Posted on April 5, 2014 under Storytelling with no comments yet

 

 

Let me tell ya ’bout the birds and the bees
And the flowers and the trees
And the moon up above
And a thing called “Love”

Jewel Akens, 1964

When and where did you get your initiation into the incomprehensible world of sex education?  I can say, with utmost confidence, that those of us over the age of 60 did not get this life-altering information from our parents.  It was probably “Dirty Johnny” somewhere behind the pool hall who put you in the picture, or Hef.  In Hef’s case, he showed us the pictures.   I never understood the importance of the months of the year until Playboy magazine entered my orbit.  This iconic magazine has shared space with decaying food and dirty socks under many a teenage boy’s bed.

Travelling to the airport a while ago with a friend, I was flipping through the dial on satellite radio.  While sampling the usual menu of Pop, Country and Rap I stumbled across a 24 hour sex chat station.  I would like to confess that I kept the dial moving but then curiosity got the better of me.  It only took about two minutes to get the drift of the conversation.  Another station was dedicated to the “shock jock” himself.  Let me give you a “Stern” warning.  If you are in the least bit prudish, you might find Howard a tad offensive.

There was no such thing as sex education in the school system back in the day.  We had precisely one class on the subject in grade twelve.  Male teachers did the honor for the guys and, bless their hearts; the nuns handled the delicate chore for the girls.  Wouldn’t I love to have been a fly on the wall for that discussion?

The 1960’s was a time of societal upheaval, and nowhere was this more evident than in the world of sex education.  Masters and Johnson were a pair of researchers who tackled the subject with zeal … like two crows in heat.   And one of the most popular books of that era (150 million copies and counting) was “Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex (But Were Afraid to Ask)” by Dr. David Reuben.   This tome brought sex education out of the closet and into mainstream society.  It had a profound effect on the liberalization of attitudes towards sexuality.

PDR, or personal development and relationships”, was all the rage for a period of time in the school system.

And then we got married and, to echo the words of Valdy … “We were kids and we’ve grown,
we’ve got kids of our own …”

We thought we would do a much better job at educating our own kids on the topic of sex.  How did we do?  Abysmally, by any count.  We may have discretely slipped a book on the subject on their night stand, but as far as an all-out frank discussion?  It just wasn’t that easy.

So here we are in 2014. The age of innocence is gone forever.  Where once there was too little information, today there is way too much information.  Schools and parents are doing what they can but let’s face it; it is a free-for-all out there now.  Most 7 year olds can access more information about sex in five minutes than some of us accumulated in all of our formative years.

Let’s go back to that age of innocence and talk with our grandkids about important things, like the Friendly Giant and Mr. Dressup, or Sharon Lois and Bram and the characters on Sesame Street.

Other parts of their education will come sooner than we’d like.

 

 

 

Posted on April 3, 2014 under Thursday Tidbits with no comments yet

GOLFING SOON?

 

I will do my very best not to utter the “w” word anywhere in this post. “W” has something to do with the shit that continues to pour out of the sky with regularity. I know the “w” has got a lot of people down but if you need a reality check, talk to someone who is going through cancer treatments.

I attended the Blood Donor clinic yesterday. It is one of my favorite things to do. I love looking around the room and seeing people from all walks of life taking an hour out of their day to give blood. It doesn’t matter about status, body shape, color or creed. Everyone who attends is thinking about the welfare of others. I wrote a story about these clinics in my book. It’s called “Bloodlines” ( pg.87 ). If you’ve never gone before, why don’t you give it a try. It doesn’t hurt and you may very well save a life.

Ok. It’s time to start beating the drum once again about the big fundraiser coming up in three weeks from today in support of the Hot Meal program. The show is going to be a lot of fun and it will be even better if we can fill the place and turn over every nickel to help feed the hungry. If any of you would like to try and sell a handful of tickets, please give me a shout. A dear friend of mine who graduated with me from X in 1973, sent me a cheque for 4 tickets the other day. Impressive and appreciated but even more so because she doesn’t live anywhere near Antigonish. I will be giving those to some people that might not otherwise be able to afford to go.

The Hot Meal program, Day 2, is still set to launch in May if we can put all the pieces together.

And speaking of meals, I once again invite you to join me for breakfast ( or coffee ) this Saturday ( the 5^th. ) at 10:00 a.m. at the Prissy Pig. I thought it might be fun to sit around and share story ideas or simply shoot the breeze. I have very few regrets in life but as I get older, I sometimes lament the fact that I don’t see a lot of people socially. Everyone seems to be so caught up with work, family, extended family, caring for elderly parents, babysitting grandkids, that there is very little time , or energy, to just sit and chat with old friends.

Lots of fresh stories coming your way. I haven’t decided about Saturday’s story yet. Are you ready for my take on sex education?

Have a great weekend.

P.S. Not all of you are on Facebook. FYI… I have been nominated as a finalist for a journalism award.

Posted on April 1, 2014 under Storytelling with no comments yet

Parliament Building – Victoria, B.C.

 

When you are young, you have no fear.  You will try anything, especially if it is a dare.  You will take uncalculated risks.  This usually happens when you are trying to impress someone.  Can you say “teenage boy?”   But over time, we’re supposed to get this out of our system, and by the time our hormones have stopped their march, we settle into the path of predictable activities.

Unless you have a genetic predisposition to test your limits throughout your lifetime.   Without risk takers, where would we be?

An offshoot of bravado is the ability to do things and try things, even when the outcome is in doubt.  You may want to become a world class athlete, a famous musician or a renowned writer of novels.  There is nothing wrong with setting the bar high and seeing what you can do, if you really want something badly.  Robert Browning sums it up nicely:

Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp,

Or what’s a heaven for?

Which brings me to a beautiful spring morning in Victoria, BC in 1973.  Victoria Day, to be precise.  Our Dad wasn’t much of a traveller but he decided to come out west for a well-deserved break.  Three of his offspring were living there at the time.  We decided to check out the Victoria Day parade.  The premier at the time was Dave Barrett and, as was the custom, he was positioned near the front of the parade in an open limousine.  Mr. Barrett, the 26^th premier of the province, was one of a long line of very colourful British Columbia politicians.

When the parade ended, we retired to a pub.  Dad had enjoyed the parade and opined that the premier looked like he was having a good time too.  Well, one thing led to another and someone suggested that we go visit the premier at his home, which was not far from our watering hole.  Dad was mortified, suggesting that you simply can’t do something this audacious.  We were about to find out as, a case of beer in hand, we piled into the car.

We arrived at the premier’s residence and were surprised that there didn’t appear to be any security.  There wasn’t even a gate barring entry to the house.  You must remember that this was the 70’s and we were still wearing our hair quite long and our attire suited our lot in life.  In other words, we looked pretty scruffy.

Still no security.  No armed guards or fierce dogs.  We knocked on the door and were met, not by a maid, but by Shirley Barrett, the premier’s wife.  She didn’t look alarmed.  More like confused.  We confessed to our ethnicity (East Coast) and respectfully requested entry to “sing a few songs” for the premier.  She closed the door momentarily and returned in a few minutes with her husband by her side.  I am certain to this day, that we would never have crossed the threshold were in not for Dad’s presence among us.

The ground rules were established quickly.  We could sing and we could drink the beer we brought but any discussion of politics was off limits.

The music didn’t stop for a full two hours.  We shared music, laughter and drinks with the premier of the province.  When our case of beer was full of empties, the Mr. Barrett went and got another.

The premier confessed to Dad that he had been barefoot in the open limousine at the parade.  At one point I remember my father and Mr. Barrett with arms over each other’s shoulders, belting out a tune.  I believe that this adventure was one of the high points in my father’s life.  Mr. Barrett remarked that this was the only time he could ever remember in politics that a group of people hadn’t asked him to do anything for them.  We had simply asked for fellowship …. and a place to have a few beers!

My brother-in-law is from Newfoundland and he was a member of the entourage.  As we stood at the front door saying our goodbyes, he turned to the premier and said, “Dave.  What do you call a Newfoundlander with a lump of sugar on his head?  Sweet f**k all!”  And that was the final word as we took our leave.

Years later I would run into Mr. Barrett at an NDP rally in Northern Alberta.  A friend was running in a provincial election and he asked a group of musicians to play at the rally.  I was one of them.  He was no longer premier.  They recycle politicians rapidly in B.C.

When he finished his speech, I cornered him for a few minutes.  I asked him if he remembered a particular Victoria Day when he was premier.  Before I could finish the statement, he looked at me and said, “Are you one of those crazy MacDonalds from Nova Scotia?”

Sometimes you just have to grin and Barrett.