To thine own self be true

of my 1st writing partner’s passing Dec 1/2010. (Pictures from 1980ish.)

Glen Kirkland (age 59), co-author, co-presenter (1980-2010) and poet-friend (1977-2010).

We were all young once…

Must have been about 8-9 years-old, an obvious step down from teenagerhood. I used to walk about five cold blocks in -20 Winnipeg winter to the rink at the nearest community club. The two boarded rinks were usually in use, but there was an open pleasure rink where many would go and play makeshift ‘games’, especially pre-adults.
In those days, shin pads were a luxury and rather obvious if you wore them over your pants, usually held up by sealer rings. So kids my age went without unless we were on actual teams at the community club.

In those days, I was most interested in playing goal and my heroes were Plante, Sawchuck, Worsley, and Glenn Hall. It was a tough life for NHL goalies in the pre-mask era (before Plante pioneered masks). They would get cut up; their faces resembling Frankenstein’s monster’s mug with all those occasional quick game stitch-ups, which sometimes even halted games. It was a rough life–Glenn Hall used to throw up before games. I guess it’s a little unnerving to have players like the Rocket bearing in on you and frozen rubber coming your way, especially via 60+ mph slapshots.

Back to the story. I was an only child who sometimes craved attention which showed up in wanting to play goal in pick-up games, and wanting–like every other red-blooded prairie boy–to stand out in whatever game–by being tough, strong, and maybe even heroic.

This day I’m describing, there weren’t any kids my age around at the pleasure rink, but I attached myself to a couple of teens (boy and girl 15-16ish) and some others in a pickup game with a real puck. I played goal for them sans shin pads, and took a number of hard shots on the knees and shins. I remember the girl was pretty and maybe I wanted to impress her with my hockey heroics, taking shots for the team. She came over to me a couple of times and asked me if I was ok after taking several shots which hurt like hell.  I said I was fine, though there must have been some tears showing. We played, me happily, until it got dark early and turned even colder before calling it quits.

I limped home with my wounds, but happy that I had impressed these older kids with my goaltending heroics. It felt good at home to sit in front of the old furnace grate warming my frozen legs, but feeling happy that I had stopped a lot of pucks, and won the brief attention and solicitude of that never-seen-again teenage girl.

The pain per se lasted for days afterward. And I vowed I would never play in the NHL if this was what a goalie’s reality and sacrifices were anything like, never mind the constant risk of facial injuries.

But be that as it may, once–on one frigid Saturday afternoon in Winnipeg–yes, I did experience all the pains and pleasures of an ephemeral hockey love.

Old woman
sitting forlorn
on this hospital bed
gulping green pills
left by a nurse

Sedated and lost
you don’t know my name
and call for someone else
(Circumstance does not
permit us much clarity)

Once I pretended
you were the witch next door
living in a house of ferns
teacups and afternoon radio

I didn’t know then
of the runaway husband
or that your cats ate
better than you

Old woman
sitting forlorn
on this hospital bed
surely life owes you more
than a legal form
signed by a dutiful son

……………………
December 1967.

It never fails. Every December when the snows fall, I remember old Mrs. H., our next door neighbor, who was abruptly removed from her home before Christmas by her adult son and placed directly in a psych ward. When I heard she was there, I went to visit her, but she had been broken down by what had unjustly occurred. Her materially-greedy son had forced her out and made her sign over her house to him. Afterward, he was crying as if someone had done something terrible to him, as if he was the one who should have been pitied!

Mrs. H was no beauty in appearance–a little scary-looking to children, but she was a kind, harmless soul. I still remember one day when I was very ill at home alone as a child, and I heard the door unexpectedly opening. It was Mrs. H. She had come with some Jack and Jill magazines for me and made me a hot lunch. And every year at this time, I remember her and I burn at the evil that selfish materialistic greed can wreak on the elderly. Poor Mrs. H. who deserved a much different, kinder, more humane fate that Christmas.

30 years of teaching 15-18-year-olds the possibilities, patterns, and meanings of life, literature, and language.

30 years of elucidating the pathways of imagination, imaginative thinking, critical thinking, close reading, and the creativity of language and literature.

30 years of facilitating connection with language, literature, ideas and themes.

30 years of sharing the delights and pleasures of books, poetry, drama, and good or great films.

30 years of opening up the possibilities of the printed word, metaphor, symbol, irony, ambiguity, sound and image.

30 years of challenging students to dig deep, teaching them how to read, write, think, and respond more largely and innerly.

30 years of bringing great works of poetry, prose, and film to the classroom, illuminating some of the best Canadian, English, and American literature.

30 years of shared teachable/learning moments.

30 years of enlightenment, inspiration, enthusiasm, and sheer depth.

30 years of introducing the possibilities of words, great writing, thought, and expression.

30 years–it was more than enough. It was more than a role, a mission, and purpose. It was fun, transcendentally connective, and a privilege. To have had that much freedom, that much responsibility, that much actualization and growth.

Yes, it was much of who I mostly was when I started in 1972 A.D. It was a life, a love, a belief, a value system, a practical expression and sharing of my innermost self and spirit. And I did it well. I maxed this life beyond the classroom, too–through 30+ years of writing and editing my books, and presenting teacher workshops.

In the end, there had been several thousand students, a similar number of teachers, and–via my books–contact with at least 5 million students (through multiple titles usage). It was as good as it gets. That much freedom, fun, meaning, purpose, significant action, and tangible accomplishments.

Change has been continuous and ongoing on the grandson front as he hits 23 months. But of late, the wheels have begun to turn faster and one can sense more mental processing than ever. He now turns when his name is called to see what interesting possibilities might be in store. His vocabulary has enlarged and he is using syntax and questions more and more. His pronunciations are sharper, clearer. He continues to connect colors in different things and match pictures with object by himself as he plays or reads. His current fascination with large colored building blocks continues to be his main project of the day. When he wants to read, he gets his books. He puts away his toys every evening and says good-night to them and his surroundings. He still continues to share food and toys, and claps when he finishes a drawing or some play activity. When he turns on a music toy, he pulls out his drum with musical instruments inside to play along to the music. He still enjoys a good laugh or joke.

Yes, as we read an alphabet book he picked out and sat in front of me on the floor to read, I just read the words and pictures on the right pages, but his head was turned to the solitary letters on the left page. I will probably have to start reading those, too, next time. He is curious as ever and seems ready to learn more about whatever turns up in his day.

……………………………..

My own voyage, focusedly, into consciousness began about two years ago with some initial meditations. What I know and had learned suddenly had become of most interest in my life (which already had a lot of ideas in it previously thanks to teaching, reading and writing). I did not want to lose these passing epiphanies and momentous conclusions and so I wrote them down, which, in turn, led to this blog. So for me, the past 15 months have been a study of consciousness–my own mainly–and my various learnings from life.                                                                                                         

My grandson has been very interesting to write about. He has given me a chance to revisit the past and my own and my kids’ childhoods. And so I have been expanding my own recent understandings of consciousness via my grandson’s unfolding consciousness.  Best of all, I am being given the privilege of watching a new life unfold and to see all over again how one (everyone potentially) learns about and begins to experience life. Priceless!

Was shopping at Costco today, which is always a life-threatening scenario with little people mindlessly thrusting long carts into crowds of uncarted shoppers. Got to the end of an aisle and started to turn the corner (slowly, of course, for survival purposes). Headed toward me, inches away, a woman with an empty cart who sees me and stops. Stops to check her hand-held screen to punch out some ultra-significant message to the e-universe, leaving me nowhere to go, but to wait for her selfish, umbilical moment to conclude in her own totally isolated, alienated e-world unto herself. (As McLuhan suggested, we will/have become extensions of our own extensions/machines.)

At the medical lab, I asked the technician: Do people insult you as you are about to take blood to answer their so-important/essential phones. She said Yes, despite all the signage advising the opposite. Same story with my massage therapist and doctor at the mediclinic. (The doctor walks out and moves on to the next patient. Good for him. Patient has priorities, so does the doctor.)

Rudeness and self-centeredness everywhere more than ever. No perspective. No sense of other and the insults to other. E-rubes lost in their own alienated/alienating, totally distracted/distracting e-worlds.

I like the approach taken by a few groups of diners who throw their phones into the middle of the table; then the first person who weakens and surrenders to umbilical desire and picks up gets the bill! We need far more of these constructive, creative counter-moves and counter-responses to all this selfish, alienating e-behaviors and habits. The Pythons, B.F. Skinner and Karen Pryor who wrote Don’t Shoot the Dog! are badly needed on today’s behavior modification battlefield front. A combination of common sense, no-nonsense approach, and zero tolerance would be appreciated in dealing with the masses of em/d-dopes ‘out there’ today.

……………………

Note: So long second nature for me; for anyone else–EM=Electronic Media; D=Digital

Well, there are many ways to achieve that, though many people today, especially younger generations may lack the rigor, depth, inner resources, and experience to find purpose, let alone continuity. Quite often these young people flit from topic to topic without the ability to focus, concentrate on, or stay with any one thing. They often lack common sense, listening skills, permanence, working skills, and background that makes them fall prey to the easy screen entertainments of the day. For many of them, play is the only or dominant mode. Anything serious is far too difficult. Purpose comes down the shallowness of how many followers and ‘friends’ they may have on social media, or not working hard for anything or anyone–usually just a cheque for whatever survival conditions or frivolous escapes or mindless entertainments. (For the older generations, jobs were and still are usually a ticket to retirement or gave a sense (often illusory and not lasting) of purpose.)

Purpose is always an individual matter. For some it is a ticket to Grey Cup game; for others, a ticket for a cruise or resort. As Nora Helmer’s friend says in Ibsen’s play A Doll’s House, it may come down to having someone in one’s life that one can love, live, and work for. In that at least, some kind of energy, enthusiasm, purpose, sense of and sacrifice for someone outside of self. Which, of course, is what motivates many single working mothers, incidentally: family, one’s children (and their currently great unknown futures). One’s purpose might be selfish, superficial, familial, moral, outer-directed, or occasionally spiritual.

My background was that of a lower-class only child. I have made the most of my opportunities while they still existed in the old pre-e/d-world. Often, my life came down to the fine art of cultivating my self, my own depths, and my own life/work patterns in the absence of external structures or interest or support in the ‘world out there.’ I learned early on that the main person you can count on (sometimes the only one) is just oneself.

And so a person needs to learn how to learn, how to be and stay curious, how to distract oneself, how to accomplish any action or deed, how to relate to anybody, how to give the best of oneself, and how to appreciate the gifts of self from others.

Do young/er generations have this capacity? To some extent, it depends on how they’re raised and whether they have opportunities that they want to and can access. But, I believe–as the world and governments continue, mindlessly, to take apart existing institutions and any semblances of permanence, stability, and public assistance as previously built up and developed by Western civilization and such former centres of strengths such as the humanities, the arts, and the universities (forced to cut back to mere bones)–that the process and odds of becoming one’s own person with ye olde integrity, depth, and perspective have been greatly reduced, demolished, or nullified by the above prevailing negative social, and brainwashed, financially agenda-ed technological changes. Ultimately, they, likewise, may have to find whatever answers and purpose within, without a great deal of outside help. The limits and limitations of context weigh heavily and negatively these daze.

What we are left with, then, after post-Western civilization at its heights, is a lot of chaos, lack of common sense, money and material obsession, care-lessness lawlessness, crime, corruption, em/d-escapism and increasing destabilization. And exactly how does one find purpose in that, let alone continuity of purpose? How does one function on any kind of meaningful, thoughtful, sensitive, deeper, more reflective, self-actualized level? Or does that just cease to matter in an increasingly desensitized, diminished world/culture? Is the final diminishment of all the diminishment of Western human beings–their possibilities, dreams, and continuity of purposes?

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………. And so, as in a previous blog entry, one is left, ultimately, with the limits and limitations of self. Today, more than ever, one has to become responsible for one’s own life, learning, and purpose. It is important, therefore, that one have focus, inner resources, freedom, and depths to draw on to live with some kind of purpose in this increasingly diminishing/diminished world. The one in most need of supporting and caring for is oneself. (One cannot help others without that given, that base, that strength.) Purpose is always an inner matter, first and foremost. Individuals choose their unique purposes and continuity of purposes based on their own limits, limitations, imaginations, and relative freedoms. Regardless of how limited and limiting others, the society, culture, or world.

co-authored with the multi-talented Jerry Wowk, 2008, authorized for grades 9-10 in SK and NS, is available from Nelson Education. It features a process of writing approach for the essay.

To activate any photos not showing automatically, click on any picture frame. Then click “Continue to this website”–large pic, then smaller pic will emerge. When loaded, double-click upper left-pointing arrow twice to re-enter entire website with all blog photos now displayed. Pictures can then be enlarged or smallened as wished by clicking on photo. Three sizes in total.

Inside Poetry–second edition, 2002, coauthored with the great teacher-thinker Jerry Wowk, and the classic white 1st edition, 1984, coauthored with the late Glen Kirkland, are both available at reduced prices on Amazon.ca and through ABEbooks. Nelson Education also sells new copies.

aka ‘Get with the Economic Propaganda EM/D-Program’

Screen games, y’all. One million Xbox One consoles sold on launch day!

You don’t count/signify/matter if you didn’t buy on. Keepin’ up with the D-Joneses, ad nauseam these daze.

“Most of one’s life is a prolonged effort to avoid thinking.”–Aldous Huxley