How to be a Man

It was the worst Christmas ever. I had already gone through my parents private walk-in closet, the chest, under the bed and into the sacred cupboards. I found what my BIG GIFT would be, and I was a very unhappy child. My father was behind this, my father had decided I would become a man on December 25th.

It was a gun. And, with a gun you get a stocking full of bullets. No wonder my stocking was hanging down to the floor. The gun was my adult path to being 'one of the guys' and he even had it engraved with my name. This is when my nightmare began.

It was duck hunting season and I was to join my father and his law partner, Mr. Angel, on a river outing to kill 8 ducks each; that's the limit! Not a good time to be a duck I figured. We loaded a 'punt' which is like a badly built canoe, with 2 huge bags of duck decoys, the black labrador retriever, 2 overweight men and myself..'Duck Killer Kid'.

I had many pets at home and the killing fields was not something I willingly signed up for. I was TOLD I had to come to the mighty Fraser River with THE MEN to blow the feathers off of innocent birds. I was very quiet in the punt. At that moment I really hated my father and I hated his law partner too. I still loved the family dog because,like me, he was forced to come along. I whispered into his velvety ear, "I'll miss on purpose and you won't have to jump into the freezing river in Winter to pluck bleeding wildlife out of the river." We had a paw pact against Pa.

I was freezing. My friends were still asleep in their homes dreaming of fun times without adults. I was holding a weapon and my teeth were chattering like mad. We had packed a lunch the night before. Tuna. I hate tuna fish sandwiches. My father wanted to make me sardine sandwiches at first but I had a gag reflex when I took a whiff of those rotting, slimy fish. I was dressed like the Pillsbury Dough Boy with lairs of thermal clothes. What if I have to pee? "YOU'LL PEE IN THE RIVER LIKE ALL MEN DO!" Well, I didn't cherish having my wiener freezing and falling into the river. Maybe I'll just hold it in. Little did I know this was a ten hour day. REAL MEN PUT IN A 10 HOUR DAY!! It was still dark when the two MEN started paddling down the river. I couldn't see a thing. It was dark, foggy and cold but I could hear fog horns in the distance. My father told me they were log boom boats taking logs down the river to the sawmill. Great, we would be crushed by a forest before I could even get my first taste of tuna. At least I wouldn't drown. I was so puffy, I might be airborne at any time. We could buy chicken at Safeway so I really didn't get this whole 'kill a duck thing'. Kernel Sanders was just a block away. I guess this is some primal, warrior thing men HAVE TO GO THROUGH and of course taking a leak at 5 below. I was quietly building up a enormous amount of unleashed rage for these two men. I wanted to just flip off the side of the boat and float back to the car. Yeah, keep dreaming. So, the first blaring blast of buckshot did not come from my father's gun, it came from the Indian Reserve. That's right, he floated into sacred land and those Indians were not thrilled about any white man knocking off their food supply. So, we were almost murdered on the first day by Chief Feather-in-your-Cap and his son, 'Savage Growling Bear'. I assumed their names were something like that because I do watch old Westerns.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to have a full throttle meltdown but I was afraid his friend was a child-hater and he would shoot me. You don't mess with HUNTERS. When the light of day finally came to be I thanked God for a bit of warmth, although I am not religious. I decided I would be religious just for today so, I prayed that the ducks would understand this was 'HUNTING SEASON' and hang out at the local park instead

. Then it happened, "8 O'CLOCK, 8 O'CLOCK... KEEP DOWN, STAY LOW!!" My God (which I had on my side now), it was like a feathered raid. Next thing I knew, ducks were falling out of the sky. So, it doesn't rain cats and dogs, it rains ducks and geese. The dog went all CUJO on me. I thought we had a paw pact but he just got rabid. Now, I was all alone. He made six or seven trips into the water to bring back these poor birds. Some of the VICTIMS were still flapping and quacking. I thought of Dr. DoLittle and James Herriot...what would they do? My father said, "LOOK SON, THIS IS HOW YOU DO IT!" I looked over at him as he twirled this poor duck 4 times with his big hand. CRACK. DEAD, game over. He hung it from some leather belt on his Killer Suit to go with the five other ducks he had murdered. Yes, it was great becoming a man! And when I finally got home I could tell my friends I 'slayed the dragon', I had become, "BLOODTHIRSTY MAN-BOY"..and they would fear me. My father even signed me up for a Taxidermy course (that was next wonderful gift). The books came in the mail. I was confused at first...wrong address? But, I saw the 20 steps to stuffing your duck and I knew my father had me on the 'BE A MAN TREADMILL' again. He also made me take 'parts of the duck' to show n' tell. One girl fainted and the teacher screamed.

When I turned eighteen I gave my father my gun. He was hurt but I had succeeded in not killing ONE DUCK...but, I did shoot into a tree just to miss the ducks and ended up killing a crow. I felt bad about that.

Now I shoot ducks with my camera and watch them fly overhead. And the beauty to this story is, 'I still became a man'.

Nurse Judy Chapstick and Evil Kimmie

With one swing of the bat, Kimmie Matlie blew my face off the map. It was a backyard baseball game run by our neighbor, Mr. Frieheit. I was the backcather. I was also five years old and smaller than most of the thugs on the team. Kimmie was up to bat, she was seven years old and far too big to be holding a wooden bat.

I saw stars. It's true, you really do see stars and that's probably because your eyeballs are exploding from the force of the bat hitting your face. When I was older the story was re-told by my parents. Fireman Frieheit had apparently saved my life. I was bleeding out at home base. People had gathered around me, parents had come to pray over my limp body and I was just seeing stars. I also heard a voice far, far away telling me to 'hang in there'. That was it...I was OUT!

I woke up in a very white and loud room. Loud with lights. I heard voices of other children but mostly, I saw white. A boy named Tommy, came to me and told me I was in a hospital with a really bashed up face. I knew that part because all I could feel was a dull ache. Where were my friends? Where was my Mom, Mr. Frieheit? Was this kid heaven? I saw tanks, plugs, tubes, many small beds, buttons and I could hear voices outside the door. I felt my face and then I screamed. A nurse came in. Later I found out that she was Judy, my Chapstick Nurse. Judy was very pretty and held my hand. She told me my parents would be in very soon but not to touch my face. Perhaps part of it was gone? Nurse Judy pulled out some chapstick and applied it to my lips, "doesn't that feel better now?" It didn't but at least she made me feel important and she looked like one of my sister's blond Barbie Dolls that had come to life in a nurse uniform. The days that followed were scary. I had a cast put on my face. It was heavy and itchy. I tried to pull it off to get to my nose, if I still had a nose but the Doctor was very annoyed with me for picking at the plaster. That's what he said, "Don't pick at the plaster Willy." But, I had to. I had to itch my nose. That's when the Doctor had the mean nurse put two long LEGO CYLINDERS on my arms. I looked like a toy robot. I cried a lot and only was calm when Nurse Judith Chapstick came in once a day to coat my dry lips.

My nose had been broken by the evil Kimmie Matlie. She could be in jail for attempted murder but no-one was telling me. Only adults could visit me but I was unhappy and very tired of the white walls, sheets, uniforms but most of all the LEGO CONTAINERS PUT ON BOTH MY ARMS.

Night was the worst time. Tommy would come to keep me company when I cried. He told me hospitals 'sucked' and that some people came in dead. He told me I was lucky! Yeah, right Tommy...real lucky.

It felt like about a year later when I finally got out of that horrible prison called 'The Hospital' and went home but, first, I had to learn to breath through my mouth when I was sleeping. That's harder than trying to hit the middle of the toilet. I also had to stay away from kindergarten and I heard my Dad telling my mother that maybe my nose would never grow. I'd become an adult with a baby nose. I cried when I heard that. I'd be deformed and have no friends all because of Kimmie Matlie.

But, after a long time of drinking through a straw and raspy breathing the cast was removed and my face was no longer mine. I had a Chinese Face! I think I screamed in English about my Chinese Face. I had slanted eyes and my skin was like a badly bruised apple. When I was alone I told my friends to come over and I threw all my stuffed animals out the window so they'd hang around and talk to me. Most of them said I looked gross and should keep that face for Halloween.

In time my face came back and my Chinese days were over. I never saw Nurse Judith Chapstick again and I never spoke to Kimmie Matlie. My nose did grow but I lost my interest in LEGO! I hailed Mr. Fireman Frieheit as my personal hero and savior. I told my parents that I never wanted to go to Hospital Prison EVER AGAIN.

My sister was afraid of clowns and now I was afraid of hospitals. We both had FOBIAS (that's what my older sister called it)...I had a FOBIA. I wondered if Nurse Judith Chapstick lived in that hospital and waxed lips all day long or if she was my 'own special nurse'. I decided she was my special nurse. I hope Tommy lived.

Blow Your House Down

I often wonder why many of us get satisfaction when we see an old barn ready to collapse. The dilapitated structure without colour, missing windows and doors. Photographers love to hunt down the washed out, windowless firewood because it tells a story. In any good movie with children you have an old house, barn or shed that holds secrets or at least we choose to believe they do.

The fear factor is also linked to these buildings. What's inside? Is it haunted? What if a body is rolled up in a dusty carpet or money was stashed from a past bank robbery. We want to believe in that 'lottery combination', the winning tale that's waiting to be told. As children we're often too frightened to do it alone so, we create a web of lies to dare our fellow friends to 'do it'..go in and uncover the secrets of Old Mr. Chamber's barn.

Yes, there are stories in those barns, houses and sheds. Years of memories belong to someone who is now in a nursing home or has left us. If you squeeze your eyes hard enough you can see a struggling farmer milking his cows or a woman with her apron held out to gather the fresh farm eggs. Were they happy? Did they like the smell of the hay and sounds of the large red hens cackling away? She pushes her hand under the warm feathers to retrieve a brown egg while he strokes the flank of the jersey cow and talks to her like an old girlfriend.

Then, it's back to the house, the house made of wood and bricks. There's a charm to this house. Freshly painted with ivy crawling up the posts and a screen door waving back and forth with the light breeze. It's the home we all wanted to be raised in, the home we saw on the Waltons. Yes, it was a happy place full of love and the smell of baked bread with a large dog twitching in the hall as he chases the farm cat one more time. But, where are they now?

All that's left of the pioneering days are loose shingles and rotting planks. We sometimes sigh because we were not born during these times. We may shed a tear because we know there are people in our past who did sit by a radio and listen to a news story or a young couple who were simply happy to have time to put their feet up and read the daily news.

A wooden pole still leans by the entrance where the mail was delivered and a box off its hinges is covered in dead leaves. Back in the time the milk bottles were put into that small box. Fences lean in all directions having weathered snow, dry spells and heavy winds. And there may even be an old dog house abandoned to make room for field mice and feral cats

. After a day of wondering about 'the histroy behind the home', 'the lifestyles of those before us', I go back to my home which is supposed to be my joy but I crave that old barn, I crave the wooden balcony and shutters, the screen door and the personalble milkman or mailman coming by for a yarn.

Why is that we want to 'live' a life we have never lived? Maybe they had it right back then. Perhaps we have lost our moral compass and with it, we have lost the old barn, the old house with the attic and the shed now laced in cobwebs. I wish I had experienced a life where our days were simple yet we had to earn each moment. It's fading away.

Still, we can take the mental journey with a friend or two and 'wonder' what it was like when the barn stood tall and the postbox was shiny, the rooster crowed and the scent of a baked pie found it's way from the new farm house. Yes, we can squeeze our eyes shut and wonder.

What Lies Beneath

I look out over the ocean and feel that awe. Yes, I have that AWE moment, not an Oprah AHA moment..an AWE moment. I always think a whale, dolphin or sea otter is going to emerge from the great below and send chills down my spine. Maybe it's more like a 'Finding Nemo Moment?' The mass of the great ocean has always been 'the secret place' where my mind conjures up new life experiences and in the past, a few of them came true!

Yes, what lies beneath me when I row the boat or swim to a buoy yards away. What will happen to my left foot as I gently pull it out of the water because we know things lurk under floats, WE KNOW THEY DO.

I have had my share of scares that would even make the brave at heart flinch. Stories of everything from the fish that got away to the shark that came too close. I've been stung by the mighty Lion's Mane Jellyfish and trapped in a bed of kelp. Bring it on Stephen King!

We, as children, were tossed into the sea at a very early age. We were flounders or bullheads...whatever young swimmers were called back then. My Granny taught swimming lessons and my Uncle Peaches was a lifeguard. We all had our way with the waves and could do a mean cherry-bomb.

I was never one for the lakes. I found them too still and too clear...it just didn't leave enough to the imagination. But go into 'the deep' murky ocean and you are often rewarded with 'a story' you can share with bloggers and friends, friends who are bloggers and those who just drop in for a yarn.

I used to row my father's wooden rowboat out to our speedboat to fish by myself when I was just old enough to be alone at sea yet 'tied to the buoy and anchor'. Yes, I'd pull out some form of meat from the icebox and hook up four or five lines to lower into the sea. I'd amuse myself with some glorified tale of catching a seal by accident or falling overboard and coming face to face with an orca..but, they were just fancy stories to keep me alert for the next 5 hours.

Then it would happen. Lines would bob madly and I'd know, I WOULD KNOW that a very fierce dogfish was on the end of that line. And I would know, I WOULD KNOW that I would have to reel that line in to see two very angry eyes glare up from the deep. AND I WOULD KNOW, I would have to share the bottom of the boat with this thrashing, vicious monster until I knocked the life out of it. Yes, I would know all of this but still put myself through the nightmare of facing these mini-sharks. Back then, those mini-sharks were not so small..some were actually over 4 feet long and they would snap and whip their barbed tails AT ME...yes at me. They seemed to know who it was they had to attack for putting them on death row. Yes, that would be me, the little rowboat boy.

And if the dogfish were not enough, I would lower crab nets too. Yes, I'd load them up with morsels of chopped mini-sharks to lure in the crabs. The crabs were also fierce. Yes, they had pinchers that could snap the baby finger off any child and could scurry across the boat in seconds to get to your baby fat. It was a war in that boat. The young boy in the sea was a good swimmer, a lover of the waves and rocky shores but his heart would skip a beat when anything emerged from the depths below.

So, I'd put myself through my own perfect storm many times over a Summer or on long weekends at our cabin. I'd brag about the big one that got away. I'd wish with all my might that one day a huge salmon would trade place with the ugly dogfish and I could make my family proud of my time alone in the boat with my dachshund and my peanut butter sandwiches.

A few times I actually swam out to that boat and climbed aboard 'without' the rowboat. I'd dare myself to swim above the mini-sharks, the huge rock cod, an unlikely octopus and a territorial seal. I dared myself to reach under the boat to feel the barnacles and the slimy kelp.

Then, you grow up and you swim fearlessly in the same sea but you still remember what lies beneath. The boats are now a thing of the past and the charm has worn off but the mystery is still beneath me. I did have my day with the huge shark and I did have my encounter with the killer whale but those are stories far too big to keep in this fish net of a blog. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZing, there's a fish on the line!