Something I wrote in 1987. Unedited and unrevised (obviously.)

Each year as the summer approaches, many of us start to think about vacations. "What should we do this year?" "Where shall we go?" "What is new that we have not ever done before?" are all questions we have asked of spouse, child, and self. I would like to offer a suggestion.

Many times in my short life, I have had the opportunity to travel to British Columbia, Canada, and to witness the treasures available in that providence. I am particularly fond of Vancouver. My visits to Vancouver are always delightful and exciting because of the safe clean environment, the beautiful parks and recreation areas, the many different races of people and their friendly manner, and the rugged and ever changing terrain around the city.

Whenever I travel into southwestern British Columbia enroute to Vancouver, I am reminded once again how beautiful and green the landscape is. Rolling hills are covered with a velvet quilt of shimmering grass and the trees are adorned with translucent leaves. As I approach the city, this scene surrenders to a man made beauty. This is where man has worked in harmony with Mother Nature, rather than against her, and the one complements the other beautifully. Unlike any other city I have ever experienced, I have never felt unsafe or uncomfortable walking any of the city streets of Vancouver whether during the day or the evening. It is true that there are crimes committed in Vancouver and even an occasional mugging and murder, but these incidences are relatively few in number and are certainly lower than Los Angeles, Washington, Chicago or Montreal.

With each visit to this wondrous city, I try to visit one or two of the many parks. The Queen Elizabeth Park, one of my favorites, is found on the side of a hill. At the top of the hill is a large glass dome which stands about 75 feet high in the center. This large greenhouse oversees the wanderings of visitors throughout the park. Inside the dome is a paradise of rare tropical plants and birds. The Sunken Garden, which is next to the dome, is a popular attraction for many first time visitors. At one end of the garden a small waterfall cascades over the rocks into the garden floor and the pond below sustains the stream which divides the sunken Garden down the middle. Here the grass is always thick and green, the maples and the oaks always provide an abundance of shade. The flowers are always in full bloom whatever the season, a multitude of flowers are in full bloom in this little garden. Very often a music student from Fraser University will serenade the tourist as he practices his clarinet. Another park I anticipate seeing with each visit is Central Park. This park has been referred to as the back yard for a million people, for it is mostly tall maple and cedar trees and trails with a swimming pool and four or five ball diamonds so it is a natural for the family picnic and the afternoon stroll.

I would have to say without a doubt the largest and most famous park in Vancouver is Stanley Park, which covers an area of over thirty square miles. In 1958, a hurricane struck Vancouver and destroyed over three thousand trees in Stanley Park; the dead trees were hauled out and put to a good use, but so many trees remained that you would never guess such a thing had happened. Stanley Park boasts several restaurants, a zoo, a large aquarium with whale shows, four beaches, a host of statues and monuments, and thousands of visitors every day. This park is so large that it is not unusual to forget you're in the middle of a major city when you have been there for a few hours.

Cities are people and the people in the city are the human reflection of what the city is. Certainly Vancouver has many sides to reflect. Many of the English settled here and their influence is certainly very noticeable; the French, also, have a major influence on the culture. Perhaps you were not aware, but a number of the Chinese have also made their home in Vancouver; Chinatown is a city within a city and has its own economy and newspapers as well as a city government and some of the finest restaurants in the west. Other sub-cultures include ,Jews, Hispanics, and American Indians, yet as different as these people are they all seem to coexist in a peaceful, friendly way. Whenever I have lost my way, I never hesitate to seek help from a stranger, and soon a stranger has become a friend. During 1986, Vancouver was host for the world's Fair. As such they were very gracious and most helpful. I learned many things about New Westminster by talking to a bus driver late one night near the end of his shift. He took the time to tell me about the history of Vancouver's mass transit system and how it was designed as well as how it was working out. He also told me about some of the local industry.

And then there is the area surrounding the city. From the center of the city, I can travel ten miles and be in any climate I may desire. If I travel west, I will first be in the English Bay, and then the open sea or one of the many small islands; north will take me into the wilderness mountains, where I can hunt, ski, or explore. To the east I will find open grasslands where I can visit a farm and go horseback riding or fishing. Several riverboat trips start in Vancouver and travel inland to the east also. To the south I will find small resort towns along the coast. This is a city where I can go skiing in the morning, have an open air barbecue for lunch, go deep sea fishing in the afternoon, and visit the theater or ball game in the evening; there is something for everyone in Vancouver.

With its healthy atmosphere, beautiful parks, unique mix of people, and surrounding attractions, Vancouver is the only place for me when I want to be certain to have a good time on my vacation. Crossing the border into Canada is quick and easy and the highways to Vancouver are clearly marked and well constructed. With the current exchange rate in favor of the U.S. dollar, there hasn't been a better time in a long time to visit Vancouver.

Metaphors of Life (part 2)

ADOLESCENCE

As I matured from childhood and my life experiences expanded, I transformed into a cactus. The center was still tender, soft, vulnerable; but it was now protected from the harsher elements of my expanding environment with a prickly exterior. I was growing to recognize that I was not the center of the universe and, significantly, not everyone in the world was conspiring to make me happy.

The starkest evidence of this new paradigm was revealed with my incarceration in elementary school. The teachers were like guards who kept me from escaping the toxicity of the classroom; but worse than the guards was the other prisoners. My siblings and I were social lepers who were isolated from the main population presumably because we were so different. Most were the children of town people, college professors, doctors, and other professionals while we were from a chicken farm, we dressed funny and smelled bad. My cactus exterior was a defense to keep the marauders at bay.

Junior high school reinforced my view that school was a penal complex, and I was even more defensive during those years. Eventually, I came to understand that other people don't think about us nearly as often as we think they do--that most people are wrapped up in their own thought and worries, and that most are pretty nice if you give them a chance. I also started to realize that being so thorny was blocking all possible relationships, not just the undesirable ones. Gradually I succeeded in loosing the thistles and the hard exterior. It basically took the balance of my school career, but not long after graduation I had transformed myself into a shrub.

Metaphors of Life (part 1)

As I contemplate the course of my life, I am confronted by the question "Am I in the desert or in a tropical rain forest?" A very few short years ago, I was living in the desert and wondering how I had come to be there. In this reflection I am examining the stages of development that have made me the person I am today.

CHILDHOOD

As a child, I was a sponge. I didn't make use of critical analysis; I didn't think for myself--I just took everything in as fast as I was able to absorb it. I accepted my surroundings and my family routine as the way things ought to be. There was no questioning or reasoning. As far as I knew, everyone in the world lived on a farm where the whole family would work together, pray together, and where the parents loved their children. It never occurred to me that there was great turmoil in the world, that forces outside of my narrow experience were virtually wrenching the country, the world, apart. I couldn't have realized it at the time, but I was very fortunate that my world was loving, supportive, and nourishing. As a sponge, I would have readily accepted into my psyche any life experiences that my parents exposed me to. There is no denying my great blessing to have had such a positive experience; it helped to shape my character. I learned to trust people, to appreciate laughter and happiness, and to see the good in others without judging what may have been shortcomings.

A Real Mother

“I have some news for you. There is a baby, and she needs a family!” There was excitement in her voice, but I had heard it too many times before. I wasn’t going to get my hopes up this time. For 16 years we had worked to become parents, but I had resigned myself to the reality that it wasn’t going to happen in this life. She didn’t share my resignation. Oh, she got discouraged, and she often felt that we would never have a child of our own. But she never did surrender; she wouldn’t accept the idea that there was nothing else we could do. And now she was telling me that another baby was in need of a family and she knew we were the right family.
We met with the lawyer; he gave us some background. I listened, but remained skeptical. He started typing up the legal documents and explaining fees; I heard his words, but I was dubious. She was excited, deliberate, and determined, while I cooperated half-heartedly, not wanting to get my hopes up again, only to have them dashed--as they had so many times before. The lawyer was telling us that we needed to travel to Las Vegas, and stay there until preparations were complete and the Adoption Agency there placed the baby with us. I was trying to calculate the costs in my head while wondering how to get so much time off on such short notice. I didn’t believe our dreams were finally coming true; I was only going through the motions of being supportive to my wife of sixteen years because she hadn’t yet accepted that we would live our lives without a child.
As we drove south along Interstate 15, I reflected on the course of our married life, and our quest for progeny. After the first couple of years, we began to seek out specialists who declared to us their successes with other couples. We spent fortunes which we didn’t have, and still we weren’t having a baby. We stopped in Beaver for some lunch and she asked me if I was excited. “Sure, I am.” I sounded unconvincing.
“You don’t believe it’s really going to happen, do you?”
“I’ll get excited when they sign the documents and put the baby in my arms.”
She reassured me, “I just know this time it is going to work. I can feel it.” I wanted to believe her, to believe we were getting a baby, but there had been too many disappointments. We had been to adoption agencies. Each encounter had started out full of promise, but the process was grueling. It was almost like having open-heart surgery without anesthetic, then they would lay your heart out on the table and dissect it right in front of you. And when you had completed their requirements, they would put your name on a waiting list, and you waited. Nothing ever happened, you just waited.
We had to stop in St. George to fax some documents to Las Vegas. While on the phone to the agency, she found out a little more about the baby. Born on the Fourth of July, her blood test was positive for an illegal drug. She was a beautiful little girl, with a full head of dark hair. In short, she was a sharp contrast to Andrew.
Andrew was eight months old when he came to live with us. Frustrated by the slow progress of the adoption process, we got licensed to provide state foster care, and Andrew was our first placement. He was fair-skinned, very blonde, and very much in need of a family. When he had been with us for 3 months, the state said his parents were not going to be able to get him back. Parental rights were going to be terminated, and Andrew would be available for adoption. When he had lived with us for six months, the trial was started. It dragged on for weeks. The decision took forever; all the while, the state said we would be able to adopt Andrew. When the judge made his decision, it was a tremendous blow. “The level of neglect does not outweigh the rights of the parents to keep their family intact.” He was saying that Andrew had been and would continue to be neglected, but it wasn’t bad enough. Just before he had lived as our son for a year, he was gone. That was about the time I stopped believing. I continued to support her in her quest, because giving up was too hard for her, but I didn’t believe it anymore.
After a sleepless night in a small motel room, we went to the office and did the paperwork and got the medical records and talked to the case worker. The more we talked, the more my mind started to comprehend that this was really it. Still I resisted the notion; it would be too painful if it didn’t happen. Suddenly there was a commotion in the next room. We looked up to see a precious bundle had been carried into the office. As I watched her hold the baby for the first time and declare “this is the most beautiful, perfect baby in the world,” I realized that our baby was finally here. She had endured a process much more prolonged than pregnancy, profoundly more painful than childbirth, and much more intense than I could ever abide. If it had been up to me, this precious, priceless, perfect baby would never have become ours. She had willed herself to become a mother, and she had succeeded. God bless her for her refusal to give up. Thank heaven for motherhood.