LoveUbecause … for Father’s Day

My father and I are two very different people – my son, daughter and I are  very different people. If we were not, I am not sure I could say that my father had been a good father to me and I, a good father to my children.

But it is not as simple as that, because when it comes down to the brass tacks,  the bricks and mortar  that comprise us as human beings and serve as a foundation on which we stand and live as human beings, we also couldn’t be more alike. And similarly, if that was not true, I honestly can say that I would have not been a good father to my children and my father, not a good parent to me.

My father is a complex man and, as my daughter once described me, I am apparently “complicated” too - “but in a good way”. Maybe it is because of their upbringing, the times that we live, but my children seem to have figured this out a lot earlier in life than I did, when it came to my own father.

Don’t misunderstand and think that  “complex” is not meant “in a good way” too, but growing up as a child and well into late adolescence and perhaps even early adulthood, the infallibility of my father stood, for the most part, fairly firm in my mind.  “Complex” was not  really a word that I would have associated him with.

It was pretty straightforward. My father always knew what to do, knew the answers to my questions and displayed a healthy intellect, similar prowess as an athlete, was “fixer and mender” of all things electronic and mechanical and was honest, almost to a fault. To me it was simple - my father was always good at what he did and  … he was always right!

Most of all he was never afraid to demonstrate any of it. Before he retired, he worked as a very well respected engineer and though I know respected for his intelligence  and wealth of experience and knowledge he brought to his job, he was just as well looked upon for his honesty, integrity, judgement and treatment of others, even though perhaps begrudgingly by some who he stood up too, when he believed he was right and they were not! He never shirked from telling people what he thought of them or what he considered their bad ideas, even when politically it might have been better to coddle them and agree. But judging from the huge attendance at his retirement dinner, it is also obvious that he impressed and stood up for those who were worth standing up for and they appreciated it. When dinner was finished a huge cake was wheeled into the room, blazing with sparklers, to the strains of Frank Sinatra singing “I Did It My Way” - and in no uncertain terms, they meant it! I don’t think I have ever been so proud of my father!

But it was in other small ways he demonstrated things that he believed in to us as children. I remember, when I was perhaps 10 or 11, one particular Saturday morning trip to the market. My mother was walking beside us with a large basket of strawberries. Two young men strolled by and cheekily pinched a couple of berries from the basket and took off at a run into the crowd. To their surprise, my father, a very fit rugby player, chased them both down, gave them a piece of his mind and demanded an apology – which, nervously panting, as they tried to catch their breath from the chase, they gave!

It is not that we didn’t ever disagree. In fact, as teenagers, our home was well known by my friends and my sister’s friends as a place where dinnertime discussions could be as deliciously exotic, and sometimes as spicy, as the home cooking that my mother is well noted for. Not many topics were considered out of bounds and excited, heated discussions were not uncommon. My father often surreptitiously played  “devil’s advocate”, just for the fun of it I suspect, but in doing so demonstrated that every argument can have two sides with legitimately opposing view points.

Discussions or not, at that age  I still just didn’t think in similar terms of my father, as my daughter has of me, so thinking of him as “complex” or “complicated” didn’t come to me until a much later age, when I really got to know him better as an adult .

It is a generational thing, I suppose, where boundaries were different, “traditional” models of bringing up children were stretched, by me, into something different than I was familiar with  from my childhood, as I was a “stay-at-home” Dad - tending to my children from infants to young adults, while modestly contributing to our family income, with my writing, art, music and acting.

My father did a lot of things with us –  canoeing, camping going to the cottage – but as a stay-at-home parent I had the luxury of spending more time with my children than my father did with me and my sisters, so as children they probably figured me out a little more quickly, simply based on a greater amount of time spent together during those formative years.

Circumstance dictates that every generation is different, in any event. My father was a refugee from the war in Europe, escaping from the Nazis in Austria to England, where he grew from a non-English speaking schoolboy into an Oxford educated engineer. But it wasn’t really until recently, thinking about Father’s Day, that it came to me how different an upbringing he had, as opposed to mine and my children. During many of those formative years, when he grew from child to adolescent, his father was with the British Army, training and participating in the war. Sadly, it was four years with, I suspect, much lost in terms of his own father and son relationship.

But though steadfast in his ways and principals, change and adaptability have been no stranger to my father.  Moving from Austria to England would not be the only time he pulled up roots and moved to another country.

I recall turning 35 and thinking that this was the age that my parents decided to immigrate to Canada. I found myself, similarly with a young family, thinking how brave that was as they packed a minimal amount of belongings into old tea chests and had them shipped by boat to a new country that they had not even visited before. Leaving everything they had come to know as their home could not have been easy. And making arrangements for his parents to follow must have only added to the stress.  But though we left with only a few suitcases, the tea chests to arrive later, it was put to us as children as an adventure – one that we embraced and simply enjoyed! My father, the consummate planner, had a new job waiting and as individuals, and a family, we have been fortunate to grow and flourish here. I believe it was one of the best and most courageous decisions my father and mother ever made, as it provided us with unimaginable opportunity to be who we wanted and hopefully to be seen as having made  worthwhile contributions back in gratitude. For that I will always be thankful!

It would be dishonest to leave anyone with the impression that we were some kind of “Leave It To Beaver”, 1950’s, 60 ish  TV  family led by a “Ward Cleveresque” father. My father was known to raise his voice to us when we didn’t measure up, or did something that he didn’t think particularly clever. Excellence was expected and, in my view, perhaps not praised as much as it could have been when achieved. But then I am sure there is a list that my children could readily produce that would rival anything I could say about my father’s parenting style being less than perfect. After all we are all only human – and there is a  valuable lessons for our children to be learned from that.

Well I have grown up a lot since seeing my father as less dimensional then he really is. Yes, I learned he is complex - how he likes art, music and dance, apparently he even wrote a poem or two in his time. He is fallible, right often, but sometimes wrong. We don’t always agree, but he is always the first person I call when I need advice. He is there to support me and help me when I need him most. He is honest and principled and most importantly taught me to be an individual and “my own person” who, when it counts, always strives to do his best  - I hope I have shown my children the same.

What I also know is that  he used the tools that he was provided with to be the best father he knew how – he is just that kind of person, not demanding anything less from himself than he would hope for from another. I know he always loved me because he demonstrated that in so many ways as we grew up. As we have both grown older he says it a lot more now and I like that too. So here’s back at you, Pa … I love you … just in case anyone doesn’t know!

Happy Father’s Day …  and thanks!

“A” the “O” in LVE!

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Posted in About Love and Life, Holiday and Seasonal
Tags: child, family, Father's Day, grand children, holiday, legacy, life, parent, values

LoveUbecause … a thought for Mother’s Day

So it is 4 o’clock in the morning.  I guess I am doing the cliché writer-artist thing – I had a thought in the middle of the night , so I thought it best to get up and write it down before the muddle of sleep throws it back into that  inaccessible part of my mind called  “forgetfulness”, “sleepiness”,  or wherever that part of my brain is, where everything that is clear can just as quickly be  lost with the break of day.

I have to admit I  found myself laying awake for the past few nights thinking about exactly the best thing to write – the right thing to write - because you see, today is Mother’s Day and for a variety of reasons I am unable to be with her. At least not in the physical sense,  like in  other years when I was  able to be “there”,  give her a hug and a small present – tell her that I love her.

I know that I will phone her later today and we will agree, as on other special occasions when distance separates us, that it is not so much the exact day that we celebrate something, but rather the fact that we didn’t forget that is most important. We will get together on another day, in the not too distance future, and have an “unofficial” celebration, as we always inevitably do. But for whatever reason, that doesn’t seem to be enough to satisfy me this year. There is something more – something more to be thought about and said.

So in the whirl of thought that is halfway between dream and wakefulness I have been thinking about all the important things that my mother has taught me, the qualities that I could write about that sums her all up and lets everyone know what a wonderful person she is - but that doesn’t seem enough either.

Just as we might go from mall to mall, shop to shop, looking for just the right gift for a special person, no, that is not the right one - not that it would not be a good one. Something more important needs to be said.

So it was, finally, early this morning that I realised what was perhaps more important - a better gift -  what was  better for her to know, better for her to hear than just “I love you – love you for who you are!”

It is from me, as her child. It is about my children, as her grand children. It is about legacy – her legacy as a mother. It is about what the very essence and nature of motherhood  should be – creating new generations and ensuring that they grow into good people, thoughtful people, respectful people, decent people.

Now don’t for a moment think that I don’t know I have more than my share of faults. The list is long! The wisdom of age seems to make me more aware of that every day.  But when I look at my children, I realise I often see my mother - her qualities, passions and values.  I see what  she taught me as her child and what I have tried my best to teach and share with them as her son.

It is their love of a traditional family dinner, their respect for nature, determination to try to do their best, love of animals and music, compassion for other people, thought to generosity and consideration of others - and yes, the realisation that that we are human and anything but perfect. Sometimes we fail, sometimes we fall, but knowing that your mother is there, either in person or in spirit, makes it just that bit easier to pick yourself up and try again – try to do better.

Seeing those values, that common thread, that legacy created by her,  shared  generation to generation - a gift given by good mothers and a gift returned to good mothers. Could there be any better?

Loving you, Ma, as always …  Happy Mother’s Day!

“A” the “O” in LVE!

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Posted in About Love and Life, Holiday and Seasonal
Tags: child, children, family, grand children, legacy, life, love, Mother's Day, parenting, values

To Anne … LoveUbecause … you are my Valentine

To Anne … LoveUbecause … you are my Valentine

So I must say, I have resisted a little, writing anything for Valentine’s Day, not because I don’t think it is a great idea to have a day set aside to celebrate the love we have and share with that someone special, but rather because I hoped that LoveUbecause would be a place where we could do that every day of the year.

But the truth is, I would be remiss to ignore the occasion, never mind  undoubtedly put a little arrow in the heart of the one I truly love, were I not to comment  - and that would definitely not be in the spirit of things. So here I sit late on Valentine’s Eve,  tap, tap typing to the rhythm of what has made my relationship with “my beloved” thrive for some thirty years now.

 Thirty years! Gone seemingly in a heart beat, fleeting moments, cherished memories, romantic dinners, little children, moonlight strolls, special holidays - come and gone like tomorrow was already yesterday, with an ease to be appreciated, and with a humility that only the relentless march of time can offer. It has been an enviable adventure!

Not that life has not had it share of ups and downs - most of which, I wouldn’t wanted to have missed -  for the good, the not so good, and always for the experience to live and learn. Yes, life has issued its share of bumps and bruises, but for the most part it would be dishonest not to say many were  of my own making – pushing some limits that perhaps had better been coddled, figuratively, and occasionally literally, sticking my chin out when there was a fist, or foot in flight and daring to try to live my dreams, when the unacquainted had  little resolve to make them happen, or more kindly, perhaps just flooded with  too many other dreamers  with which to contend,  and thus helpless to see them all through – but then that is the lot of the artist, writer and musician – success, vainly measured on an immeasurable stick of life, where really you must be content to have painted, sung, written and played, as the satisfaction of the performance and the appreciation of any audience is the true measure of the worth!

So my  Valentine, “how do I love thee? Let me count the ways …”, yes I could offer a verse, but I think you already know.  It would be for our children you have borne, the joy that we have lived, the hand to hold, the shoulder on which to lean and the anticipation of many more  years, love and memories to come!

But wait - tap, tap, tap – it is that rhythm again  -  the sometimes awkward  clack, click and rattle of me “marching to the beat of my own drummer”, as they say - you give the gift that many do not know - that many do not comprehend – you give me the gift of allowing me to be me – you never said “oh, maybe he will change - hopefully he will change “. You love me for who I am, and love me for travelling my own road - bumps and all - and I love you for that, more than I can ever hope to say. And as a writer, artist, your husband and more importantly, a human being what more could I ever really ask for?

Loving you always … your Valentine,

“A” the “O” in LVE!

P.S. to my friends, family and visitors, please leave a message for one of those you love … and …

  Happy Valentine’s Day!!!  

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Posted in About Love and Life, Holiday and Seasonal, Uncategorized, Valentine's Day, Write On and Read The Wall
Tags: celebrations, dreams, life, living, love, relationships, valentine

LoveUbecause … you shared your music!

LoveUbecause … you shared your music!

Not wanting to be cliché, but there’s nothing like walking in another man’s shoes to get the full appreciation of an extraordinary situation and create empathy from what may have been felt as sympathy, or perhaps even indifference in the past.

I am a musician - going on 40 years now - jazz, classical, country, folk – and I have to tell you, I have been fortunate to perform in dozens, if not hundreds of “concerts” over the years. I put “concerts” in quotations because to me, though I have been blessed through serendipity, if not arguably ability, to perform in a few world class concert halls, a “concert” can take place just about anywhere there is a listener to appreciate your performance. Whether it be strumming a guitar around a camp fire, playing Christmas carols with a brass quintet in a nursing home, or conducting a Beethoven piano concert in a church where the beauty of the stained glass is only surpassed by the beauty of string players who play in tune and French horns producing notes soaring, seemingly, to the heavens above, the “concert” is by nature as much about the listener as it is about the performer - though as a performer I have sometimes actually, perhaps selfishly, forgotten that.

You see, I tend to be a bad spectator. Though having admittedly witnessed some spellbinding performances over the years, I yearn to be on the stage as opposed to sitting in the front row. I much prefer to be the artist in the gallery, as opposed to the visitor to the exhibition. Though perhaps detrimental to my well being, my preference is to be the player on the ice or field, even though that might have involved getting my nose ground into the dirt, or being bounced unceremoniously off the boards, while in younger years, playing rugby or hockey, because for the most part, I unfortunately don’t “do” sports as well as I would like - though not for a lack of trying!

So that gets me to the point – my epiphany for the day, I guess you may say. Christmas this year has not been as expected. Unfortunately my son has not been well and I spent much of the past twelve days at his side in hospital. In one sense, I tried to forget Christmas. “It can be any day,” I said to my wife, “we can wait till February, or March, as far as I am concerned. My first priority and only concern is that “M” gets better,” I insisted.

It is not that I don’t like Christmas, appreciate the spirit or couldn’t care. It was more that my first reaction as a parent was the want to see my child well and focus all my positive energy on that. But then it occurred to me just how “dumb” that was. How can you, however well intentioned, expect another to lay in bed over Christmas “just getting better”? Wouldn’t the lack of Christmas cheer make the road to recovery just a little bit longer? “Doh!”

So, on Christmas Eve I purchased a collection of Christmas decorations from a local shop and back I went to the hospital to see my son. Though well beyond still believing that Santa, St. Nick, Father Christmas, or whatever you want to call the old fella is a reality in anything but our imaginations, – you see “M” is 20 – from his smile I may as well have been the jolly old guy himself. Ok the Christmas tree was only cardboard, but taped to the wall, standing almost five feet tall, augmented with a large assortment of colourful Santa, reindeer and little Christmas tree cut outs, a velvet stocking and a string of gold metallic snowflakes pinned to the curtain that separated him from the three other patients in his room, there was indeed an air of festivity created.

But it was the distant sound of voices singing Christmas carols that really made the day and became a most welcome accompaniment to a visit from “M”’s Granny and Grandpa and a festive prelude to the visits from his gift laden aunt, uncle and cousin that followed later in the evening. Eventually the faint melodies became a full chorus of 20 or so voices gathered in the hallway outside “M”’s room. There were smiling faces, some of the carollers waved, as smiling, they stood by the doorway. But most of all it was the music that really touched me and “M”. To be the recipients of this Christmas gift of music, - strangers in need - so generously voiced by so many people, who gave up so much of their Christmas Eve, when they could have just as easily been home with their families, was something I will never forget. It made for an enchanted, truly special evening in a sterile hospital environment, forgotten, however momentarily with Christmas decorations and music. But perhaps just as importantly, it gave me a much better appreciation and renewed good feeling about concerts I have participated in over the years. It never really struck me just how important my music might have been to others and how it might have touched them for a variety of reasons. Not that I haven’t received their compliments graciously, but it is all too easy to lose the appreciation yourself for what you do – let the gift you have been given become mundane, at least in your own mind - and perhaps selfishly think more about your own performance instead of your audience. Not that the two are unrelated, but really, which is more important?

So, LoveUbecause … you shared your music and made me aware of what that really means at a time when another human being is feeling low. And, perhaps just as importantly, inspiring me to get out again and give back what you offered, with a better understanding of what that can mean to another!

With love and a better understanding of the world around me,

“A” the “O” in LVE!

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Posted in Christmas, Holiday and Seasonal, Music, Uncategorized
Tags: Christmas, holiday, life, lifestyles, love, Music, philosophy, seasonal, sharing