Month: November 2015

Much has already been written about the horrific and tragic attacks in Paris. Unfortunately, my feeling is that this is “the new normal”; attacks of various forms will happen for years to come. The possibility of actually being involved has to be vanishingly small, yet the possibility of an attack, and the fear it engenders, is corrosive. Antoine Leiris, whose wife Helene Muyal-Leiris was among the 89 killed in the Bataclan concert hall attack on Friday evening, posted this message on Facebook:

“Friday night, you took an exceptional life – the love of my life, the mother of my son – but you will not have my hatred. I don’t know who you are and I don’t want to know, you are dead souls. If this God, for whom you kill blindly, made us in his image, every bullet in the body of my wife would have been one more wound in his heart.

So, no, I will not grant you the gift of my hatred. You’re asking for it, but responding to hatred with anger is falling victim to the same ignorance that has made you what you are. You want me to be scared, to view my countrymen with mistrust, to sacrifice my liberty for my security. You lost.

I saw her this morning. Finally, after nights and days of waiting. She was just as beautiful as when she left on Friday night, just as beautiful as when I fell hopelessly in love over 12 years ago. Of course I am devastated by this pain, I give you this little victory, but the pain will be short-lived. I know that she will be with us every day and that we will find ourselves again in this paradise of free love to which you have no access.

We are just two, my son and me, but we are stronger than all the armies in the world. I don’t have any more time to devote to you, I have to join Melvil who is waking up from his nap. He is barely 17-months-old. He will eat his meals as usual, and then we are going to play as usual, and for his whole life this little boy will threaten you by being happy and free. Because no, you will not have his hatred either.”

Would that we all carry this attitude forward in the months and years to come.

November 13: On November 4, Marisa delivered 2 beautiful twin girls; Naomi Maya and Jaia Camille were each about 6 and a half pounds. With their arrival, I crossed another chronological watershed- like turning 50 – that tends to define our stage in life: I became a grandfather. That this is a life-changing event for her is without doubt, but this is my site and so for now, it’s all about me.

Part of my discomfort with my new label is that my own grandfathers seemed to be ancient. On my Father’s side, Grandpa was the epitome of the dour Scotsman; aloof and reserved, he sat in a chair and said little when we visited him and Grandma in their apartment on Sherbourne Street. If you got close enough he would mutter something and slip you a handful of Scotch Mints from his vest pocket. They remind me of him to this day. He had been a machinist for CN and I remember being fascinated by the fact that he had lost part of an index finger, presumably to an industrial accident. Since my own Father was the youngest in the family, Grandpa seemed to me to be very old. He died aged 78 when I was still in elementary school; Grandma lived to 86.

My Mother’s Father was relatively young. More active and fit than Grandpa, he played a bigger role in my life. I was fortunate enough to spend time at the cottage with him and Nana, when they were alive and after they passed. He let me use his workshop and taught me how to properly use a few tools. He taught me how to run an outboard boat, although I often suspected this was a way of getting me to run to town so that he could stay at the cottage. He set a foundation and an example for our family that endures to this day. Still, he seemed incredibly old, even though he died only three years older than I am today.

And of course there is my own Father who was Poppa to my Sister’s children. Dad played soccer in high school and golf throughout most of his adult life so he was relatively spry. He was in good health until his last few years and he participated with his grandchildren more actively than either of my grandfathers. I was able to travel with him and Mum and some of the grandchildren several times, including a couple of weeks in the southern US playing golf. These were wonderful memories and he has left large shoes to fill as a Grandfather.

So now I find myself crossing that invisible barrier into geezer-dom understanding that I too will be seen as that incredibly old guy who sits in the corner and surreptitiously hands out treats – monetary or otherwise – all the while muttering about things that are largely irrelevant to the kids. The strange thing is: I’m kind of looking forward to it…….