Mr. Hutchings, What's a Metropolis Noir?

When I need to process significant events in my life, I write. Yesterday, my family attended a Tragically Hip concert in Edmonton. I need to write about it, and here's why.

I first heard The Tragically Hip on an Edmonton radio station in 1990. After my first half year at the U of A, I was working at a toy factory, assembling educational toys. My coworkers were hard working, interesting people. For most of the day, I worked beside a fellow named Dieter, who smoked a lot of weed and loved music. When 38 Years Old finished playing, he looked at me and said simply, "That is a f***ing poignant song." He was rough around the edges and I'm certain that Dieter regretted many of his life choices, but he knew his music.

I couldn't help but agree with him. The fictional tale of a real-life event struck a chord with me. That fall, I hoped to attend the Hip's show at Dinwoodie Lounge, but it didn't pan out. When I learned that they would be playing Edmonton's Convention Center in the summer of 1991, I knew they were a band I had to see live. Last night, I saw them in person for the last time and I'm filled with emotion. I hope this blog helps me figure out why the news of Gord Downie's cancer and the Hip's farewell tour has hit me so hard.

The Hip are to music as hockey is to sport. You need to be Canadian to completely "get" them. In one of my older blogs, Great Canadian Gordons I wrote

Their music is laced with references to Canadian culture. Hockey themes abound, most notably "Fireworks" celebration of the 1972 Summit Series, the disappearance of Toronto Maple Leafs defenceman Bill Barilko in "Fifty Mission Cap" and a dirge about being a goaltender in "The Lonely End of the Rink". Their lyrics celebrate notable Canadians like Bobby Orr, Pierre Trudeau and David Milgaard. Distinctly Canadian terms like toonie, CBC, prime minister and the "crown" pepper their lyrics. Even Donald S. Cherry makes an appearance as a chicken delivery man in the video for "The Darkest One".

The Hip's songs tend to mention Canadian places. Niagara Falls, Bobcaygeon, Toronton, Kingston, Cape Spear, Clayoquot Sound, Sault Ste Marie, Northumberland Strait, Churchill, Thompson, Lake Memphragog, Isle Aux Morts. I'm not completely sure, but I have a feeling that "The Paris of the Prairies" mentioned in "Wheat Kings" may be Saskatoon. I am certain that many essays and perhaps Master's theses have been written about the Hip's connection to Canada through music. Beyond the stage, Downie and the band have had cameos in uniquely Canadian television shows like Corner Gas and Trailer Park Boys.

For me, though, the quintessential Gordon Downie moment is the role he plays in Michael McGowan's film, One Week. The film is profoundly Canadian as it follows its protagonist, who has terminal cancer, on a motorcycle pilgrimage from Toronto to Tofino. Downie has a brief role as a man who meets the doomed Tyler and shares his experience of battling cancer. When I think of Canadian icons, people who have helped develop my generation's Canadian identity, I think of people like Terry Fox and Rick Hansen. When it comes to people who reaffirmed my love of all things Canadian, I cannot think of a more iconic figure than Gordon Downie.

On a personal level, Downie's illness hits me hard. Like most of us, I've lost loved ones to cancer. Like Gordon Downie, I'm a father. The Hip have been a huge part of most of my adult life. It makes me incredibly sad to know that I've seen them live in concert for the last time. Fortunately, I got to enjoy yesterday's show with the people I love the most - my wife and two sons. I hope that a small part of my passion for The Hip lives on in my boys. To quote Don't Wake Daddy, 

We teach our children some fashion sense/And they fashion some of their own

The title of this post is a reference to a line from Greasy Jungle, and an unforgettable question a student asked me. As a beginning teacher, I used the Hip in class whenever possible. From trying to interpret New Orleans is Sinking in English to Drama tableau projects with 38 Years Old as the soundtrack to Wheat Kings in Social Studies, my love for the Hip extended to my students. For a few years, my home room was the Drama room and you could usually hear The Tragically Hip playing on the CD player. One day after school, a student asked me what "metropolis noir" meant. I've never forgotten the question, and I clearly remember seeing Ryan at Tragically Hip concerts years later. It makes me smile to know that a few of my students latched on to the important lessons I hoped they would find in The Hip's music.

When I really think about it, I'm sad for Gord, his family, and his closest friends. Last night's concert and the band's reaction since his illness went public demonstrates the depth of the band's friendship. And that, I think, is the root of my deep emotional connection to the Tragically Hip, their music, and their live shows.

I have so many incredible memories of seeing this band play. My first Hip show was July 26, 1991 at the Edmonton Convention Centre. Since then, I've seen them at Clark Stadium, Edmonton Agricom, Camrose, Northlands Coliseum, Edmonton Jubilee, the Centrium, Saddledome, and The Whiskey in Calgary. When I think back to each show, I definitely remember the overall event and how watching them play filled me with joy. I remember a few specific Gord Downie rants and moves. I've evolved personally. In the early years, pre-Hip warm up meant a lot of beer. The last time I saw them in Red Deer, we had third row seats. Instead of planning the pre and post-concert party, I had to think carefully about wearing good shoes because I would be standing for the whole show.

More than anything, though, I remember the people I attended the shows with, listened to CD's, and discussed their music with. Brad, Brenn, Brian, Dave, Deneen, Grant, Ian, Jeff, Jeremy, Jim, Kevin, Pete, Rochelle, Ryan, Sandra, Sharon, Steve, Todd, Wayne...the list goes on.

My wife has been with me the most. She is the first to admit that she didn't really appreciate the Hip until she saw them live. Every time I hear It's a Good Life If You Don't Weaken, I think of her and the first time we heard it live. My best friend, Jeremy, has been with me for many shows. Last night, we talked before the show and fired Hip lines back and forth throughout. Jeremy was with me for the 1991 Convention Center show, so memorable, fuelled by lots of beer and a few unexpected complimentary drinks. We've seen them in Red Deer, Edmonton, Calgary and Camrose. Like my friends Dave and Wayne, we can trade Hip quotes for hours. And here's the great thing about the Tragically Hip. I guarantee that there are thousands of Canadians who have a story just like mine.

Last night, my emotions were unbridled, and I was not alone. My final Hip show was full of shouting, clapping, dancing, and singing out loud without a care in the world. My good friend Brian is hosting a back yard Hip party on August 20 when the CBC broadcasts their final show from Kingston.

I can't wait, but I don't want it to end. To close, I will borrow the opening line from Live Between Us.

Thank you. We are all richer for having seen you.

Leavin'

Ain't no time for worrying
Gotta go
Move on
Got that getaway feeling
I'm leavin'

 ~ Paul Brandt

In May, 2006, I was called into the office at Glendale Middle School and informed that I would be leaving. My destination was Grandview Elementary School, the school where my eldest son Connor was attending Kindergarten. I was coming off a difficult year of soul searching. I sincerely enjoyed my time at Glendale, but there were a lot of things that made me look elsewhere. I was restless and ambitious, but I was not really ready to assume any great responsibility at a school level. My first five years of school administration strained my ability to focus on my family and I felt quite compromised. There were many things I wanted to accomplish at Glendale, but I felt like my family suffered because of my obligations at school. It pissed me off to miss hockey practices or skating lessons. My boys spent lots of time at school with me, which was fine, but it was also time we could have spent in a playground or in a park. I pursued a couple of principal positions during that vear. I was driven in part by ambition and in part by the memory of my failed hockey career. I became a Vice Principal at a young age, just as I entered the Western Hockey League at a young age. My untimely exit from hockey was fresh in my mind and I did not want to let opportunities pass me by. In the end, I was interviewed for two principal positions, offered one, and decided to pass it up because it would have forced my family to move a long distance from Red Deer.

My transfer to Grandview was proof to me that things happen for a reason. I have very special memories of my experiences at all of my schools. However, the past seven years at Grandview fill my heart like no other professional experience to date. I have written a lot about how much this school means to me. It chokes me up whenever I talk about it.

Grandview was a great place for my children. Without exception, they had amazing teachers. My boys grew up in full view and I cannot understate how much I value the opportunity to have front row seats. I was there for assemblies, concerts, field trips, and all of the special events I would have missed had I worked at another school. Moreover, I had the opportunity to actively shape their experiences by pushing for a climbing wall, booking guest instructors, arranging field trips, and planning many keynote events in Grandview's school year. There is no doubt that I had a vested interest in making Grandview the best possible place for my own children. However, a school needs to be a great place for all children. It should not matter whether a parent is an employee of the school district, a family that lives directly across the street, someone who recently immigrated to Canada, a family that lives in our catchment area or a family that will only be with us for a matter of days because their lives are in crisis. The diversity of the students who attend our school make it special.

Grandview is full of incredible people - staff, students, and parents. This is the part I cannot write without tears. These are tears of fierce pride, intense gratitude, and sincere love. I got my first introduction to the "Grandview Way" from Jean Cobb, who loved her kids first and foremost. When Jean did something, she did it with pure passion and genuine love for the students who attended her school. Early on, when we were asked to "go with the flow" and make a significant change to our school day, the eminently wise Kevin Shilling nodded his head and made a simple comment. "C'est la vie a Grandview"... Throughout their school career, my kids had nothing but the best teaching possible. Danece Workman, Gail Schmitt, Shirley Brault, Carol Johnson, Kelly Martinez, Maria Tisdale, Shauna Kadar, Lynn Gwartney, Carrie Tobler, Sue Mueller, Sandra Morton, Kevin Shilling. The list of amazing teachers my kids did not have is just as long. The list of amazing support staff matches the length of both lists. That, in my mind, is a true testament to the quality of adults who spend their days in our building.

Make no mistake. At Grandview, we work hard and we play hard. A few years ago, my friend Monte Selby came to spend a week in our school to write music with our students. One of the songs, Fun, says "We have fun here at Grandview/We have fun every day". That fun can be found in the classrooms, the hallways, the playgrounds, even the office. Our teachers love what they do, our kids love coming to school, and we fuel one another. I never miss dressing up for a spirit day, from cowboy to mad scientist to superhero to wearing full hockey gear (including my skates) for a day. Our staff also plays hard after hours. Staff retreats, hockey drafts, conferences, post-interview debriefs, progressive suppers, scavenger hunts, camping trips. We don't party every Friday like I did before I had kids, but when we decide to let go, it is a ton of fun.

Grandview is at the heart of our community. The playground, soccer fields, baseball diamond and outdoor skating rink are well-used after hours. The Red Deer Fencing Club uses our gymnasium every weeknight through the winter. Red Deer Pond Hockey teams hold practices and tournaments on the outdoor rink. Each winter, the school plays host to the Red Deer Rebels Enmax Pond Hockey program. My favourite evening of the year, however, is our family BBQ and outdoor movie night. Each year, families from the school (past and present) converge on the school grounds to eat, visit, and watch a movie on a gigantic outdoor screen. It is an evening that reminds me of the barn dances and church picnics of my youth and I am incredibly sad that this year's event was my last.

My time at Grandview has not been all sunshine and roses. For every difficult parent, there are 99 amazing parents at our school. I will not deny that I worked with some families that were completely dysfunctional and messed up. Overall, though, these types of people are not the norm. The norm is parents who volunteer for field trips, participate in fundraisers, sign agendas, attend school functions and want the best for their kids. It is a regular occurrence for people to walk into the building and say, "I've heard this is a great school. I want my kids to come here."

There have been some incredibly "interesting" events over the past seven years. Parents who have undergone sex changes so a child refers to their parents as "Mom" and "Mom Mom". Folks from all parts of the world who have no idea what we are talking about. One year, I returned from spring break and noticed that my office had an extremely bad odour. I searched the bookshelves and work desk for leftover food or milk that one of my "lunchtime guests" might have left behind, to no avail. I purchased a Vanillaroma stinky tree to try and cover the odour, with minimal success. One day, as I was searching my shelves, I found the source. At Christmas, one of our more interesting parents had given me a box of home made rum balls as a gift. Not trusting the source, I left the rum balls on a shelf and forgot about them, until I discovered that they had indeed gone bad. Another day, I had to restrain and physically remove a student from the playground to the "thinking spot" in our office. I had to quickly push the door closed to prevent them from bolting around me when I realized that I did not have my keys with me. The student stared a hole through me and bellowed, "LET ME OUT!" I replied, in an tone with equivalent volume and rage, "I CAN"T!" At the time, the door locked from the outside and I was indeed stuck in this room with an out-of control child. My response seemed to stun the youngster, who then asked (in a sincerely puzzled tone), "Really?" I then explained that no one was coming to open the door until I asked them to. The absurdity of our situation defused the conflict completely. "Really? You are the vice principal and you're locked in here with me? That's funny."

When I really reflect on my seven years at Grandview, it fills me with pride. I had the good fortune to work with amazing people - teachers, educational assistants, secretaries, caretakers, counsellors, maintenance staff, IT support, student teachers, community volunteers, guest artists and instructors, and central office staff. I worked three very different, yet equally impressive principals. I met hundreds of children and their families. I made lifelong friends and I watched my children forge powerful friendships. I can look around the school and see my fingerprints all over it. In the end, though, my career as an educator is a book and my years at Grandview have been seven of my favourite chapters.

I entered this school year knowing it would likely be my final year at Grandview. I was hoping to move into a Principalship in Red Deer Public, and when that did not happen, I decided to widen my view. Now, I am reminded of the lone traveler in Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken. I have decided to take a different path than most. I'm leaving behind twenty years of experience in a school district to start fresh with an amazing opportunity in a completely new community. I was hurt, disillusioned and frustrated when I was passed over for a position in Red Deer Public. Now, the excitement I felt when I first entered school administration has returned and I feel very confident about moving forward. Like the character in Frost's poem, I won't know whether this is the right decision for a while. At the moment, it feels right and it makes sense.

I’d rather live my whole life with a sense of abandonSqueeze every drop out, no matter what happensAnd not wonder what I've missedI’d rather risk ~Paul Brandt

People on the Edges of Your Life

We all have people on the edges of our lives. They are people we know, people we like, people we have spent time with. Usually, we connect with these people intermittently. We know who they are, we know their life story, and we genuinely enjoy their company. To draw a fishing analogy, we get swept up in the main current of our lives, so we miss connecting with these people because they live in the eddies and side channels. As any good fisherman (and Robert Frost) knows, it is important to explore beyond the main current. Often, the most pleasant surprises can be found on the path less travelled.

These people may be co-workers, people we don't know despite spending most of our day with them . Sometimes, they are people we meet through teams, groups, school, or our children. They might be neighbours, colleagues or friends of a friend. Sometimes, they are the siblings of close friends. They could be people you meet on a trip or a weekend getaway. We all have people like this in our lives and when something happens to them, it has a distinct impact. One of my lifelong friends lost his brother last week and pushed me to think deeply about the connections we make with the people who move in and out of our lives.

I knew Darren as long as I knew his brother, Warren. We grew up in the same places - Fultonvale Arena, Ardrossan Arena, the Moyer Recreation Center at Josephburg, and Wye Elementary School. Darren, Warren, Jackie and Gary Williams are a huge part of my best childhood memories. As a classmate, teammate, and lifelong friend of Warren's, it seems obvious to say that Dee was my friend's younger brother. Somehow, though, that is an inadequate description. He was much more than a little brother.

I have so many great memories of Darren. Thanks to hockey, we travelled across Canada together. Dee was one of those rare people who are impossible to dislike. He was friendly, outgoing and selfless. Dee was always kind to me and called me Bun, a nickname the persists with many of my closest and dearest friends. I always admired his passion for vehicles and having a good time. In lots of ways, he reminded me of a child's favourite stuffed animal - larger than life, easy to talk to and always there when you needed him. We crossed paths on a fairly regular basis because Warren's house is where our group of friends meets every year, usually at Christmas. Darren is the same age as my sister, so when we were younger, he could often  be found at the same parties and social events. In over thirty years, I never met a person who had anything  bad to say about Darren Williams.

One memory stands out from the rest. One of our friends got married at a golf course in Edmonton. When we went to leave the wedding, it seemed like a good idea to blast a few golf  balls into the pond near the parking lot. It was late and our swings were hampered by dress shoes, the dark and possibly the open bar at the wedding. It was a lot of fun, though, and as usual, Dee was in the thick of it. We were so into it that we got left behind and had to call a cab to catch up with the post-wedding party crowd. As we waited for the cab, we had a great conversation and reminisced about the good times we shared as kids. When the cab arrived, I realized I had no cash, but Darren paid with his usual "no problem" approach.

I can say with certainty that Darren was a good friend, a loyal brother, a loved uncle and everything a parent could ask for in a son. I am very sad that I cannot be there to celebrate his life due to a family vacation. It seems unreal that he won't be there the next time our friends gather for Christmas. I missed the last gathering because I was caught in the rush of my life and kids' activities, and I recognize that I missed a last chance to have my yearly conversation with Darren, whose company I genuinely enjoyed. My heart aches for those who were close to him.

In the coming months, I am going to try harder to slow down and pull myself out of the main current. Hopefully, I will get the chance to spend more time with people on the edges of my life.

Stand by Me

Over the past weekend, I led a group on hike around Nordegg, Alberta. The route follows an abandoned rail line and crosses three trestles that are in varying states of disrepair. As the kids (and adults) nervously picked their way across rotting boards, one of the group leaders mentioned how much the trek reminded him of a scene from Rob Reiner's great film, Stand by Me. This comment brought back a flood of memories for me that form the basis for this post.

Many people have seen this wonderful film and I imagine that most people know it was based on Stephen King's novella, The Body. I'm not sure that everyone knows that this story first appeared in a collection of King's novellas called Different Seasons, a book that also spawned the blockbuster film The Shawshank Redemption and the lesser-known Apt Pupil. When I was a teenager, I was a huge Stephen King fan. I purchased Carrie at Woodward's book section in July 1982, read it in two days, and was hooked. I plowed through all of King's books I could and was thrilled when my mom brought home the paperback version of Different Seasons in the fall of 1983. She bought it at The Wee Book Inn in Edmonton's old Strathcona neighborhood and it still sits on my bookshelf.

There is a line in the movie that says "I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?"

My answer is yes. And no. Let me explain...

When I was twelve, I had a fair number of friends. Like Gordie, the protagonist and narrator of The Body, I had three or four very close friends. Now that I am forty, I've lost track of most of them, stayed in contact with several and lost one of those friends to an automobile accident nearly twenty years ago. My youngest son is named after my fallen friend, who died two weeks after I had asked him to be in my wedding party. His loss had a profound impact on me and completely changed the way I look at the world.

Another of my very close friends had been my best friend through most of elementary school. We shared a keen interest in birds, fishing, music and sports. We were in the same class and Cub troop. We slept over at one another's homes, went camping together, rode our bikes along the roads surrounding our elementary school. I admired him and wished I could be more like him in so many ways. He was always a bit taller than me, even though I was very tall for my age. He was definitely far better looking. When we went to the local roller rink, girls lined up to skate with him. They skated with me, too, not for my looks, but because I could skate backwards. In grade six, he moved to another school and we continued to keep in contact, but things were never the same as they were when we were in grade five. He moved to Toronto for a year when we were in junior high but returned to Sherwood Park during the summer of 1986. It's somewhat ironic that one of the last things I really remember doing with him was going to see the biggest movie of that summer. You guessed it. Stand by Me.

At twelve, my closest friend had already been my teammate for six hockey seasons. We spent the winters traveling to the same arenas, eating in the same roadside diners, and staying in the same hotels. Our weekends consisted of practices and games throughout Alberta. We even travelled to Quebec to participate in the Tournoi Hockey de Carnival and billeted together with a man who drove an AMC Pacer, spoke fluent English, and made sure we ate plenty of pastries. When we weren't on the ice, we often went to one another's homes and spent our time firing orange street hockey balls, pucks and tennis balls at one another. We watched Stampede Wrestling with his Ukrainian Baba on Saturday afternoons. We listened to AC/DC on vinyl records and eagerly anticipated the opportunity to watch Wayne Gretzky and Edmonton Oilers rewrite the NHL's record books. By the end of most of our hockey seasons, our bounty included several medals, trophies and complete sets of O-Pee-Chee hockey cards.

He was a great hockey player. Smart, skilled and shady when he had to be. We were captains and assistant captains. We won far more games than we lost. Even at twelve, though, he had a different perspective. He loved the USA and had been thrilled when the American hockey team won gold at Lake Placid. Two of his favorite pro players were Dave Christian (a result of his preference for Christian hockey sticks) and Greg Millen (yes, the colour commentator). Like his father, my best friend thought about things in unique ways. Some of my favorite memories of those years included driving to and from hockey, listening to talk radio and discussing whatever event his father was interested in.

We have stayed in contact in spite of the fact that we live in two different provinces and lead much different lives. I really look forward to our infrequent visits, as do my boys, who idolize their "Uncle Weese". It is true that I don't have any friends like the ones I had when I was twelve. Friends like them are incredibly special and I am very fortunate that I get to stay in contact with many of the guys I played hockey and rugby with as a teenager. We lived, loved, got an education, made plenty of mistakes, killed a few brain cells and somehow managed to become productive adults. Even as adults, I know them by their nicknames. Willy, Billy, Hoovman, Otto, Goo, Colman, Pee Wee, Parkie. I love the fact that we still get a chance to pick up where we left off. We don't need to talk on the phone or send Christmas cards. These guys really are the best and the fact that we still dart in and out of one another's busy lives is a testament to what great guys they are.

In my new life in Red Deer, most of my closest friends are teachers. We have worked hard, played hard and laughed lots during the past eighteen years. I am blessed that my best friend and teammate through university lives about 500 steps away. We have been "best man" at one another's wedding. We have taught, coached, backpacked, camped, played and lived together. He is perpetually upbeat, easygoing and positive. Our kids all go to school together and I have the extraordinary opportunity to work at their school. Like their Uncle Weese, my boys consider Jeremy an uncle and I'm fortunate to call him my friend.

My adult friends are an awful lot like the friends I had as a teenager. They are quality human beings who are not afraid to have a good time. My adult friends love sports, the outdoors and their families. Like my buddies from high school, they all have nicknames. Bee. G-Mac. Jimbo. Jimmy. Noonan. Pearson. Pickles. Robbie.

My childhood memories are like a lawn full of dew. It only takes a small step before I am drenched with thoughts that run a gamut of emotions. The older I get, the more positive the memories. It is completely accurate to say that my friends today are nothing like the friends I had when I was twelve.

I am convinced that this is a good thing.

Take Time

Time. There seems to be too much of it, too little of it. Time can be on our side. Time can be ticking. However you look at it, time is a relative concept. I'm writing this post on May long weekend and since we decided to stay in town, I feel like I have an abundance of time. Today is Sunday, but it feels like a Saturday and I'm really enjoying the luxury of time.

In my career, I have to remind myself to "take time". One joy of being a teacher and school administrator is that my job is never boring. Time flies, usually because I'm having fun! It is, however, easy to get wrapped up in what I do in my classroom and forget to take time for the other people in the school - teachers, parents, and even the kids in my class. When I really think about it, it's important to take time to do three things.

The first, probably most important thing I have to remind myself to do is say positive things. I give encouragement, pats on the back, and support all the time in my classroom. What I am talking about, though, is genuine praise. This is the type of praise where you take someone aside, look them in the eyes, and tell them something they have done very well. Last week, one of my students found a teacher's wallet in the parking lot and brought it to me. It was the perfect time to make a big deal about doing the right thing. At times, I have to remind myself to say something positive, write a positive e-mail, make a positive phone call home. When it is genuine, directed and earnest, saying something nice to someone else is incredibly powerful.

When we get wrapped up in our lives, we sometimes forget to listen. Years ago, I heard Dr. Michele Borba speak about the importance of consciously building empathy in children. According to her, teaching children to LISTEN is one of the crucial elements of empathy. When I was a middle school administrator, I took pride in the fact that I would listen to every child, every parent, every staff member who came into my office. It feels good to know that you can be trusted. As a parent and husband, it is equally important to listen carefully. At times, this is a struggle with my 10 year old son who is an endless stream of facts, ideas and information that is incredibly important to him. I have caught myself saying "Not now, Connor" and feel terrible when I do so. Listening, really listening, is so important.

The final element of the "take time" triad? Take time to acknowledge people. When I moved to Red Deer, one of the things I really enjoyed was the fact that people nodded and said hello when they passed one another on the street. A few weeks ago, our family got the opportunity to be greeters at our church. It was so nice to see my children experience the joy of simply saying hello. One of the most important things a teacher can do is meet their class at the door. The simple act of saying hello is remarkably powerful. The first time I heard Todd Whitaker speak, he said that, as a principal, he would never walk by someone in the hallway without acknowledging them. It's simple, but it takes a conscious effort and it takes a bit of time.

I'm not perfect. I don't manage to do all of these things all of the time. It takes a conscious effort and I have to remind myself to do these things. In the end, though, it is time well spent. There is no rewind button in life. You don't get "do-overs". So, I try hard to take time the first time.