many examples of Mr. Layton speaking out for those who needed others’ help.
As for his funeral becoming a “thoroughly public spectacle”, he was one of the two major public figures in the country. Hello, Christie!
Ms. Blatchford, being born in the same year as I was, must have somehow missed former PM and Opposition Leader John Diefenbaker’s funeral in 1979. If her memory fails her, vainglorious would be insufficient in describing this event. Diefenbaker had extensively planned his elaborate funeral far in advance. He lay in state in the Hall of Honour in Parliament for two and a half days. The Maple Leaf Flag on the casket was partially obscured by the Canada’s former flag, the Red Ensign, which Diefenbaker loved, but had not been the official flag of the country for nearly two decades. After the service, his body was taken by train on a slow journey to its final destination, Saskatoon. Along the route, many Canadians lined the tracks to watch the funeral train pass. Mr. Layton’s funeral, by itself, but especially in comparison to Diefenbaker’s, was dignified, yet simple, with elements of celebration.
Undoubtedly like Ms. Blatchford, I hate the type of mourning, most blatantly featured in obituaries, which turns virtually all human beings into candidates for sainthood. Layton acknowledged his own human failings at his funeral, having Minster Brent Hawkes quote him as tearfully sharing in one of their last meetings, “I have had a great and blessed life, but it has been far from perfection. I have made some mistakes. I am sorry that I don’t have more time to make amends to some individuals. And if there was anything I said or did that hurt someone,” he said, “I’m sorry.” These are not the words of a vain, neurotic Diefenbaker or the imperious Trudeau.
Blatchford criticized Layton for being “canny, relentless, and thoroughly ambitious.” It would be hard to find a major political figure who made it as far as he did without being described in such a manner. With canny meaning clever and relentless conveying persistence, wouldn’t we wish for these qualities in our own children? Ambition is a neutral word. Layton’s ambitions were not those of an Adolf Hitler or Robert Mugabe. Would we begrudge our children the ambition of becoming Prime Minister?

Blatchford inadvertently provides a service to all of us and the memory of Jack Layton. She heightens his legacy by providing an example of pettiness and nastiness which contrasts with Layton’s humanity and service to his countrymen.

Anger and outrage, much of it online, have been expressed about the rioters who wreaked havoc in downtown Vancouver after game 7 of the Stanley Cup final – and rightfully so.

What surprised me more than the intensity of some of the comments was the minority who posted remarks about the publically identified seventeen year old rioter Nathan Kotylak, a member of the Canadian National Water Polo team, expressing sympathy, along the lines of, “He’s just a kid. He made a mistake.” Sorry, folks. At seventeen, you know what you are doing. His age will mitigate the consequences, but being several months short of legal adult status does not excuse what he did.

Indeed, he did make a mistake – a huge one. As he stated, “I was caught up in the moment.” It is also a mistake to minimize what he did. He did not tell an offensive joke at a party. He did not steal apples from a neighbour’s tree. He committed a serious crime, disturbing in the sense that all he learned up to this point in life was so easily tossed out the window. Other crimes of that type occurred Wednesday night, including the beating of people who tried to protect crimes from being committed. (Did other “nice kids” beat up the Good Samaritans?) Torching public property is a damned serious crime.

As a ten year old in Winnipeg, I shoplifted a chocolate bar in a department store to impress a friend. I got caught. The consequences included being yelled at by store security staff, having my parents called, having a most anxious, fearful bus ride home, being strapped with a leather belt by my father, and having him glare at me and not speak to me for two days. Even now, I think the consequences were severe, but it was appropriate for me to face the music. I learned something, and it put a little fear into me which helped prevent any recurrence of such behaviour. And no, I wasn’t psychologically scarred by being punished.

Appropriate punishment should be meted out to Nathan Kotylak. And frankly, if that punishment puts a little bit of fear into him to help prevent him reoffending, all the better. There is a pronounced streak in young males, peaking in adolescence and early adulthood, of impulsiveness, pushing boundaries, questioning authority, and taking all kinds of risks, which in some cases are harmful to themselves and society. Ultimately, accountability for one’s actions is necessary or we are inviting anarchy. For all of our noble intentions as a society, a degree of fear in young men is a good thing.

The mob mentality in evidence last Wednesday has now ironically been duplicated on social media sites. The Kotylak family has had to leave their home as Nathan has now received death threats. Do these people not recognize their own stupidity and pack mentality (not to mention gutlessness and cowardice) in making these threats? Sadly, you could see this coming as Kotylak felt the need to publically confess. As an identified participant, the consequences were going to be severe enough without exposing himself further.

His decision to confess publicly is admirable in the sense that it shows encouraging signs of a developing conscience. However, it would be counterproductive if this young man’s mistake was compounded by the error of not letting him face the consequences. It would send a message that young men from “good”, i.e. well off, families should not face the same consequences as those less favoured in socioeconomic status. There is already too much of the “wealth equals privilege” ethos in our society. It would minimize what he did. It would declare open season for rioting.

On the other hand, the consequences should be appropriate. Things like genuine remorse and likelihood of reoffending need to be taken into account. But, he did commit a crime. Anything less than a minimum $1000 fine (NOT to be paid by his parents), forty hours of community service, one year’s probation and a one year suspension from Water Polo Canada would send out the wrong message. He’s lucky in that he was not several months older as he would have to bear the burden of a criminal record for a lifetime.

His father told Global TV, “Nathan’s behaviour does not reflect his true character.” I tend to believe him. But it’s not his character that’s being judged. It’s his criminal behaviour on the night in question. His character will be rightfully judged by the sum of his actions over the coming years.

When a person of supposedly good character becomes so easily involved in criminal behaviour, it sadly exposes the thin veneer of civilization that covers too many human beings. We all lose when our sense of safety is eroded by such an event.

The Stanley Cup final was a riot…at least , game 7 was.

The guilty parties are being identified. Apparently, there were 20 to 30 “anarchists” who got things rolling. But can they truly be called anarchists if, even when sober, they can’t even pronounce that word, let alone spell it? Let’s keep it monosyllabic – thugs, punks and scum are simpler as well as highly accurate.

Beyond the anarchists, alcohol has been identified as a prime cause. Now we can put names to those faceless hooligans! Police are currently searching for Johnnie Walker, Glen Livet and Alexander Keith, among others. All of them are male and between 18 and 30. There was the odd older male, including an unidentified Russian Prince, seen taking part.

Apparently, among that demographic, asthma and allergies are rampant. Many young men of that age were seen running in through the broken London Drugs store windows with their faces covered by their shirts or other makeshift cloth masks, clearly overwhelmed by the smoke from the burning vehicles, desperate to acquire medication for their breathing difficulties.

It was comforting to see that both the police and the crowd, while dealing with a difficult situation, remained true to West Coast environmentalist principles. The crowd burned two police gas guzzling Crown Victorias and a Hummer. The police, sensing the mood of the crowd, shunned motorized vehicles and instead rode mounted horses into the area to express solidarity with the eco-minded criminals.

I think back seven years to the Calgary Flames’ Stanley Cup run. They too lost game 7, and all we could manage here in Cowtown was random drunkenness, public urination and breast flashing. We are clearly repressed compared to those touchy feely West Coasters.

I was fascinated to see a new form of artistic expression invented during the riot. An individual of the aforementioned demographic group jumped on top of a burning car, momentarily lost his balance, but was able to scramble off, triumphantly gesturing to the crowd, a remarkable combination of fire walking and “brake” dancing. Amidst the chaos, we may have seen the birth of the next extreme sport.

Through a local company, we have an organic application program for our lawn – no herbicides or pesticides. It works based on the theory that a healthy lawn will crowd out weeds. The applications over the course of spring, summer, and fall involve using liquid sugar beet extract, corn gluten meal, and organic kelp. (If I took half as good care in feeding myself as I do my lawn, I’d live to be a hundred and fifty.) The lawn does look thick and green, practically good enough to eat. In fact, the cost of the organic program is such that eating the grass is becoming a consideration.

The crowding out of the weeds through impeccable organic nutrition apparently does not include dandelions, as there are many more in our yard this year than last. They seem to be enjoying the lavish diet as much as the grass! Apparently the dandelions have applied for and received naturalized grass status from the federal government.

I am dutifully digging them out. (Dandelion leaves are edible greens, so maybe I should eat them.) I have a dandelion digger which is used standing up, thereby making it easier on the back and knees. You step on it, pushing the two claws into the ground. You then pull back, and the claws come together, grabbing the stem and flower and most of the root. The problem is that this tool leaves a crater that can comfortably accommodate a toddler. It is only a matter of time before the craters join together and create sink holes, a rather unhappy and unintended side effect of the dandelion wars. Hmmm…perhaps I can use these holes for planting flowers.

Another unintended consequence is that due to the disgustingly healthy diet of my lawn, the grass grows more quickly and I have to mow it more often. This adds to my compost challenge, with bushels of organic grass clippings being added. I am the only person in my subdivision, who, as far as I know, possesses a fleet of Earth Machines. I already own three of these composters (think R2D2, but much larger), which are all completely full. Our dry climate with long winters is not conducive for our fruit and vegetable scraps, along with grass clippings, to break down quickly into compost. It takes years. My current supply of not-quite-ready compost could fill a dump truck. I am running out of room for composters, and I am not that keen about buying a fourth.

When the compost finally breaks down, I will have way too much for my own use. Next on my environmental initiatives list is buying a hybrid vehicle. It may have to be a good-sized one, as I might be hauling my compost away. Sigh…it’s not easy being green.

The typical tough guy of the late sixties could be identified by his black leather jacket and pointy black shoes – all the better to kick you with.

Paul was NOT your typical tough guy. He wore glasses and dressed very conservatively. He was an excellent student. He never bullied anyone.

Paul was big, over six feet tall, broad shouldered and naturally well muscled. He looked twenty-five years old. I never recall seeing him smile. While he was a good person, he looked tough…and he looked mean.

Paul had only one fight in high school. He was smart and quick as well as tough. He won the fight – without even throwing a punch.

There was one student who took a dislike to Paul. Paul never really knew the reason for this, but whenever this boy passed him in the hallway, he would step out of his path and lower his shoulder into Paul to give him a jolt. This worked once or twice, but Paul quickly learned to keep his eye out for him.

One day, the perpetrator saw Paul and lowered his shoulder to hit him, but Paul deftly stepped aside. The boy went tumbling to the floor. Angrily, he jumped up and swung at Paul. Paul moved aside once again and the boy’s fist went crashing into the wall – end of fight.

One time in my Grade 11 Chemistry class, a series of immature adolescent pranks resulted in an after school fight between me and a classmate just outside the school’s side doors. I was forced to defend my honour. (Okay, it was two immature adolescent males being stupid.) A large crowd had gathered around us. About a minute into the fight, the crowd parted (not unlike the Red Sea) and in stepped Paul. He pronounced the fight over – and so it was. Nobody questioned him. He was not a teacher or administrator, but his word was law. He had that kind of presence.

Paul’s most famous achievement occurred during a high school dance. I was coming in the front doors of the school and Paul was on his way out. I was stunned. He had one hand firmly on the arm of Charlie Ruggles, the most notorious teen criminal in the city! Ruggles had sneaked into the dance, but was looking very nervous as Paul escorted him out of the building. Paul had that effect on people.

While our school had a principal and vice-principal, for a time they had an unpaid third administrative member – Paul. I’ve never seen a student take such ownership and responsibility for making a school the way he thought it should be.

Paul is now sixty and gray haired, but still rugged. But one thing has changed about him – he smiled frequently at the reunion. He became a commercial furniture designer. He would have made a good prime minister – or an excellent bouncer.

There are some people who add to the richness of your life’s tapestry simply by being themselves, if you have the good fortune to recognize and observe them. Paul is one of those unique and extraordinary individuals.

I thought the Americans had us beaten by a country mile when it came to odd political victories, what with electing wrestlers and actors as governors. However, we are gaining ground, but with a youthful, working class orientation in Parliament. Ruth Ellen Brosseau, an assistant manager at a Carleton University’s Oliver’s pub, won Berthier-Maskinongé, a rural riding north of Montreal, with a 10 percentage point lead over the three-term Bloc Quebecois MP, Guy André. This, despite taking a vacation in Las Vegas during the campaign and continuing to work in Ottawa— several hours’ drive from her riding. It will look good on her resume – a part-time job as a Member of Parliament, with a salary of $157,731. She was last heard to be brushing up on her French, which she apparently doesn’t speak very well, in spite of a French-Canadian last name and representing a primarily French-speaking riding.

It was a pleasure to see the Bloc Quebecois get dumped from 48 seats to 4, losing them all to the NDP. Leader Gilles Duceppe lost his own seat. Good riddance to the Bloc. I couldn’t see Duceppe leading a birthday party, never mind a political party. He has all the charisma of an egg roll. 

The NDP sweep of Quebec was astonishing, going from one seat to 58. Included are three McGill University students, including a 19 year old, the youngest MP ever elected, and one recent McGill graduate. I predict a motion in the House for a new beer allowance to accommodate these four. And no, you don’t have to raise your hand and ask the Speaker’s permission to go to the bathroom.

The best live election coverage comment came from Peter Mansbridge on CBC. When referring to Brosseau’s campaign coming partially from Las Vegas, he suggested that she could become “the shadow cabinet minister for foreign affairs.” Second prize goes to CTV’s Craig Oliver. After Michael Ignatieff’s dignified concession speech, Oliver dubbed him “a beautiful loser.”

CTV’s Lloyd Robertson commented on former cabinet minister Bill Graham at Liberal headquarters as sporting “a long face”. Graham does have a large, narrow head, so it really wasn’t any change. Can the Green Party’s Elizabeth May really represent the West Coast riding of Saanich-Gulf, or having now run for office on both the east and west coasts of Canada, is she really Canada’s first free-range parliamentarian?

The lone Yukon seat was won by Conservative candidate Ryan Leef, 37. Perhaps best known for his cage fighting, he is a deputy superintendent at the Whitehorse Correctional Centre, has worked as an RCMP officer in the area and teaches local self-defence courses. He has a great background for the job as politics is a blood sport that predates cage fighting by centuries.

Ujjal Dosangh, former B.C. premier, lost his seat for the Liberals to a Conservative candidate, a woman among whose backers are a man acquitted in the Air India bombings. She is also being sued by five siblings over a family will.

The NDP surge was stunning. At the beginning of the campaign, leader Jack Layton’s health was questioned, having fought prostate cancer for a year and just off hip surgery in March. He clearly got the sympathy vote. Think about it – he was just a liver transplant away from being Prime Minister!!

A. A GIC actually matures.

I like this joke. It’s effective because it has its roots in reality. Men are prone to more immature, adolescent behaviour and humour than women. In a male-female relationship, someone has to be the mature one – and it’s rarely the man.

Is this sexist? Perhaps it does betray an attitude that fosters a certain stereotype of men. However, men and women do have various tendencies based upon genetic differences. For example, men, especially young men, engage in more risk-taking behaviours. Men’s humour tends to be more sexual and edgy in its content. Perhaps these factors contribute to jokes like the one above.

Men also have the reputation of being more impulsive than women and not thinking things through before acting or speaking. This may be fuelled by the gender gap in Attention Deficit Disorder statistics. It used to be believed that males outnumbered females 10 to 1 in terms of frequency of ADD. More recently that statistic has been lowered to 3 to1, due to the fact that “hidden” ADD, the primarily inattentive subtype without the hyperactivity element, is being factored into the equation.

In any case, “shooting from the lip” does seem to affect men more than women. My favourite example of men-speaking-before-they- think humour follows. (Put on your best Scottish accent for the quoted sections.)

A young Scottish couple had dated since high school. They were very compatible and truly enjoyed each other’s company.

The lady was traditional in her approach to relationships. She waited patiently for her beau to ask for her hand in marriage. They dated for ten years, but he never brought up the topic. Finally, she decided to take the initiative.

One evening as they sat on her parents’ porch, she summoned up the courage, cleared her throat, and asked him, “Angus, don’t ye think it’s time we got married?”

He stroked his chin thoughtfully and replied, “Aye, but who would have us?”

Sexist, racist, ageist, and other forms of humour involve and support putting less advantaged people in their place – and keeping them there. It’s not appropriate, healthy humour. It’s using humour as a weapon.

I don’t find these two jokes sexist. Keep ‘em coming. Poking fun at male tendencies in a good natured way adds to the gamut of humour that allows men and women to laugh at our differences and, ultimately, to accept and celebrate them.