Two Parking Spaces

It was a long time ago.  I was visiting mom and dad in Toronto, from my new home in Alberta.  I wanted to visit my old favourite bookstore on Hoskin Street and borrowed dad’s car.

I was creeping along Hoskin, trying to remember what the storefront looked like.  And there it was!  Plus an empty parking space.  I put on my turn signal, pulled alongside the car in front, looked over my shoulder, and prepared to demonstrate my parallel parking skills.

And then … horn blaring from behind.  Again and again.  A car was right up to my rear bumper.  I couldn’t back into the space.

I was shocked, and that noise kept blasting into my head.  Every muscle contracted and so did my brain.  I put dad’s car into “Drive” and sped off.

On a side street, I gathered myself (sort of).  Heart still pounding.  Fear in my throat.  Shame in my soul.  Why did I give in?  Why did I let another human being abuse me?  Well … maybe because I was 35 and scared of everybody.

Over the years, I’ve looked back at that moment and cringed.  Over the years, I’ve become a Buddhist and have seen peace grow within me.  Equanimity.  Doing no harm.  But in the midst of “letting go”, over and over again, I also see the need to stand up, stand tall, and defend my rights.

Yesterday, I was creeping along Dundas Street in London, seeking a parking space near Aeolian Hall.  And there’s one!  I put on my turn signal, pulled alongside the car in front, looked over my shoulder, and prepared to demonstrate my parallel parking skills.

I started backing and began turning the wheel when I was opposite the car’s rear bumper … Honk!  Honk!

Glancing into my side mirror, there was the front end of a car inches from my rear.  Honk!  I couldn’t risk going back further.  Honk!  But neither could I risk sacrificing my soul on the altar of peer pressure.

I held Scarlet at the severe angle.  Two more honks.  I sat.  Silence.  And then the driver behind squealed their tires around me.  I nodded.

Behind was another car, a more patient variety.  I checked my mirrors and pulled into the spot pretty well.

I sat some more.  No fluttering heart.  No mega-pulse.  Just quiet inside.

A lot has happened in the years between.  I guess I’ve grown up.  And something else too.  In the nighttime of Dundas Street, my eyes moistened.  I thought of the honker and felt so sad for him or her.  What kind of life must it be if you have to block a fellow traveller from his simple mission?  Does every little thing cause pain for this person?  And what’s it like for their family?

The world needs kindness, assertiveness and happiness.  May we all live here.

Mutual Awakening

I want to write in my blog today.  Whatever I communicate, I want it to be real, natural and not forced.  I want life force to flow through me as I tap the keys and have it reach you the reader.

I’ve been enjoying a book by Patricia Albere called Evolutionary Relationships.  It feels natural to write about it.  I’ve selected passages and recorded them on white index cards.  The only trouble is that I’m at the London Public Library and the cards are in Belmont.  I do have the book with me, however, since I intended to read it in the library.

So I did what any normal human being would:  I skimmed the book up to page 137 and picked 14 paragraphs to comment on.

What else is happening in my mind?

1.  I’m so determined to write, even if the writing turns out to be not so great.

2.  My mind and body are still tired from yesterday’s elliptical work.  “Too tired for writing, Bruce.”  Should I believe that mind of mine?

3.  Okay, I have 14 page references in front of me.  Surely I’ll have trouble merging them smoothly into this post, so that you folks get what Patricia is talking about.

These are all reasonable thoughts, but who cares?  Just write.

Okay.

What are the depths of relationship possible between two human beings?  And not restricted to a sexual connection with a life partner but available with any person seeking spiritual union.  A relationship that fosters not only an opening between two people but also the evolution of humanity.

Well, Patricia has a few ideas:

“Then out of nowhere it came.  I felt the most intense longing arise within me.  It was like a tornado unexpectedly appearing in the midst of a clear day, tearing through the countryside and rearranging the landscape.  My heart and then my whole body started to burn with intensity.  It seemed to force its way into my awareness, cracking through the surface of my contented life, leaving me aching with an inexplicable, inconvenient, overwhelming desire for love.  I wanted to love and be loved – passionately, deeply and completely – but in a way I had never considered.”

What in your life is calling you
When all the noise is silenced …
The meetings adjourned, the lists laid aside
And the Wild Iris blooms by itself
In the dark forest …
What still pulls on your soul?

In the silence between your heartbeats
Hides a summons
Do you hear it?
Name it, if you must
Or leave it nameless
But why pretend it is not there?

(Terma Collective)

Oh my.  This is so true for me.  I don’t know about you.

“Young people grow up online with hundreds of virtual friends, but as a recent New York Times story put it, technology allows them to ‘end up hiding from one another, even as they are constantly connected to one another.'”

“In this type of relationship, we are inspired, touched, moved, excited and creatively ignited by each other.”

The agony and the ecstasy.

“Regrettably, some relationships do have a limited or specific ceiling while others have skylights that open to cosmic realms you may never have dreamed existed.”

“You also feel the other person from inside their experience.  It may sound strange, but the separation disappears.  Somehow you are inside each other and feel connected to something that is bigger than both of you, as though your connection with each other is a portal to all of existence.”

“If you have the courage to explore mutual awakening, you will be amazed at the degree of intimacy, vulnerability, beauty and connection that is possible with another person.”

Bring it on!

“The first time I engaged in the mutual awakening process, I sat across from someone I did not know, except for her first name.  As we leaned into each other, I had the profound and profoundly simple experience of falling into love, of being pulled into the field of love that existed between us.”

(Vibeke)

“Imagine two dancers who are not really engaged.  They shuffle halfheartedly around the floor, out of time with each other and the music.  Now imagine those same dancers fully engaged with each other and the dance.  Their every step bursts with vitality and is perfectly synchronized with the rhythm of the music.”

“Often we are shy about showing how much beauty, goodness or power we possess because we’ve gotten used to sharing the more superficial layers of ourselves.”

“Out of fear of upsetting others, provoking anger or disapproval, or disrupting the status quo, we tone ourselves down, hold back our fullness, dampen our beauty, mute our magnificence.”

Silly humans.

“When we try to separate, announce to our partner we are leaving, or pretend we’re no longer related to those with whom we’ve created strong bonds, the only way to manage the pain is to shut down and disconnect from ourselves and our sensitivity to reality and love.”

Sad.

Even if you fall, you will be held
If you let go, things will be okay
If you let yourself not know
You will be guided
If you do not manipulate
You will be taken care of
In a way that is appropriate for you 

(A.H. Almaas)

Thank you, Patricia and friends.  May we have ears to hear.


Exhausted

That’s what I am.  Everything is heavy and slow, and yet I’m happy.  Because the stress is physical, not emotional.  My body is saying “rest” and I choose to obey.  I’m enfolded within a cozy reclining chair at Landmark Cinema, ready to see Black Panther.  My day so far has been a cauldron of fatigue.

I’m training to ride my bicycle across Canada this summer.  While the snow is on the ground and the temperatures are cool, I’m indoors at the gym, loving the elliptical.  I’ve figured out that an hour on the machine burns about the same number of calories as an hour on the bike (600).  And since I ride approximately 20 kilometres an hour, I’ve told myself that I’m doing 20 k every time I move all my body parts on the elliptical.

The challenge today was simple and daunting: ride the equivalent of 80 k.  Stay atop my steed for four hours, with breaks between.  After hour two, I was pleasantly tired.  Not so pleasant after three hours and downright painful after that.

My breath started coming in big pants and my calves ached.  With 15 minutes to go, I was desperate for the end and wondered whether I was about to fall off the machine.  I thought of the people who care about me, old and young, and silently asked for their help.  The kids at school knew what I was trying to do and I felt waves of energy coming at me across the miles.  Thank you!

And then it was over.  I did it!  So pleased with myself.  I sat comatose in the locker room and texted my triumph to Jayne and the kids.  The congrats soon appeared in blue on my screen.

I then proceeded to take 20 minutes to change out of my sodden t-shirt and shorts and into street clothes.  I was fascinated with my stupor and how hard it was to pull on my socks.  Other club members were changing near me.  Usually I’d engage them in conversation … but not today.  How strange to exclude them. It was not like me, except that today it was.

After a teriyaki pig out at Subway, I headed to the mall to find a battery.  I drove safely but I had to concentrate like anything.  Other cars seemed to be in slow motion.  At the mall, which I’m very familiar with, I had to pee.  For the life of me, though, I couldn’t remember where the washroom was.  A Tim Hortons employee pointed the way.  How humbling, but I didn’t beat myself up about it. “Bruce, you’re really tired.  Be gentle with yourself.”  Definitely good advice.

It’s now after the movie.  Too much “shoot ’em up” for me.  I’m mentally dull with heavy eyes.  Stiff.  And my body feels like it’s sliding to the floor.  But I produced the result!  I need to accept the consequences of giving everything.  I bet there’ll be plenty of evenings on the road this summer that will feel just like this.  Bring ’em on.

Moments With Kids

I was volunteering this afternoon in the Grade 5/6 class.  What I most enjoy about teaching is the conversation, especially when it’s just me and one child.  Had a few of those today.

Jayne loves having the students give Book Talks, the chance to share the author’s thoughts and the reviewer’s reactions with classmates.  She asked me to visit kids and record the title of their next book, and to mark down what page they were on.  Just two simple questions but I enjoyed the connection so much.  From child to child to child … moments of eye contact and often the sharing of a book cover.  Perfect.

Jayne talked about limericks, and how silly and fun this type of poetry can be.  How wonderful that there’s a place in education for lightness and laughing.  She had the kids read seven limericks and deduce from the examples what the principles of this poetic form were.  Marvelous!  Far better than listing “the rules of limericks” on the board.

One young man – “Trevor” – told me that the last words of lines 1 and 5 were always the same.  As it turns out, that wasn’t quite accurate, but it certainly was a tendency of limericks.  Later, Trevor left the room for awhile, just as the discussion of limerick rules was starting.  I hadn’t noticed what Trevor had, and I could feel the urge to blurt out his idea without giving him credit for it.  Happily, I squashed that plan and told the students about “Trevor’s insight”.  And that felt so good, to acknowledge him, even in his absence.

Later I got to coach individual kids as they wrote their poems.  A limerick has three “beats” in lines 1, 2 and 5, and two in lines 3 and 4.  It was such a delicate process to sit with a child and have her see that “He decided to go to the moon” wouldn’t work for a line 3, while “He went to the moon” got the job done beautifully.  We counted out the beats together and I loved it when the child felt the rhythm in her own poem.  Those “ah hah” moments are joyous ones for any teacher.

I love being in that class.  Being next to the energy of young minds and hearts is the best.  Hearing from a girl how sad she was that some people and animals have become sick due to cropdusting … is a blessing.  May we all grow in compassion and insight.  And may those 10-, 11- and 12-year-olds turn into adults who express their highest values long after I’m gone from the planet.

 

 

Heart Wide Open

I lined up in the dark last night in front of the Aeolian Hall in London.  There were about twenty people in front of me and I wondered if I’d meet any of them at the concert.  We were here to see Irish Mythen, a singer-songwriter who’s transplanted herself from Ireland to Prince Edward Island.

The room was set up as a quilt of small round tables.  I strolled to the front and saw a couple sitting at one of them.  They were happy to have me join them.  I enjoyed talking to Elaine and Neil.  They’re world travellers and embrace the word “adventure” with all their being.  I told stories and they told stories.  We inspired each other.

And then there was Irish, a short firecracker of a human being with a voice that’ll rattle the dishes in your cupboard.  Loud and pure.  Her newest song is Maria, who I think was Irish’s aunt, and the recipient of great affection:

When I was a girl, you were a God … You were love, you were laughter

And I believed every word, such was the power of our singer.  Irish blasted her way into my heart.  Right at the beginning, she said “I promise you a hell of a show.”  And she’s a woman of her word.

Irish told us about an Irish priest who’d walk around with a paper cup of tea, with the tag from the bag falling over the side.  Most people didn’t know that the content of the cup was liquor, not Earl Grey!

And here are some quotes from this most “out there” human being:

She was talking to an Australian politician about being proud of her dual heritage – Irish and Canadian.  Last night, she flashed us some skin just below her collarbone – a colourful map merging the two countries.  “I didn’t show him my chest.”

And from a song whose title escapes me:

I want to dance with you
We’ll go laughing and howling at the moon

Oh, Irish.  You’re definitely a moon howler.

To us audience folks: “How are you?  I like to keep the audience happy.”

“I want to admit to you that I’m a … Catholic.  Not many lesbians would tell you that.”

Near the end of the concert: “Let’s pretend that was the last song.”  Big smile.  And we onlookers stood as one, applauding wildly.  Irish bent over and covered her face.  She was crying.  Gathering herself, she told us the stories behind each of her final three songs (“to save time”) and then proceeded to launch them at us, rapid fire.

We stood for her
We loved her
We marvelled at the divine entity standing before us

Hometown Hockey

I grew up in Toronto, where hockey is king.  In the 1960’s, I went to four Stanley Cup parades, all ending on the steps of City Hall, where my heroes gave speeches and held the cup high.  The huge crowd cheered.

The official Hockey Hall of Fame is downtown on Front Street.  Each year, many thousands of fans walk by the memorabilia of the National Hockey League.  But hidden in a back alley in the Weston neighbourhood of the city is a more informal shrine, featuring all things Toronto Maple Leafs.  To find this gem, walk along Weston Road to John Street.  Turn east and watch for the sign pointing to Peter’s Barber Shop.  Pantelis Kalamaris started cutting hair just around the corner in 1961.  As an immigrant from Greece, he decided to change in name to Peter and to embrace the sport of his new country.

On Saturday morning, I reached for the sliding glass door and walked into history.  Hardly a square inch of wall space was available … the rest trumpeted the Leafs in posters, pennants, newspaper articles, pucks and hockey sticks.  I stood there transfixed.  Seeing my wonder, Peter the Younger barber smiled.  He was busy putting the finishing touches on the do of an older gentleman.  The two of them were fully engaged in the merits of the Leafs’ current star – Auston Matthews.

I sat down amid a row of blue folding seats … originals from Maple Leaf Gardens, the team’s home until 1999.  As a kid, I too had occasionally sat on such seats, although we couldn’t afford the blues.

To go from waiting area to barber’s chair, you had to pass through a Gardens turnstile, again just like I had done decades ago.  The floor was covered with various hues of hair.  I asked Peter if any of that was from the Leafs’ stars of the 1960’s.  “No, but I do have some in plastic bags.”  Cool.

Here was one of Johnny Bower’s goalie sticks.  Here was a poster showing the Leafs’ 100 best players of all time, photoshopped into a team photo.  Here was a board hockey game that Peter sometimes plays with his customers.  Of course the barber always plays as the Leafs.

And here was a framed letter from Roger Neilson, a beloved coach of the Leafs and other NHL teams.  Peter the Older had invited him to come to Weston and sign the wall, alongside such luminaries as Gordie Howe, Jean Beliveau and Red Kelly.  In the letter, Roger said that his doctor wasn’t letting him travel long distances but sometime he’d get to Toronto and sign his John Henry.  But Roger died before that could happen.

It felt that my time was up at Peter’s Barber Shop.  The host and his customers were all friendly (as long as I assured them I wasn’t a fan of the hated Ottawa Senators!)  Like Roger, I vowed to return.  Hopefully unlike Roger, I will.

***

From Pantelis Kalamaris Lane, it was only a ten-minute walk to the Weston Lions Arena.  It was constructed in 1949 (just like me!) and hosted the Toronto Maple Leafs for many practices in the 50’s and 60’s.  Many of the players strolled over to the barber shop for a cut afterwards.

What I had read a few weeks ago was that the arena had the world’s best fries, and who was I to turn down an opportunity like that?  I approached a door that had a back door feel to it but it turned out to be the main entrance.  Then I was in front of the snack bar, with the ice surface beyond, full of boys skating hard and fans shouting encouragement.  I was tempted by the “Not so famous hot dogs” sign but settled for the world-renowned treat.  Pouring on the malt vinegar, I took my French fries and Diet Coke into the stands.

Spectators sat on five rows of wooden benches, some sections red and some blue.  The walls of the arena were two tone blue – robin’s egg contrasted with royal.  It was a lovely assault on the eyes.

  • The kids, maybe 12, were giving ‘er on the ice.  Some flew over the blue line.  Some fell unaided on their tushes.  Goalies stretched for the save.  Forwards dipsydoodled by defensemen, with few passes to be seen.  Coached yelled.  Fans screamed.  I ate.  Gosh, those fries are yummy!

The roof was a curve of bare beams, spotted with metal plates and inch thick cables.  The same as in 1949.  I imagined my Leafs heroes doing their drills on the ice.  Maybe some of these boys in front of me knew the history and were inspired by Dave Keon and Frank Mahovlich.  More likely, the names of current Leafs heroes will adorn their backs … Matthews and Marner jerseys.

So hockey has been played here on cold Saturdays for 69 years.  Oh, how a sport can seep into our souls.  Whether the seat is a barber chair or a hard bench,  we live the game.

Ants Below

Construction started on Toronto’s CN Tower in 1973.  Until 2010, it was the tallest freestanding structure in the world.  I’d never been up it … till yesterday.

What does it mean that millions of people across the world have gazed out from the sky high observation deck, but not me?  How about “absolutely nothing”?  It’s becoming clearer to me that life is not about accumulating experiences but rather about living in accord with my highest values.  And those are love, compassion, kindness and peace.

But I still wanted to take an elevator to the heights.

My eyes widened as I approached the glass.  The world was so far down.  The sun was shining on Lake Ontario and the ice was breaking up, creating a jumble of geometric patterns.  Two channels of smaller floes showed the way to Ward’s Island and Hanlan’s Point on Toronto Island.  A ferry found its way through.

Directly below was another spot of ice – a skating rink bordered by tall condos.  But “tall” didn’t seem to fit from up here.  The penthouses were hundreds of feet below.  On the ice, little dots of colour circled.  And I got it … each speck was a human being.  Someone with joys and sorrows, health and illness, high and low self-esteem, leading lives so much like mine.  I just stared.

Then there was the Royal York Hotel, a classic Toronto landmark since 1929.  Way, way below me.  I thought of my dear wife Jody, and the time that we stayed there.  I smiled.  And I imagined all the human beings inside the building right then … showering, sitting in the lobby, enjoying a drink in the lounge.  All like me, those folks.  Some differences, sure, but just minor variations on the theme homo sapiens.

The Gardiner Expressway flowed beneath me, although that’s not the right word.  It was late afternoon rush hour in the big city, and the cars crawled.  The backup stretched way to my left and way to my right.  There’d be one or two people in each tin can, maybe tired after a day of stress, longing for home, longing for a “beam me up” machine that would transport them to their couch.  All with hopes and dreams, successes and failures, pleasure and pain.  I tried to place my soul in each car but immediately felt overwhelmed.  “They’ll find their way, Bruce.”

From on high, life didn’t seem so darned serious.  Just a whole bunch of people walking or riding from here to there, each on their path.  It’s okay.  There’ll be a few dead ends, a few traffic jams, but also moments of flowing free.  On we go, fellow travellers.

Am I Going To Die Right Here Right Now?

Okay, I realize this is a sensational headline, but I did have that thought yesterday.  Maybe there’s a future for me in the tabloid press.

I went walking in the Humber River valley in Toronto, to the tune of six miles or so.  The trail was snow-covered, with little ridges of ice, water on top at times, and wet feet.  In short … perfect!  I didn’t mind going slow.  The white world was there for me to discover.

Much of the river was open, and really roaring along.  At one point I stood on a pedestrian bridge and watched the ice floes.  Way upstream was a little postage stamp of ice, moving ever so gently towards me.  As it neared the bridge, however, it morphed into an eight-foot long berg, and roared beneath my eyes like a runaway train.  Was I ever wrong about the current placidity of nature (a thought that was proven so true an hour later).

I was testing out my new wool socks.  “They’ll keep your feet warm and dry even in a rainstorm.”  Well, sort of.  There wasn’t any rain but lots of gooshy snow.  The socks were wet but my feet were still pleasantly cool.

I sat on a few benches and contemplated life, plus how many steps I’d taken so far.  By day’s end, it turned out to be 28,000.  What an athlete!  Above the flatlands by the river were steep slopes, leading up to fancy homes, which were showing their huge windows through the bare trees.  So I’m in the middle of Toronto, not exactly a wilderness experience, but still fun to be surrounded by so much unimpeded whiteness.

I was advancing calmly along the shore, with the Humber on my right, when I came to a spot where the river had overflowed its banks.  Parks personnel had posted “Do Not Enter” signs, plus a chain across the trail.  I looked way to my left, and with my deep outdoorsman knowledge, saw an area of white snow that skirted the grey waterlogged surface.  No sweat.  I don’t need a direct path from A to B.  I’m out to explore the wilds of Toronto.

My new route took me into a grove of bushes and small trees.  “Just follow the white snow, Bruce.”  Oh, this was fun.  Soon, I was going where no man had gone before, judging by the absence of footprints.  The crust of snow was hard and happily supported my weight.  No more wetness or ridges of ice.  Piece of cake.

Thirty steps farther, something new.  My right foot went down to the snow and the mass vibrated.  Like a tiny trampoline.  Energy went outwards in all directions as I moved each foot.  Then my right one broke through, about a foot down, and the crust collapsed around it.  Same with my left one.  Oh well.  Just a slower passage to my glass of wine at the Old Mill Restaurant.

As I worked my way around bushes, holding on to branches, I saw that the greyness had invaded my path.  I turned further from the river to keep from getting soaked and a route became clear.  I even saw a picnic shelter in the distance.  “No problem, Bruce.  You’re in Toronto.”

And then, a step too far.  My right foot broke through and I sunk down to my knee.  Water flooded into my running shoe and those water-wicking wool socks had no chance.  For a few seconds, I thought I was stuck.  I pulled my leg up but nothing happened.  Then I rolled onto my side and yanked the foot from its watery abode.  Soon I was vertical again and ready to move forward.  Down went my left foot to the knee, and then my right one joined in again.

And that was when this post’s title hit home.  Up to my knees.  Both feet soaked and numbing.  Bushes to the left and right.  No one around.  So scared.  Is this where I call it a day?  It’s been a good life.  Bye.

And then I snapped out of it.  “It will continue to be a good life.  There’s a glass of wine waiting for you less than a mile away.  You have your cell phone.  If you can’t extricate yourself, the Toronto Fire Department will.” > “But hypothermia will get me first.” > “Shut up and move!”

Somehow onto my side again.  And somehow the crust didn’t break where my body rolled.  Onto my feet, and looking around.  I’d been avoiding the grey areas but could they be worse than my white breakthroughs?  I grabbed a branch and stepped onto a grey patch.  It held!  And then the next.  It held too.  From bush to bush, I followed the grey.  The grassy parkland was just ahead, under its white blanket.  The meadow was raised up a bit.  My feet were numb but my brain wasn’t.  “Slowly, Bruce.  Just reach for the next branch.”  The crust held, time and time again, and finally the firm meadow was under my feet.

Fancy lounge
Dark wood
Old guy staring at me from a painting
Glass of Gewurztraminer
Squishy shoes
Unfeelable feet
Most thankful soul

Ain’t life grand?

Being Gay

Eric Radford just won a bronze medal at the Olympics.  He’s a Canadian pairs skater with partner Meagan Duhamel.  Like any elite athlete, Eric has shown years of dedication to his sport.  But there’s been another mountain for this man … he’s gay.  I read about him this morning in the Toronto Star.

I think of the challenges I’ve faced.  My wife Jody with a terminal disease, and dying.  Some people perceiving me as “less than”, weird and perhaps even dangerous.  Being close to death three times in one summer.  But Eric?  What an astonishing warrior.

“It’s a gold mining town, in the north, hockey town, male figure skater.  And the only one.  It was very hard for him.”

What are the depths of loneliness that can touch a human being?

“And not only not being accepted by other people, but there was a long time where I didn’t accept myself.  And that took time.  And I think that I just look at that, and if I had someone like that to look up to, it would have been easier.”

Can I look myself in the mirror, see my version of a face, and still smile?

Eric came out to his mom and dad when he was 18.  Their reaction?  “So what?”

“It was a couple of days later, and she came in and she was weepy and she said ‘You turned out so well despite going through all of that.  I wish you had told us sooner so I could have been there for you.’  And she felt so guilty and bad that I hadn’t told her sooner, and I really was kind of on my own.”

And what is beyond a mother’s love?

“I remember arguments about money when we were kids.  You know how you hear things?  And they never said once ‘We can’t do that.’  They said ‘How are we going to make this work?'”

What do I need to do to turn my dreams into realities?

“When Radford has gone home to Red Lake, he attracts crowds when he practises in the old rink, and many of the kids from the old days have come up and apologized.  ‘And I really appreciate that they come up and talk to me … It probably can’t be that easy, you might feel stupid or shy … It’s nice to have their respect, and to know that these people have grown up, they’ve matured, and they’ve learned.”

What does it take to let go of the familiar old and open to a more inclusive life?

***

The definition of gay: Homosexual
The definition of gay: Lighthearted and carefree
How about both?

Kindness Times Three

I was listening to CBC Radio while driving to Toronto this afternoon.  I was hoping for a good human interest story … and I found one.  A woman was being interviewed about a remarkable kindergarten moment.  As she talked, I could hear tears in her voice.

One little girl had shown up in the morning wearing her top backwards.  Some kid laughed at her.  The teacher was right on it and gently reproved the laugher.  The target human being, however, was very sad.  At this point, I guess the teacher had decided to carry on and leave the messiness behind.  But one child had another idea.  I can’t remember if it was a he or a she but the child removed their top and put it on backwards.  And then lots of other kids followed suit.  “I didn’t want her to be sad.”

My eyes moistened.  The interviewer was just about overcome.  And I imagined thousands of listeners reaching for their Kleenex.  Oh, what power a five-year-old can have.

And then …

I was walking along Lawrence Avenue, a main street in Toronto.  A taxi came out of a side street and pulled right up to the intersection so the driver could see the traffic on Lawrence before turning right.  I jogged a bit left and walked behind the car.  As I headed back to the sidewalk, the fellow behind the wheel called out to me:

“Sorry for blocking your path!”  He wore a big smile.

“That’s all right.  You couldn’t see.”

So much for the stereotype of Toronto drivers being discourteous.  I was stunned and so thankful for his friendliness.  It was a privilege to be in his presence.

Now I’m looking for kindness number three.  I’m not going to force it.  If no wave of goodness comes my way before I lay me down to sleep, so be it.  I won’t twist my reality to line up with the title of this piece.  Think I’ll head to Tim Hortons for coffee and see what beckons.

Okay, now I’m on the subway, gently seeking kind behaviour.  But seeking isn’t it.  By grace will it come my way … or not.  I’ll just wait.

Minutes ago, I looked to my right on the train.  A fat guy is two seats away, leaning over.  His eyes are closed … and he’s yelling.  Pointing his finger at something.  I can’t make out what he’s saying.  I’m too scared to say anything in the realm of “Are you all right?”  I shut my eyes.

I think of the classic Buddhist phrases of care:

May you be free from danger
May you be happy
May you be healthy
May you live with ease

And I sent them his way.  Soon it was just one: “May you be happy.”  The gentleman keeps yelling, still with eyes closed.  Here’s my stop.  “Goodbye, dear one.”

Mission accomplished.