A BOY'S BETRAYED TRUST.

Remember how adults told you when you were a child that you should trust them because they knew better? The sad truth is that some grown-ups have ulterior motives. Other times, they mean well but circumstances intervene.

When I turned eight years old, I received a silver dollar from my uncle, Bill. As I attended Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind in Vancouver, my supervisor, who I respected, promised to look after the coin until June when I left for home. She held out her hand after Uncle Bill left and said, "A whole dollar is a lot of money for a little boy to keep. You might lose it or some one might take it"

In this excerpt from Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about what actually happened when I took the supervisor at her word.

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Before the seemingly interminable term ended, we received some sad news from a temporary staff member. "You'll be getting new supervisors next September. Miss Boyce won't be coming back," she announced as we sat in the Quiet Room. "Mrs. Sandyford won't be coming back either." My heart sank when I heard the news. I had occasional disagreements with those women but I still admired their fairness and kindness toward us.

Recalling the silver dollar which I received from Uncle Bill for my birthday, I asked the temporary supervisor for it. "I don't know what you're talking about. There's no silver dollar here," she said as she rummaged in the desk drawer. I felt crushed.

"How could it not be there? Miss Boyce promised me that I could have it in June when I went home."

"I told you it isn't here. Go play or something."

I shuffled broken-hearted to my bedroom, realizing the futility of arguing with this hireling. The coin may have been mislaid or given to another child. I had no way to prove what happened in any case. Even so, I felt betrayed by adults again.

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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.

Have you experienced your own version of Exodus? Most of us have in some small way or other. Whether we leave an abusive relationship or a miserable school, we all experience the profound relief of putting an unpleasant situation behind us.

In my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, I recounted the last time I left that uncaring institution to begin my life as a free student in public school. Had I known I would never return there, I would have been much happier. As it was, I felt glad just to be heading home for summer holidays. Here's how my exodus from Jericho went.

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After all the tedious school activities were over, it was time to pack our belongings. Along with my suitcases, I decided I would bring a shopping bag filled with whatever would not fit in my luggage. When we arrived at the airport, some of my possessions fell out of the bag at the precise moment when everybody was leaving the bus.

As I felt around under the seats, Mr. Thynne said, "You're holding us up. Why did you have to bring so much stuff anyway?" I managed to escape the bus with my luggage intact. Behind me I could hear the rest of the boys murmuring about how my accident made them late.

Apart from that mishap, my home coming was uneventful. The hard times were behind me for the moment and I knew I could relax for two glorious months.

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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.

ONE CHILD'S VIEW OF PERFORMING.

When I received my first piano lesson in the autumn of 1964, I had no idea I'd be performing on a stage the following june. The administrators of the blind school I attended expected this of all their students, no matter how talented or untalented they were. In Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about my musical debut.

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June seemed filled with activities. Jericho held its annual piano recital near the end of the month. Mrs. McMaster coached us on where in the program we would appear. I felt intimidated as she spoke since I disliked being on stage and worrying about making mistakes.

Our music teacher held a rehearsal in the music classroom on the day of the recital. I almost missed my part in the proceedings. During recess, I had so much fun playing in the sunlit forest that I lost track of time.

"I'm sorry I'm late," I said as I found a chair.

"It's alright. Your turn hasn't come yet," she reassured. I sat amazed as the other students took their turns playing the piano. I thought I would be in big trouble but our music teacher spoke kindly to me.

The officials held the main recital in the deaf students' auditorium that evening. Their classrooms and dorms were housed in an H-shaped structure, similar to ours, a few hundred metres past the gymnasium. Usually we never interacted with those children. Apart from staying in the infirmary, which was upstairs from the deaf boys' and girls' residences, and exploring the mainly-empty basement, I had not been in the rest of that building.

Mrs. McMaster called my name when my turn came. I walked nervously onto the stage and sat at the piano. "Well?" she coaxed when I hesitated, "play your piece."

I made a few mistakes as I played but I finished the tune. Some children became too nervous and quit halfway through. Being on stage for the first time was not as frightening as I imagined. I pitied the audience, though. One blind girl, after nine months, could only play that simplistic middle C tune which I easily mastered the previous September. It seemed pathetic to me that she made no progress after all that time. I learned later that she was mentally challenged. Regrettably, my opinion of her did not change until I grew up.

We finally went to sleep after ten o'clock, the usual bedtime rule being waved for that occasion. I felt relieved that the event was finally over and that I no longer needed to practice my piece.

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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 TROPHY IS A TROPHY, NO MATTER HOW SMALL

Though I have always disliked competitive sports, mainly because I wasn't much good at any, I actually did well on rare occasions. My first and only sports-related trophy was puny but winning it was a huge victory for me.

From Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), here are two examples of how I hated losing but enjoyed one moment of victory.

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School resumed and the days dragged painfully by. An event called Sports Day was held at Jericho each June. Classes were cancelled and we participated in a variety of races and games. As I had never experienced that sort of activity at public school, I assumed it might be fun. However, I hated Sports Day almost immediately because I invariably came last or far behind in races. Charlie loved it and generally won first, second, or third place. The only enjoyable aspect of that event for me was the refreshments. The hot dogs and Kool-Aid we received that day were never served in the Dining Hall.

The Braille Rally, organized by the University of British Columbia Car Club, was the only enjoyable sports-related activity that I participated in that month. Each navigator received instructions which were supposed to be read to the driver. As I could not read the braille copy and the print was far too small for me to see, I held the pages for my partner as he drove. I do not recall if we came in first but I did win a trophy which had a man holding up a large ring on it. As I had never won an award before, that trophy was special, even though it stood only four inches tall.

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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.

BRUCE, THE BUNNY-SITTER

Taking care of people's pets can be fun as well as profitable. I learned that lesson when I looked after a friend's dog in June of 1978 while she and her children journeyed across Canada for a month. I also watched their house as well as worked her daughter's news paper and flower routes. Though I worked a full-time job at night as a security guard, I enjoyed all of my responsibilities that month.

Twenty one years later, another friend hired me to take care of her two rabbits while she went on vacation. Loving bunnies as much as I do, I felt overjoyed at the opportunity she offered.

From When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies), Here's how this wonderful job opportunity came my way.

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One June morning in 1999, I was listening to my e-mail when a post caught my ear. A woman in Calgary, Alberta, was looking for a bunny-sitter. Heather owned two rabbits, Otto and Pandora. She was leaving for Europe for two months, so she could travel and see the total eclipse of the sun.

I volunteered to bunny-sit, partly to be of help, but also to have two more bunnies to love.

Heather arrived in Edmonton with her boyfriend Jason. She had brought two cages, pellets and other supplies along with her bunnies.

"Let's put them in the kitchen," I suggested. "I haven't properly rabbit-proofed the living room yet."

Heather agreed and we put Pandora's condo, a Neat Idea Cube or NIC, between the fridge and Gideon's cage. Otto was placed in a white cage with doors on the top. It was not the best kind of housing for a bunny, but it had to do.

"You can keep that cage if you want," Heather offered.

I thanked her, even though the PetBunny folks said such a cage wasn't the best for rabbits.

After Heather gave me the feeding instructions, she kissed her bunnies goodbye and then the three of us humans went for supper at Capital Pizza. Not only was the food good, but I enjoyed chatting with folks who actually thought of rabbits like companions instead of livestock.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating 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.

ONE CHILD'S VIEW OF PERFORMING.

When I received my first piano lesson in the autumn of 1964, I had no idea I'd be performing on a stage the following june. The administrators of the blind school I attended expected this of all their students, no matter how talented or untalented they were. In Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about my musical debut.

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June seemed filled with activities. Jericho held its annual piano recital near the end of the month. Mrs. McMaster coached us on where in the program we would appear. I felt intimidated as she spoke since I disliked being on stage and worrying about making mistakes.

Our music teacher held a rehearsal in the music classroom on the day of the recital. I almost missed my part in the proceedings. During recess, I had so much fun playing in the sunlit forest that I lost track of time.

"I'm sorry I'm late," I said as I found a chair.

"It's alright. Your turn hasn't come yet," she reassured. I sat amazed as the other students took their turns playing the piano. I thought I would be in big trouble but our music teacher spoke kindly to me.

The officials held the main recital in the deaf students' auditorium that evening. Their classrooms and dorms were housed in an H-shaped structure, similar to ours, a few hundred metres past the gymnasium. Usually we never interacted with those children. Apart from staying in the infirmary, which was upstairs from the deaf boys' and girls' residences, and exploring the mainly-empty basement, I had not been in the rest of that building.

Mrs. McMaster called my name when my turn came. I walked nervously onto the stage and sat at the piano. "Well?" she coaxed when I hesitated, "play your piece."

I made a few mistakes as I played but I finished the tune. Some children became too nervous and quit halfway through. Being on stage for the first time was not as frightening as I imagined. I pitied the audience, though. One blind girl, after nine months, could only play that simplistic middle C tune which I easily mastered the previous September. It seemed pathetic to me that she made no progress after all that time. I learned later that she was mentally challenged. Regrettably, my opinion of her did not change until I grew up.

We finally went to sleep after ten o'clock, the usual bedtime rule being waved for that occasion. I felt relieved that the event was finally over and that I no longer needed to practice my piece.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

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.

WHEN A DIME WAS WORTH SOMETHING.

What can a dime buy today? Apart from some small item at a garage sale, I know of no item that a person can purchase for only ten cents.

When I was a child, it purchased a chocolate bar, a bag of chips, a pay phone call, or a bottle of pop. Stores also sold a wide assortment of candies for a penny each.

In Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about how spending a dime put a damper on an otherwise thrilling event.

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On a sunlit evening, Mr. Dunston drove us to Seymour Mountain. Having never been to the top of one before, I stood amazed by the view. Higher peaks surrounded us but the mere idea of standing on a real mountaintop thrilled me.

The commercial aspect of the peak disappointed me however. After leaving the bus, we gathered around a coin-operated telescope. I tried to look through it but all I saw was blackness. "You have to put a dime in it," our supervisor said. Reluctantly parting with my precious coin, I peered through the lens. It was interesting to see all the various landmarks but the time ran out much too quickly. I felt disgusted that I wasted a dime on such a contraption. A chocolate bar or bag of candies would have lasted longer.

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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.

THE SELF-IMPORTANT MAN.

Know your audience. This maxim is what every public speaker needs to keep in mind. Since children have a limited attention span, this is especially true.

In Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about how our minders made us sit through a long speech before we went on a field trip. The following passages demonstrate what really mattered to us at the time.

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Another big event, from the adults' point of view, was the retirement of Mr. MacDonald. We were on the way to a class field trip one morning when our driver parked the bus next to the Administration Building. After approximately a half hour, the superintendent boarded the bus and stood next to the driver's seat. He made a long speech concerning how he served the school since 1934 and how much he would miss us. Then he announced that Mr. Bryce would be the superintendent in his place. Our new school principle would be a woman named Mrs. Corrigan, one of the few staff members who wore glasses and the only adult with auburn hair.

Mr. MacDonald's news astonished me. The possibility of a woman serving in such a position seemed bizarre. Men had always held those titles. Mr. MacDonald wrapped up his speech by telling us to be good and that he might come to visit from time to time. To our relief, he exited the bus and we continued on our way.

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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.