Thanksgiving Weekend

Canada typically slips under a deep turkey-induced slumber over this weekend, as is customary every year. Canadian Thanksgiving – yes, the real Thanksgiving! – is celebrated about a month before the American. The usual meal come dinnertime is a fully stuffed turkey (without stuffing, there is no turkey), soothing gravy, heavenly roasted potatoes and peas and carrots (yes, just peas and carrots). We say goodbye to a joyful summer season full of activities in great fashion and gear up for old man winter. This is "hands down" my favourite holiday because it is one last hurrah with the family before Christmas and it becomes more difficult to get around when we are buried under hundreds of feet of snow.

We can be heroes, just for one day

In the past, our ancestors used to congregate around the dinner table, thankful of a bountiful harvest. I always believe that the closest families are those that sit and eat their meals together, cashing in on some valuable and much needed face time. Communication is everything, don’t you know? The elegant turkey, a wonderful beast native to North America (nothing short of a gift from God), replaces the jolly old goose that the English consume over important festivities. In the old days, if our adventurous farmers avoided their routine obligations of labouring the land, winters would not give up the chance of punishing them. There were no Costco or Walmarts back then – hard to believe, isn’t it? Nowadays, we take for granted the fact that we can go into any supermarket, any time of the year, and buy “fresh” fruit. Our strategic free trade agreements truly play an important role in stocking our finest stores with produce.

Thanksgiving is a time to appreciate everything we have earned. We all feel we deserve the break. Let’s not forget, there are also many unexpected gifts that come our way during the year, making the nature of our lives so much more the sweeter. We spend our days in hectic, fast-paced environments, which facilitates forgetting far too easily our blessings. We are guilty on several counts of complaining to our friends and family that we want more out of life or we would rather be in a different situation. We all have our own paths in life and there is no “one-size-fits-all” prescription to our life’s purpose. It is amazing how we can neglect all the little (and not so little) things that make us wealthy in every sense of the word and sometimes, the envy of others. What we should be doing more often is investing more on our worthwhile relationships instead of pushing these aside putting all our eggs in the wrong basket.

This season, I am grateful for my dearest friends and family who have been extremely supportive during my injury and the challenging road to recovery. On June 24^th, I celebrated Saint Jean Baptiste in the emergency room after tearing my left Achilles tendon, something I cannot recommend anyone else to do. On the plus side, I lost a few pounds I didn’t need due to the trauma. That is still not much of a tradeoff. A few weeks later, I dropped into the hospital to undergo day surgery and they sure weren’t kidding when they thought that name up. I did spend almost an entire workday there. All of your visits, phone calls, e-mails – and let’s not forget the Soy Tazzo Chais from Starbucks - letting me know you are there for me. That means the world to me and it is the best gift I could ever receive, far surpassing anything material. In fact, you really know whom your friends are when you go through these kinds of situations and I am truly blessed. Now, I am taking on physiotherapy and look forward to the future.

A portrait of a healthy man... minus the left tendon foot

In the spirit of Turkey Day – more like Turkey Weekend, am I right? – I hope you are all extra careful out there on the road and eat turkey in moderation. This fantastic fowl has some somniferous proprieties. Everything always has a catch. This is a time where joy, appreciation, friendship, reconciliation and quality time with your loved ones are the most important ingredients to your family gathering. The good times are the special moments we hold dearest, giving us the edge over challenging moments. It is also an ideal time to grab a coat and head to the nearest shelters to help those who are less fortunate. There are people out there who could use a smile and a hot plate of food to warm up their Thanksgiving. Happy tukeying to all!

Remembering The Old 97

No matter what relationship you have with your parents and siblings, these relatives are really the few that can genuinely understand what you are – or will be – going through. A strong nuclear family is of the outmost importance. Outsiders label the expat experience as a sabbatical where you will be rocking out under the hot sun on a sandy beach wearing a funny hat. They don’t usually associate this displacement with becoming a target for terrorists – as was the case in the aftermath of the Japanese residence – or random attacks – when Mario Lambert and I left an amusement park in Peru shortly after a group blew up it up – and having to go on with a regular life. Your parents and siblings know these stories are not exaggerations or some desperate cry for attention. They soldiered on through the same struggles that you had. It is not that the rest of your family or friends do not care to understand, but your mind, identity and even culture has been morphed into something quite different from that of your fellow compatriots in a positive way as you have sacrificed stability and a sense of daily continuity.

Roosevelt Softball Team:
bet you can't spot the heavy metal horns!

In 1997, my nuclear family was rocked by even more than gun blasts and body bags marking the end of a siege. My older brother, Brian, was now headed off to university to pursue higher education in Medicine, bringing an abrupt end to our comfortable routine and camaraderie. He was excited to leave the roost and overjoyed with his upcoming emancipation. I was delighted and celebrated this new step alongside him yet realized it was going to be difficult to live in the same house after his departure. No more Sepultura banging through the massive home-made speakers he built with his friend Paul. The Cowboys From Hell were packing their suitcases to the head bangers ball in London, Ontario. Our lazy day basketball “21”s were to be substituted for a solo shoot around the driveway. The pitching staff in our school’s ball club was going to struggle to replace him and his lefty swing attempting to beat the green monster on right field. Family trips were now going to be booked for 3. Little did I know the days of living under the same roof had come to an end. There was no tomorrow.

To make matters even worse, as a 10 year anniversary present for my mother kicking cancer out of our house, she was once more diagnosed with the same type of cancer shortly before Brian would leave home base. Dad and Maman called us into their room one evening to have a serious chat and my father used that infamous cliché phrase: “It is nothing serious.” In every past instance when I heard that sentence mentioned, it was always a big deal. Mom told me several years later, she had decided to spend quality time with her mother that summer as she thought it could be her last chance. Mom was admitted on August 15^th, 1997 to the Clinica Montesur in Monterrico, Lima for surgery and she was to remain there for a good 5 days or so until she would be discharged. Brian stayed a few nights at her bedside during her stay and my requests to stand guard had been denied due to my school obligations. Everyone suggested – in my best interest of course - that it was best for me to continue my usual routine. I wasn’t a fan of people deciding for me. All I had on my mind was whether or not I was going to have a mother tomorrow or lose her to this cancer that did not want to leave our family alone. She was the glue that kept us all together.

School provided no distraction from the situation whatsoever. My mother had taken on the role of the school’s French teacher many moons ago and now… she was absent. This was highly uncharacteristic of her career in Roosevelt. Of course the staff knew why, but students began to ask questions and, as most kids and teens manage to, they got answers. Soon, my peers and others came up to express their sympathy, support and hoped things would get better soon. I preferred at the time that people pretended everything was normal. All is well. The icing on the cake was someone who came up to me and said: “My brother died of cancer so if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.” Gulp! Not a very smooth reassuring comment but I understood that the intentions were most noble. I felt as if I was treading like the Titanic in the academic seas as I prepared for the most important years of high school - the ones that universities really look at. However, I fought for my place, my grades and my permanence in the International Baccalaureate programme and tried to focus on what I could influence. I had to make it. Come September, Brian was gone. It was not a way of escaping his duties, on the contrary. It must have been difficult for him to leave knowing our mother had to undergo multiple sessions of radiotherapy. They had always been very close.

Maman (in red) and the FDR High School staff

We all have challenges to overcome and we often fail to consider how privileged we are in contrast to others. Many of us tend to dwell on the fact we were dealt the wrong card from the deck of life and resent God, life and others in a better situation than ourselves. I was somewhat guilty in the beginning of this crisis, feeling I did not have the proper support. An outsider could coldly say to you in a similar setting, “Toughen up” or “That’s life” – usually the last thing we want to hear – although this may be the best prescription. Everyone has their own coping mechanisms. Even in this darkest hour when faced with what looked like the end of my world as I knew it, I realized that you – the universal you - can always count on the kindness of others. Strangers can become friends, friends can become brothers and you may find redemption in a friendship you considered lost. It is up to you to deal with this pain and you owe it to yourself to carry on. Tomorrow, people you love may or may not be there, but the show must go on – of course while keeping those who are gone forever in your heat and thoughts. My mother fought and survived cancer once again and I never forget the support from strangers, friends and family that went out to the four of us. All of you are never forgotten in our household for your unconditional gesture of friendship in a time of need. I have always said, you always find out who your friends really are in times of hardship.

Remembering Two Great People

Grandparents are perhaps among the most treasured people in the lives of children. Kids can't wait for the moment to see them and the time involved in reuniting with them is never ending. The fact of just being close to them or hugging them is natural behaviour and gaining their attention at every passing second is the number one objective. Time just breezes by when you are in their company and if you don't stop and look around, that time will just pass you by. This was no exception with my paternal grandparents (better known in my little world as Granny and Grandad) who we barely had the pleasure to enjoy during the course of the year. My widowed maternal grandmother, Mémé, as I mentioned in a previous blog entry, was the only family member who periodically visited while we were posted overseas. I remember when December came around, I began counting down the days to heading to Canada to see the family, especially Granny and Grandad.

Grandad and Granny on a trip to England in the 80s

After our Polynesian tour, we resumed our regular pilgrimage to the frozen north without knowing what awaited us upon our return to Santiago. The end of the southern hemisphere summer naturally brought forth the mixed feelings of a cooler autumn. The end of February meant going back to school, replacing the excess leisure I cherished with hitting the books. My comfort was in reuniting with my buddies and hoping the new scholastic year would include interesting courses. I also was looking forward to my much anticipated birthday on March 2nd, only two weeks away from the inaugural schoolyard bell. I was particularly enthused that it would be on a weekend this year. However, the day before my special day, my perfect world was rocked once more. My Granny had been hospitalized due to a heart attack and was not able to hang on to the world we shared, and passed on the day of my birthday. I still recall this moment with great heartache. I lost a great person who blessed me with great memories, such as her love for Huck Finn and the incredibly amazing deserts served in gargantuan portions. This shock was hard to handle, especially as I could not be close to Grandad to give him a hug and support, especially now that he was alone without any relatives nearby. Furthermore, because we had already taken our vacation leave, there was no way financially or otherwise for us to attend Granny's funeral. That distance between North and South had become even greater. We could not pay tribute to Granny and say our farewell.

I am not sure how the next events unfolded, but some of the influencing must have been conducted by my Dad. The loss of his mother contributed to his cross-continental reaching out to his father, convincing him take some time for himself to heal the wounds and fill the void Granny had left in our lives. The four of us in Santiago did our share of reaching out, so I could relate to that father-son connection. The good news among the bad was that Grandad was coming to the deep south. Brian and I were delightfully surprised to have our grandfather all to ourselves, regardless of the fact we were back in school. After Maman's cancer, our Venezuelan curfews and other challenges, we were seasoned in finding comfort in family and coming together. This would be a great opportunity for all of us to join forces and help Grandad keep his mind on the positive and the magic of family. Once the news was out he was coming, another arduous waiting game began, hoping the day to go pick him up at the airport would come soon. I wanted all my friends to know he was coming and hoped they would meet him. I swear I must have even thought of organizing my GI Joes for a military parade welcoming him. My parents on the other hand were probably considering some fun activities, must-see events and locations.

The day finally closed in on us. Grandad arrived. The four of us were all present and accounted for at the airport to greet him and anxious to make every second of his visit count. The royal treatment we had previously extended to Mémé now applied to pampering Grandad. It was awesome coming home from school to see him. We also took him to our personal heaven in Reñaca where he seemed to appreciate the Pacific Coast. Once more we assumed the role of the most thorough tour guides in the region. We dined in our preferred restaurants, ventured around port area, and the Chilean navy even had a wonderful collection of war ships out on the waterfront, perhaps readying for a war game. My most precious memory of his trip was in the beach house during one of our quiet evenings together. Brian and I decided to turn the silence into entertainment. Lucky Grandad! In the early 90s, the song Black or White by Michael Jackson had taken the world by storm along with his unmatched abilities to moonwalk. Brian set us up for the opening ceremonies, popping in our tape of Michael Jackson's Dangerous as we scrambled to our places. Let the show begin! I performed some world class lip-synch routine wearing my huge dark sunglasses, my Terry Fox Run t-shirt bearing a massive red maple leaf and my gray jogging pants. Brian suited up in his fancy black nylon track outfit and busted every move in the dance move bible. Footloose had nothing on him. There is a video of this incident somewhere in the family records which I hope to share at some point on this blog before this priceless footage is lost in time. The Bickford performers were so unbelievably talented that my Grandad showed the tape to the family in Canada. What an honour! I know now what the Jackson 5 must of felt when they hit the big time.

Grandad leading the expedition through Valparaiso, Chile

Once Grandad returned home to Canada, reality, as it tends to do, set in. From here on out, every time I would see Grandad again, there would be no Granny. In fact, even until the last times I went to his house in Amherstview - for those who are not familiar with this place, it is a suburb of Kingston, Ontario - I never got used to not seeing Granny around. There was no dedicated tombstone or mausoleum where her remains rested. Grandad spread her ashes in the backyard of his house. Perhaps this was an idea to always be with her, but when his house was sold in the 2000s, I felt as if Granny had also been sold. My Pépé (my maternal grandfather) passed away when I was slightly over 3 years-old and now, my Granny at 11. It is impossible for me to say that I understood that this was a life process and our clock runs out when it has to. Actually, it was quite the opposite. I considered that I had been robbed of special people. On the subject of my Pépé, it saddens me that I do not remember much about him. Perhaps it was the age, the fact we did not live close by, or my age and having to keep up to constant wide scale changes. I have developed a mentality which adapts to tragic personal losses convinced that it is absolutely important to remember the good things about these people. As long as their memory prevails, they continue to accompany us through life. I like to think that when I reach a goal I set for myself, it was thanks to their positive thoughts, as they are my guardian angels watching out for me.