- It's a very different place I find myself in today. So blessed to have amazing friends, with one even doing the "Seinfeld-esque", "Pop-In", On Wednesday. Another made sure Jack had a very positive field trip, even if the professionals providing chaperons weren't as inclined. I attended an appointment yesterday that I may have avoided in years past. I found myself so happy I that I went. It was an opportunity to see some things through the eyes of a totally impartial person, and this type of input I value, deeply. I also gained some new insight, & new approaches to old techniques.

- I wish there were more answers, more direction, I wish I had some sort of certainty going forward, but there is none.

- I'm left to wonder, is this what it is to be a child of God? My father did the best could, with the knowledge, tools, & opportunities he was provided, I'm sure. Given the chance I'm certain there are things he may very well, have done differently; as much as I would change so many things for my own children. Yet with my own knowledge, tools, & opportunities; limited as they are, many times my own hands are tied; this is what it is to be a parent. It seems God really doesn't feel this same way toward us, does He? "Given The Chance"? Well good grief, if God doesn't have the chance, then who does? If I'm to believe all that I'm taught, then God can effect miracles in our lives, & yet, it would seem that he chooses not to. Even in the lives of so many deserving, faithful people. I guess "given the chance", we're on our own.

- You may think, I'm a little pissed, & you'd be right, but wait cause I'm not sure who I'm pissed at; although I know it's not really God. We have free will, and to an extent our free will, our decision making, affects those around us, yet at some point we need to stop placing blame, accept our circumstances for what they are, it's then, at this point that we can affect change in our own lives.Certainly my father's decision making, his in-decision, affected me, my mother, & all 4 of my sisters. Now where do I draw the line? Where to I take on the responsibility for my own decision making? I believe that moment is unique to us all. I don't know the date, but I know where I was when it began for me. Why it went wrong is just as clear to me. I can, & have picked apart every moment, every nuance, & effectively, efficiently placed copious amounts of blame. I won't anymore. Truthfully, look into your own life, place blame, point fingers, ... now what? To what end? Once they've all been sufficiently punished, to your own satisfaction, you still have to shut your head off to sleep at night, & when you can't do that, again, I'll ask ... to what end?

- I know for a fact that I was making powerful, important decisions, that greatly affected the course of my life, & the lives of those around me; at a very young, tender age. I had complete freedom to do this as well. I was even encouraged to do so in many cases. I make this point only to note that, at least for me, at this time in my life, I was far too young; 12, 13, 14yrs. old. I was left to decide if I would smoke, if I would live at home, or stay in a reformatory, what school I would attend; I was choosing to stay out all night at sleepovers, or to come home. These and many other decisions were left completely up to me. I was far too young physically and emotionally, & this is this is the place where it all goes wrong. I had no appreciation, no real comprehension for the power of choice. Really, what 13yr. old would?

- This is real power, choice. This is the freedom God graces us with, it ultimately defines our relationship with him. It's is the single biggest power we possess, to choose our own way, to define our own destiny, & I as a very young boy couldn't possibly understand the depth of that until I was much older. Today, as a father I impress this upon my children every moment I can. As a husband I look to share this with Sara daily. I have found more freedom in recent years then I ever imagined possible, yet I find myself bound by the world in which I live.

- So there you have it, the very "different" place I find myself in. Who am I pissed off at? Well, to be sure the list is "long & distinguished". The government that keeps me under it's thumb, the union that keeps my mailbox empty, the entire system that infuriates me; or maybe just myself for allowing it all to affect me ...

you be the judge, I'm trying to get free }:)

- be good all, ... Love, S.

- Going Home ...

- Wrote this January/09 at Grade, thanks to Georgia, Trish, & Pauline, I definitely need to be more open to criticism ...

Going home. This has meant so many different things, and referred to so many different places over the years. Many years ago, when I was a nine or ten year old boy, that meant a house at eleven sixty eight Rankin Avenue, Windsor, Ontario. There, Dad was usually waiting, and I couldn't wait to leave again. Going home meant getting back to the house before sunrise, begrudging the day, only to sneak out of the basement window again, usually some time after midnight.

As I grew, home became a much larger place; it began to encompass all of Essex County. Home could be in Amhurstburg, Ontario, at Aunt Sharon and Uncle Butch's house on Alma Street, or Louisa and Glen's place on Front Road. In the "East End" of Windsor, there was always Kevin Crosby's mom's place, Aunt Georgette's, or Aunt Claire and Uncle Paul's. In Tecumseh, Aunt Bonnie always welcomed me. The "West End" of Windsor held too many places to mention; I'm sure I'll always feel the pull of the west end.

I'm certain the land is still there. Returning to those places today, is to see strip malls. Going back means enduring the business of the retail outlet complex and the never ending search for the bathroom stations. From Google Earth, I can see all of Dad's landscaping has been removed from the old backyard at Rankin Avenue. Alleyways are gone now, fallen to "Property Reclamation". The Riverfront remains a source of local pride, but big business means bigger buildings along it and far busier festivals then ever before. Old fields that once teemed with wildlife, full with bush for hiking and exploring, are now "New Subdivisions" as people leave the west end, and move out of the city. To drive anywhere there now is to vaguely recognize your past. To move around in any of these places today is to take part in controlled chaos. Yes, I'm sure the land is still there, it's simply been buried under "Progress".

From Belle River, through Tecumseh and Windsor, past Lasalle, and into Amhurstburg, Ontario, I can still recall the Riverfront, the friends, and all of the many festivals. I think of the schools and the teachers, and am honestly humbled at how much of my education took place in those musty church basements. I remember, fondly, the alleyways and backyard, summertime sleep outs. Smiling lovingly, I find myself in mind of those winters spent on a toboggan and of family shinny, pick up hockey games played on the frozen ponds of River Canard.

My dearest memories are on those very ponds. No, not with puck and stick in hand, as is the case with so many young Canadian boys, but with a canoe paddle and my cousin up front. We paddled all over River Canard, and spent many a summer night camped, illegally, in the old "Scout Bush". Although today I feel so genuinely content, my happiness is more complete than I'd ever imagined, I often find myself nostalgic for it all.

Nostalgia is a double edged sword, isn't it? While we recall a fondness, we can just as easily find ourselves robbed of the very happiness we work so diligently to find. No, wisdom is not paid out upon reaching a specific age. This comes from a willingness to accept, if not embrace, growth and experience, no matter the cost. One looks back through a window, cleared by effort and hard work. He, or she, accepts what they see, and finds contentment in the ability to endure and survive, and then takes joy in the wisdom gained. Certainly, "we put away childish things".

Going home. Today that sings of relaxation; it's a song of family and new hope. Today, going home means I can return to peace, and serenity, and those joyous things Dad spoke of. Home is a wife and best friend, love and absolute support. There's never a consideration for sneaking out, as it's hard to imagine being without them. Had I ever been so inclined, I'd be hard-pressed to squeeze myself through any type of window, anywhere! Home is a namesake times three, something Dad only dreamed of. It's noise, music, basketball, football, loud sleepovers, school, and appointments, and I can't wait to get back here again, and again. Most of all, home today is very real, unconditional, pure, and imperfect love. I believe we'll find creeks, and canals we've yet to paddle. Surely there are shinny games to be had. We've already enjoyed some pick-up basketball here, in the lane-way with our neighbor, and quite honestly, the tobogganing here is second to none. Today, home is two and a half hours from everything I'd ever known. It's amazing, and messy; it's chaotic, and compassionate. God willing, it's our very own little brick two story, and it's right here, at eighty five Moore Ave, Aylmer, Ontario, Canada.

Love, S.

01 / 27 / 09