HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Brussels Post, 1974-06-26, Page 2Guarding the nest
Sugar and Spice
By► Bill Smiley
.CCNA
40,41110014, urn.
russels, Post
WEDNESIMY, JUNE 26, 1974
Serving Brussels and the surroOnding community
Flutlished each Wednesday afternoon at Brussels, Ontario
by McLean Bros. Publishers. Limited.
Evelyn Kennedy - Editor Tom Haley - Advertising
Member Canadian Community Newspaper Association and
Ontario Weekly Newspaper Association.
Subscriptions (in advance) Canada$6.00 a year, Others
$8.00 a year, Single Copies 15 cents each.
Second class mail Registration No, 0562,
Telephone 887-6641.
Alcohol and youth
Canada's youth is drowning in a flood of booze.
Warns the Addiction Research Foundation' - "the
endless regurgitation of beer commercials featuring
modish kids in forests, boat and balloon indicates
how vital a market the young have become."
Warns Gerald Le Dain, head of the commission on
non-medical use of drugs - "alcohol is the worst
curse affecting society today."
A nation-wide survey shows dramatic escalation in
alcohol problems among youth - since the legal
drinking age was dropped from 21 to 18 in April
1971.
Manitoba teenagers have moved from hard and
soft drugs to alcohol, and Nova Scotia reported only
two persons under 20 treated for alcohol problems in
provincial hospitals during 1970, while 20 patients
were admitted in 1971.
In Quebec 14-year-olds sneak into pubs and
taverns and in Toronto drinking among high school
students doubled since 1970 - while marijuana and
hashish usage climbed 10 percent and LSD dropped.
The public must find out the interrelationships
between drug usage and alcohol. A royal commission
should be set up to determine if raising the drinking
age back to 21, will cause kids to just sink deeper into
drugs. Meanwhile, those seductive, youth-oriented
beer and liquor ads should be banned from the
media.
Contributed
Dire consequences
Safety inspectors have been busy in the area
recently and a number of charges have been laid
against contractors who fail to enforce regulations
under the Safety Act.
It'S difficult to get men to change habits developed
through the years, particularly when they can point
to the fact they have escaped any injury while
. performing the job in the same manner for those
many years.
However, statistics point out that construction and
safety accidents continue to climb, and these who fail
to comply with safety rules are stacking the odds
against themselves.
The accident which claimed the life of an Exeter
man recently points up most vividly what happens
when safety rules are violated.
The consequences should surely prove to all
concerned that an ounce of prevention is still the best
policy.
(Exeter Times Advocate)
"Did you find any Indian Arrow heads, Clayton?"
Both teachers and students look forward
eagerly to the end i ofi the school for
different reasons.
For the students, especially the younger
ones, it's like a rebirth to get out into that
beautiful. June, out of that hot classroom,
away from that cranky teacher. They go
belting out that door on the last day like
bees coming out of a disturbed bees'-nest.
A few of the more sensitive ones,
especially the girls, will trill, "See you next
year", or "Have a good summer, Mr.
Smiley." The boys leave in a slap-dash,
jostling mob, with never a look behind.
And who can blame them? It's been a
long ten months. They want to get out and
do some real living, to break the routines
that even in these permissive days, make
school a drag, and for some, unfortunately,
a simple bore.
When I was in high school I took off in.
May or early June for a job on the lake
boats, with a tremendous sense of release.
I didn't care whether they passed me or
failed me. After the first summer, I knew it
was going to be four months of drudgery,
at coolies' wages, but I didn't care. I was
living, seeing new places and new people,
and delighting in it.
Yet, strangely, by September, I had a
great nostalgia for school, 'school friends,
football and track and field, and could
scarcely wait to start the long hitch-hike
home.
Each fall was a joy, Football every day. A
new girl, or the old faithful one, to hold
hands with a crisp fall evenings. Some
money in the pocket, after the stniter.
This euphoria lasted until about the end
of November. By the middle of January,
life and school were deadly dull. The
money was pretty well gone. It was too cold
for outdoof smooching, and in those days
no girl was allowed to have a boy into her
house, unless her mother was sitting there
looking suspicious and her father sitting
there with a gun.
We couldn't afford ski equipment. We
were lucky if we could scratch up the price
of a hockey game or a -night's skating at the
rink.
We couldn't afford to smoke or drink or
party er tear around, so, on the whole, we
were a fairly moral lot. Believe it or not, I
was president of a Young Man's Bible
Class for three years. My high school
principal was the leader, and he forced me
into it. I figured I had to stay on the ,,uod
side Of him, or I'd be in high school Until
was fifty.
There was only One thing I really learned
in these long winters at sehool. With no
money to do anything else, my gang
tended to spend most of our time in the
pool room, despite const ant abjurations
and threats from our mothers.
There are quite a few things you can pick
up in a poolroom: psychology; a colorful
vocabulary; a smell of spittoons. I got all of
these, but I also became‘a pretty darn good
pool player, and I've never regretted it.
You have to,become good when you are
"playing on your nerve." This quaint old
expression means you havent the money to
pay the proprietor for your table time, if
you lose. Winner plays free. So you either
won, or you sweet-talked the boss of the
poolroom into adding what you owed to
your bill. This was about as easy as
President Nixon standing before Congress,
hand on heart, saying, "I cannot tell a lie."
It usually meant expulsion from the
poolroom, which was like being thrown out
of the garden of Eden.
Then there was the drowsing through
long, spring days, waiting for school to
end. I remember a poor man called Dr.
Wheatly, saying to me one June day, head
wagging sadly, "Bill, you will never pass
p hysics or chemistry, should you stay here
until you are a grandfather. So I'm going to
recommend you." I've never forgotten this
wise remark, and have since, as a teacher,
always tempered justice with mercy,
But I drift. School was then, is now, and
ever shall be, a place to get out of, come
June.
Yet there is a little sadness among the
older students, who are graduating. They
are finally mature enough to realize these
were possibly the best years of their lives.
They sign each other's yearbooks. Some
weep. They promise to keep in touch, but
knowing they probably will not, after the
first year. They are scattering.
Halcyon days are over. They are
stepping off, sometimes fearfully, into a
world of work and responsiblity and
striving for success, and raising families
(which alone, in these times, is enough to
make one want to stay in school forever.)
I deplore sentimentality, But sure
enough, last class, last day of school,
turned around and there was a beautiful
cake, inscribed, "Best Wishes, Mr.
Smiley, front 13B, '74". Even the
punctuation right. I was touched.
And astonished, I expressed My
admiration and appreciation, and said,
"Wait 'till my Wife sees this." The
response was, more Or less, "'Your wife,
otir foot. Look tin the paper bag." Sure
enough ; it contained paper napkins and
plastic forks. There was a knife in the cake
box. So we had our cake and ate it,
communally, and quietly list tiled to.a
funny record. Then we left, happily. And
sadly.
IIIVUSSE‘S
ONTARIO