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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2017-07-20, Page 5THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, JULY 20, 2017. PAGE 5. Other Views Don't fret the little things Family life, not to mention national issues and world diplomacy, could be much more calm if we all asked ourselves four little words more often: "Does it really matter?" So many times we build up something that's rather small into something much bigger when we can simply keep our mouths shut but have to make a point. Does it really matter that someone, let's call him Jim, is always late? If we know they're going to be late we can just adjust our mental clocks to "Jim time" and be ready when he's actually likely to show up rather than making it into something that's somehow an insult to our very self worth. Is it really worth interrupting your spouse/partner/brother/sister to point out they're making a mistake or missing a detail in telling some familiar tale, if the result is spoiling the story, making the other person look bad in front of friends or family or making yourself look like a jerk who has to get his/her own way? Does it really matter that your neighbour's yard isn't as neat as yours? So much of this kind of thing is personal perception. The neighbour may not even see the things that drive you crazy about his yard. On the other hand, he may see you as an obsessive/compulsive workaholic in the way you keep your own yard, but as long as he doesn't tell you, you can keep peace in the neighborhood by keeping your own frustrations about his yard to yourself. Think about all the provincial/national issues people have gotten themselves all worked up over in times past that now seem like non -issues. There were more than a few men (and probably some women) who thought it would be a calamity if women got the vote a Keith L��� �Roulston -„ From the cluttered desk century ago. Unless we can somehow blame women for the election of Donald Trump, it hasn't happened. Unfortunately women are probably just as likely to make mistakes in their voting choices as men — although a case could be made that women's influence had led our governments to become more caring with policies like the baby bonus, old age pensions, unemployment insurance, student loans and medicare. (Come to think of it, if that's the case there are probably some free-market, libertarian males out there who think women getting the vote was a mistake.) Not that long ago there were people who were furious that bilingual labels were required on food packages and signs on government buildings. Did it really matter? Other than the fact that when the rest of the country seemed willing to recognize the presence of a significant French-speaking minority it may have helped defuse a little of the frustration that brought the country frighteningly close to disintegration in two referendums on whether Quebec should separate? In 1939 a ship carrying 907 German Jews, refugees from the Nazi haulocaust was turned away when it tried to dock in Halifax. Orders had come down from a top official in Ottawa not to let the refugees ashore because they were Jews. As this man put it, when it came to Jews: "None is too many." In the years following the war, Canada finally opened its heart and its borders to Jewish survivors of the horrors of the Nazi regime and any open-minded person had to wonder why there had been a prejudice against accepting Jews earlier, particularly in their time of crisis. All the Jewish population did was to become model citizens — people like "Honest Ed" Mirvish, often creating jobs for thousands of people in doing so. I remember getting myself worked up 10 or 15 years ago when it was first proposed that Sikhs should be allowed to wear turbans if they joined the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. To me, this move offended the proud tradition of a force that I'd dreamed of joining when I was a small boy. Now I have to wonder "did it really matter?" I don't know that I've ever even seen a Mountie in a turban. A healthy case right now for asking ourselves "Does it really matter?" involves the tweets of U.S. President Donald Trump. Trump seems to be one of those people who needs to be the centre of attention. If he's gone ahead and been presidential for a few days and been out of the spotlight, he seems to need to stir things up. He knows he can pull the strings of huge numbers of people and media in his own country and around the world by tweeting something outrageous about someone. People suddenly concentrate on what he's said instead of what he's doing: like exposing millions to ruinous debt through revoking their government -assisted health care. Wouldn't we be better off, when we see next stupid tweet, to ask ourselves: "Does it really matter?" then going back to jumping off a dock into a lake — as we wish we could tell Trump to do? Let's get worked up about the things that matter and, as for the rest, relax a bit. The importance of socialization This week marks a bit of a milestone for the Scott family in Blyth as my daughter Mary Jane will be attending daycare most week days going forward. With some confusion on the part of several doctors, my wife's maternity leave ended up starting a few weeks to early. Ashleigh has already gone back to work and some incredibly supportive family members have helped us bridge the gap to now when Mary Jane starts going out into the world. I know that some people are going to say I'll miss coming home for lunch every day and seeing Ashleigh and Mary Jane but in my mind, it's all part of a process. Mary Jane will mark her first birthday soon and she's nearly walking and starting to say some words (whether she knows the meaning of them or not) and not just mimicking the noises she hears. She is growing up before my eyes and, whether I like it or not, she's ready to start socializing a little more regularly. It's an important part of her growing up, and, honestly, one I'm excited about. Sure, I'll miss coming home to her smiling face anytime I'm home, but the simple fact is, she needs this experience and she's going to have to get to it sooner rather than later. It was a bittersweet moment on Monday, her last day at home, when I left at lunch, knowing that it would likely be years before it happened again with any regularity. Whether it's daycare or school or summer camp or a Vacation Bible School, there are ample opportunities for young people to get to know other young people and it's an important experience for her. For the past two weeks I've been spending a bit of time at Vacation Bible Schools and it's reminded me that I need to make sure Mary Jane has every opportunity to be comfortable with herself when she needs to introduce herself to new people and make new friends. I went to Robertson Memorial Public School in Goderich and we didn't really do split -classes or the like that often. The classmates I met in Kindergarten were the same ones that I shared a Grade 6 class with before I moved to Seaforth. For most of my life I've looked at that as a benefit. There was stability in knowing every person since they were four or five years old but, with the lenses of a father over my eyes, I'm looking at my educational experience a bit different. When I left Robertson for Huron Centennial Public School, I didn't immediately fit in or know my place. I'm guessing it's a pretty universal feeling for people who switch schools or workplaces. Eventually, I found where I belonged, for better or worse, and made some friends. Looking back, it feels like I did that just in time for the class to be fractured by graduation and head to high school. I didn't stay at the same high school for my entire secondary school career. I started in Seaforth, went to Goderich for a bit, came back to Seaforth and then ended up at Central Huron Secondary School, where I graduated. While I look back on those years with regret due to switching schools and not being able to graduate in my home town, looking forward to Mary Jane's life, I've realized that the maelstrom I found myself in was actually a blessing, not a curse. When I went back to Goderich, I had envisioned some kind of reunion with all the friends I had left behind, however some weren't there and the ones that were had, just like my classmates in Seaforth, fractured into smaller cliques. It was disappointing at the time, however, now I know it was actually a growing experience. Thanks to switching schools a half a dozen times over 13 years, I laid the foundation for the ability to meet and talk to people, finding common ground on which to build relationships. That skill is pretty much a necessity in my current career and also made me pretty darned good at some of the other jobs I've had (especially in the fast food industry). Being able to strike up conversations with new people, being able to cold -call individuals who have never heard of me and being able to find those common elements is something that is hard to teach, but easy to learn. The only way to learn it, unfortunately, is to be thrown into the deep end of a socially uncomfortable situation and learning to swim back to your comfort zone. So while I bid adieu to being able to play with Mary Jane at lunch and hearing her laugh when she realizes it's me coming through the door, I look forward to the days when she can tell me all about the new friends she has at daycare, the new friends she has at school and the new friends she's made when we send her to everything from hockey camp to equine camp. There will be no tears in my eyes when dropping her off because, as much as she may (or may not) enjoy it, it's the first and most important step into a world much wider than our living room. Shawn Loughlin Shawn's Sense Out with a whimper? Last week was a sad day for the small community of Moncrieff. If not for my story in this week's issue of The Citizen, however, few would even know I'm telling the truth. Last Tuesday, council voted to officially close the Moncrieff Community Hall and its adjoining ball diamond. There were then zoning changes that are all aimed at selling the "underutilized" property so someone could eventually build a house on the lot. This is in no way levelling criticism towards the people of Moncrieff or those who had committed their time to the operation of the hall over the years. Those people did good work with the hand they were dealt. This is, however, more of a commentary on the sad state of a small rural community like Moncrieff when its hall can be closed and I was literally the only person present to witness it happen — and I was being paid to be there. Seriously, it happened so early in the meeting and took so little time that the other local reporter hadn't arrived yet. It's one of those things that you might say to a neighbour is just too bad, despite the lack of use and the fact that it makes financial sense. When you say something went out the opposite of with a bang, it's with a whimper. It might have went out with even less than that. It's too bad that a small community like Moncrieff has moved beyond having a use for a small community hall for gatherings, parties and fundraisers. It's not just Moncrieff, of course, small community halls are struggling to keep their heads above water all over the country. In Huron East alone there have been meetings to brainstorm ways to "save" halls in Ethel and Walton, among others. I, myself, have been to the hall on a number of occasions. Of course I have been there through my job a number of times, but I have also been there socially. Jess and I took part in a golf tournament once — a fundraiser hosted by the Bauer family. It poured rain all day, but Jess and I braved the wet weather and played Dave Smith's nine - hole course before returning to the hall for dinner afterwards. Two memories stand out beyond being soaked and cold beyond relief. First, there was a closest -to -the -pin competition on one of the shorter holes. I made a big deal out of it to the volunteers keeping track of distances. I told them to sharpen their pencils and get ready to record my distance (or lack there of) to the hole because I was sticking my ball close — perhaps even in the hole. I airmailed the green 30 yards into the woods beyond the green. They asked if I still wanted them to measure, but I told them not to bother. The second memory was my approach shot on the ninth green. It was the opposite of the previous shot and I stuck the ball to within two feet of the cup — or so I thought. I searched and couldn't find the ball, eventually dropping another and making the short putt for a par. While walking off the hole after making my putt, I noticed a small glimmer of white beneath a lump of grass. I had stuck my ball to within two feet of the hole and due to the superior spin rate I generate off of my short irons (or because the course was soggier than a used tea bag) it had burrowed itself about three or four inches into the ground on the very piece of earth it hit in flight. Enough about me golfing — my scorecards may be the only thing more depressing than the hall closure. One of our rural communities has lost its meeting place. Without it, I hope residents continue to be social in its absence.