Monday, April 24, 2023

Live Artillery Shells as Metaphor


 

Live Artillery Shells as Metaphor

 

When I was a kid I didn’t know I was poor and I guess I didn’t really care.  I wasn’t truly aware of differences until junior high and then of course the high school years changed everything. But while engulfed in the glorious innocence of the elementary grades I think I was pretty much oblivious to differences and how kids played was a universal of outdoor joy especially in the summer months.  I do however remember wanting, and at a very early age, a metal pedal car like some of my affluent friends had a few streets over, where my mother would baby sit, at a dollar an hour, the going rate at the time.  

 

To compensate my father made me my own car totally out of wood complete with wooden wheels.  It was like a miniature version of the Flintstones’ car which ironically hadn’t been invented yet.  My friends, or initially on the maiden voyage, my father, pushed me along the sidewalk with me steering my little automobile with a makeshift rope steering wheel. My dad provided the forward muscle power using a long shaft from a broken hockey stick attached to the back of the car and away we went. Joy on wheels at a budget price made from scrap wood all from my Dad’s basement workshop.

 

My Dad also built us a huge playhouse, several treehouses, later when I was in track and field events he made me high jump stands, magically found a bamboo pole from somewhere and converted my sandbox into a sandpit for soft landings.  It may be that he just loved to build things or he really loved his kids, or perhaps a little of both. The point is we were happy.  I know I was crazy happy even without the metal pedal car.  

 

I think the other thing is as kids we also knew how to play.  My friends and I could amuse ourselves with very little, a cardboard box was sufficient for entertainment.  We didn’t get much for Christmas and so curiosity, inventiveness and a little trouble seeking were our options and incentives for entertainment and adventure.  We could organize team sports without parental assistance.  We pitched tents in the backyard and camped out while roaming the neighbourhood and beyond at night seeking high adventures. We went on biking expeditions to Niagara-on-the Lake and once even a week long trip to Lake Huron to a friend’s cottage whose family did own a cottage.

 

My father who grew up in the Ukraine had even less as a child to play with and likely he and his brothers did more with less because they had no choice.  They grew up during the Russian Revolution when life was tough and life threatening.  My father told me grim stories of growing up during that time that made me feel I was living in the wonder years.  He and his brothers’ idea of play or mischief was to wander on to a former battlefield and gather up discarded sabres, rifles and even shell cases and other souvenirs of war while meandering amongst the dead soldiers fallen on the fields.  Just as I never confessed my sins to my parents, nor did my dad and his brothers tell their parent’s about the collection of weapons they had accumulated and hidden away during “play”.

 

Its actually a miracle I was even born given the fact that as a kid my father and my Uncle Henry enjoyed the pass time of taking unfired, or so-called dead artillery shells and throwing them in a fire to see what would happen, or taking a rock and hitting them on the active end to see if they could get a reaction.  The fact that I am here and my dad and my uncles made it to Canada eventually tells of their lack of success with their experiments.  Given the circumstances it was their version of independent play, it did nurture curiosity and they did live to tell the tale.  Every generation has its challenges, its quirks and even near death experiences.

 

The other night two of my grandkids came over for our Sunday night family dinner.  They walked in made straight for the couch lay down, took out their smart phones and started up with their games. Today’s kids often define play as gaming and interacting or socializing as that time spent online.  Once I had finished the manly art of barbecuing the meat for our dinner I took the kids outside in order to show them “something” in the garage.  

 

The first response was,”Why did we have to put our shoes and stuff on to go outside to come into the garage when we could have come through the house?”

 

“Because I wanted to show you something”. I picked up my Tommy Bahama frisbee and said I thought we could go out front and toss the frisbee around.”

 

I got a reluctant, “Sure” for my efforts.

 

With some further reluctance we went to the street and began throwing the frisbee badly. 

 

“Snap the wrist”, I  instructed.

 

Gradually, we were getting it and only hit the neighbour’s car three times.  Amazing how much a frisbee hurts when your fingers are cold, but we were making progress.  The oldest one, 12, found three excuses to go in during our brief play, obviously a weak bladder, or he couldn’t relate to non-virtual play.  

 

Each time Grandma kicked him back out.  We lasted until dinner was called and just before the neighbour came to check on his car.  I think it was a marginal success.  But one battle does not win a war.

 

 

It is with some sadness as a parent, grandfather, and teacher I look to the current generation with a sigh and think they too have their burden to bare as well. I played with  home built wooden cars, my dad live artillery shells, perhaps a bad choice.  This present younger generation has their ubiquitous screens of every size shape and design, so perhaps not so much poverty they face or the shame of a home build toy or the adrenaline rush of a real bomb, but the frightening future of being robbed of real thoughtful, inquisitive, creative play in a society that routinely enables them.  


Tuesday, April 18, 2023

Gender and Geriatric Profiling in North Carolina


Gender and Geriatric Profiling in North Carolina

 

For the purposes of this article I define profiling as any action undertaken for reasons of safety security or public protection that relies on stereotyping based on race, colour, ethnicity, ancestry, age, gender, religion or place or origin.  It is quite different from criminal profiling in that criminal profiling is based on actual behaviour, or on information about suspected behaviour based on someone who meets the description of a potential suspect.

 

The call had crackled over the radio that a grey Outback with out of state licence plates from the province of Ontario had been seen driving erratically leaving Kitty Hawk heading north to Duck and Corolla.  Officers were advised to pursue, follow and apprehend suspects before they entered Duck.

 

As the driver of the Outback I noticed that a car had been following me for sometime and I found that quite annoying, but I also knew on this winding twisting road leading into Duck it was difficult to pass .  

The radar at the side of the road told me I was actually going too slow so I sped up, but on approach to Duck the speed limit was only 25 so I slowed down again.  It was then that the car close behind for so long flashed its glorious blue and red lights indicating that I should pull over.  This I did as soon as possible.

 

There was a long pause before the officer emerged from his unmarked SUV cruiser and walked to Cheryl’s side of the car.  He was very imposing in his grey uniform with every conceivable belt, pouch, flashlight that a man could carry.  His service revolver was in plain sight across his chest and could come into quick play if needed.

 

He bent down with an air of authority and familiarity gazing in and noting our Starbuck’s cappuccinos, the navigational screen indicating our route, the rear of the car loaded with suitcases, then looking at my wife and I certain that he took in the details of our grey hair, our age and defenceless unassuming natures.

 

All this in three seconds and then in a masculine also authoritative voice he said, “May I have your licence and registration.”

 

I gave them to him without comment.  My fight or flight response long deactivated.

 

Officer Warren, he had a convenient name tag, said in his second exchange.  “I’ll just check these out on my onboard computer and be back shortly.”

 

I was hyper-ventilating slightly so Cheryl offered to do all of the talking when the officer returned.

 

“Yeah, won’t that look suspicious, what if he sees the out of date handicapped sticker? Is that a felony misdemeanour punishable my death in North Carolina?”

 

My attempt at humour failed as constable Warren returned and in a very chirpy friendly demeanour returned my documentation and proceeded to tell me why he pulled me over.

 

“It was really your erratic speed. You were slow than drove fast, then slow again so I got a little nervous about your driving ability and cognition, but then after I stopped you I noticed you were drinking Starbucks and your GPS show the Hilton; so I think we all all good to go here.  Have a good day, a good rest of your trip as I can see you are nearly at your destination.”

 

I paused for a moment thinking of my good fortune with not getting a ticket but the outrage of this blatant example of profiling just because we were old, white and middle class was no reason that a white cop should just let me off the hook for low speed erratic driving. This was an outrage!

 

I was thinking if any black or latino driver tried this shit he would probably have a citation or worse by now.  Confused and angry at the injustice of it all I drove off at low speed erratically showing my wild side, but Constable Warren was long gone, probably chasing down some other crazy geriatric driving slowly and erratically in the other direction.

Tuesday, March 7, 2023

Poster Boy


Poster Boy 


Despite the fact that I collect cell phones from students as they enter the classroom I count myself as an enlightened teacher and administrator.  I realize there are a multitude of creative ways of implementing and utilizing devices in the classrooms.  I also know that by using student devices it is a cunning cost cutting means for schools to avoid funding computer labs by transferring the costs of software and ever changing  hardware to the student by permitting them use of their own smart phones in class for educational and other research purposes.  

It is a razors edge we trend as educators.  Now I find myself having my students writing personal position papers relating to screen time, gaming and social media and how it directs and influences their lives and impacts their quality of life.  After the traditional, but out of the box brain storming session students were still absolutely stumped, puzzled, baffled and confused as to how there could even be such a thing as too much screen time. How can one spend too much time gaming? How could there be a down side to social media. This was turning out to be a battle of Old School versus New Generation.  

Just today I had a very brave student come to my office asking me to explain my policies of no cell phones in the classroom.  I was baffled by the experience.  I thought he might pound on my desk.  Instead he was polite and quiet.  This student practically had to use sign language.  In fact that would have been an improvement.  He was so inarticulate, had trouble looking up from his lap to address me.  He simply sat there looking at me. Finally,  I asked him, “How can I help you today?” 

‘I’d like to talk to you about cell phones.”

Then he went silent.

When he couldn’t formulate a thought I jumped in to fill the silence and explained to him my policy and how I derived it. I told him that I feared the over use of cell phones and other electronic devices may rob young people of their natural ability to access and effectively use their power of persuasion in face to face oral communication and their ability to focus on an issue.  I elaborated for a few more minutes until his concentration and interest seemed to lag.

He spoke not a single word, then in eerie silence left my office.
I had no idea if I had been looking at the poster boy for my no cell phones in the class room ideology, or if simply I had just scared the speech out of him.  

Maybe I should text him?

My New Wallet


 My New Wallet and a Move to the Barter System with the Advent of Automated Tellers in a Reward Points Orientated Capitalistic Anti-Environmental Economic System and What Happened to Canadian Tire Money?

 

A few Christmas’s ago I got a new wallet that had no capacity for holding change but held infinite capacity for holding cards, especially credit cards and the ever popular points cards and gift cards.  Cash it seems is largely obsolete in today’s consumer society.  In fact every time I offer a cashier a cash payment I seem to startle and sometimes offend them. I’m beginning to wonder why we even use the term cashier any more as that too is also an obsolete word given the lack of currency in use today and the rise of automated tellers.

 

“Like what is this stuff?” As they reluctantly take bills or coins from my hand, look at me with contempt and handle the payment with reluctance.

 

I often cary a small amount of cash in my billfold and a few coins in my coat pocket for old times sake and nostalgia .  I like looking at the picture of the Queen.  I guess I still miss her. I often forget the money is even there, or that it serves as an authentic option in modern day commerce.  Somedays I have the impression that a barter system  would be more practical and more logical than an exchange of actual currency. But then I still miss Canadian Tire money and haven’t forgiven that corporation for dropping its usage. As a kid, next to monopoly money it was the first real cash I really ever handled.

 

I’m not one for investment and definitely not a business head; so it may not come as any surprise that the majority of my assets are tied up in gift cards and points cards.  I have come to the sad conclusion however that each of these consumer rewards systems are very flawed and I’ll tell you why.  Let’s start with points programs and their associated cards.

 

I must have at last count at least 13 different points cards cluttering my new wallet, from different retail stores, including clothing stores, drug stores, various groceries stores, many gas stations and then there are the airlines and on it goes.  I’m getting to the saturation point  such that when I finally face  a cashier and if they aren’t already ticked off at me for handing them cash, they are even more annoyed if I don’t have quick and easy access to their ridiculous points cards that they wish to scan in order to record my precious tally.  A tally that I seem to constantly accumulate but never use. 

 

The cashier is also quick to remind me that, “ Every 5000 points is equal to .05 cents of spending power. It adds up quickly you know.  The more you spend the more you earn.”  She says this like some corporate parrot automaton trained to speak on command.

 

I ask the teen-aged cashier, “How many points do I currently have?”

 

“Just a nano I’ll check”, she says, “337 000 is your total sir.”

 

I do the math in my head and then realize I can’t do the math in my head and using my cell phone calculator conclude that equates to less than $5.00.  I think that I have been faithfully saving these points for years, carrying and producing this card to annoyed and irritated cashiers for what amounts to a $5 bonus pay out. Stellar!

 

Later in the day I find myself filling my tank up at a local gas bar at 1.66 a litre only to discover that I am less upset with the cost of gas which apparently relates more to inefficient clogged supply chains, ongoing war, corporate greed and government taxation and all the other normal things in life. I am more perturbed with all of the print ads surrounding me at the pump, including on the pump handle in my hand, all related to the redeeming of precious and glorious points.  I have finally become jaded. 

 

I made a similar discovery about the value of my gas related points that after purchasing the mere equivalent of a tanker truck load of gasoline my point accumulation will now buy me a case of bottled water. 

 

I further calculate that my own carbon footprint from the gas I consume and the litter from the plastic from the bottled water I purchased, using my points, results in the realization that I am doing more than my part in the denigration of the planet.  The point reward system is just a friendly way of speeding global warming and environmental destruction I conclude.

 

I could go on with similar examples but suffice it to say why can’t we as a society make consumerism a little more simple, or at least more user friendly and instead of luring customers with points  why not simply just offer the best price and maybe the best service possible.  Maybe that’s just science fiction and another way of chasing our consumer tails. For example, we could start with who has the most polite and friendly automated tellers.

 

 

Tuesday, November 29, 2022

My Big Box Experience

My Big Box Experience. 


 

Walking into any box store be it Walmart, Ikea, Home Depot or the like can be an over whelming experience based on the sheer scale of these monstrous facilities.  When I approach a Walmart with caution and pass the lack lustre greeter I am, at least momentarily assaulted by the sensory over-load that actually does greets me.  The smells, sounds, colours, the space that goes to infinity along with the vast array of unusual people that frequent the store is all unique.  Walmart is a surreal experience and like a deer in the headlights I really don’t know how or where to proceed.

 

I look at the crumpled ball of paper in my hand that serves as a list and substitutes as my short term memory as I begin to wander the vast labyrinth of aisles in search of the five items of my quest.  Lighting.  Where would that be? No one to ask.  God send me a sign.  HOUSEHOLD.  There is a God.  I proceed. 

 

Variety.  Always too much.  All from China. I’m again over-whelmed.  Therefore, short sentences.  Breath is short.  Do they pump oxygen in like casinos or out?  I don’t know.  I feel dizzy. 

 

All the lamps and every last thing in this store is part of a supply chain that originates in China.  I find the lamp I want, but where are the light bulbs?  Again no one to ask.  But then I peek at my list. I need a coat rack and I see hangers, logic tells me they will flock together, but they don’t.  In my peripheral vision I see a blue blur of a sales clerk.  I stock her .  She is tired and old.  I don’t know if the two facts are related.  She takes me to the coat racks but in truth only returns me to the hangers and says’ Funny I thought they were here.” I thanked her and told her I had the same thought.

 

I looked at my cart with the Chinese lamp and no bulbs, with the absence of a coat rack and four more things on my list. I would try one more thing.  A smart TV.  Entertainment.  Another younger but slower clerk took me down several aisles and showed me two boxes and started to walk away.  Where was the high pressure sales pitch I thought?  I stopped him.

 

“Can you tell me about these TV’s and what’s the difference.  He went quiet and looked long and pensively at the two boxes. He answered about $100.

 

I looked at the mentally challenged clerk and thanked him before leaving the store.  It was difficult since I had lost my orientation and made several wrong turns and was seeing mirages on the horizon when finally I saw the sea of self check out cashier stations.  There were three over worked cashiers of the human variety still employed.  I staggered passed them to the exit and took my first gulps of fresh air.  

 

Looking back at the store from the safety of my car from the vantage point of my handicapped parking spot I thought of the recent advertisement of thrifty shoppers leaving an IKEA store with their bargains as the wife shouts, “DRIVE, DRIVE”  as if they were thieves escaping the scene of a crime.  Relief crept over me as I drove to the IKEA on Jane Street in a further attempt to find the five items on my list.

 

I knew there would be no Smart TV set at Ikea unless I took one of their display cardboard cut out models for which some assembly would be required but I was aiming higher.

 

IKEA also has a greeter at the entrance and although a box store with a similar colour scheme as Walmart it doesn’t look quite so tacky and run down.  The greeter looks well rested probably because she works for a Dutch/Swedish corporation that although a global corporation doesn’t hunt down union organizers like nazi war criminals.  Although, ironically founder Ingvar Kamrad, was once a Nazi sympathizer of sorts until he discovered his true worth marketing semi- fabricated furniture to the masses.  I had all those thoughts flash through my mind before I could even say, “Where is your lighting department?”

 

I was directed to what seemed like a secret door behind the main staircase that served as a short cut to where I wanted to go.  It was magical.  Like finding Oz behind the green curtain.  On the floor before me were large arrows to follow like my own yellow brick road.  It was like another omen. I was meant to be there.  I had new meaning and direction in the marketing world.  Not only did I find my lamp. I found three of them and they were all located with the requisite light bulbs.  It was as if some higher being or power had planned it thus.  Perhaps a Swedish socialist.

 

Yes, even though, like Walmart, Ikea is a giant labyrinth it has arrows on the floor and maps.  There are many friendly healthy looking people with t-shirts that say hej, in the universal language of Swedish, which I think means Hi!. I again found hangers and by God if right beside them there was an array, not just one, but many varieties of coat racks neatly laid out before my very eyes.  It was exhilarating.

 

At the check out sadly there were also the Walmart, and every other store on the planet’s, automatic self check out plus the requisite three live and in person cashiers.  I think three is the critical number.  They provide no wrapping or bags now but you can buy a big tarp like  blue bag large enough to pack a Smart car to carry your goods.  I did that.

 

While leaving I had no difficulty finding the exit but it was still hard leaving because Ikea sells cinnamon buns which is really an unfair marketing ploy preying on the weak.  It took me an extra 15 minutes to leave the store.  I left in frustration because you have to order on a large computer menu board which shows pictures of cinnamon buns and you can see the real ones over the counter in the distance and maybe even smell them if you work at it only to have the system freeze and the order not go through.  I left with my big blue bag and no buns.

 

Sadly, I had to return to IKEA only two days later because my made in China lamp was damaged and I had to join a line in the large concourse away from the madding crowds where few can see who is returning what and why.  One is required without being told to register on another larger computer screen with no anticipation of getting a cinnamon bun only to queue to return a broken product.  I discovered I was seventh in line.  Gauging by the screen Amid was at the counter taking forever, and at a rate of 7 minutes per customer, with three people serving I was going to be there for another 13 minutes. 

 

In Ikea style given my turn and my knew familiarity with the Swedish language my return went smoothly and with my new unbroken Chinese/Swedish lamp under my arm I returned to the well lit parking lot to my designated handicapped parking spot and drove contentedly home thinking at least there are two unionized Ikea stores in Canada and even unionized warehouses in the United States with one manufacturing unionized manufacturing plant in Virginia all this well thinking do I have an Allen wrench at home.

Saturday, November 12, 2022


 The Impact of Cultural Erosion on Native Education

 

When going on a walk with my wife, electronically we count our every step as if there is something magical or scientific in the number 10 000, but that is the motivating number, our quest. As a teacher ascending to the next pay grid level also had a satisfying and motivating influence on me.  There are numerous carrots and sticks, large and small that motivate us throughout life.  However, with all candor, I would have to say I enjoy walking with my wife whether I count the steps or not. I honestly enjoy being in the classroom, it is a career not just a job.  Perhaps, I have just outlined some of the differences between extrinsic and intrinsic motivation.

 

Motivation is something we all have in order to move forward in life for what some would consider the trivial and the mundane to the core of what makes us human and everything in between. In other words what motivates one person may be of no relevance to another.  Motivation is the energy that we direct towards achieving a goal and those goals significantly vary from person to person and between cultures.  

 

The reward/punishment system is built into every facet of life from home to the work place, from the monetary allowance we give our kids for jobs done well or not, the use of cell phones, or the withdrawal of their use when situations are abused or boundaries crossed.  Our society largely operates on the premise that human behaviour is driven by the opportunity to receive either a reward or a sanction. 

 

It is a truly simplistic approach however society seems to be programmed to function in this mode. For example, a direct result of an over reliance on extrinsic motivators is a superficial level of learning such as cramming for a exam when pulling the proverbial “late nighter”.  This manner of preparation may get one through the exam but for the most part there is very little long term retention of content.  Teachers have been using threats, detentions, various punishments including the strap at one point, writing lines, grades all only to create fear with very little in the way of positive change. As for myself I know now that I should not throw snowballs in the no snowball zone after the bell rings as that was five stokes on each hand with a leather strap.  That was a lesson learned in fear and pain.

 

Intrinsic motivation operates on a higher plane and is based on the premise that we learn or do something because the learning or the activity is rewarding in and of itself.  The learning process creates a stream of positive emotions which serve as the inherent rewards thereby making any extrinsic reward superfluous. In fact studies do demonstrate that if extrinsic rewards are given to students for an already rewarding activity the net result is to make the activity less intrinsically rewarding.  This is referred to as the over justification effect.  

 

Students’ lives must also be viewed in the context of a highly complex world, both in school and out, and although it should be obvious that teachers who have knowledge and skills make a large difference so does the cultural world surrounding the lives of our students.  We sometimes make the very naive assumption that students actually do live in a vacuum and that school is the ultimate change agent.  I think sometimes at best we are minor players.

 

Common sense reasoning suggests that motivated students will learn faster and better and retain information and concepts more effectively than those who are not motivated it also follows that instruction should be passionate or motivational in nature and rich in meaningful content, these seeds of learning are then cast on a field of students with various abilities, ages, incomes, learning disorders, ethnicity, from educated families to those who are not, lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, bilingual, male, female, those with gender identity issues seeking pronouns, indigenous, diverse cultural back grounds and all of these myriad of factors and many more impact on motivation and learning and serve to determine whether a student will persist in learning or simply give up, whether students feel safe, connected and respected all pertaining to learning.  Its complicated. 

 

I have taught in several native communities where many approaches of instruction have been tried and failed where teachers and boards have been fired en masse out of sheer frustration for lack of results.  Often these cases involving rewards to motivate have utterly failed usually because there is a complete mis-reading of cultural factors at play.  When this happens educators are too quick to play the “blame game”.  Students “they” will say lack all ambition, the parents just don’t care, the families are dysfunctional, there is no initiative or self direction.  In this negative feed back loop students feel defeated and quit school, teachers are frustrated and quit their jobs, administrators get fired for lack of results.

 

Had the planning begun with a greater awareness of native culture and awareness of its history and traditions and incorporated a higher degree or any degree of teaching to the culture or culturally relevant teaching instead of perpetually battling against it, indigenous education, in many places, would turn a corner and become more relevant to students as what is taught is more culturally and emotionally significant to them and will therefore serve to cultivate a new level, or maybe germinate the first level of intrinsic motivation and therefore break the negative loop.  Cultural understanding in the native case or for any culture is everything in terms of success and motivation.

I have lived and worked in several native communities in Canada and in an anecdotal way wish to make the connection between residential schools and their negative impact on native motivation and education.  Native culture and likely most native communities, value the importance of the family.  The role of the elders as a source of knowledge and wisdom is recognized and almost revered in native culture.  However, I discovered that there is a significant disconnect between what is valued and what is practiced.  I was soon to learn that many families with links to residential schools are severely dysfunctional and native traditions were rapidly eroded as a result.

 

Despite the fact that children are valued they are given very loose structure in their lives and little discipline. This type of scenario often translates into students who do not know how to behave in a classroom and don’t want to be in school.  Many students rebel against the authority of the teachers.  They are openly and frequently defiant.  Students   spend a disproportionate amount of time with video games.  I had grade one students tell me about the joys of playing “Grand Theft Auto.” 

 

Many of my native students were several grade levels behind in their literacy and numeracy skills.  I had high school students who could barely read and grade 3 students who did not know the alphabet or the sounds the letters make.  I worked with a grade five student who wished to improve his reading skills only to the point of being able to successfully take his driver’s test.  Grant it that is motivation.  Many of these students were about to give up or already have.  Their anger and frustration quickly translated into acting out behaviour and severe discipline issues.

 

When a typical, if there is such a thing, middle class southern suburban child gets to school he/she has been read to, talked to and exposed to a wide range of vocabulary words and ideas thousands, or tens of thousands of times before entering the classroom.  In the native communities in which I have worked students arrive at school not having the  advantage of the English spoken word, story times and chances at adequate vocabulary development. For many, English is a second language. My students begin the literacy race long after the green flag has gone down and too many of them never see the checkered flag.  

 

The sad thing about many of our students at all ages, but especially in the junior high grades is that they have given up on themselves. They have an unfortunate reverse or negative pride and seem to revere a lack of progress. It is just the opposite of self esteem expressed through a near total lack of achievement. The school in which I worked had no teams, or mottos and very little school spirit.  Motivation was dead because the local native culture was dying.

 

Residential schools were a systematic and sanctioned way of robbing the natives of their culture and whatever vestige of heritage they might have left after they were cheated of land and other rights.  I’m no expert in this, but I know enough that this was a period of shame in our history.

 

I was told one reason for the huge disconnect with cultural values had to do with residential schools.  Because of the harsh treatment experienced by many at Indian Residential Schools many natives lost their connection to families and family values. 

 

The government’s goal, through the school system, was to break down the culture and the family structure, thereby developing a group of people who were institutionalized; then when one throws alcohol into the mix with the dislocation of many communities from their lands that they knew, to poorer lands it eventually creates an entrenched cycle of poverty. Some of the former students of the residential school system where I taught, now adults and parents, attend support groups in order to deal with their horrible experiences as children while at the residential school.

 

After all of the social trauma inflicted on native populations “we” blamed natives for being useless. Due to the reserve system and residential schools  linked with a combination of government and church policies, it resulted in creating a true sense of learned helplessness with little sense of connection to anything, no sense of family, no sense of trust in others, or in themselves, and no sense of trust in authority. In fact the very concept of family was destroyed, but I guess that was the point of the residential school. 

 

Is it no wonder that because of abuse and extreme methods of discipline students who left those schools became parents who didn’t know how to parent and were reluctant to discipline.  Soon a generation developed robbed and devoid of heritage and tradition and seemingly helpless to rectify the situation. The evil of residential schools created more than one monster.  The legacy plays on in families and schools today.

 

 

The reality is that much of the parenting in native homes is done by members of the extended family and more often than not by the grandparents.  In traditional native culture there was good reason for the grandparents to handle child rearing because parents would be “out on the land” making a living and surviving.  In modern society some parents seem to rely too heavily on tradition with the continued expectation that grandparents raise the children.  As contemporary society has developed the traditional roles have not changed and possibly family life has suffered in some ways because parents excused themselves from their parenting role at the great detriment of the family as a whole. 

 

Motivation to learn and achieve is solidly linked to culture but once the culture has been stripped away, as was the case with many Canadian indigenous families through the residential school system, any reasonable semblance of family cohesion or motivation to learn in a systematic organized away has also been damaged.  Extrinsic motivation alone would be unproductive in the long run in regaining educational lost ground for native populations.  Likely, only through greater levels of self governance in educational decision making through control of their own educational goals and curriculum based on local native cultures will they have any chance to develop a true sense of intrinsic motivation to rebuild what has been taken from them.

 

Marty Rempel

Friday, September 23, 2022

Grand Theft Auto as Saviour


 Grand Theft Auto as Saviour


I’m not necessarily the most gregarious person in the world but I do have the habit of talking to cashiers and saying hello to people I pass on the sidewalk, if I ever rode public transit I’d probably be that guy to give up his seat to a senior citizen even though I’m now 72; so I guess I may also lack some self awareness.


Being predisposed to a certain personality type makes me somewhat captive to these types of behaviours and then I make the false assumption that everyone else is of the same mind and manner and, well that’s just not a truth. Today, for example, I was in German Park, behind enemy lines, going for a lone walk looking at the beautiful mansions trying to peak into the windows. I even had a fantasy conversation worked out in case someone stopped me in this up scale neighbourhood and wanted to know what I was doing there.


My first response would be silence and then I would look left then right, slowly like I was panning with a cinematic camera and gearing up for a shoot of a final scene. I would say in a low voice “I’m actually casing the neighbourhood for an auto theft ring but I see by your 2012 BMW X3 that you are in no immediate danger.” I would wish him a good day and walk on before asking, “By the way do you know where the entrance to German Park is?”


I know that may not be friendly but it is engaging. As I enter the park a jogger passes me. I say my hello and he nods a greeting in my direction. He, soon followed by a younger man just walking, looking very serious, ignores my salutation. That gives me an immediate flashback to Woodstock where I lived a few years earlier and where my wife and I walked on similar trails and soon realized that this small southern Ontario town was likely one of the most unfriendly places on the planet perhaps secondly only to the anonymity of walking sidewalks on busy New York streets where one could streak and not be noticed.


In reclusive Woodstock we would make a point of saying very loud hellos to every single person who walked by us on a sidewalk or path and make a mental tally of how many responses we got back. Those tallies were easy as it was usually a zero sum game, as nobody or very, very few people ever, ever said hi, hello, nice evening, morning, afternoon whatever the case may be. It was a barren social wasteland of unfriendly walkers. They could all be stars on a Seinfeld episode along with the soup nazi. It was sadly demoralizing. We eventually had to move out of that city and find social connections elsewhere.


I mentioned I liked talking to cashiers and now I’m forever frustrated as there are more and more automated checkout cashiers with these brash, irritating, metallic, artificial, computerized voices. I don’t even like talking to them. I never greet them or say hello. They pretend to be friendly they may even be programmed to be friendly but I’m not buying it. I know real friendly when I see it and you know, sadly it’s getting harder and


harder to find. Certainly, it can’t be found on social media. That’s like going back to the New York sidewalk I just mentioned in the previous paragraph.


Social media is the biggest misnomer going. It uses the word social and by all accounts it has the potential to be social, statistically it has the number count to be social but in reality its like the guy on the path not saying hello or worse saying a sarcastic hello which is even worse. People on social media say and do all sorts of mean things because there are no laws, meaningful guidelines, ethics, controls or realistic restraints to stop those who are basically insane who walk amongst us. I mean I at least feel bad about thinking about saying to a complete stranger I work for a auto theft ring, but that was just a sad private joke in bad taste. People troll and politic on Facebook and elsewhere and there is no respect for opinion, opinion is void of factual basis and tolerance is a virtue long dead as all the vices one can imagine seem to populate the net.


Now that I no longer find enjoyment in life on pathways, sidewalks, with cashiers or on social media the world has become much smaller. Something in me has been pushed to the limit as our society oddly looks for truckers to solve our problems, lacks a belief in science but looks to televangelism to save them and seems fearful of any type of diversity. Maybe I’m just at loose ends because the Queen died this week and we grew up together so to speak. I just don’t know any more.


I have made the only logical decision and joined an auto theft ring in Scarborough and am now cruising a neighbourhood near you.