It's dead calm and quiet. The whooshing of the wind through distant corridors is the only challenger to complete silence. A rare occurrence in this place. Night time usually invites the muted sobs of many who call this place home. But not on this night. Daytime is a stark contrast, anything but peaceful and anything but silent. Six hundred men, trapped inside an ancient medieval structure that is maximum security, awake, alive, but not quite living, come together to make a singular sound that is not quite human, unnatural, unsettling. Further penance perhaps?
But this night is different. Eyes closed and ears taking in only the rhythm of the breeze, he finds it possible to allow his mind to escape the confines of this place. He is here because he deserves to be. His body will be here for a long time. He has imprisoned his flesh, but to survive this place, to leave someday with his humanity, he needed to find freedom. Any type of freedom.
He taught his mind to do what is not possible for his body, to escape, to go beyond these cursed walls. Everyone has their "happy place". It can be real or imagined. A place where we feel at ease, not weighted down by worry, more alive, free....free...free. He takes himself there. He is happy. As happy and as free as inmate 41391 can be...deserves to be.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Thursday, November 07, 2013
Utterly Ridiculous
It's remarkable what little things we remember and how we cling to those ideals and expressions for the remainder of our lives. My little case in point is surprisingly silly. It has to do with the devilish and very adolescent practice of cow tipping. "What the heck is that?", you may be asking. I can assure you it has nothing to do with 15% gratuities at the Keg, nor is it a slice off the age old argument as to whether filet mignon is a better cut of meat than strip loin.
Cow tipping is just what the name implies. It so happens that cows sleep standing up, so if a person is stealth enough, it is possible to sneak up on one and pull two legs out from under her and down she will go. Hint - make sure the two legs are on the same side, otherwise the cow will do a face plant or a butt drop. That would be cruel!
I have only experienced this tipping phenomenon from the comfort of a semi-reclining theatre chair. It was when the kids and I were watching an animated Hollywood movie that I think was called "Barnyard". This was several years ago when Kendall and Avery were wee ones. We still joke and laugh about the silliness of the idea. It was even sillier in the movie because the main character was a cow named Otis. Otis was a boy cow! Otis had utters and a girlfriend. Confusing perhaps, particularly if you are from my generation, but my children took it all in stride. Kids today are certainly much more accepting and worldly than I ever was. As a kid in the late 1960's, it was as normal as bell bottom pants to have our fresh milk miraculously appear on our doorstep each morning. The still chilled milk would be in reusable glass bottles that had a flimsy cardboard seal. Ain't no way our kids would be drinking that stuff now-a-days. Some cow may have pee'd in it.
My now half grown kids and I are reminded of the shenanigans of Otis and friends almost daily. There are a couple of dairy farms near our house and the black and white bovines must wonder what the heck we are always smiling at when we drive by the muddy, sea salt air whipped fields. They'd be wise to sleep with one eye open.
I know that decades from now, whenever I want to take Kendall and Avery with me back to a time of simplicity and innocence, I will simply have to ask them if they want to go cow tipping. I'll remind them to avoid any cow with a deep gravelly voice,who can stand upright and goes by the name of Otis. That dude, if he hasn't yet been turned into ground beef, is definitely on to us.
Cow tipping is just what the name implies. It so happens that cows sleep standing up, so if a person is stealth enough, it is possible to sneak up on one and pull two legs out from under her and down she will go. Hint - make sure the two legs are on the same side, otherwise the cow will do a face plant or a butt drop. That would be cruel!
I have only experienced this tipping phenomenon from the comfort of a semi-reclining theatre chair. It was when the kids and I were watching an animated Hollywood movie that I think was called "Barnyard". This was several years ago when Kendall and Avery were wee ones. We still joke and laugh about the silliness of the idea. It was even sillier in the movie because the main character was a cow named Otis. Otis was a boy cow! Otis had utters and a girlfriend. Confusing perhaps, particularly if you are from my generation, but my children took it all in stride. Kids today are certainly much more accepting and worldly than I ever was. As a kid in the late 1960's, it was as normal as bell bottom pants to have our fresh milk miraculously appear on our doorstep each morning. The still chilled milk would be in reusable glass bottles that had a flimsy cardboard seal. Ain't no way our kids would be drinking that stuff now-a-days. Some cow may have pee'd in it.
My now half grown kids and I are reminded of the shenanigans of Otis and friends almost daily. There are a couple of dairy farms near our house and the black and white bovines must wonder what the heck we are always smiling at when we drive by the muddy, sea salt air whipped fields. They'd be wise to sleep with one eye open.
I know that decades from now, whenever I want to take Kendall and Avery with me back to a time of simplicity and innocence, I will simply have to ask them if they want to go cow tipping. I'll remind them to avoid any cow with a deep gravelly voice,who can stand upright and goes by the name of Otis. That dude, if he hasn't yet been turned into ground beef, is definitely on to us.
Thursday, October 03, 2013
Let'em Play
Hockey season is here. Actually, I'm not completely certain that it ever quite goes away. The so called off season might have been those three days in mid July. Certainly no more than three and never more than two days in a row. Now-a-days parents enlist their budding stars in all types of summer hockey adventures that make my childhood experiences look downright amateurish. Howie Meeker was the cock of the walk in St. John's hockey circles in the 1970's. After all, Howie had played with the Leafs during the Original 6 era of the NHL and he was the league's rookie of year. So why is it that my only recollection of him is getting a hockey stick to the behind every time I skated over the blue line during drills? He pretty well did it to all of us kids. Gosh darn Howie, that smarted! I just don't think it made me any smarter.
I went to the rink a few nights ago to watch some of the kids who I had coached during the past few years. It was a big night. Final selections were being made for the top all star teams for the 11 and 12 year old hockey players from all over the greater St. John's area. As I walked into the tin can covered arena, I felt like I was back in my playing hey days of the 70's and 80's. The tension was so thick that I could see it hanging just below the rafters. I could have sworn it was just like the blue cloud that I grew up playing under and had no choice but to suck those toxins into my lungs. The blue cloud of the "good old days" was from cigarettes and what ever else patrons smoked. In any event, the cloud in the rink a few nights ago wasn't one of smoke. It was a gigantic tension cloud that wasn't emanating from the players, but from the parents. For many, their hopes, dreams and aspirations were skating before their eyes. The pressure being imposed seemed unbearable, certainly too heavy for such young skaters to bear. I know I played hockey when I was a kid. I'm just not sure if the kids I saw the other night will ever truly get to "play" the game.
I have stepped away from the game. A few years ago I stopped playing and this year I won't be coaching. I think the time away will be good. I was recently asked to coach and the person asking pretty much "had me at hello" and I said yes. But a few hours of sober thought made me change my mind. I would like to add my two cents on coaching.
Today's hockey coaches are equipped with the best of courses, equipment, and training videos. Our world is so much smaller today and it seems that the a former professional coach can be found toiling in just about any rink in every city, town and hamlet across the country.
It would seem that anyone can be a hockey coach if they so choose. A minor hockey coach doesn't get paid and the job requires an exorbitant amount of time, dedication, patience, passion, compassion, toughness, thick skin, short memory...... Need I go on? That's the kicker though. How many of you can honestly say you have these qualities or even know many who do?
A large percentage of people have no business being behind the bench. No amount of internet queries to find the latest and greatest drills for practices or listening to a coaching podcast on the merits of employing the 1-2-2 or 1-3-1 power play during games will ever change that. The game has too many coaches that are there for the wrong reasons, often selfish ones. Executives, parents and even young players see through the facade, yet, most often, nothing is done. (It sort of reminds me of my career in the RCMP and how I saw many problems arise because management and supervisors abdicated the responsibility that came with that role.)
Hockey people all need to talk a collective breathe. It is a great game. Give it back to the kids. Perhaps Howie Meeker had just the remedy for those that dare mess with it. Although even Howie may be hesitant for fear of breaking off the hockey stick of today. Those baby's cost $300 each.
I'll leave you with one of my favourite expressions and one that any kid who I have coached should know quite well: "There are those who play hockey and there are hockey players."
I went to the rink a few nights ago to watch some of the kids who I had coached during the past few years. It was a big night. Final selections were being made for the top all star teams for the 11 and 12 year old hockey players from all over the greater St. John's area. As I walked into the tin can covered arena, I felt like I was back in my playing hey days of the 70's and 80's. The tension was so thick that I could see it hanging just below the rafters. I could have sworn it was just like the blue cloud that I grew up playing under and had no choice but to suck those toxins into my lungs. The blue cloud of the "good old days" was from cigarettes and what ever else patrons smoked. In any event, the cloud in the rink a few nights ago wasn't one of smoke. It was a gigantic tension cloud that wasn't emanating from the players, but from the parents. For many, their hopes, dreams and aspirations were skating before their eyes. The pressure being imposed seemed unbearable, certainly too heavy for such young skaters to bear. I know I played hockey when I was a kid. I'm just not sure if the kids I saw the other night will ever truly get to "play" the game.
I have stepped away from the game. A few years ago I stopped playing and this year I won't be coaching. I think the time away will be good. I was recently asked to coach and the person asking pretty much "had me at hello" and I said yes. But a few hours of sober thought made me change my mind. I would like to add my two cents on coaching.
Today's hockey coaches are equipped with the best of courses, equipment, and training videos. Our world is so much smaller today and it seems that the a former professional coach can be found toiling in just about any rink in every city, town and hamlet across the country.
It would seem that anyone can be a hockey coach if they so choose. A minor hockey coach doesn't get paid and the job requires an exorbitant amount of time, dedication, patience, passion, compassion, toughness, thick skin, short memory...... Need I go on? That's the kicker though. How many of you can honestly say you have these qualities or even know many who do?
A large percentage of people have no business being behind the bench. No amount of internet queries to find the latest and greatest drills for practices or listening to a coaching podcast on the merits of employing the 1-2-2 or 1-3-1 power play during games will ever change that. The game has too many coaches that are there for the wrong reasons, often selfish ones. Executives, parents and even young players see through the facade, yet, most often, nothing is done. (It sort of reminds me of my career in the RCMP and how I saw many problems arise because management and supervisors abdicated the responsibility that came with that role.)
Hockey people all need to talk a collective breathe. It is a great game. Give it back to the kids. Perhaps Howie Meeker had just the remedy for those that dare mess with it. Although even Howie may be hesitant for fear of breaking off the hockey stick of today. Those baby's cost $300 each.
I'll leave you with one of my favourite expressions and one that any kid who I have coached should know quite well: "There are those who play hockey and there are hockey players."
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