Career Redux - TELUS Revisited

A definite advantage of working for TELUS was the opportunity to change careers without leaving the company and God knows, I've never been one to dismiss an advantage.

I began with a 7 year sales career in Broadcast Services, working for long time AGT Sales Manager, Clare Manulak. Clare introduced me to the nuances of the communications business, sales in general and customer service in particular. He showed me the possibilities of a future in business communications where I never dreamed one existed. Clare furnished me with a solid ethical foundation in business principles. He was a rare combination of leader, taskmaster, worry wart and salesman and he combined all that with a mischievous sense of fun. He was also a family man and due in part to my age at the time, my lessons with Clare had as much to do with life as they did business. I'm forever grateful and I'll never forget him.

My next stop was a training gig in intracompany services then on to Special Accounts Billing, or SABS (a.k.a. "The Job From Hell", a terrifying assignment deserving of its own post, which I'll write if I ever complete therapy).

After that nightmare I earned a position in Desktop Support, under Manager Charlie Stone. My Area Supervisor was an outgoing, affable Englishman, Steve Roebuck. In a very short time Steve taught me how to analyze a situation prior to starting the task, a skill I'd re-use through the remainder of my career. He was a leader with a heart, a quirky sense of humor we happened to share but above all, Steve was a "company man" in the best sense of the term. He was proud to work for TELUS and he had little time or patience for peers who didn't. I couldn't have agreed more.

In time I moved on to Internal Operations, a vaguely titled but heavily responsible area with another dynamo mentor/boss, Gary Lakusta. Like many of my peers, I mistakingly interpreted his impeccable grooming, fine suits and outgoing manner as arrogance. At times Gary appeared "too good to be real," "a hustler", "all flash, no substance" and so on. Still, before I went to work for Gary we had occasion to interact directly. I was surprised to find him open and attentive, a breath of fresh air in an often stodgy environment.

As it turned out, Gary's alleged "arrogance" was in fact, confidence. In our 3 years together I developed something of a swagger myself, though like Gary, I had to be certain I could deliver before I brought it out.

I would have continued with Gary for a longer period but there were budget cuts and his area was downsized. Unfazed, he left for much greener pastures outside of TELUS within a year or two. Unfortunately, this marked an end to my string of personally rewarding jobs and it would be years before I rediscovered career happiness.

TELUS and Ed Tel merged. Generally, the grass root workers of both companies noticed a degree of disruption but due in part to common unions, the differences were slight. Middle Management was another scenario. We TELUS management employees were informed early on, the management teams from the "little phone company that could" were going to lead our newly combined enterprise to the promised land. TELUS managers had just better step up to that, or step off, that simple.

From what I came to know, the "little phone company that could" actually couldn't, not as a profit centre anyway. Their vehicles, administration, billing and engineering costs were funneled through the City of Edmonton budget. Their minimal hardware and toll profits didn't pay for anything. I paid, as did all Edmontonians, through a magical little fund known as "the mill rate". Within weeks, the inmates of the little phone company that could were running my asylum.

Al Toft, my first boss under the new regime, had originally been with AGT. When AGT became TELUS, he switched to Ed Tel. After leaving Ed Tel for a better paying gig with a supplier in Seattle, he asked for, and received, his old ED TEL job back, only now it was with a newly merged TELUS.

His reasoning for all this flitting about was a complex family issue. His wife and two boys had little enthusiasm for living anywhere but in their original home in St. Albert and unfortunately, Al was paying the price.

I'm getting a little ahead of myself. I knew nothing of the aforementioned until after Al tried to fire me, so picture this. I'm assigned to the world's unhappiest man, a circumstance of which I'm unaware. Talk about the uncertainties life can throw at you!

At our very first meeting, Mr. Toft advised me that despite my 3 consecutive "surpasses expectations" ratings and their accompanying bonuses, I did not have the formal education required to effectively do my job and as a result, for the first time since I'd been hired 18 years prior, I was on probation. With that, he assigned me a rudimentary task to be properly completed and on his desk by 8 the next morning (it was now 5 p.m.), and he added, "Your job depends on it."

I turned in my task on time the next morning. He scanned it, said it was "okay" and immediately presented me with another task. Again, I was advised, "Your job depends on it."

He tried this routine one more time before I'd had enough. I turned, quietly closed the door and in a tone just above a whisper advised, "Al, go f**k yourself." He came out from behind his desk and exclaimed, "This is was a test, and you failed miserably. You're finished. Pack your desk and leave....NOW!"

I said, "I know our Director (Chuck Kiel) is also ex Ed Tel but, unlike you, he's no idiot. Let's go see him." Al all but ran to the Director's office, leaving me in his wake. As I arrived seconds later I heard Al say, "Hamilton refused a direct order, then he cursed...at ME! I demand his instant dismissal!"

Chuck didn't get up at first. He glanced at me, took in the wonder that was Al Toft, and finally spoke. "Brian, you're fine, it's all good. Please excuse us for a moment."

I all but ran out the door but I quickly found a safe spot to eavesdrop on Chuck's little talk with Al. "HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND? YOU'RE FIRING A GUY YOUR SECOND DAY HERE? And whaddya mean he disobeyed a direct order? Who do you think you are? COLONEL F*CKING KLINK?!?" 

Mr. Toft went on a 4 week stress leave and it was a few months before I encountered him again. By then I'd landed a Change Management job working for Tim Lau. I was conducting classes to all TELUS IT employees, rolling out and explaining the new company wide Change Management System. Al attended one of the sessions and it was clear the man was in serious distress. At the sessions end after everyone had left, we had a post class exchange where he described his ongoing professional and personal problems at length. I listened attentively, then I suggested he go fuck himself; not my finest moment. 

The next time I heard from Al was roughly 5 years ago, via e-mail. He asked if I'd give him a business recommendation. This time I just said no.

I'd been with TELUS for 17 years before taking the Change Management job, working alongside Ian Luty in Edmonton, and Mary Lyall and Deb Buxton in Calgary.

Going in, Deb and Mary were known in TELUS IT circles as personable professionals with an impeccable work ethic and no fear of effort, albeit informed effort. At times Deb could play the hard-ass "bad cop" to Mary's angelic "good cop" but their roles weren't that closely defined. They were always prepared at the onset, any opposition had already been anticipated, discussed and rectified by the time the meeting was called. This rendered nearly every objection moot. Their experiences in founding and managing the TELUS Help Desk, also known as SPOC, in Calgary gave them a profound advantage in mapping changes to the TELUS corporate environment.

Ian and I both had a degree of overall IT knowledge and I brought effective oral or written communications skills to the table. Within a very short time, we melded to form an efficient team. Not unexpectedly, Ian, Deb, Mary and I also became the best of friends in the process.


Originally Tim Lau was TELUS Change Management, pretty much all by himself. Something of a visionary, Tim researched formal Change Management processes in other corporate environments and eventually designed and implemented a custom built system for TELUS; a major, bordering on miraculous, accomplishment.

When TELUS merged with BC Tel, our team was surprised to learn that they too had a formal Change Management system. Tim's developmental counterpart for BC Tel was an absolute firecracker, Ms. Leslie Hansen. The two had never met and while they built their respective systems in mutual anonymity, it was astonishing how similar their end products were. They'd even arrived at the same software solution, "Remedy". As a direct result of Tim and Leslie's efforts, our transition and eventual merger was about as seamless as it could be.

When Tim moved on, Leslie took charge of TELUS Change Management proper. Her "go-get-'em" attitude and extensive IT knowledge base made her a perfect fit. As luck would have it, the team she had in place in Vancouver fit in very nicely with ours. However, we did notice a few systemic differences. The BC team saw their role as more observant than proactive. While we organized and oversaw nearly every aspect of a given system change, BC was more likely to report solely on change results. They'd participate in the planning only if requested by a project team and unlike the Alberta team, they were rarely involved in the actual implementation.

It took a degree of time and effort but little by little, we managed to show our BC counterparts the value of personally leading at least the major system changes from planning through to implementation. In turn they drew our attention to the dangers of micro managing and we adjusted our procedures accordingly. Leslie had always wanted it done that way, so it really wasn't exactly a tough sell.

Information Technology is seldom a static environment career-wise and in time, Leslie too moved on. Her replacement was another top-notch, superbly capable ex BC Tel Manager, Brenda Neill. Well versed in the myriad aspects of Information Technology, Brenda brought a somewhat calmer though no less effective presence to the table and my career continued to flourish.

As life would have it, IT Change Manager would be my final position with TELUS before retirement. It was an exciting, labor intensive and professionally fulfilling time. The area would come to define me as an employee and a person. This transformation was due in no small part to the friendship and camaraderie I shared with Deb and Mary. These two eventually became my best friends within TELUS certainly, and to a large degree outside the Company as well.

Progress was made at a steady pace and soon the simple, non-comprehensive work was rolling out smoothly. Within months of our coalition, we began receiving higher level projects, system changes where any service interruptions or failures could conceivably impact TELUS nation-wide or in one case, Canada's national security.

Over the next few years our professional bonds flourished until eventually we seemed to know what one of our peers wanted or needed, often before they did. The personal payoff; our professional arrangement eventually evolved into personal friendships.

As I neared the appropriate age and compiled the required number of service years, I was offered a very generous retirement package. The timing wasn't perfect but it wasn't bad, so my family and I took it. My sole regret was not being able to tell Mary and Debbie in person. I had them on a conference call within moments of finding out, but the experience was a little hollow compared to being with them.

We stay in touch regularly though neither Mary nor Deb are currently employed with TELUS. After a brief respite, both are flourishing in the Information Technology world with other companies.

I worked with Golf Town for a time, but now I'm retired for real.

People such as Clare, Steve, Tim, Ian, Leslie, Brenda, Deb, Mary and many more will always hold a dear spot in my heart and I know with certainty, I'm a better person for having had them in my life.

The Good Person

                We heard the wailing even before the bus had come to a complete stop. The other passengers heard it too and we all watched the front door with a mixture of curiosity and dread.

The door opened and a young fellow stumbled aboard. Roughly 20 years of age, he was sobbing and shaken but somehow managed to produce a bus pass. The driver quickly glanced at it, then stared stonily ahead. My fellow riders and I looked everywhere but at the young man. His high pitched keening cries continued as he stumbled down the aisle. Finally, he took a seat. 

I’d seen him on the bus before, though never in this state. I believe today’s politically correct term for his condition is “mentally challenged”. Under normal circumstances you’d barely notice him. He usually gets on the bus, takes a seat and spends his journey smiling at everyone. Every now and then he may quietly talk to himself, but you’d never pick up on it if you weren’t listening. Today was obviously different.

As his crying continued unabated, I glanced nervously in his direction. To my dismay I realized he was searching desperately from face to face, seeking any available source of comfort. I knew I couldn’t allow this to go on and because everyone else was riveted on their newspapers or staring out their windows, I found myself calling out to him in a voice much louder than I’d intended. “Hey pal! What’s wrong?”

With tears streaming down his face, he eventually focused on me. His voice rose a full octave as he exclaimed, “I’VE HAD A VERY BAD DAY! I’VE HAD A VERY BAD WEEK! I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON WITH ME ANYWAYS!”

I quickly moved to a seat directly across from him. “You don’t have to yell anymore. I’m right here. Just tell me what’s happened.”

I handed him a tissue and he blew his nose loudly. “THIS GIRL AT WORK, SHE CALLED ME STUPID!”

“Okay,” I pleaded. “Tell me exactly what happened but please, lower your voice. You’re scaring everyone.”

We both glanced around the bus and noticed almost everyone watching us intently. Even the driver glanced back at us every now and again through his rear view mirror.

“Well,” the boy sniffled, “I made a mistake where I work and she got really, really mad at me. She yelled, got all red and worst thing of all, she said I was stupid! I HATE that!”

When I asked where he worked, he responded with the name of a downtown recycling company. Our conversation continued. 

“And you know the worst part?” he asked. “Except for bosses nearly everyone who works there is like me. Even this girl is! We’re all sort of stupid but a good person doesn’t say that to another person, and I’m a good person!”

“Well, it certainly seems that way”, I responded. “It’s Friday. Do you two have the weekend off?” When he nodded I continued, “I’ll tell you what. Just relax this weekend and think hard about all your friends at work. I’m sure just about everyone there likes you, right?” Again he nodded, this time with obvious enthusiasm. “When you go back to work on Monday, walk right up to that girl and tell her that not only are you a good person, so is she.”

He appeared puzzled for a moment then he said, “I’ll do it and you know why? Because most of the time she is a good person! Maybe she had a bad day too.”

“Yes, or even a bad week, like you,” I smiled. He grinned back at me.

Just then a thought struck me. While my initial intention had been to quell a disturbance, the result was much more profound, for me at least. I had witnessed another person’s despair quietly evolve into acceptance and finally to a self-realization that few could ever comprehend. I’d encountered a truly dignified man in a time when such people seemed to have attained endangered species status. His ability to have faith in himself despite personal adversity was an attribute I could only dream of acquiring.

At that moment the bus arrived at our terminal. As we disembarked I asked my new friend if he was feeling better. 

“Yes I am,” he replied. “Do you have any candy?”

As luck would have it, I had a brand new roll of Lifesavers and I handed them to him immediately. “Keep the roll,” I said. “You deserve them.”

He carefully unwrapped the package and popped one into his mouth. He thanked me and as he walked away I heard him murmur, “I am…a good person."

Innocence Lost 

                                 On a recent Sunday afternoon I had occasion to drive through my old neighbourhood. The circumstances that brought me there are unimportant but the crisp air and bight sunshine was more than enough to lead me down an old side road and slow my vehicle to a crawl.

As I drove memories of my youth swept over me. I found myself picking out homes of old friends, wondering if they lived there now and how their lives had turned out.

My elementary school was still there, though it looked considerably less foreboding than I remembered. On this day it seemed ordinary and small, but I recalled a time when I couldn’t imagine setting foot in a building as large!

I remember walking to school, taking care to stay on the west side of the sidewalk, as the east side was the realm of the older boys. There were no written rules per se but once school started, you were soon informed that the east side was inhabited by all-powerful masters of the universe and therefore, not your dominion. Unless you wanted your books and school papers strewn over a city block, you were careful to know your place. Of course one day you'd be old enough to patrol the east side and vengeance would be yours!

There was Mr. Harridin's house. Dark, mysterious and completely cloaked in a shroud of huge evergreens, everyone knew this was no ordinary house. Any man who stayed home all day, as Mr. Harridin did, and never came out except to retrieve his mail and glare at us had to be a spy! Which country the old scoundrel represented was unclear but we were consistently careful to maintain absolute silence when we passed. World War II had been over for 15 years but the Cold War was very much alive and it was our patriotic duty to ensure we didn't divulge any national secrets.

On my way out of the neighbourhood I turned the corner to the north end of my elementary school. To my surprise I came upon a scene that caused many cherished memories to flood over me. I quickly parked the car, got out, leaned against the trunk and watched the proceedings in amazement.

In the small lot between the community skating rink and the school there were roughly a dozen boys between the ages of 10 and 13. They were playing field hockey. Using splintered hockey sticks and a tattered tennis ball, they raced up and down the field, pausing only to argue and gesture dramatically or to rescue the ball from under a car. Their faces were scarlet with exertion and rage and while many wore NHL jerseys and new hockey gloves, quite a few resembled my old gang, sporting their older siblings or parents oversized gear, their ragged sweatshirts hanging to the patched knees of their jeans.

It always seemed odd to me how we’d picked that particular spot to play field hockey. There were plenty of other areas we could have used, many of them schematically appropriate and closer to our homes. Yet because this place was adjacent to the actual community rink, it made perfect sense for us to play there, and only there, but what amazed me on this day was that these kids had continued the tradition! I was certain they’d not been instructed to go there but somehow, they’d followed our logic. I found the notion simultaneously amazing and comforting.

After watching for a few minutes I noticed a woman in her early 30s striding purposefully toward me. Her crossed arms and the angry set of her jaw told me she was not about to exchange pleasantries. 

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

I blurted out my story about having lived here as a child and explained how I’d stopped to watch the kids play hockey, just as I’d played as a boy. Even while speaking the words, I felt an internal easiness.

“Look, my son’s one of those boys and I don’t know you from Adam. You’d better leave before I call the police.”

My initial reaction was extreme outrage. My first thought was to lash out at her with the same venomous disgust she’d shown me but of course, I didn’t. Instead I said nothing, got back into my car and slowly drove away. She watched me until I was out of sight.

As I left from those grand old memories I was overcome by sadness. It wasn’t so much that one can never go home. Time and it’s inherent lessons have taught me that lesson. It wasn’t even the woman with her angry eyes and fiercely protective manner. Given the circumstances of the moment and the social climate of the day, I empathized with her position. I didn’t blame her.

That evening I sat in my chair and contemplated the events of the day. I realized the hollow sensation that caused my throat to constrict and my eyes to mist did not concern a specific person or thing. Rather, I found myself grieving for an innocent time lost, likely to never to be regained.

Doug

I had a friend growing up, Doug, and from the time he was six or seven he acted, looked and carried himself like a girl. This behaviour was beyond his control. By the time he hit his mid teens he was fighting it with every fibre in his being, but to no avail. 

Doug's parents seemed unaware of his difficulties and as the middle child of 5 kids, he occupied a rather low place on the family totem pole. Frankly, his entire family were not particularly pleasant people.

He tried out for baseball, soccer and even hockey, though he could barely skate. He was always the first cut. 

Doug would pick fights with guys over almost nothing and lose them all, badly. As his sole friend, this was hard for me to watch. The few times I tried to step in, Doug became angrier with me than the fellow he was fighting, so I'd stand by and watch like everyone else. I vividly recall a feeling of self-loathing wash over me.

Once we reached high school, Doug tried dating girls. He never "liked" guys in a sexual way, he much preferred girls but his inborn femininity prevented him from taking on a fully masculine role. This was confusing for most girls we knew and as a result, Doug didn't date much. He went to grad with his cousin. To say Doug was confused is an understatement. 

He developed a friendship with my Mom. She was always more accepting of Doug than his own family. She first became aware of his situation when I brought him home after one particularly nasty scrap. He had a small cut over one eye. Mom cleaned him up and simply talked to him. Their friendship was immediate and instantaneous. Doug would drop over once or twice a week, usually under the pretense of seeing me, but he'd talk to my Mom almost exclusively. I didn't mind. On the contrary; I was happy for him. It was great to see him actually connect with anyone, including my Mom.

After meeting Doug, my Mom and Dad made a point of telling me how some people "differed" from the norm. They explained that quite often, behaviours weren't a choice, they simply...were. I can see now how their viewpoint was rare for the time, but I've always appreciated the fact they shared it with me.

In a recent interview with Diane Sawyer, Caitlyn (formerly Bruce) Jenner said, "Imagine waking up every morning, despising yourself for your body and your feelings, then throw in an overwhelming sense of self-disgust. That is my reality every single day." I recalled Doug saying something similar to me when we were in our teens.

Unfortunately we lost track of one another a few years after high school. Doug stayed in touch with my Mom for a time but eventually their friendship faded as well. 

Doug got into hardcore drugs, did some jail time and died of lung cancer at 44, single, broke and alone. My Mom and I were the only people at his funeral. No-one from his family attended.

Had I been in Doug's situation I'm not sure I'd have followed Jenner's route, but I sincerely wish that option had been there for him. 

A Solid Guy, A Solid Life          

I lost a childhood friend recently to diabetes related issues and eventual organ failure. I’ve known Jim since we were 6 years old and except for a gap of about 15 years, we’ve always stayed in touch. His wife Michelle asked me to write a childhood memory to be included in his eulogy to be read by his favourite 2 nieces. 

One of my earliest memories with Jim involved us playing catch in my front yard, something we did often. On this particular day I was also babysitting my 2 year old brother, Bruce. He would stand inside at the front screen door and watch us, usually without incident, but not this time. 

On this occasion Bruce managed to open the door and tumble down the 5 front steps. Once he landed he was screaming bloody murder and one of his tiny legs was twisted at a weird angle. I immediately tried standing him up several times to no avail. 

“Stop doing that,” yelled Jim. “His leg’s broken!!” to which I responded, “It can’t be! My parents will kill me!” 

At that precise moment Mom and Dad pulled up.

As it happens, one of the cement sidewalk slabs at the base of the steps had never been poured properly and the side nearest the steps stuck up roughly two inches. My Mom was always on my Dad’s back about fixing it but to date, he hadn’t.

My Mom ran up screaming, “WHAT HAPPENED! HIS LEG’S BROKEN!” 

Enter my best friend and personal hero, one James Edward Short.
“Mrs Hamilton, we were playing here in the yard with Bruce and when he ran back to the house, he tripped over that sidewalk block.” I believe my Dad’s exact words were, “Oh shit.” Mom turned on him like a ravenous lioness and I was suddenly off the hook.

Now I don’t want to have you believe that Jim was a liar. He was more of a pragmatist but that’s not the point of this story. Jim showed he was a true friend that day and for the rest of his life. It was that quality that put him on a slightly elevated personal pedestal, to me anyway. 

Jim Short was a solid guy and I miss him dearly.

My Dad and the "Ef Bomb"




When I was in my pre-teens my friends and I always often had a game of tackle football directly across the road from my house. The action was hard core, we had no pads or helmets but no-one cared. As a result of this intensity, the air was often rife with very loud, extremely crude cussing.

One Sunday afternoon I was mowed down by a block from behind and as per custom, I jumped up and unleashed a venomous string of obcenities at the cretin who dared to perform this henious act.

About mid bellow I noticed my Dad, leaning on his rake, watching and listening from our front yard. 

We kept playing for a time afterward and at game's end my Dad motionrd me over. As I recall, our conversation went something like this.

Dad: "You guys play really well. I wouldn't be surprised if you all make your high school teams when the time comes."

Me: "Thanks!"

Dad: "One thing I didn't like was all the swearing, particularly the 'f-word'. Tell me, have you ever heard me use it?"

Me: "Uh...no."

Dad: "Well I have, three times. Because I use it so seldom, no-one expects it but when I do use it, people listen. It's a great word but if you use it constantly, it loses all impact."

Me: "I'd never thought of it like that."

I've tried to remember Dad's lesson but sadly, I fail more often than I'd like. I did pass my Dad's advice along to my son James, and I'm pleased to report he's done a much better job of following it than I ever did. 

Good on him I say. 

"Moot? What The Hell Is A Moot?!?"

I'm not a fan of newspaper obituaries but I was stopped in my tracks by one last week. While looking for the daily crossword puzzle, I spotted a photo of a friend and former colleague on the obituary page.

Gary Lakusta was my Area Manager at TELUS in the late 90's, though I certainly noticed him before that. He was the very picture of a "sharped dressed man"; custom tailored suits, immaculate shirts and ties, polished shoes; the whole gamut. His professional appearance went beyond the surface. I rarely saw him without a smile, a  listening ear and a handshake at the ready.

Like many of my coworkers, I initially thought Gary was too good to be true. Nobody was that  good looking, that well groomed and happy to boot. Over time it became apparent we were wrong. 

A position opened in Gary's area. The job looked very interesting so I applied for it and he took me on. Within a few days I realized Gary was as genuine as they come. He really was the consummate professional. What I couldn't see initially was his hidden inner wackiness. 

We were making a formal presentation to the TELUS Executive Board when a Senior VP questioned one of the steps in our proposal. "Well sir," replied Gary "that particular step shouldn't impact the provision of services. It's implementation, though necessary, is a mute point."

Everyone in the room immediately stared at him. Gary noticed but within seconds he pressed on. The remainder of the meeting while eventually successful, was uneventful.

As we entered the elevator Gary asked, "Why was everyone staring at me? Did I have something in my teeth? What the hell was that about?" 

"You said a certain point was 'mute' and the correct word is 'moot'. It just surprised everyone."

Gary stared at me and exclaimed, "MOOT? What the hell is a moot? C'mon! That's not a word! Is it?"

I burst out laughing and Gary laughed too, yet he remaind confused until I explained the difference between the two words. 

Gary repeated that story to just about anyone who'd listen for years afterwards because though it happened to him, he found it hilarious. That's the kind of man Gary was and that's why I admired him. He lived every moment to its fullest, even embarrassing moments at his own expense. 

I've not met a lot of others with that quality. Gary Lakusta was the real deal.

A Blog? Why?

In my 70 years on this mortal coil, I've enjoyed an unremarkable yet fulfilled life, thus far anyway. 

I was an average kid in physical stature and mental ability. I worked as hard as required to avoid pissing too many people off. A degree of anonymity was a personal goal. To my surprise, I found I had a gift for observation. Things or events would occur and, for the most part, go unnoticed by most people. Still, there were times when I'd spot something desperate, despicable, inane or humane behind some seemingly ordinary event or person. Most times the impact would be fleeting, but on occasion, certain things would stick. 

Eventually I began capturing what I considered the most significant of these thoughts and ideas in print. I'd share them with people via essays, editorial submissions, eulogies and correspondence. For years certain well-meaning friends have suggested I somehow record these "mini streams of consciousness" and frankly, this blogging trend removed my last excuse not to do so.

So hang in there dear readers and buckle up for a journey rife with mediocrity, but laced with just enough wonder and naivete to make it interesting. Above all please understand. I'm not looking to educate or enrich, merely entertain. Enjoy!

My "Military Career"

I began my military career at the age of 10 when my Mom signed me up for Cub Scouts. I wasn't crazy about the beanie style cap, but the green sweater with the Canada Cub Scouts logo was pretty cool and the scarf with the little leather holder thingy was awesome.

My first official meeting provided a glimpse of how my future would roll out, militarily speaking of course. 

Our initial order was to memorize was "the code":

I promise to do my best,

To love and serve God, to do my duty to the Queen;

To keep the law of the Wolf Cub pack,

And to do a good turn for somebody every day. 

Dib dib, dub dub , Akeila we will do our best.

Being something of an idiot, that last line cracked me up and I didn't exactly snicker. I busted out laughing and after a second or two, my fellow neophytes followed suit. This was met with sneers of disdain from the "real Cubs" and I received an immediate dressing down from the Scout-In-Charge. Despite my best efforts, I could not stop laughing and I was told to leave.

I was allowed to return the next week and I managed to get through that session unscathed. Actually, it was a lot of fun. The Scout-In-Charge explained the idea of merit badges and how to earn them. Before you could earn merit badges, you had to earn two stars, or "eyes" to display on your cap. Once you had "both eyes open", you were not only considered a true Cub Scout, you were well on your way to becoming an actual Boy Scout!

Within a month or two I'd earned my first star and I displayed it proudly on my cap. By this time the other newbies had earned both stars and they were working on their initial merit badges. I was so enamoured with my initial star, I really wasn't in much of a hurry to get the second one. This infuriated Scout-In-Charge and he finally called me out on my lack of effort in front of the entire troop. When I told Scout-In-Charge I was pretty much set on being a one-eyed pirate Cub, my journey ended.

By the time I was 12, two of my older brothers were serving in the Canadian Navy and they urged me to join the Navy Cadets. I didn't really care for their odd little hats so, with their blessing, I opted for the Canadian Army Cadets. 

On our first week we received our uniforms, a general introduction speech and we viewed a short film about Cadet Camp in Vernon, B.C. I became very excited. Ten whole days away from my parents and that camp looked like it kicked butt!

In the week leading up to the next session, my brother Tom showed me how to prepare and wear the uniform and of utmost importance, how to "hot spoon" and polish my boots until I could actually see my reflection in them. Tom then drove me to the local barber where I received a genuine military brush cut. I was unimpressed with the new hairdo but whatever, I was on my way to Camp "No-Oldies-For-10-Days"! 

At my second session I met an actual Army Captain and he complimented me on my "authentic appearance". I joined my first drill exercise virtually walking on air, but this elation ended quickly.

I grew up in a suburban neighbourhood where all the houses were built within a year or two of one another and the area was rife with kids my age. This made for a terrific childhood as everyone, including me, had 10 or 15 "best friends"! Of course there were exceptions. 

Every neighborhood had at least one kid who whined about everything, didn't really like anybody and generally set about making everyone around him miserable. We had Billy Markeen.

Billy's family was well off. He always had the nicest bike, the latest clothes and comic books, gobs of candy, tons of spending money and an overall "I'm way better than you" attitude. He also had a habit of picking fights, then calling on one or both of his older brothers to finish them up.

So, imagine my horror when I found out our "Staff Seargent/Drill Coordinator" was none other than Billy freaking Markeen.

I stood in the back row, hoping he'd either ignore or not see me. Of course that didn't happen. Upon eye contact, Staff Sgt. Markeen summoned me "front and centre". He slowly circled, his little wooden staff at the ready. He barked, "Straighten your hat!" and emphasized his directive with a tap on my shoulder. "Watch the stick, Markeen", I whispered. "THAT'S STAFF SERGEANT MARKEEN!" he shrieked.  

"Pull in your gut!" was his next directive, punctuated with a poke to my belly. "Don't do that again", I warned.

When Markeen drew back his stick once more, I plucked it from his hand, knocked his hat off with it, flipped it across the room and walked away. The last thing I recall is Staff Seargent/Drill Coordinator Markeen screaming, "GET THE HELL BACK HERE, HAMILTON!" That didn't happen.

In that moment it occurred to me; perhaps a career in the military would not be part of my future. As the years passed, I realized I could take directives and instruction as well as anyone. Orders? Not so much.

A Visit From Dad

Every now and again I get a subliminal "visit" from my late Dad. I was in a department store lineup recently and a dapper older gentleman was directly in front of me. 

He wore polished burgundy brogues, a navy blue topcoat, a grey suit, a white dress shirt and a paisley tie. He was impeccable. In front of him was a younger fellow in his mid-twenties, also in a suit and tie. 

The older gentleman seemed to study him for a time, then leaned forward and quietly said, "Young man, that's a fine suit, but just because it comes with 3 buttons doesn't mean you have to use them all. Try undoing the bottom button. I think you'll find it more comfortable."

The younger man complied, glanced at his reflection in a nearby mirror then he immediately thanked the older man. "Wow, that does feel better! Looks better too. Thank you!"

They shook hands and the moment was over, but I swore I caught a hint of my Dad's after-shave lotion! Thanks for dropping by, Dad.

Blatherings

• When I was in my early 60s and I'd tell people my age I'd hear, "No way! You look 45, maybe 50 but not 64!" Now when I tell folks I'm 65, I get, "Uh-uh, that's cool." What?!? In one YEAR?!? 
• As if I needed it, yet another sign of my rapidly advancing years: Every time I "Google" someone, I'm find I'm older than him or her, even when I've thought "there's no effing way!" Sigh. 
• We finally saw "Silver Linings Playbook". The way the writers and actors handled mental health issues with compassion and deftness, while avoiding the usual cinematic sugar coating, was both a joy and a relief. 
• Took a fall down the steps today with a arm full of laundry. I wasn't hurt and while I didn't see my life flash before my eyes, I did get a glimpse of my reality. I cannot afford to get hurt. 
• With the snow all but gone, I've this incredible urge to race outside and start raking. Or not. 
• We're about an hour into the movie "The Life Of Pi" and I'm thinking, "Now here's a big ol' slice of my life I'll never get back." 
• We've been watching a lot of home swap/renovation shows lately. After almost every program, I am totally psyched to jump up and do a few things around here. Thankfully, a snack and a short nap usually takes care of that. 
• I miss the huge, raucous family Christmas dinners from my childhood. 15 to 20 guests were not uncommon; old people, young people, children, babies, even pets. 
• Yesterday I noticed the ruching on a young lady's dress was badly bunched. Today I asked my wife to explain the difference between a bustier and a camisole. What the hell has happened to me? Project Runway, Fashion Police and too much daytime TV happened to me. How sad. 
• I was recently approached by 2 young Mormon men while walking Dave the dog. One asked if he could tell me about my eternity. I replied, "Certainly, then I'll tell you what the gays have done to the soil", and they walked away! Go figure. 
• 
  
• My childhood friend and the best athlete on our block, Jim Short, barely survived a heart attack just before Christmas. Lately, mortality keeps tapping me on the shoulder. 
• It's official. My hockey resurrection has come to an end. Tonight I turned quickly (?) from skating forward to backward and broke my ass. A half hour later, and with the help of one of the kids, I got my skates off, my boots on and dragged my broken ass home. Pathetic. 
• Have you ever encountered a life altering issue over which you've no control and can't avoid, but somehow, you've managed to live with it? Then, just for a moment, the issue wins and for that moment, you're utterly defeated, ground into the dirt. The good news; when that control returns, and it does eventually, you're often stronger for the experience. 
• I've noticed lately, a lot of people I know and some I care for deeply, are into agnosticism. I'm not sure why, but this saddens me. 
• The true measure of a genuine fool is often easy to define because they do it for you; willingly, readily and often. 
• Watching way too much TV again: My latest gripe - this kid says his Coca Cola delivery man Daddy delivers "happiness" and a "safer environment". I'm thinking more like "obesity", "empty calories" and "tooth decay". 
• Wakeup call to self: Stop seeking sympathy from others and grow a pair. Life's dealt you a difficult hand or two lately. So what?. Bitching irritates people. Fix it. Over and out. 
• Another "getting older/a-ha moment": I caught myself on the biffy, chuckling aloud at "Pickles" in the Journal comics. 
• Have you ever been physically surrounded by people, yet felt all alone? It's not always a bad happenstance, just an odd one. 
• When you ask people for help, you're actually presenting them with a gift. 
• How on earth does my wife expect me to go through our multitude of toiletries and locate something called "vanishing cream"? 
• They've been gone for years and I think of them often. Today however, I really miss my Mom and Dad. 
• What is with we Canadians? Usually shy and reserved in public, we fall over ourselves and stop whatever we're doing to help a total stranger push their car out of the snow! 
• Isn't it just a little bit amazing when the words or writings of a complete stranger can touch you to your very core? 
• If I agreed with you, we'd both be wrong. 
• Over the past year we've celebrated, loved and mourned. We've been staggered, stricken, lifted and enlightened by the sheer joy and heart wrenching dread of it all. Really, life's a trip. 
• I believe Facebook has the potential to be among our most powerful tools in the promotion of global goodwill and...wait a second. Some SOB just "UNFRIENDED" me?!?! Why, I'll KILL that mother effing... 
• We recently lost a close friend suddenly, incredibly, to an embolism. God called Dave Taylor home 13 months after marrying the love of his life. I thought writing this down would make it real. It doesn't. 
• Why did Kamikaze pilots wear helmets? 
• Never make the same mistake twice. There are so many available, why not try a different one each day? 
• My most fervent wish for this ongoing undertaking is to ensure it never resembles a list of fortune cookie quotations. 
• I have no misgivings about adoring Dave, our dog. His ability to adore us knows no boundaries. 
• The Oilers, the Eskimos and the Chicago Cubs are not, and will never be, a waste of my time. 
• There is no explaining why we make the choices we do until after we've made them, and then there's usually no point. 
• If something I've said or written can be taken two ways and you find one of them offensive, I meant the other one. 
• Like me, when your elders said "what goes around comes around", did you find it funny? Now you've witnessed life a bit more, like me, do you marvel at how funny it isn't? 
• Golf is God's way of keeping me humble while ensuring I never take myself too seriously. He's very efficient at that sort of thing. 
• Facebook is a wonderful social networking tool, no question. Still, at times I wish it would automatically edit me for "stupid". 
• A young woman recently thanked me as I held a door open for her. Seconds later, she snarled an obscenity at her husband/boyfriend. Question: Why are we nicer to strangers than people we care about? 
• As I've gotten older, I've found reconnecting with old friends can be a crapshoot. Lesson learned? Go for it. It may not work but there's a reason you were friends in the first place. 
• Feeling lousy about your life? Watch any episode of "Maury". You'll feel better, guaranteed. 
• You know the years are sliding by when you have to "rest up" before going out to dinner! 
• I'm always more puzzled than hurt when I find someone's lied to me. 
• When did being a "worry wart" become an "anxiety disorder"? 
• Another friends parent passed today. Having already lost mine and my in-laws too, I keep hoping the news gets easier to bear. It doesn't. 
• It's minus 42. My cars been plugged in all night and it still won't start. We live here why again? 
• I think we should change the name from "Christmas Day" to "PRESENTS DAY - FINALLY". Just a thought.. 
• The best thing about Christmas is EVERYTHING. 
• The best thing about Boxing Day isn't much. Leftovers maybe? 
• I've noticed something about my youthful athletic accomplishments, particularly in their retelling. The older I get, the better I was. 
• I hate "de-Christmasing" our house. It's the only time of year the place looks seriously drab to me, even just for a day or two. 
• It's tough being an Oiler fan this year. Our season started slow and has kind of tapered off... (sigh). Oh well, the Cubs start spring training soon! 
• With our basement in complete disarray for the last 4 months, I've apparently determined this is the time to redefine "procrastination". 
• Is there a chance some of these kids so quickly diagnosed with "attention deficit disorder" are what we used to call "brats"? 
• Is there a chance some of these kids so quickly diagnosed with "Tauret's" are what we used to call "effing rude"? 
• Are there any behaviours left that DON'T have an associated "diagnostic title"? 
• I happened across a former co-worker/friend's obituary this morning. I grieve for his friends and family but selfishly, I grieve for my diminishing mortality as well. 
• Married over 43 years and my wife still cracks me up, pretty much at will. Lucky, lucky man... 
• I've a friend who still uses his fingers as parentheses when making a point. I love the guy but please God, make him stop. 
• Don't you hate it when certain behaviours on A and E's "Intervention" or "Hoarders" remind you of someone you know or worse yet, yourself? 
• Wow. Writer's block really DOES exist! Who knew? 
• The word "proud" is inadequate and pedestrian when applied to my admiration for my son, James and his lovely wife, Catherine. 
• I've a friend whose opinion on a "hot box" subject is the polar opposite of mine. She's passionate, intellegent and I respect her position. She cannot or will not reciprocate and now our friendship has ended. How very stupid. 
• It's nice the Canadian Government is matching my contribution to Haitian relief. But isn't that MY money too? 
• This morning I took steak out for dinner. Sue said she wanted sweet potato fries. I said "Okay" and when I served the fries, the first thing she said was, "What happened to the steak?" We men are so literal. 
• Tested the strength of your relationship lately? Buy $2K worth of IKEA stuff and renovate a room together. That'll do it. 
• The 2010 Olympics were terrific beyond my wildest expectations but if I hear that insipid "I Believe" theme music even one more time, a total mental disconnect cannot be ruled out. 
• Whichever merchandiser originated "restocking fees" had no concept of customer service. 
• Sue and I have seen more 2009 Oscar nominated movies than any year either of us can recall; TWO! Of course it doesn't hurt there's ten listed this year instead of the usual five... 
• It may be me and my "advancing years" but it seems IKEA instruction sheets are not as clear as they once were. All pictures, no words. 
• We're driving over 200 KMs next Sunday to have lunch with a dear couple we've not seen in over 30 years! How cool is that?!? 
• Today a laid off employee entered his former workplace, killed one man, gravely wounded another then killed himself. Naively, I'm still astonished when horror manifests itself as reality. 
• Not to gloat but unlike pre-retirement, "springing ahead" into Daylight Savings Time no longer has much of an impact on my life or daily activities. 
• I recently slipped on an icy walk and took a genuine prat fall. I wasn't hurt but I can't believe how much it frightened me. Where has my bullet proofing gone? 
• Generally, funerals suck. Ones including a lone piper are worse. If there's anyone out there with influence concerning my final arrangements, I beg you, no bagpipes. 
• Reality check: Today a neighbor referred to me as "that nice old guy from down the block" when he thought I was out of earshot. "Nice" is a positive thing, I suppose. 
• My new "something-to-do" retirement job involves stocking shelves at a book store weekdays from 5 a.m. to 9 a.m. I've always been a relatively early riser and I love this gig, but the sound of an alarm clock at 4:00 a.m. is just wrong.  
• Since his recent public fall from grace, Tiger Woods fell from American Dream status to full-on creep in a nano-second, all thanks to the wonders of the modern media machine. 
• I vividly recall a similar reaction to the O.J. Simpson scenario. The crime totally contradicted his percieved personna and it appeared to evolve through a guaze of make believe. 
• To me, the best thing about Facebook happened today. I had a phone conversation with a high school friend I've not heard from in 40+ years and the time melted away like ice cream on hot pavement. Fantastic. 
• My golf clubs are in the front hall, staring out the window, dreaming of novel ways to punish me in the morning. 
• Note to self: When you realize you sincerely detest specific actors in specific commercials, you're watching way too much TV. 
• I golfed with my pal Bryan today and he fired an 85; a terrific result. While I didn't score nearly as well, I feel as good as if I'd done it! Golf's a funny game that way. 
• It's odd how the passing of time can be as rewarding as it is cruel. It's a balance thing I suppose. 
• I just realized there's no expiration date on worrying about one's child. 
• Tonight Sue and I dined with a childhood friend of mine and his lovely wife. It had been 30 plus years since we'd seen each other but, magically, no time had elapsed. 
• (to be continued, like it or not, at the top of the list!)

Bullies

Imagine spending your childhood in a subdivision with 20 to 25 other kids your age, a year younger or a year older, all living within a three block radius. That was Avonmore in southeast Edmonton and for me at least, life couldn't have been better.

Combine the abundance of like minded, similar aged boys with immediate access to wide open athletic fields, two community skating rinks and a wild but explorable ravine and you've created the perfect backdrop for a childhood full of activity and adventure.

Many of us moved into this new subdivision at the same time and inevitably, strong friendships were formed. 

One exception was an immigrant German family, the Strellos, who moved into a yellow bungalow at the end of our crescent, roughly four years after the initial influx of families.

Mr. and Mrs. Strello both worked, an oddity to us. Most Moms stayed home back then. Another difference; they had two adult sons living with them. Their third son was a quiet, dark eyed 13 year old, Hans.

Though he was our age, Hans had a tough time fitting in. He didn't like sports, he spoke with a thick German accent and didn't seem interested in making friends. It didn't help when his parents made him wear leather shorts known as "lederhosen" every day, all through the summer and well into the fall.

Hans was a handsome kid, something the local girls picked up on right away. Though he didn't particularly seek their attention, they seemed to flock to him. This was another character trait we didn't appreciate.

What we opted to do about this situation was something we'd all come to regret.

We started by paying no attention whatsoever to Hans, and when that didn't seem to affect him, we picked on him at every opportunity. We mimicked his accent, called him "Smello Strello," the whole gamut, all outside the earshot of adults of course.

Eventually, a number of these confrontations became physical. Hans stood his ground every time. He fought his battles, won most of them and slowly began to gain our respect. The only problem; Hans either didn't realize it, or he no longer cared.

One sunny morning roughly 18 months after his arrival, Hans Strello retreated to his basement, loaded his brother Mike's shotgun and shot himself in the head.

The news swept through Avonmore like a forest fire, and the resulting guilt we felt was tangible.

Two days after his death, Hans' brothers came to our school. There was an assembly of all 8th and 9th Grade boys and Hans' eldest brother, Mike, stood at the front of the room. He asked, "Which of you boys were Hans' friends?"

With the exception of myself and three others, everyone raised their hands. We four lived closest to Hans and the shame sweeping over us was tangible.

My stomach dropped when Mike pointed us out and said, "We want you four to be Hans' pallbearers. You're the only ones telling the truth here today."

We had no choice but to oblige.

The suicide and funeral of Hans Strello impacted every boy in Avonmore. Petty arguments, feuds and senseless spats all but disappeared. It was if our youth disappeared as well, replaced by a staggering sense of guilt, grief and sadness. Of course, it didn't last. Youth is resilient, if nothing else.

Within weeks of the tragedy, the Strellos sold their house and moved away. We never saw or heard from them again.

I've spoken to two of my fellow pallbearers a few times in the 50 plus years since Hans' death. Our one remaining constant is an intolerance for bullying. When we see it, we stop it, or at least make an effort to do so. Another commonality; these activities have done nothing to assuage our guilt, individually or collectively.

This is a rather pathetic epitaph I know, but Hans and his family remain in our hearts and minds to this day. I like to believe their suffering stood for something. What that might be, I cannot imagine.