Writing is my artistic expression. My keyboard is my brush. Words are my medium. My blog is my canvas. And committing to writing daily makes me feel like an artist.
“Embarrassment is the cost of entry. If you aren’t willing to look like a foolish beginner, you’ll never become a graceful master.” ~ Ed Latimore
How many times have I not tried because in trying I might look bad? How many times have I hesitated to learn, because I would look foolish in my attempt? How many times have I let the fear of embarrassment get in the way of beginning something new?
Probably more often than I’d like to admit.
This was especially true as a kid. This is especially true of many kids today.
There’s a funny series of video stitches (responses) that started on TikTok and has moved to all the different social networks. It’s a young man asking, “Who let Gen X off the hook?” Followed by stitches basically saying ‘No, you got it wrong, nobody wants to mess with them/us’… here are a group of them all put into a single video:
I love the reference to lawn darts, Google them if you don’t know what I’m talking about. It wasn’t only a different time it was a lot more dangerous. Seatbelts were a suggestion, and as a kid you took yours off in the back seat to play or lie down, and you also got used to being out all day with parents not having a clue where you were or what you were doing.
Here’s one more funny video asking how, before social media, did Gen X parents end up all being so alike and using the same phrases?
GenX, the Mysterious Connection! 🧩✨ Have you ever wondered how we GenXers lived such eerily similar lives? From shared punishments to feral adventures, we all lived parallel lives without even knowing it! How did our parents all do the same thing? From ass-whoopin’ weapons to phrases like “rub some dirt on it,” it’s like we were part of a secret social experiment of upbringing! #GenX#genxkids#feral#boomers#SharedExperiences#unsolvedmysteries#Latchkeykids#genxthoughtoftheday#brainteaser
There are some common threads that Gen X seem to have around dealing with life challenges. Sure this generation has their share of ‘Karens’, but for the most part this is a generation that is tough, tolerant, and resilient. Resilience is something I see a lot of younger generations struggling with. I in no way am nostalgic and think things should be the way they used to be, but I wonder how we can build more of a Gen X resiliency into younger generations?
I’ve been an odd duck my whole life but I’ve rarely suffered consequences that many odd ducks do. I was 4’11” at the end of grade 9, the runt of the litter. But I had good friends that protected me from the bullying I could have faced.
My friends grew up looking at cars and dreaming about which ones they wanted. I looked at cars and the biggest difference I noticed was their colour. I couldn’t even identify their logos. I didn’t feign interest and so my friends would chat about acceleration and horsepower and didn’t care that I wasn’t contributing.
I saw the original Star Wars movies in theatres but was with a friend last night who was showing me all the sequels beyond the original 6 movies and I’ve barely seen any. I’ve also not seen most of the Marvel comic movies that everyone I know has seen. Not even most of the ones with my favourite character, Spiderman. And I only know of Thanos from 1 minute clips and memes.
I live in Vancouver and can’t name 3 current hockey players on the Canucks. Heck I can’t even name one. I’d struggle to name the cities of some of the expansion teams. I also don’t know the names of any current American or CFL footballers and can only name Messi in soccer because he’s in the news, but right now I can’t even think of his first name?
I grew up a scrawny kid that wasn’t good at playing sports, I didn’t know cars, didn’t stay up to date on movie lore, didn’t follow very many sports, and to this day know the lyrics to very few songs beyond Happy Birthday. I’ve also always been quite comfortable when I’m alone. When I put it this way, I sound pretty damn boring. 😂
Sure I wasn’t completely out of it. I did become a Maple Leafs fan and would go see hockey games with my buddies. I went to see movies with my friends, like Breakfast Club, Meatballs, and Back To The Future. And, I could tell the difference between a Pontiac and a Porsche. But when I look back I really didn’t fit in.
I joined water polo in my Grade 11 year and I was un-athletic and lacked any game sense, which made me (deservingly) the last person off the bench in games. But I was willing to work hard and was accepted despite my poor abilities. That acceptance allowed me to improve quickly and so despite my late entry into organized sports I got to play and coach competitively, and connected to some amazing people.
I also have pretty thick skin. I can get teased and it really doesn’t bug me. You want to pick on a weakness or a flaw, go ahead and I’ll laugh along with you. I am really only sensitive about being misunderstood. I dislike assumptions that people make, not actual things that make me different or odd.
I seldom if ever spend time trying to fit in. Yet over the years I’ve developed amazing friends that accept me for who I am. That’s why I started out by saying I’m lucky. I am. I could easily have been the odd duck, the outcast, the loner. But I’m just quirky old me, and I’m surrounded by wonderful, caring family and friends.
I’m just different. So are you. We all are. Enjoy your uniqueness and enjoy being different. I do.
As I get older I find that childhood memories become one-dimensional. I remember a specific memory for a specific reason, and no other memories around that moment. In the retelling of these memories, I further solidify what the memory means to me and build a specific narrative around it.
One such memory is of telling my parents there was no way that I’d live in Toronto the rest of my life. I had walked home from Junior High, 14 years old, and it was late January or early February. The weather was bitter cold and I couldn’t feel my fingers, ears, or toes. I called out to my parents, “Family Meeting”. This was not a typical thing in our household.
A little background, we moved from Barbados to Toronto when I was 9, and this was my 4th winter. I sat my parents down at the kitchen table and told them I wasn’t going to live in this ice-cold country the rest of my life. I promised them I’d get my university degree, but then I was out! I remember saying, “When I leave, don’t ask ‘where did this come from?’ It came from right now!”
I’ve shared that story many times since, including recently. It’s part of a narrative that ended with me moving to Vancouver, the warmest part of Canada that I could find. I still say my parents ‘moved me’ to Toronto as part of that narrative, and although I stayed one extra year after graduating, I knew I was not going to live in Toronto from that day I held our first and only family meeting.
What’s interesting about this is I really have no other significant memories from that year. I have vague memories of Junior High but none closely associated with that day. None.
Most my childhood memories are like that now. Specific events, with a purpose for remembering them, and not much more. I wonder if that’s just me or do other people feel the same way? Do you have specific memories with a narrative attached that keeps the memory relevant, or do you recollect more than those snippets of time from your childhood?
A couple days ago I shared how we had to wait for songs to come on the radio to record them. Today this 7 year old memory came up on Facebook:
Oh, the hours put into making the perfect mix. The frustration of making a great mix, but realizing too late that one song should have been left off. The too long gaps between songs, which were actually better than the too short gaps with a song getting truncated (which at least happened less frequently, unless you were recording from the radio and had to cut off when the DJ started talking).
The challenge of getting the volume of songs consistent. The stretching of songs near the start and end of the tape. The tangles, pulled out and then retracted with a pencil.
But above all, the time it took to make a good mixed tape… that’s a thing of the past that carries a lot of nostalgia, and would be hard to meaningfully share with someone who never had to do it.
A couple days ago I heard a song I liked being played and I opened Shazam. This handy app told me the name and artist of the song, and shared a link to iTunes. It was in my library in under 2 minutes. Growing up, this was a different story.
I’d hear a song I liked on the radio and maybe they’d re-announce the title and artist at the end of the song. If not I’d just have to hear it again before finding out more. If it became popular and I really liked it, I’d have a cassette recorder next to the radio and hit the Play and Record buttons together simultaneously to record the song to listen to it later… often trying to time when the DJ would stop talking over the intro, so I didn’t get his voice, but maximized the amount of the song I got.
I would only buy the song if I heard and liked enough of all the songs from the album to justify buying the whole thing. I remember having an entire side of a cassette with either Freeze Frame or Tainted Love ‘on repeat’ because I kept recording either one as I heard them on the radio.
And there was no YouTube. If I wanted to see a music video, I had to watch MTV, with 3+ minute long commercial breaks, hoping they would show the video I wanted to see.
We don’t often think about the conveniences we have today compared to our childhood. Conveniences that are now expectations for kids, but would have been pure luxury or us.
Family recordings on 8 millimetre film, that was played on a projector. Waiting for a roll of film to be developed, after waiting for weeks or months for the roll of film to be finished and ready for processing. Missing your favourite show and hearing everyone talk about the episode that you wouldn’t see until reruns started being played 13 weeks later.
We had to wait. That waiting doesn’t happen anymore.
When I was a kid, I had a cap gun. It was a eight-shooter, with the caps coming in a ring that fit into the revolver cylinder. Put it in your cap gun and you could shoot off all 8 caps before putting a new ring in. But I never used it, I was always saving my caps. I hid them at my grandparents house, under the bathroom sink in the room my great grandfather used before he died.
This room was sort of my play room that I used at my grandparents, who lived on our street. It wasn’t a room used by anyone… except me. Fast forward to us moving to Canada when I was 9 (we grew up in Barbados). Our bags are packed and we are leaving the next morning. I remember the cap gun and about 30-40 ten-packs of caps. I gather them up and take them to my parents to pack.
“We can’t take that in the plane.”
So, after a little back-and-forth with my parents it becomes clear that the cap gun and hoard of caps is staying in Barbados. So I did what any kid would do… I spent the next 45 minutes to an hour shooting off every cap I had. I shot everything and everyone around me. I spent every last round, and then have the empty gun to my cousin.
It was fun, but not as much fun as using the gun all along, rather than saving every cap for this unforeseen occasion. While it was a moment to remember, it wasn’t memorable because I went on a shooting spree, it was memorable because it wasn’t as enjoyable as I had anticipated, and I realized that I missed out by hoarding caps rather than using them all along.
Today, I still laugh at myself when I catch myself doing something like this. A perfect example is when I get a sticker I like… I find myself not wanting ti use it. But I do. I remember the cap gun and all those unused caps and I peel that sticker and stick it somewhere… it doesn’t get ‘stuck’ in a drawer waiting to be never used.
What are your metaphorical caps, and why aren’t you enjoying them right now?
A couple days ago I wrote this about a heavy 3am rainfall that woke me up:
“The sound took me back to my childhood. In Barbados we would have these short, intense rain showers. They seldom lasted more than 20 minutes and they came and left without warning. We had a galvanized roof and the sound of heavy rain hitting it was thunderous. But it was never scary. As loud and fierce as the rain sounded hitting corrugated metal above us, it was also a sound that was soothing, comforting.”
In a video chat my dad said he read it and said that it brought back memories for him too. My youngest daughter joined me on the phone and he asked if she had read it, she hadn’t. So he went on to ask if she knew the sound of rain on a galvanized roof. She didn’t know what that was. Then, like me, he went on to describe a corrugated metal roof. I said, she probably doesn’t know what that is either… she didn’t.
We have an aluminum roof on our current house, so a metal roof isn’t an unknown thing, but a loud, uninsulated, galvanized, corrugated metal roof is not something common to Canada. It is something a tropical islander would know all too well.
Here is a video sharing the sound of ‘heavy rain’ falling on a galvanized, corrugated metal roof:
While the video description says ‘heavy rain’, this sounds quite gentle. It’s a sound of a constant flow. Often as a kid, when the sound of rain on a roof woke me up during the night, it would be an intense and truly heavy rain attacking the roof that would wake me. It would settle to the sound in the video, but imagine a louder, more violent version of this thundering above as a passing storm went by.
It was interesting to realize that the experience I was describing could connect my dad to a shared experience, but the same description meant nothing to my daughter. It made me realize that I was sharing a contextual experience that not everyone has had. Furthermore, here in Vancouver, while it rains a lot, the rain just isn’t the same as in Barbados.
The Bajan rains come fast and are intense, and leave as quickly as they come. Here in Vancouver it can drizzle for hours. In Barbados when it rains you stay under cover because you know it will stop soon, and a 15 second walk from your car to inside would leave you drenched like you went into the shower with your clothes on. Here in Vancouver, it rains far more often and I never carry an umbrella. For most rainfalls here, I don’t even think about covering my head when I walk in the rain for a minute. Rain here is not rain everywhere.
I’m reminded of the Inuit having several terms for snow, while we just call it snow. And that some cultures can’t distinguish between blue and green, because they don’t have a term for blue, but they also see shades of green that we can’t distinguish or tell apart. Our contexts growing up shape us. And our experiences don’t always create a shared understanding. To me a corrugated, galvanized roof is a musical instrument played by rain, to others it is an unfamiliar sound.
At about 3am this morning I was awoken by the sound of torrential rain. It was bouncing off of our roof with such force that it seemed to be attacking it. It’s all at once a threatening and comforting sound. It makes me feel happy to be under warm covers, rather than outside being pelted by heavy, biting bullets of water.
The sound took me back to my childhood. In Barbados we would have these short, intense rain showers. They seldom lasted more than 20 minutes and they came and left without warning. We had a galvanized roof and the sound of heavy rain hitting it was thunderous. But it was never scary. As loud and fierce as the rain sounded hitting corrugated metal above us, it was also a sound that was soothing, comforting.
If the rain came as I was falling asleep, I would fight sleep just to be up and hear the chorus of raindrops drumming the roof. If it came while I slept, it would wake me from sheer loudness, yet I wouldn’t be able to stay awake long enough to hear the rain stop.
Last night was a reminder of these childhood memories. It is fascinating to me that such a violent sound could be so satisfying to listen to. Lying in bed, protected by the ceiling above, a torrential rain is a musical interlude rather than a scary interruption of sleep.
It is a reminder of my childhood, a sound that evokes fond memories of growing up on a tropical island… Of rainstorms pounding our roof. Of running into the ocean since the rain would soak us anyway. Of driving under a cloud and instantly needing maximum speed windshield wipers to be able to see ahead, then suddenly hearing the squeaking noise of the full speed wipers streaking across a dry windshield seconds after driving out from under the rain cloud. Rain falling like a memory, and a melody, evoking a sense of comfort, a feeling of being home.
