NOT THE EASIEST WAY TO MAKE EXTRA MONEY.

"How hard could bunny-sitting be?" I thought when a friend posted her request on a rabbit care e-mail list. Because she was heading down to Florida for six months, she offered a considerable sum for someone to look after her rabbit as well as a guinea pig. Being chronically broke, I jumped at the chance to earn a few hundred dollars.

The job started off badly when her guinea pig, Cinnamon, died during the first week. Buns, the rabbit, survived the six months but he caused plenty of mischief.

From my When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) memoir, here's a sample of the trouble Buns caused me.

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Buns caused me a new problem in February. His digging in the sandbox was so ardent that the rug became full of grit. Though it pained me, I closed the sandbox lid and wouldn't let my guest inside it anymore. Buns was upset and thumped at first, but he quickly accepted the inevitable. Of course, that didn't stop him from getting into other mischief.

During that time, I vainly tried to make my Mom's vintage radio work on short wave. I attached different antennas to it, but forgot to push the set back against the wall. Later, I went into the living room and couldn't find Buns. Then I noticed the radio.

The sneaky wretch was inside, happily chewing the wires.

Not knowing what else to do, I asked Barry if he knew of a better repair place than the one I'd taken the receiver to a few years previously.

"I could fix it for you," Barry offered. "It's the least I can do, since it was my daughter's rabbit that ruined your radio."

Barry was as good as his word. He picked up the antique receiver the next day and two weeks later, brought it back. When he plugged the set in, it worked just fine.

"I can't believe the mess that repairman made of your radio," he said. "The antenna terminals weren't even connected and there was a wire going from the IF stage to the antenna."

How ironic that a professional had made the radio worse while an amateur had made it better.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

CHILDREN DON'T APPRECIATE HISTORY.

Politics is one of those adult topics that children find difficult to understand. I certainly had no clue about why the death of a certain statesman from England was so important back in 1965. As far as I was concerned, our supervisor forced everyone to watch some boring telecast that replaced our favourite shows.

From my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, here's how I felt about this interruption of my fun.

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So was the funeral which preempted all of my favourite cartoons at the end of January. It was for someone named Winston Churchill. My roommate, Michael Flett, avidly watched the proceedings but I only cared that my cherished television shows were cancelled that day.

While we sat in the Quiet Room, Miss Boyce explained how this leader helped a country called England win the Second World War and how great he was. I could not relate to such abstract and arcane subjects. If it was not a cartoon or children's show, I felt no desire to watch the program. Our supervisor admonished us to sit quietly during the telecast. That added to our frustration with this grown-up show.

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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 if the comment form doesn't work.

HAVING AN ICE TIME.

I know I sound like an old man when I post about the simple pleasures my dorm mates and I had when we were young. Even so, we needed no electronic games to have fun. In fact, we frequently took perverse pleasure in doing things that our minders frowned upon. While they complained about the rain and admonished us about avoiding puddles, we enjoyed splashing through them while wearing rubber boots. As a freak snow storm raged one Saturday afternoon, we frolicked amid the flakes while our supervisor shook her head and said we were crazy.

Continuing on with my series of posted excerpts of Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), here's one example of how my schoolmates and I enjoyed a simple pleasure, just as any group of sighted boys would.

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Though the winter was relatively mild, freezing rain fell one night. The news went through the dorm like a wildfire that the cinder path next to the school was slippery and we could have fun sliding on it. I hurried outside to join in the excitement. We managed to slide quite fast down that sidewalk. Since our shoes had no treads, skating to the end was easy. All too soon for us, the bell rang for class. When we ran to the sidewalk at recess, we discovered that a caretaker poured salt on it, ruining our fun.

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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 if the comment form doesn't work.

KIDS WILL BE KIDS, EVEN WHEN THEY HAVE POOR SIGHT.

Are physically-disabled children fundamentally different from "normal" kids? Certainly allowances need to be made to adapt games and education to their needs. According to what I've observed, being both a disabled person and having lived among such children in my youth, I know that we were just as mischievous as any group of able-bodied children.

In my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, I related many instances where we bucked the stereotype of the angelic blind child. Here's what happened in January of 1966 when a friend told me of an exciting discovery he made.

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Another activity for which I received a reprimand was igniting the caps from my pistol on the floor in a darkened room next to the laundry. "Did you know you can fire off caps without a gun?" Brian asked me one afternoon. "You lay the strip on the floor and hit those black dots with a rock." I listened, excitement building in my mind, as he explained.

I ran outside, found a pebble in the parking lot, and did as Brian instructed. It worked very well. The small explosions and flashes delighted me.

"It's too bad it's light out," I complained to Brian. "It would look better in the dark.

"How about that empty room next to the laundry," Brian suggested. "Nobody goes there and Mrs. Parker won't catch you."

For the first time during my stay at Jericho, I actually anticipated carrying the clothes basket. The next time Mrs. Parker asked me to fetch the dorm's clean clothes, I smuggled a roll of caps and put a rock in my pocket. I was happily banging caps in the darkness of my secret chamber when a deaf boy saw me. He raced into the laundry room to alert Sachi, the woman in charge, that I was making dangerous sparks. My heart sank as I heard his inarticulate noises.

Sachi ran into the room. "Stop making fire in the building," she demanded.

"This won't hurt anything. I'm just lighting off caps," I explained. Sachi would have none of that and ordered me to leave. As I lugged the heavy laundry basket back to the dorm, I added that incident to the list of proofs regarding adults being overly cautious.

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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 the comment form doesn't work.

A DIFFERENT SORT OF ELDER ABUSE.

Thanks to media exposure, society is well-acquainted with the tragedy of elder abuse. Increased vigilance by neighbours and friends during the past few decades resulted in the authorities liberating many seniors from domineering adult children.

All too often, church elders can be as abusive to younger congregants as the above-mentioned adult children are to their parents or grandparents. In my How I Was Razed memoir, I depict how one opinionated woman, who later became the senior minister of the home-based church, verbally assaulted me for missing most of a pre-sunday service study.

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As in the incident of my glaucoma diagnosis, I ran afoul of Sister R's temper once again. She announced on the first Sunday morning in January of 1981 that she would be holding meetings an hour before the regular worship service wherein we would study transcripts of Brother H's teachings.

I awoke the next Sunday thinking that we still followed the old schedule. After eating a leisurely breakfast and dressing, I decided to walk to Thee church so that I could enjoy the snow-covered river valley scenery. When I opened the front door of the house and called, "hello? It's me, Bruce," nobody answered. Then I remembered about the early study meeting. I rushed outside to the basement door, as Sister R instructed, and hurried through Brother H's hallway to the sanctuary. She glared at me as she sat at the card table with her daughter.

"I'm really sorry I'm late," I began.

"You have missed a very important meeting!" she bellowed. "Your inconsideration kept us waiting forty-five minutes. You were told about this meeting last Sunday and here you stroll casually in as if it didn't matter."

"I really am sorry," I said as I removed my parka and hung it on the back of my chair. "I forgot we were meeting earlier today."

"You must try harder to be on time. Sister E and I are busy people and we take time out of our schedule to put on these meetings."

"I'm sorry I forgot. I'll try to come on time next week."

"See that you do that then, young man."

Throughout the remaining minutes of the meeting and the worship service, I seethed as I smarted from Sister R's rebuke.

The pre-worship service Sunday meetings struggled on for a few months. Since no other members expressed interest and because I was the only other faithful attender, Sister R discontinued them.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of the way I was mislead by a cult church, how I turned my back on God after I felt he perennially failed to heal my eyes, and how he graciously brought me to my senses.

My previous books, When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) and Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), are now available online by clicking here or by clicking here to e-mail me directly.

FATHER'S LITTLE BOY NO LONGER.

Unlike some children, I wasn't blessed with a happy childhood. Dad was an alcoholic and Mom nagged each family member about our supposed shortcomings. Because of this, unconditional love and affection were rarely displayed in our home.

I described in Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) how I felt torn between wanting to be a big boy and longing to stay home from Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind. This is how one of those rare father-son moments happened.

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Dad and I set out one January afternoon for the airport. Because I had a slight cough, he bought me a roll of liquorice-flavoured lozenges at the terminal. My father bent to give me his usual good-bye kiss on my cheek when I said, "Can't I shake your hand instead?" When Dad asked why, I said, "I'm a big boy now and I don't like that little kid stuff."

I recently informed the family that I wanted to be called Bruce instead of Brucey. Now that I was ten, I felt old enough to dispense with childish sentimentality and I certainly deserved some respect by that age. Dad chuckled and shook my hand. I felt very mature as I turned to follow the stewardess into the plane.

Even though I had left home for Vancouver five times before, deep depression still engulfed my heart. I was bound for the place I hated most and I could do nothing.

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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 if the comment form doesn't work.

A BURNING DESIRE PUT ME IN THE HOT SEAT.

Did you ever wish your school would burn down so you wouldn't have to go anymore? Children don't generally plan to burn down buildings but they enjoy imagining what life would be like if they had more control over their situations.

Like the rest of the children at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind, I yearned above all to be home from that distant institution. We often wished Joshua and his army would knock down Jericho's walls so we could return forever from our captivity.

In this excerpt from Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I relate how my harmless blaze caused me plenty of grief.

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During the Christmas holidays, I stole a pack of matches from my dad and smuggled them into Jericho. Fire had fascinated me for years. I began experimenting by burning the moss which grew along the retaining wall, southeast of the school. It ignited instantaneously and left no ash that I could see.

Then I grew even bolder. I lit a small fire, fuelled by scraps of paper, on the south steps of the school. I pretended that the flames were burning down Jericho, allowing us to return home. Obviously, my small blaze could never destroy the institution. The steps were made of cement and the grass next to them was far too damp to ignite.

The grade one teacher chose that minute to walk down the hall toward the exit. "What on earth do you think you're doing?" Mrs. MacDonald demanded. "How dare you light a fire on the school steps!" She crushed it out with her shoe while I stood mutely watching her.

Mrs. MacDonald confiscated my book of matches and grabbed my arm. "You're coming to the principal's office," she threatened. A swarm of butterflies fluttered in my belly as I realized what trouble I was in.

"So you like to play with fire?" Mr. Brice demanded. "Hold out your hands." I mutely obeyed. He brought the strap down hard several times. "This will teach you what happens to boys who play with fire," he announced.

"What a stupid thing to do - trying to burn Jericho down," Charlie scorned once I returned to class. "Don't you know how dumb that is? The school's made of bricks and cement you know."

"I was just imagining it was burning down," I explained.

As Charlie and his followers teased me for my foolish act, I mentally chided myself for not thinking situations such as that miniature blaze

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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 if the comment form doesn't work.

DEMONSTRATING THE MEANING OF GRACE.

What does grace mean? It's unmerited favour. On New Year's Eve, 1977, this concept was aptly demonstrated for me by a janitor in the mens' room of a bus depot.

From my upcoming How I Was Razed memoir, here's how God used a stranger to help me when I needed it desperately.

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Throughout my stay in Mexico and the journey home, I suffered from constipation. Some of the Bible school passengers periodically admonished me that I should be bubbling over with joy as a "good Christian" ought to. Hoping to cheer me up, they sang several rousing choruses of Count Your Blessings" while the driver negotiated the streets of downtown Calgary.

As soon as they let me off at the Greyhound bus depot, I strode into the mens room to deal with what really made me feel miserable. As with well-intentioned fools, I despised pay toilets. These required a dime for admission and I, not wanting to soil my clothes by climbing under the stall door, hesitated as I held a quarter in my hand. The bathroom door opened and the janitor bustled in.

"Do you have change for a quarter?" I said quickly. "I've just come from Mexico and I need to go real bad."

"That's all right," he said as he took a ring of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door.

"Thanks," I gasped as I held out the coin.

"No, you can keep that," he said as he turned and began scrubbing the sinks.

I thanked him again and gratefully used the toilet. He was gone by the time I finished. "Thankyou Lord for helping me so quickly," I prayed as I washed my hands. As life's situations rarely worked out so neatly for me, I knew God must have orchestrated the janitor's timely entrance.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of the way I was mislead by a cult church, how I turned my back on God after I felt he perennially failed to heal my eyes, and how he graciously brought me to my senses.

My previous books, When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) and Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), are now available online by clicking here or by clicking here to e-mail me directly.