2025 A Year of Challenge and Patience

March 6: On Remembrance Day I attended the Air Force ceremony in Mt. Pleasant Cemetery. I then visited the Kent family plot to say hello to my Dad and aunts and uncles, all of whom were in the RCAF or RAF during the Second World War. My Mother says she joined the RCAF as an act of rebellion – to assert independence from her parents – and to be different from her younger sisters whom she perceived to be following her in everything she did. Although she was sure her Father would never stand for it, her sisters ultimately also followed her into the service and they all played a role in supporting those who flew.

Her brother – my uncle Martin (who was called Bussie for no reason that anyone could remember) – was a Mosquito pilot. He was credited with downing two aircraft and two flying bombs, and damaging another aircraft. As I have written elsewhere, my Dad was a navigator on a Halifax bomber. He flew 33 missions during late 1944 and early 1945. My uncle Doug was in the RAF, and uncle James was in the Navy, although I don’t know much of their stories. Remarkably, everyone escaped unscathed.

All of this got me thinking about my Grandfather who I had been told was a pilot in World War One. For some reason, that seemed unlikely to me and I never followed up on that story until after my visit to his grave on Remembrance Day. A Google search yielded a link to an entry at the Canadian Great War Project, which showed that he enlisted in September, 1916 at 19 years of age and, as Flight Lieutenant Harry Gowans Kent, was assigned to 11 Squadron of the Royal Flying Corps.

Wikipedia – a paragon of truth – says: “No. 11 Squadron of the Royal Flying Corps was formed at Netheravon in Wiltshire on 14 February 1915 for “fighting duties” … Since all previous squadrons (Royal Flying Corps or other nations) were reconnaissance or army co-operation units, 11 can make a claim to be the oldest dedicated fighter squadron in the world.” It goes on to say that the squadron flew Bristol Fighters and was deployed to the Western Front (1915–1918), Loos in the  Somme (1916), Arras and Cambrai (1917), and the Somme (1918). Since the Squadron was based at Fienvillers, France, he likely saw action over the Somme.

All of this history makes me wonder about the mind-set of these men (for it was only men in combat). My Dad said that he had finished high school and thought that the Air Force might be a good experience going forward. He seemed to think that he had few other options at the time. Many of his friends had also enlisted but surely all of them must have thought of the consequences at some point. It was well known that men – thousands of men – were getting killed, and to willingly accept that prospect takes tremendous courage.

It’s a shame that we didn’t hear more of this history when these brave men and women were alive. For whatever reason, they spoke little about their experiences and, perhaps more accurately, we were not overly inquisitive or actively listening. As a child, both wars seemed like ancient history to me, although my Father’s experience in the Second World War was barely 20 years past when I was in my teens.  I now wish that I had been more interested in, and receptive to my family history. The remarkable stories these men carried are now lost forever.

http://canadiangreatwarproject.com

February 27:  I like to think that I am fundamentally an optimistic   person. Left to their own devices, I believe people will usually do the right thing. Glass half-full. That sort of thing.

This is the most optimistic time of the year. Although it’s not quite Spring, the days are longer, the sun is stronger, and there are signs of the change in season everywhere. (These little shoots are right outside my back door in a  west-facing garden.) I was a “Summer baby” and I love warmer weather. I find that there are more things to do and it’s easier to be active when the weather is mild.

Yet I know that we are more than a month away from a time when we can reliably say that there will be no more snow. I know for a fact that it always snows in April – usually just after I have my motorcycle taken out of storage – and this year will be no exception. This doesn’t dull my enthusiasm for warmer weather, it just adds a note of realism to my optimism.

One of my running friends has taken to calling me Eeyore after the gloomy, pessimistic donkey in Winnie-the-Pooh. Very cute, but I think it’s unfair to equate a healthy dose of skepticism with being permanently down-in-the-dumps. A recent article in the Globe and Mail said that skeptical people are more inclined to be content with their life since they are less likely to be disappointed when things suddenly or unaccountably don’t work out in their favour.

And so I remain optimistic and hopeful, while also knowing that there are no guarantees of permanently sunny days ahead. Without the ups and downs life would really be pretty boring. Awareness brings me contentment, even if some people see only long grey ears and a tail.

January 28: I have never understood people who say that beer is an acquired taste. I remember my very first beer – which was, in fact, my very first alcoholic drink – and I loved it. I had gone to La Rotonde, a bar in Lausanne, with fellow student and room-mate Paul Dubois. It was a warm and sunny September afternoon and the beer was a Swiss brand called Cardinal. In a year of big changes in my life, having the ability to drink was foundational, and that first drink started a life-long relationship with alcohol.

While I certainly enjoyed the taste of beer, I was seduced by the way that alcohol changed me. I became more self-assured and out-going. I was less fearful of appearing to be “less than” and more willing to take chances. I was more sociable and able to interact with people – especially women – much more easily. I broke out of my shell a bit during that year in Lausanne and a lot of the credit goes to alcohol.

Several years later I was gainfully employed and began passing time with one of my work mates at Joe Bird’s, a bar on Yonge Street. I was young and single and had enough money to enjoy some nightlife. Roger was my mentor and we spent many nights hoisting beer, trading stories and killing brain cells. It was a gathering spot for many people from our workplace and we were ring-leaders of a sort. Alcohol facilitated many adventures and encounters that would have otherwise been unlikely or perhaps impossible. Alcohol made it easier to socialize, to be outgoing and funny. Sadly, it also made it easier to engage in self-centred and hurtful relationships with women, some of whom may have been genuinely fond of me. While I now think I understand why I was behaving in that way, I still deeply regret the effects my behaviours undoubtedly had on others during that time.

My marriage to Melinda was in many ways fueled by alcohol. We met in Joe Bird’s over beers. Our entertainment was to enjoy a good meal and have a bottle (or two) of wine and some liqueurs. During the last few years we were together, I enabled her drinking partly because I wanted to have company when I was drinking. My behaviour was often structured around my relationship to alcohol rather than a more constructive and mature approach focussed on saving our marriage. She deserved better.

Recently, I have been drinking most days. I do enjoy a glass of wine, but there is always the temptation to extend that into another glass, and another glass…. I often drink because I am lonely, or I drink because I am bored, or I drink because I am unhappy. None of these is a good reason to drink, and with that in mind, I decided to have a sober January. While I did not notice a significant change in my health, I did feel “sharper” and more able to focus on things that were important to me. I became very aware of the amount of time and money I spend drinking.

When I had the first drink after about 3 weeks of abstinence, I immediately noticed the effects of alcohol: my balance was slightly off; my attitude, which was at first more relaxed and happier became sadder and more introspective. Old habits returned. I began day-dreaming and making grandiose plans for the future. It was all very familiar and very comfortable because I have become so used to having alcohol in my life.

Alcohol is literally a poison. It is carcinogenic and highly addictive. It damages our liver, our brain and nervous system, our pancreas. Yet we welcome it into our lives. We use it to socialize and enjoy it as part of our daily life. I am coming to believe that I need to treat alcohol with much more respect, not because I feel that I am at risk of becoming an alcoholic, but because I would rather not have my perceptions and abilities constantly altered by its effects. Like any relationship, this one needs to be re-evaluated. I need to be sure that my use of alcohol is consistent with the other things I want to do in my life: to be present, to be creative and to be healthy.

January 16: Last week, the US Justice Department released a report on the use of excessive force by the Chicago Police Department (CPD), the third largest force in the United States. The report was initiated in December 2015 following the shooting of Laquan McDonald which was captured on the dash-cam of a CPD patrol car. He was shot 16 times while walking away from a patrol car with a small folded knife.

The Justice Department investigation found “that CPD officers have engaged in a pattern or practice of using force, including deadly force, that is unreasonable… This pattern or practice includes shooting at fleeing suspects who presented no immediate threat; shooting at vehicles without justification; using less-lethal force, including Tasers, against people who pose no threat; using force to retaliate against and punish individuals; and, using excessive force against juveniles.”

In addition, the report concluded that “the following practices contribute to the pattern or practice of excessive force: failing to effectively de-escalate situations or to use crisis intervention techniques to reduce the need for force; employing tactics that unnecessarily endanger officers and result in avoidable shootings and other uses of force; and failing to accurately document and meaningfully review officers’ use of force.” All of this got me wondering whether CPD is just a “bad actor”, or whether the issue is more widespread.

As context, in October 2015 the U.S. Department of Justice, Office of Justice Programs, Bureau of Justice Statistics (BJS) reported that “from 2003 through 2009, BJS obtained reports on 4,813 such deaths through its Arrest-Related Deaths (ARD) program. About 3 in 5 of these deaths (2,931) were classified as homicides by law enforcement personnel. The remaining 2 in 5 deaths were attributed to other manners, including suicide (11%), intoxication deaths (11%), accidental injury (6%), and natural causes (5%). In three-quarters (75%) of homicides by law enforcement personnel, the underlying offense of arrest was a violent offense.” Shockingly, the report points out that these numbers represent about half the number of incidents (deaths) that were anticipated. The report identifies 689 citizens that were killed by police in 2011 (last year of data), while the Washington Post reports 963 in 2016 – almost 3 people each and every day.

According to a report in the Chicago Guardian, data compiled by the Chicago Tribune indicate that “there were 435 police shootings in Chicago from 2010 through 2015, in which officers killed 92 people and wounded 170. In all, officers fired 2,623 bullets…. “While a few of those incidents captured widespread attention,” the Tribune wrote, “they occurred with such brutal regularity – and with scant information provided by police – that most have escaped public scrutiny.”

I am not a statistician, but it seems that data on killings by police across the US are inconsistent and some sources may compile data based on their particular mandate or ideology so what follows may need to be treated with some caution. mappingpoliceviolence.org concluded that 59 of 60 of the nation’s largest city police departments killed civilians in 2015. The national rate was 3.6 killings per million citizens; Chicago ranked 47th on the list, below the national average at 2.9 killings per million. The top 3 were Bakersfield (13.6) Oklahoma City (12.9) and Oakland (12.1). Disturbingly, in some large cities 100% of victims were African American including St. Louis (9.5), Atlanta (6.6), Kansas City (6.4), Cleveland (5.1) and Baltimore (4.8). So, far from being an isolated example, CPD seems to be typical of  US-style policing.

How does Canada compare ? In 2015, the London Guardian compiled a data base tracking police shootings globally. As part of that effort, it reported that Canadian police shoot an average of 25 people per year; California (with a comparable population) had 78 police killings in 2015 alone. We are fortunate that, at least for now, the context for police shootings in Canada is very different. Strict gun control laws and less focus on the “right of the individual to bear arms”, combined with a more multi-cultural society reduce some of the tensions so evident in US policing. But, as we saw with the shooting of Sammy Yatim, Toronto police are not immune to acts of violence. We should not be complacent about how we are policed.

The police are the point at which the institutions of society (the law-makers, the judiciary) interact with citizens. As citizens we entrust the police with the right to act on our behalf to ensure the “peace, order and good government” that we cherish. We surrender certain rights to them with the belief that they will act lawfully and reasonably on our behalf. I am astounded at the rate of shootings in the US, and the attitude of many police services that they “had to shoot” to protect themselves when actual threats may have been minimal or non-existent.

It concerns me that police forces in Canada see US-style policing as “the benchmark” and seek to emulate those practices here. Police are trained to “force compliance” as opposed to seeking to defuse volatile situations. As a result, it appears that more weaponry is often the answer when more open, community-focussed policing might be more appropriate. Rather than Balkanizing society – us against them – now is the time for the police to be more inclusive.

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https://www.justice.gov/opa/pr/justice-department-announces-findings-investigation-chicago-police-department

https://www.bjs.gov/content/pub/pdf/acardp.pdf

https://mappingpoliceviolence.org/2015/

https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2015/jun/09/the-counted-police-killings-us-vs-other-countries

 

January 13: I was out with my running buddies on Wednesday night when I heard a sound that I recognized immediately even though it was completely incongruous. It was the sound of a large-displacement motorcycle with an after-market pipe.

Granted, it was +2C and the roads were clear and mostly dry. Although it was a bit cool, it was a great night for a run.  With a couple of layers under my jacket I had a sweat going by the time we reached Church Street and the bike turned up. I know from personal experience on a motorcycle that anything below about +5C gets pretty cold pretty fast, since you are essentially sitting motionless in a blast of cold air – they don’t call it “wind chill” for nothing. So riding around at +2C seemed to be pushing things a bit.

Then again, people often do things – like running in the snow and ice – because it’s fun and, I suspect, to prove the point that they can do it. Winter is not my favourite season, so going for a run is a way to get out, get some exercise, and prove (at least to myself) that I can overcome winter for a short while. Riding a bike at +2C is a way of proving the same point, while keeping alive the fervent hope that spring is not too far off.

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This being Friday January 13th, about 3,000 people proved the point and journeyed to Port Dover for the Friday the 13TH Ride. While not all of them rode motorcycles, many did including one guy who brought his dog in a sidecar. Maybe the guy on Church Street was just doing a shake-down run getting ready for the run to Port Dover ….

January 2: Here’s a link to an interesting piece by Marcus Gee from the Globe and Mail wherein he laments a lack of vision in city planning and the resulting cost to taxpayers. There’s little doubt that as a city, we are now paying the price for not being more aggressive about installing, rebuilding and maintaining our infrastructure, particularly roads and transit, but also public spaces and housing. Toward the end of his article, Gee asserts that this might have been avoided had the (city) planners been more visionary and actually built some of the facilities he mentions. Unfortunately, I think this repeats a common misperception: that city planners (and other city employees) have the authority to make these decisions.

Forgive me for being defensive, but the reality is that planners make recommendations to City Council which then makes decisions on behalf of their constituents. It’s a failing of our system that most members of City Council are focussed on getting elected next term and are therefore averse to making longer-term decisions that might diminish those chances, especially when those decisions may also cost taxpayers a lot of money. One need only look at the back-and-forth decision-making around the downtown relief line – something I think everyone would accept as being desperately needed – to see that process in action. Recommended literally decades ago, the DRL is still up for discussion. Perhaps we need to start holding our Councillors accountable for the mess they have made and stop trying to hang it all on City staff.

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/toronto/short-sighted-city-planning-continues-to-cost-toronto/article33460988/

December 25: A Christmas greeting from my lovely grand-daughters, now 13 months old. Naomi is on the left and Jaia is on the right.

Merry Christmas

December 10:  I was walking on Bayview Avenue yesterday. It was busier than normal with folks out in a pre-Christmas rush. There’s a point where the sidewalk is narrowed by a permanent display for the neighbourhood green-grocer. The changing displays of flowers, wreaths and fruit and vegetables are always pretty but it does block off half the sidewalk.

At that point I spotted a guy standing smack in the middle of the remaining sidewalk. He was taller than normal and wore an imposing overcoat which made him look a little like a linebacker. He had a standard Poodle on a leash. People were trying to get past him much like water eddies around a rock in mid-stream. This was made more difficult because the Poodle was at the end of the leash near the curb taking a pee. He was on his cell phone, checking e-mail.

The Bayview BIA has decorated the street trees with holly, cedar boughs and small solar-powered Christmas lights. Some of these are   arranged around the base of the tree where they make a pretty back-drop to the street. At first I thought the dog was peeing on those decorations – which would be bad enough. But no, it was actually peeing on some decorations the store had set out for sale.

And all the while, Mr. Overcoat was saying “Good boy, good boy…” completely oblivious as he checked is e-mail and blocked the sidewalk.

November 29: When did I become a “Sir”? It obviously happened incrementally when I wasn’t paying attention, but it is increasingly a part of my everyday life. It comes without warning and always takes me by surprise, and not in a good way.

I’m talking about the way in which younger people that I identify as contemporaries address me as “sir” in a way that sounds vaguely like “you useless old git”. Standing in line at the drug store, a woman turns around and seeing me says “oh, after you sir” in a way that implies that she thinks I may collapse at any moment. Overly solicitous salespeople persist with “may I help you find something sir?” in a way that suggests that I may have inadvertently wandered into their section.  And I can almost hear under their breath: “Maybe you’d find something more appropriate in the incontinence products section?”

I was taught to use the word out of respect for my elders. It was a sign of respect usually directed at someone much older than I and therefore decrepit, unwell, unhinged or in some other way in need of preferential treatment. Almost universally they were stooped, poorly dressed and smelled faintly of mothballs, body odour and gin.

In that day, the old were, well, older. My Grandparents all died younger than I am today, with the exception of my Grandmother (Dad’s side) who lived into her eighties. Of course, she was Scottish and drank whisky, so longevity was to be expected. Daily exercise was unheard-of and food was loaded with fat, sugar and additives. My Grandfather (Mum’s side) had bacon and eggs, coffee and a cigarette for breakfast most days. There’s a reason they call that “heart attack on a plate” and he had his first at 46 years of age; his Son died of one at age 53.

That was a little more than three decades ago. In the interim our diet has improved and our awareness of the need for exercise has grown exponentially. My peer-group is in far better shape than previous generations. I feel like I’m in better condition than I’ve been since High School. I’m more comfortable with who I am than at any other time in my life. I have an active life-style doing things I enjoy and interests to keep my little brain occupied. I have lots of friends who say the same thing.

I guess what I’m struggling with is the way in which a single word reminds me of the mismatch between how I feel about myself, and how the world at large perceives me. From the outside, I may be slightly stooped, more wrinkled, less agile and on occasion, carry the faint odour of gin. But on the inside I remain an alert, fit and dashing 45-years old, ready to take on the world. I’m not ready to accept that I am a “sir”, slowly shuffling into an irrelevant dotage.

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Madonna Buder began training at age 48 and completed her first triathlon at age 52 and first Ironman event at age 55. It’s reported that she has completed over 325 triathlons and 45 Ironman competitions. Not surprisingly she holds many records for her age group – 86 years old and still competing in both events.