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The Citizen, 2005-06-30, Page 5THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, JUNE 30, 2005. PAGE 5. Other Views Four simple one-syllable words? I have spent an excessive amount of time and energy loathing the phrase ‘Have a nice day’. Four simple, one-syllable words shouldn’t have the power to get under my skin, but they do, partly because I hear them so much. The guy at the gas pump says them to me. So does the check-out clerk. I get the same mumbled benediction from the bank teller and my doctor’s receptionist. I'd no doubt hear it from the butcher, the baker and the candlestickmaker if I did business with them. Have a nice day. The only satisfying retort I ever heard to that phrase came from the lips of humourist Russell Baker. When a car salesman urged him to have a nice day, Baker snapped, “No thanks. I’ve made other plans.” Have a nice day. So bland, so meaningless. Well, meaningless to me. I imagine Ted Fink would give his right hand to have just one nice day. No, strike that. He’s already given most of his right hand. And his nose. And his ears. And pretty much all of the skin on his body. That sort of thing can happen when a 1,000- gallon propane tank blows up in your face. The accident occurred on Ted Fink’s 2,500- acre farm in Illinois back in 1999. Fink was driving his John Deere, moving the tank across the barnyard when a chain that was holding the tank snapped. The tank broke loose, tumbled to the ground and sprang a leak. The escaping propane must have been ignited by a spark. McGuinty not so squeaky clean Premier Dalton McGuinty promised to have the squeakiest clean government ever, but he seems to be running out of Tide. The Liberal premier said he would not allow ministers to profit personally from their jobs, or big financial donors to influence government. He is having problems on both counts. In the latest indiscretion, Transportation Minister Harinder Takhar appears to have broken a requirement that ministers steer clear of any involvement in their former businesses. This is to prevent them promoting policies and using inside information that could benefit their businesses and they have to place their assets in supposedly blind trusts run by independent trustees. The Progressive Conservatives had a tip Takhar was seen often at a company where he still is majority owner and next day photographed him entering it and leaving three hours later. Takhar and McGuinty claimed he was talking with his wife, who continues to work there, about sending a daughter to university, but others will wonder how often he went there, because the Tories were able to photograph him quickly after being tipped. They also will ask why the minister and his wife could not discuss their daughter’s education at home, because he has never looked so busy he is unable to have an occasional breakfast with his wife, and why this talk took three hours. McGuinty and his party are trying to turn around the issue into one of Conservatives invading others’ privacy, as the federal Liberals did with some success when a Conservative MP tape-recorded discussions about switching parties. The provincial Liberals claim the real issue is Conservatives stalking and spying on Liberal ministers and possibly their families and homes, bugging their offices, homes and Neighbours on a farm a mile away from the Fink spread felt the thump of the explosion. When Ted’s wife got to the barnyard, all she saw was a giant ball of flame. Ted Fink was somewhere in the middle of it. He woke up eight months later in the burn unit of the University of Wisconsin hospital. A miracle? No doubt. A blessing? That’s less clear. Ted Fink had suffered hideous bums to 90 per cent of his body. Doctors originally calculated the likelihood of his dying at 138 per cent. He survived, but ‘survive’ was the operative word. His hair was gone, as were the thumb, index and middle finger of his right hand. His ears burned right off, as did most of his nose. The rest of him was pretty much a mass of scar tissue. Gone also was the cheery, bustling, hard­ working farmer who scampered up silo ladders, sprinted across fields and manhandled hay bales as if they were couch pillows. The new Ted Fink couldn’t walk from the ambulance to his house. He had to re-learn things like holding a knife and fork. His wife Rhoda had to dress him and get him in and out of the shower. cars (although the photographing of Takhar is the only incident substantiated) and plunging Ontario politics to a sleazy, Richard Nixon- style, all-time low. But if the Conservatives had not produced the photographs, the Liberals could have denied the minister visited his business and the allegation would have fizzled out. Economist Development Minister Joe Cordiano charged $45,000 expenses to his riding association in 2004 on top of his salary and expenses paid by his ministry when he works on its business. The association paid for clothing, dining in expensive restaurants in Paris, Milan, Tokyo and Toronto, and theatre tickets in London. Cordiano argued that when not on ministry business he was on political work so the riding association paid expenses, and that he took an aide to the London theatre and they discussed political matters before the show and in the intermission. This guy never takes a minute off. McGuinty defended this spending as up to the riding association, but many association members may not want, and have never been asked, to help their MPPs splurge on caviar in Paris. And the public also pays part, because donations to a riding association are tax­ deductible. McGuinty also earlier forced the resignation of a Conservative minister who felt his riding association should keep him in the lifestyle of Conrad Black and he is unable to prove this case is much different. All he wanted to do is sleep. The internal story wasn’t any cheerier. As a result of his accident and multiple surgeries, his joints became inflamed and fused with bone. He can’t lift his grandchildren into his lap. His legs now are permanently bent which means he can’t lie flat in bed. He sleeps in a recliner in the living room. And his new ‘skin’ is giving him grief. It’s tough and crusty and it’s shrivelling. The skin on his neck is tightening, pulling his lower lip downward so that he can no longer close his mouth fully. He could go back to the hospital for further surgery, but Ted Fink’s had enough of scalpels and skin grafts. His energy has come back some, and he gets out on the tractor now and again to help his son who has taken over the running of the farm, although Ted still keeps the books. Does Ted Fink sometimes wish he’d just died that day in the barnyard? If he does he doesn’t let on. And he showed his appreciation for his wife Rhonda’s devotion by buying her a diamond ring after he got home from the hospital. Ted Fink lives in a world of disfigurement and pain - but he lives. And he gets to see his son Chris work the same farm that five generations of Finks worked before him. And he gets to hold his grandchildren in his lap, even if another adult has to put them there. He also gets to serve as an object lesson for ungrateful clods like yours truly. Next time somebody tells me to have a nice day, I intend to take their advice. McGuinty wants the province’s integrity commissioner to rule on both cases, but these appointees invariably find some technicality to bail out government and residents are better to judge for themselves. McGuinty also keeps saying he will not allow those who donate big money to his party to influence policy, as the preceding Conservative government did. But he invited developers who donated $10,000 each to a private dinner to discuss their concerns and was influenced at least to give them a foot in his door, while others were lucky if they got two minutes with their MPPs. McGuinty also is raking in huge donations from every lobbyist under the sun, part of $6.8 million collected last year, far more than other parties, and they are not giving out of the goodness of their hearts — they expect favours in return. The Liberals are an improvement on ethics over some previous governments, but they should stop pretending they are Mother Theresa. Bonnie Gropp The short of it At graduation There’s a picture before me, a happy, young man, his face beaming beneath a mortarboard and lassie. He knows a new adventure is about to begin. We mature folks know he really doesn’t fully comprehend what it is. Along with other families, Mark and I watched as the parade of graduates entered the auditorium. Eyes scanned to pick out our own honouree from the rest, and as always, once we did, that face brought a smile. And I’m not the least bit ashamed to admit that there was a tear or two as well, to see my grandson graduate from kindergarten. Yes, I know, silly thing really. It’s not like this milestone is going to bring any big changes. He will still be attending the same school in the fall. He will still be with the same friends. He will still be everyone’s little boy. But as every parent and grandparent knows, with the passing of each significant moment in our children’s lives, the years seem to move faster and faster. And there’s not a thing you can do to change it. As a young mom I was naive about this. My eldest child was born an old soul. As a pre­ schooler he was wiser than most adults I knew, full of questions and energy that exhausted his poor mom. I eagerly anticipated the day he would be off to kindergarten and have every day after regretted it. In what seemed a heartbeat I was attending his Grade 8 graduation, then high school, then university. Barely able to catch my breath, I followed the same path for each of his siblings, until all I was left to do was wonder how I got here so quickly. It’s rather bittersweet really. There’s nothing more thrilling than to see your kids grow toward independence There’s no time to be more proud than watching them reach significant milestones and acnieve successes. But, as any Grade 8 parent who attended this week’s graduations would probably tell you, behind the pride lies just a touch of sadness. Their children are going to a different school. Their children are going to make new friends. And their children probably won’t be too happy being referred to as anybody’s little boy or girl anymore. They are sending their kids off to a different world, one of diverse opportunities and experiences. It is a thrilling, and scary time, as they will enjoy new activities and a new way of learning, in conjunction with facing different challenges and an unfamiliar social environment. It’s a thrilling and scary time for mom and dad too. When you know how fast nine years passed, it sure is intimidating to think of the few years spent in secondary school. Four of my proudest times have been the high school graduations of my children. So much so. that I almost forgot to panic at how quickly the time had passed. Then with all the expenses of post-secondary education, J think I was actually wishing those years away. Coupled with the tiny hint of sadness at these graduations was, I must admit, a huge sense of relief. A little awareness, I guess you could call it, has eased the melancholy, too. When I began to realize how quickly time was getting away from me, I made a vow to nang on tighter to each minute. And that little face under the cap was just another reminder to savour each one.