WHY BOTHER REMEMBERING BIRTHDAYS?

"Birthdays are for kids." I've heard adults say that to me at various times in my life. I think they can't face the fact which Pink Floyd pointed out that they're, "Shorter of breath and one day closer to death."

When I moved up to the Intermediate dorm of Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind in the autumn of 1967, I felt hurt when nobody threw a party for me. I assumed incorrectly that sentimentality was discouraged in the dorm. From my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, here's how my supervisor, Mr. Cooper, surprised me and proved that he really did care for us boys.

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My birthday came and nobody told me of any party arrangements. Fearing that they forgot me or thought I was too old for that sort of activity, I went with the group to what we nicknamed the Chinese Store and bought a Moon Pie pastry and a few other baked treats.

Geoffrey walked in as I pensively munched my ersatz birthday cake. "What are you doing?" he enquired.

"I'm having my own birthday party since no one held one for me. I thought there would be one now that I'm in the intermediate dorm," I added.

I do not know if my roommate mentioned to our supervisor about what I did, but two days later, the dorm held a real birthday party for me. I felt overjoyed, having assumed that nobody cared about my natal day. My already high estimation of Mr. Cooper soared after his act of thoughtfulness.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly for more information.

EASY RULES FOR THEM -- HARD RULES FOR ME.

Throughout my life, there seems to have been two sets of rules that I encountered. The rigorous set applied to me and the lax set related to everybody else.

This seemed especially true in the autumn of 1964 after I received three wonderful presents for my eighth birthday. From Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), here is what happened.

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Added to my feelings of suffering injustice was the fact of other children not being punished for breaking my toys. My dad's brother Bill and his wife came to visit me one October afternoon. Miss Boyce ushered me into the waiting room, normally off limits to children, where my uncle and aunt sat.

After asking how I was doing, Uncle Bill gave me a white race car, a gas station, and a silver dollar for my upcoming birthday. As we chatted, Uncle Bill assembled the gas station. Then he presented it to me. I marvelled at its gas pumps and rows of toy automotive products. A cosy feeling, similar to being home, swept through my heart as my uncle and aunt encouraged me to play with the toys. Jericho faded into the background as I enjoyed being in the company of my relatives.

All too soon, my uncle and aunt hugged me, wishing me well. Sadness engulfed my heart as they walked out the front door. Christmas was still two months away, almost an eternity for a child on the verge of turning eight years old.

"I'll keep your dollar safe in the desk and you can ask for it next June when you go home," Miss Boyce promised. As I had no reason to disbelieve her, I meekly handed it over. "A whole dollar is a lot of money for a schoolboy you know," Miss Boyce explained.

My beautiful gas station did not last long. Piece by piece, it became progressively vandalized until my supervisor threw it in the garbage. The race car did not last either. I felt heartbroken that everybody was allowed to play with my toys and wreck them with impunity while I was severely punished for taking apart Charlie's space station.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly for more information.

WINNING MATTERS: THE TRUTH ABOUT SPORTS

John Cleese's favourite phrase from Monty Python's Flying Circus is, "Where's the pleasure in that?" I've asked the same about sports for decades. From the examples shown by supervisors, teachers, and my fellow dorm mates, I concluded that winning is what really counts. After all, that's why people keep score and viciously condemn anybody who makes a bad play. From Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), here's how the authorities turned what should have been fun into drudgery.

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Playing sports for hours at a stretch was another unpleasant change which I faced that autumn. Since blind children were unable to strike a baseball in the air, our teachers taught us to lay the bat on the ground and the ball was bowled to us. Other than that modification, and having children on base calling to the runner, the rules were the same. We used an old rusty backstop on the plain at the top of Jericho Hill but the field had no proper bases or lines to indicate where to run.

We also played football. I actually scored a touchdown once. Even so, my team lost, robbing the pleasure from my accomplishment. The rudeness of the game also seemed fundamentally wrong to me. Tackling and barging through lines of players was not what I considered fun. The gloating by the winning team also soured what little enjoyment I experienced of the game.

On rainy days, we played floor hockey in the breezeway. I hated that sport too. The captain of my team placed me in goal once. Though I tried my best, I was humiliated when Charlie kicked the ball past me. My teammates hurled angry comments at me as a result of his winning goal. Once again, I was reminded of what poor sportsmanship was by their example.

Mr. Cooper ordered us to lift weights as well. Everyone crowded into a tiny windowless room off of the breezeway and pumped iron a few times per week. Once one of my weights fell off, striking Larry on the top of his head. I felt extremely worried that my carelessness caused some serious damage but he suffered no lasting injury. My unlucky friend had already lost his sight and I did not want to make his health worse because I neglected to tighten the weight's screw properly. I repeatedly apologized to Larry and he magnanimously forgave me. I believe he realized that I felt genuine remorse regarding the accident.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly for more information.

"AND YOU TELL THE YOUNG PEOPLE OF TODAY THAT AND THEY WON'T BELIEVE YOU"

This punch line from the Monty Python's Flying Circus sketch entitled The Four Yorkshiremen certainly reminds me of many of my generation's experiences, though we really didn't have it that bad. The fact that parents buy their school-age children smart phones with more computing power and data storage capability than my first PC, a 386SX, still boggles my mind.

Today, people under 18 years old would sneer at my first telephone. It was a black rotary dial instrument which could only be connected to terminals in the wall by a qualified Alberta Government Telephones engineer. We had to wait at home all day for him to arrive too.

Having applied for Social Assistance in the autumn of 1974, I decided I now had enough money for my own phone. I attended a special high school in Edmonton where visually-impaired students could receive help with recorded book assignments and filling out test papers. Because my dad previously gave me just enough money for groceries and rent, I used a pay phone located a block from my room if I needed to call anybody.

I felt like a real grown-up as I began using my phone. No longer did I need to beg anybody's permission to call anyone anywhere or pay a dime a time while braving the elements for the privilege.

I soon discovered the down side of having a telephone. Strangers kept dialling my number to make appointments. Apparently, my number once belonged to a dentist who had moved or quit his practice. I'd eagerly dash over to the phone when it rang, pick up the receiver, expect to hear from my mom or somebody from my church, and I'd find myself explaining that Doctor So-and-so wasn't at this number anymore. Some callers actually became irate because I wasn't him.

As the telephone was government property that we only rented, I left the phone behind when I moved out of that cosy room in 1979. This alone must sound like something from the horse and buggy era to today's cell phone users. They can buy the model they like, set up a payment plan for their service, and use their phone anywhere. Even with corded phones, nobody has to wait all day for a government repair man to bring them an ugly black telephone and connect a few wires.

The house I bought in 2000 still has it's antique wall phone. While I can't use it to choose options in voice mail, it still works well when I talk to people. Unless I find a job that requires having a cell on my person at all times, I'll stay with my old faithful technology.

Speaking of faithful technology, I wrote When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) and Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) using WordPerfect 5.1 for DOS. Click here to check out these paperbacks.