Requiem

            The older I get, the more I appreciate the life I have lived. It has been a fun ride, despite the speed. I have seen some scary shit. I have experienced great joy and known great beauty. Quite often, they all tend to blend together. From the time I was a boy, I seemed to notice the world around me. I took inventory as I moved forward. I remember much of it, as clear as if it was yesterday. I do not know of many people who can claim a happy childhood. Although my childhood was not perfect, it would seem it was far better than most. I can go back in my mind and I can see just how lovely things were for me. Despite outside forces, I had a good relationship with God, Jesus and even the devil. I had many friends, my family was intact and my social game was rather successful. I miss my Mom but she was with me at this time. Regardless, I could usually be found sitting by myself, playing with my action figures or reading my comic books. I really just wanted to be left alone. Even then, I could not always handle all the noise. I had to escape to find peace. It is from here that my Otherland began to form. Usually, it was at the expense of others. I couldn’t have cared less. I still prefer to be alone. It was not so much about having people around me so much as it was having people be quiet and letting me breathe. I have always preferred the silence, even when playing with others. I have always liked myself and preferred my own company to most others. I have always said that you can discover yourself in your history. My childhood apparently built me strong. It made me who I am and how I feel about most things from my life. I can re-examine it all like it was a nightmare but I much prefer to view things from a more productive place. I have much to be grateful for. I have so much more than most people will ever have. In spite of this growing older crap, I can still go back and pluck specific memories of just how content I was back then. I can draw upon all the darkness and how I escaped from its clutches. These are not random episodes, mere seconds in a lineup of minutes, mere minutes in a cascade of hours. I can flip through most of them, day by day. They are self-contained and honest. They prove that I am right in my thinking and somehow I always have been. I really have had a wonderful life.

“Your baby blues

So full of wonder

Your curly cues

Your contagious smile

And as I watch

You start to grow up

All I can do

Is hold you tight”

            Fenside Public School rests in the heart of North York, a suburb of greater Toronto, Canada. In the 1970s, I covered Kindergarten though grade 5 at this elementary station. It was an easy life. I was intelligent, good in school, healthy as a horse and, I have been told, a delight (at least to my mother). I loved her just as much then as I do now. I remember there was always this sadness within me. It made me walk home from school alone some days. I was melancholy when it overtook me. It seemed liked there was something missing from within me, an empty I could not ignore. I have often wondered if my relationship with God didn’t somehow make me even sadder. Both Him and Jesus seemed far worse than the fallen angels I was supposed to fear. Perhaps, it was more chemical than anything else. I often wonder if my emotional state has not constantly been bombarded by my Bipolar disorder. I always assumed, and was told, this imbalance began in my mid-teens but I imagine it has always been there. I wasn’t just sad, I was stolen. I sank into a sea of what the fuck is happening. It has always been there, deep inside. I led a happy life in spite of this void. Fenside Public School was around 8 blocks from our home. You could walk to and fro in a quick minute or two. It remains a very middle class neighbourhood. It looks the same despite my 40 years of absence. I thought it was safe and comforting and it guided me along the road. Every weekday, I walked to the school in the morning, home for lunch and back around noon, and finally ended up where I had earlier began. It really wasn’t that much of a feat, unless there was heavy snow. I was in one of those moods as I journeyed home at the end of my day. I was about halfway down Roywood Drive, walking on the sidewalk than runs all the way down to the corner near our house. The car pulled up to just past me and I could see him unrolling his front passenger window. When I got beside the vehicle, he asked pretty standard fare for a child mutilator. He stretched over and he opened his door. Unfortunately for him, I paid attention to the news and was well aware that this type of situation happens all the time. My parents conditioned me to run as fast as I possibly could, so I did. Still, I almost pissed my pants. I am grateful I did not look at his face or connect with his eyes. This event was horror enough for any child. It was even worse that I was aware of what might have happened. When I think of what could have been, it reminds me of how fortunate I have always been, regardless of any circumstance from my life. I have had bumps and rough patches on this road but all in all, I have done pretty good. I don’t play with action figures anymore but I most certainly collect comic books. I also do not dwell on those things from the past that are counterproductive to my mental health. Like in my youth, I have a real problem dealing with so much noise.

            I can recall almost every Halloween I have known. My infant recollection is very limited, if not at all, but from the age of 5 or so, I can picture myself standing in one room or another, tingling with glee at the idea of roaming the neighbourhood hunting for candy. I still do this once a week but it’s usually in the Wal-Mart rather than at some house down the street. The list of characters I have costumed as over the years is quite simple yet silly and rests with my memories, each and every one. I was cute little ghost one year and than a big black bat the next. I have been a witch, a woman and a warrior. This one night meant complete freedom for me. Despite living in the largest city in Canada, we were safe to wander the streets. Regardless of that old man and his thwarted plans, I cannot recall one Halloween night (living in Toronto) that wasn’t sheer joy for me. I don’t want to speak for my siblings but I imagine it was the very same way for each of them. Of all the cast of characters I have played, my favourite is the Bruce Lee character Kato from the 1966-1967 television series The Green Hornet. The show aired on ABC and introduced the world to Lee before he entered any dragon. The Green Hornet is a masked vigilante, fighting crime with cool weapons, a wicked car and the martial-arts expert Kato as a sidekick. Dressed all in black, with a dark chauffeur’s cap and eye mask, Kato kicked the crap out of anyone who got in his way. He was terrific and the entire world noticed. I already had. Even though I watched the show in syndication throughout the 1970s, I was caught up in the attraction. The series had been cancelled after one season but I discovered it one Saturday afternoon in reruns and was hooked.  I have the complete Green Hornet comic book series, several in fact. I am hunting for the DVD/Blu-Ray collection as we speak. I absolutely loved watching Kato on TV but actually dressing up as Kato threatened me with heaven. So I stood there, from head to toe, dark as any dark knight might be. I was unattended and able to come and go from my chaperone as I pleased. Suburb living meant candy and lots of it. We had to use pillow cases to avoid breakage and spillage. When I got to each door, the experience was different. When anyone dared to ask me who I was, who my costume was meant to be, I did a little bitch fest at them. “I am Kato, from the Green Hornet,” I would snap at their face. Even then I was a grumpy Gus. This night however, I was and always will be, an ebony avenger, a mid-Knight and a blast from the past.

“Story books are full of fairy tales

Of kings and queens and the bluest skies

My heart is torn just in knowing

You’ll someday see the truth from lies”

            Housing 5 children, our 3-bedroom abode lacked much free space throughout my childhood. My sister Tracey, for obvious reasons, got a room of her own. So did my folks. The 4 boys got bunk beds and several years of no privacy. I claimed the top bunk, just inside the door and over my oldest brother Alan. Phillip matched up to me on the other side of the room with my brother Chris underneath him. It was a crowded house. Regardless, I cannot locate, in my memory, any real conflict we shared while we lived like an army base. There are, of course, moments of tension I can recall but nothing significant or long lasting. My view of the top of the stairs and down the hallway was a prime location for spying on almost everyone. I had a vantage point and often watched my parents go to and fro. I lost a part of my innocence laying in that bed. One Christmas Eve, I witnessed my mother carrying toys down to the tree below. At one point, she held a giant doll, which I assumed was for my sister. The next morning and that doll sat pretty underneath our real tree. When it was revealed to be from Santa, things changed for me. Realizing Santa Claus was not real did not take away my love of all things superhero. As a matter of fact, I seemed to go deep into myth at this time. Every action figure I owned was assigned a superpower. Every comic I collected was just full of them. I saw it in the gumball machine right away. I thought it would only cost me a dime to get it. It turned out to be an expensive venture. I had to go into my comic book money to keep playing. At $1.60, it fell down the chute and into my clutches. My precious. In spite of my loyalty to Marvel Comics, my hard earned prize came from the DC universe. I always thought the Green Lantern was cool, despite his association. Now, like Hal Jordan, I possessed the powerful totem. It was emerald green and both smooth and silky in appearance. The Green Lantern Corp insignia was prominent and I shook a little as I took it out of the plastic egg it came in. In the car, on the way home, I first donned my mighty force. For months, I was caught up in a different place. Everything was about that damn ring and the world that came with it. I have always supposed that during this episode I was annoying, to say the least. I even suppose the reason someone took my ring was valid at the time. It disappeared, never to be seen again. I had only left it on the window ledge to dry after I washed it. By the time I got back to it, it was gone. I was heartbroken and still remember how I felt. I spent the next few weeks hunting for it, just like candy. In all my days since then, in every antique market, consignment store and thrift shop, I have never managed to recapture that glorious ring or the way it made me come alive inside. It’s strange how something so small, or insignificant at the time, can steal you away into another place. More than 40 years have gone since that ring went into infamy. I have to admit that I still watch for one as I am strolling from booth to booth and table to table. I would love to recapture that part of my innocence, that part of my youth. I fear it would be fleeting. I fear that this otherland is closed for business.

            I have to admit I was a little shit, at times, growing up. I suppose I still am, to some degree. As I mentioned earlier, it seems to me now that I was greatly affected by my non-diagnosis back then. I often could not control my emotional state and that usually affected my social state. I was often mean just to piss people off. I was often nasty so they would just leave me alone. Sometimes, I was just plain grumpy. No otherland could tend to my sense of isolation even though it was easier to hide than face another day. I used to get so sad, so alienated by my gloom and doom scenarios. There was no real reason (in my mind) for being that way. Although I no longer experience this state, only my medication has seen to that. Without it, I am sorrow and distance and miserable. I have carried the sadness with me throughout my entire life. When that dog bit me at 7 years old, I had been wallowing in my own emptiness and swimming in a world turned to blue. When he came to me, I thought it was safe to pet the puppy but I was wrong. He took most of my right hand into his trap and he slammed it shut. For decades, I feared dogs even more than spiders. This experience really taught me to be careful. Even the most friendly monster will still chew your face off if given half the chance. Sometimes, I was that monster. We used to walk to Graydon Hall by passing under the Don Valley Parkway. From one side to the other was a brief journey and we made it often. A large wooded area, an abandoned riverbed and tons of hills and valleys met one’s arrival. It was a refuge among all the city dwelling. We use to build forts. We claimed our ground. We even made booby traps to keep people away. Having established our territory, we whittled a large branch down to a point and latched it against a neighbouring stump. Anyone caught entering that fort would be greeted with blunt force. I loved the idea and encouraged setting the trap. My brother Phillip refused help while doing so and he pissed me right off. I have always been a powder keg. Once the trap was set, we stood back to witness the magnificence. My brother got all proud and cocky. With one quick tap, the weapon sprung out of its place and slashed him right across the face. Blood poured. My sister stayed with him as I ran ahead to inform our mother. When I got away from them, I laughed a little. These days, you can find Graydon Hall but it is not the same. Most of the woods have long ago been removed and the dried up river got up and went away. There are several large condo towers sitting right in the spot where we used to play. I have tried, on one occasion, to see if I could find our fort, or at least what is left of it. Over forty years later and it’s as long gone as my behavioural imbalance. The condition may remain underneath it all, sometimes it calls out to me in the middle of the night. I can hear it but at least I am no longer prone to being a monster.  

“When the clouds will rage on

Storms will race in

But you will be safe in my arms

Rains will pour down

Waves will crash around

But you will be safe in my arms”

            I take an awful lot of medication to control my Bipolar disorder. The darkness that hung over me as I aged has found an otherland of its own. I rarely pay a visit. I am under control. I just wish I had been treated from day one. Regardless, I am aware of the monster inside me. I am convinced that God dwells within me just as much, if not more. I still believe, no matter, that He is somehow near me, watching over me, even if I can’t see Him. I have finally come to a place in my life where I can handle all the noise. I suppose I don’t need to be untreated to be unhappy but comparatively, there is nothing to compare. I have learned  how to swim in that river without trying to drown. Despite the constant chaos that comes from living, I have managed to find a happy place. My demeanour may be gruff but that just comes with the territory. I embrace the simple things, the random moments of this life that normally pass us all by. In a sense, a light bulb went off when my current medication kicked in. I actually have a normal life. I strangely find myself repeating. I am drawn to my defining moments, moments I can look back on with clarity and assurance. I finally see the truth more than the lies. I even mimic my childhood in the most friendly of ways. There is something sweet and familiar about doing things that you once did as a kid.

            When we purchased our home in Paris, Ontario in 2015, the life of a wild man was finally put to rest. The longer I take my medication, the more balanced and complete I tend to be. Stress and circumstance occasionally try to push me across the line but I seem to have control of myself, more often than not. I am inclined to still be a powder keg but you really have to work to make me blow my top. I am much more tolerant now than I have ever been then. I am calm and as a result, much less volatile. I find myself reliving my past while creating my present. Even Halloween remains essentially the same for me. We decorate and then carve pumpkins. We get so much candy that we can eat it as we please. For each child who comes to the door, I consume one chocolate bar. Tit for tat, I say. I eat so much candy that I dare not check my blood sugar levels for a week after. I still collect comic books and I am still compelled to dress like a hero. Every Halloween night since we moved here has found me wrapped up in costume. The last few years saw me as Captain America, shield and all.  It made me feel like a kid again each and every time someone knocked at the door. The charm of Halloween rests in the memory of it, not just the immediate gratification it gives millions of children every October 31^st. I never would have imagined that at some point in my life I would find peace. I also never imagined that a normal life would be enough for me. When I look back on the way things were, I am reminded they are no longer like that, not to any real degree. Still, I often feel like throughout the entire journey, I was safe. While I have little trouble relying on some happy place to take me away, to my surprise I would rather dwell here, in reality, than return to that otherland. 

“Castles, they might crumble

Dreams may not come true

But you are never all alone

‘Cause I will always,

Always love you”

(In My Arms, Plumb 2007)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7jvEDmGweXo

Photo

http://www.sana.org.sg/index.php/2018/03/05/innocence-lost-found/

http://schnettepics.de/index.php?showimage=158

https://www.toronto.ca/data/parks/prd/facilities/complex/649/index.html

Sources

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Green_Hornet_(TV_series)

Pot Holes

            On October 17^th, 2018, marijuana became legal in Canada. This fall, my home and native land has become only the second country in the world to legalize the herb. Uruguay was “the first country to legalize marijuana’s production, sale and consumption back in December of 2013.” The truth is that Canada has been tolerant of medical marijuana for many years. For more than a decade I have used medical marijuana, the dispensary I frequent is more like a bank than a den of sin and iniquity. Change has come. The general decriminalization of the product has already led to huge profits for those dabbling in the production and distribution. Government has stepped into it, of course. You will be “allowed” to carry up to 30 grams on your person in public. You will be “allowed” to cultivate and grow up to 4 plants for personal use. There will be an immediate $1.00 tax on every gram, heading straight into the Federal coffers. Marijuana must be purchased from “retailers regulated by provinces, territories or when neither of those options are available, federally licensed producers.” Changes to the impaired driving laws have been implemented “to address repercussions for driving under the influence of cannabis.” The entire world around us is evolving, even if we can’t see it. Change is usually slow but in this matter, things have taken a more rapid advancement. It took decades to become a reality but it just happened overnight. People now need the time to just get used to the idea and move past any moral consideration. After all, God Himself told us years ago that cannabis is okay to consume.

“Then God said, ‘I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food.’”

(Genesis 1:29, NIV)

            I was the epitome of a good Christian, or at least I played one on TV. Camouflaging  myself in the Church just seemed like the safest way for this abomination to hide. My life as a teenager was in constant flux. The part of me that is Bi-Polar ran new and free and wild at this time. This part of my youth holds some of the darkest times of my life. I barely made it through. All the while, I managed to maintain the appearance of righteousness. I didn’t smoke, I didn’t drink. I most certainly did not partake in illegal drug use. I was boring by today’s standards. I dated good Christian girls so that I didn’t have to put out. Other than kissing a few women, I have never engaged in heterosexual play. Not once, not ever. I suppose based on Biblical criterion, I am still a virgin. In the summer of my 17^th year, I had my first beer after cutting grass on a very hot day. It was well into my twenties before I tried it again. The same goes for my use of illegal drugs. The first time I smoked a joint, I was 20 years old. Ironically, the first time I got stoned was on the date I met my future partners. August 31^st has always been a major touchstone for me. It is there that I began a life with Doug and then Ben, but it was years before either of them that I started a lifelong relationship with Mary Jane. I remember it well as I enjoyed it immensely. All that jumble in my head seemed to silence itself the more I consumed. I have no idea why I accepted the joint from my friend. I thought the hot tub was more than enough heat for one night. I reluctantly accepted the hand off. I have never turned back. Given the right strain, primarily an Indica, medical marijuana has literally stopped me from killing someone, including myself. I was not successfully treated for my chemical imbalance until my early 40s. All that time and I used weed to somehow stabilize the voices and the feelings and the impulses. It didn’t solve the problem but it helped. I do not need to over-justify the usage. The experiences I have had with cannabis have been nothing if not enlightening. We demonize those things we wish to control. In nature, there is no disease without a cure. What one claims as evil, another claims as heaven. A mistress can be better than a wife. When it can be too much, she is there. When it hurts so bad, she cares. She has never brought me harm. She has always been my nurse, since that very first time. She always leaves me on a high note.

“Everything that lives and moves about will be food for you. Just as I gave you the green plants, I now give you everything.” (Genesis 9:3, NIV)

            Before what would become a decade of  higher learning, I took a year off at the end of high school and worked for my Dad. Working at Strathroy District Collegiate Institute provided me with a means of later attending university but also offered tons of cold hard disposable cash. I moved into a place with my friend Kevin and tried my hand at independent living. He was a pothead. I was soon to be. We smoked and smoked, then we smoked some more. One evening, Kevin called from a friend’s place in London and asked me to bring in a bag containing 4-5 ounces of primo shit. I gladly took the opportunity to head into the city. I had no idea that the license plate on that 1979 Dodge Magnum had expired. I also did not realize a police officer had discovered just that. I suppose, since the apartment was in downtown Strathroy, it figures that out of all the cars in the area he had to notice mine. I was just speeding up as I left town. The lights were not pretty and the siren’s sound was not sweet. With so much weed, sitting on the front seat, I floored the gas and sped away. Escape by flight. I managed to get far enough away from the chase to roll down the passenger side window and toss the treasure into a sea of grasses at the side of the road. I stopped the car the moment the coast was clear. I put the car in park, turned it off and I just sat there. The officer pulled up, got out of his vehicle and proceeded to draw his gun on me. He ordered me out of the car and down on my knees. I thought he might well shoot me. It’s a good thing I am not a black man or Latino. After searching my person and the car, he asked me why I tried to flee. All I could come up with is that I had a manic episode because I had never been stopped by a cop before. There was  no evidence to the contrary. He found nothing and I gave him nothing. The court gave me a 3-year licence suspension. I was more than glad to take this punishment considering that each count of possession would have got me 10 years in federal custody. It was the lesser of two evils. Two days later and we retrieved all that weed from the side of the road. I thought of Quick-draw McGraw (the cop’s last name and his real nickname) when I lit the first blunt. All these years later and I have never transported that amount of weed for anyone, including myself. Once bitten, twice shy. I try not to smoke pot and drive and I don’t like to carry a large amount on my person. 3 years of buses and walking has proven to be a great deterrent. It is now October and not much will change but for the distribution method and the reality that I will no longer go to jail for the pleasure of having a joint. I have even considered using edibles.

“The land produced vegetation: plants bearing seed according to their kinds and trees bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good.”

(Genesis 1:12, NIV)

            The dispensary I have used for well over a decade is located in the east end of  Toronto, Ontario in an area known as “the Danforth.” On July 22^nd, 2018, Faisal Hussain opened fire along the Danforth, killing 2 and injuring 13. Going back through the village again was surreal to say the least. I did not feel safe. This has never been an issue with my dispensary. Mounted external and internal cameras, heavy security and an entrance door that reminds me of a U-boat safety latch, have all guaranteed a sense of control. I’m not sure what will happen to them after October 17^th. All that weed and all those edibles have been part of my life for so long that I would most certainly miss them. Although I like to simply smoke it, occasionally my partner and I have tried some of those laced treats. They are useful on long hikes, or watching a movie, or roaming through a convention centre looking for more comic books. The most powerful snack I have consumed is known as a Ginger Snap. It certainly has one. We each ate a cookie after we parked the car. By the time we got up to the ground level, I was overcome. I was riddled with the stuff. I think it ignited a hypomanic episode, but it may well have just been the drugs that made me feel like that. It was one of the least pleasurable moments of my life and I have never touched so much as a morsel since. It floored me. I had to sit down before I started screaming. He was just fine. For over 3 hours, we sat waiting for that extreme buzz to pass. It seemed to last forever. Harboured in between several skyscrapers, the courtyard and fountain served as refuge from the rest of downtown Toronto. There were people and pigeons everywhere. I can’t be sure just what bothered me more, the birds or all the ugly city folk. I have always been grateful that it was a lovely late September afternoon that I spent in outer space. I didn’t have to bake just because I was baked. The temperature got nowhere near as high as I did. The state I remember experiencing the most was one of dread; a sense of chaos, a lack of balance and an exaggerated fear of doom. I was flooded with panic and almost drowned in my tears. I never want to go there again, even if I get offered another cookie.

 

“Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.” (1 Peter 5:8, NIV)

            In the last years of her life, my Mother’s diabetes advanced greatly. She developed ulcers on her feet and lower legs and was constantly scratching away any chance of healing. It was often painful and hindered her mercilessly. I made a suggestion. At first she shunned the idea. She could not see past the moral implications regardless of the health benefits she well knew, having been a nurse. We had discussed marijuana as medicinal and she agreed that it had assisted when I was still untreated for my Bipolar disorder. She would not hear of indulging. I explained that she would not be smoking anything, just applying cream, much like Vick’s VapoRub but with a much more pleasant odour. As time increased the lesions, she begrudgingly agreed to try it. For all the pills the doctors had prescribed, it only got worse and worse. I would only purchase one jar and if it didn’t work, I would never bring it up again. We had a deal. She was surprised at the small quantity for the price. I showed her how so little goes so far. Finally, she was willing to put her preconceived notions behind her. For $25.00, I purchased a cannabis based salve. The ointment didn’t smell like weed or look like weed so my Mom actually gave it a chance. I paid for it so she really had nothing to lose. I think she expected to get a buzz and seemed a little disappointed there wasn’t more of a kick to it. The salve itself is primarily for pain relief but is also a topical, anti-inflammatory agent. The main ingredient is cannabis Indica. The ointment also contains extra virgin olive oil, beeswax, wormwood, chickweed powder, teatree oil, cayenne, rosemary oil and vitamin E. The results were almost instant. By the time I got home that evening, the balm had started working. She never again had pain in her legs from ulcers. Eventually, she had no ulcers. With no ulcers, there was no itching and with no itching, she was able to fully heal. It was a miracle, it really was. Not for me or my theology but for my Mom. If an ulcer tried to return, she simply used the cream I had replenished. I know it may seem silly but being able to relieve even one negative from her miserable life meant the world to me. She knew it and told me so. Words cannot express how grateful I am to have lessened her lot in life, even if only for a few years. Mom came to understand marijuana relatively later in her life. She never smoked a doob, she never got a buzz. What she did do was allow nature to heal in its very own way. She finally understood there was more to it than just “The Devil’s Harvest.” Her journey with medicinal pot filled in the holes.

“Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honour God with your bodies.” (1 Corinthians 6:19-20, NIV)

            I have smoked pot with my first partner Doug. It was more for entertainment value than anything else. My current partner Ben and I partake, we indulge. It serves a medical purpose, for both of us, but can be recreational. I’m not much of a drinker so a nice joint is always a pleasant surprise. I have smoked up my mother-in-law. I have smoked up with my Professors, a Rabbi and even an Oncologist. I have toked with a celebrity or two. Most of the people I have in my life have an open view on marijuana and its use. To most of us, it is just like drinking alcohol. I have always felt weed should be a controlled substance rather than illegal. Now that cannabis will be legal, the rules just got more complicated. Freedom always has a price. It may take a few years, eventually marijuana will be thought of in the same manner as other approved intoxicants. The medical and legal ramifications are exciting, as is the prospect of sitting on my front porch smoking a fat one. Not that I haven’t done that before but a new day is dawning. I could even ask a cop if he wanted a drag, as he passed me by. There will be absolutely nothing he can do to me now. I do not think of cannabis as a cure all nor do I think it does not have negatives attached to it. I only know that is has worked for me. It is an old friend that helped me through it all. Most people smoke up for the buzz. I have always smoked up because it took away the buzz. On October 17^th, we started again. Finally, instead of hiding, I can get what I need without fear of the repercussions. All I have to do is follow the rules and everything will be okay. I will never have anything to worry about again, well except for all those rules.   

“Therefore, since Christ suffered in his body, arm yourselves also with the same attitude, because whoever suffers in the body is done with sin. As a result, they do not live the rest of their earthly lives for evil human desires, but rather for the will of God. For you have spent enough time in the past doing what pagans choose to do—living in debauchery, lust, drunkenness, orgies, carousing and detestable idolatry. They are surprised that you do not join them in their reckless, wild living, and they heap abuse on you. But they will have to give account to him who is ready to judge the living and the dead. For this is the reason the gospel was preached even to those who are now dead, so that they might be judged according to human standards in regard to the body, but live according to God in regard to the spirit.” (1 Peter 4:1-6, NIV)

Photo

https://www.streetwisereports.com/article/2017/11/14/the-lowdown-on-getting-high-in-canada.html

Sources

https://www.cnn.com/2018/06/20/health/canada-legalizes-marijuana/index.html

https://www.canada.ca/en/services/health/campaigns/cannabis/canadians.html?utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc_en&utm_content=cbd_1&utm_campaign=cannabis-18

https://www.ontario.ca/page/cannabis-legalization

Eye to Eye

            August 2^nd, 2018 was a somber day for me. The anniversary of my parents’ marriage (would have been 57 years) and the commemoration of my late cat Gizmo’s birthday (would have turned 30) brought me reserved sadness just like every other year. This year, however, I had a grand distraction. After 41 years of faithfully following Amy Grant, I found myself questioning if I could continue to believe a word that comes out of her mouth. I got my posts from her Facebook page that day, just like I do every time she makes a statement. I was shocked to see her standing with her husband, all smiles with her “friends” from Chik-fil-A, an American restaurant specializing in chicken. I hear the product is quite good, considering. It would have been easier for me had I discovered that the product tastes like crap but we don’t always get what we want, particularly when we want it. My heart just about fell out of my chest. I could not believe, after all she has said and done over the years, that she would associate herself with such a controversial organization. As a Canadian, I am well aware of the position this company has taken regarding homosexuals so I would just assume someone (like Amy), who lives down the street from their Nashville offices, would be more than aware of the criticism lodged against them. I suppose there is a price you pay for selling out, apparently, that’s sixty lunches for sixty kids. 

“Well, I’d like to figure out where we stand

Before darkness falls

And I’d like to figure out

Before too late

Before hope is lost

Cause the sun that’s shining on my face

Is shining down on you

And the fruit that gives me strength to live

Is giving you strength too

Can we find a way to find a compromise

Though we don’t see eye to eye”

            In 2012, chief operating officer Dan T. Cathy, the lead guy at Chik-fil-A, made outrageous statements against alternative choices to traditional marriage. While being interviewed on June 16^th, 2012, on a nationally syndicated radio talk show, Cathy made the statement that “I think we are inviting God’s judgment on our nation when we shake our fist at Him and say, ‘We know better than you as to what constitutes a marriage’ ...I pray God's mercy on our generation that has such a prideful, arrogant attitude to think that we have the audacity to define what marriage is about.” Later, in July of the same year, Cathy gave an interview to The Biblical Recorder, a bi-weekly newspaper published by the Baptist State Convention of North Carolina. Throughout the interview, Cathy expressed his views on the family and the institution of marriage that he vehemently endorses. He claims, “We are very much supportive of the family, the biblical definition of the family unit. We are a family-owned business, a family-led business, and we are married to our first wives (unlike Vince Gill). We give God thanks for that. We want to do anything we possibly can to strengthen families. We are very much committed to that.” When later asked about the controversy, he emphasized, “We intend to stay the course. We know that it might not be popular with everyone, but thank the Lord, we live in a country where we can share our values and operate on biblical principles.” Hate always has a voice, even if it hides as Jesus. It was not only the statement or behaviour of Cathy that met with condemnation. The company financially supported many questionable groups including the Family Research Council (FRC), an American conservative Christian group well known for anti-gay rhetoric.

            In a 2014 interview, Cathy admitted that he “regretted drawing his company into the controversy.” Eventually, Chik-fil-A stopped publicly supporting most of the questionable organizations. They claimed to have “ceased donating to organizations that promote discrimination, specifically against LGBTQ civil rights.” In an internal document, the company announced that they “will treat every person equally, regardless of sexual orientation.” While it may be good and well, somehow all these years later and Cathy still runs the show. Although the company actually profited from this initial onslaught, they have yet to pull away from their own bad press. People do not easily forget when someone obviously hates, especially when it involves clear discrimination. As with Harvey Weinstein, and other hateful offenders, it is not just each individual that now stands accused. We know that most companies would rather rid themselves of such vermin. This controversy has been carried by Chik-fil-A ever since. It is hard to take you at your word when you keep an abuser in your midst. If you do not condemn a person for their actions, then you condone those actions. It will not matter how much you apologize and attempt to recertify a situation like this, if the greatest transgressor is still in charge. It’s not about how much you claim to have changed. It’s not about sixty pieces of chicken for sixty kids. It’s about affiliation and the lingering wounds that have been dealt to many people’s trust. You are guilty by association.

“Well, I’d like to figure out a way

To leave a troubled past behind

To forget those angry words and wars we fought

Across the battle lines

Cause tomorrow we could find a road to peace

For you and me

And our children in their innocence

Will follow what they see

Oh, we’ve got to find a way to live our lives

Though we don’t see eye to eye”

            Team Amy (on Facebook) was unyielding in their position. According to them, no other sponsor was willing to donate to a day camp for J.C. Napier Homes, a local children’s charity. They gladly accepted the lunches and all posed for a picture of corporate promotion. Yes, they claimed that Amy “welcomes all.” Yes, they even pointed out that they made the decision to go with Chik-fil-A simply because of the sixty children who might suffer. I had no idea that Amy was so lacking in funds. On paper, she is worth 55 million. Rather than crawling into bed with a homophobic image, perhaps she should have paid for the lunches herself. I don’t understand why she compromised herself so. Just looking at that picture of her and her “friends” at Chik-fil-A made me question everything I have come to understand about Amy Grant. For a moment, all she was became a lie. Years of believing her message seemed lost in my bewilderment. Was this the real Amy Grant? Perhaps it has all been for show. I couldn’t really distinguish much at that point. I was heartbroken, even if only for a moment. I could not reconcile the woman I had encountered for 41 years with the woman who stood in the picture before me. How could you not know the association being made? Granted, Grant has always battled one controversy after another. According to the Bible, she is as big a sinner as the rest of us. This is what made her so accessible to non-Christians and Christians alike. I always felt like it mattered to her what I thought. It mattered to her that I got her message loud and clear. As of late, I am now receiving a different message. Team Amy certainly made no apologies for their choices. Amy had always stood up for her beliefs, which is why it is so disturbing to see her stand up for Chik-fil-A. It’s not even about why she did it, it’s the fact that she actually did.

“Oh, how easy it would be

To close the door and walk away

I can’t walk out when I believe

You are my brother

And we owe it to each other

We’ve got to try

Though we don’t see eye to eye”

            Recently, Chik-fil-A announced their expansion into the Canadian marketplace. The first franchise would find Toronto as their base. Considering the immense support in Canada for the LGBTQ community, a number of boycotts and continued backlash scarred their proposal. The voice has been clear. For many, the company is not welcome in Canada, based entirely on their homophobia and transphobia. While their plans to open the first restaurant in July of 2018 fell, they claim to be opening stores in 2019. We will rise up again against them. Unlike Team Amy, Canadians aren’t afraid to call a spade and spade. If you take donations from the NRA, then you clearly support the NRA. Cash aside, you associate with them and people will draw their own conclusions. Entering into such an affiliation, well knowing, says it all as far as I am concerned. I can only hope this was all due to bad management and not some revelation as to the true nature of my icon. I have to believe that it really was Amy speaking to me that night on Facebook. She was consistent like she always seemed to be. I can hear her saying, “We just have to agree to disagree.” I wish it was that easy.

“Well, I’d like to figure out

Where we stand

Before darkness falls...”

(Eye to Eye, Amy Grant 2003)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-yOD8R7pFA

            I guess I was wrong. I assumed from songs like “Out in the Open” and “Say it with a Kiss” that the LGBTQ community would be granted some consideration. I’m not sure how you can have both worlds but up to the point this happened, Amy seems to have done just that. With such a large gay following, I can’t imagine why the choice to accept donations from Chik-fil-A (considering their  history and public image) was made. Yes, feeding children is more important than all this drama. Yes, this does not essentially cancel out the clear message of encompassing love and Grace Amy has contributed throughout the years. It all strikes me in a sad place. After all, hypocrisy is claiming to have moral standards to which one’s actions do not conform. Claiming we are all children of God and then appearing to support those who dismiss this idea, do not make for good bedfellows. This juxtaposition does not make sense. I am not angry at Amy like I was during the entire episode. Time has passed and so too has that sense of abandonment and futility. Again, I can only hope that this lack of consideration to the gay community was simply an error in judgment and not insight into the real person at the head of all this. I appreciate almost any benevolent contribution made to charity but it is what comes with that acceptance that defines the giver. I am not sure what lasting impressions this event will have on me and my relationship with Amy the artist rather than Amy the person. I suppose, only time will tell. Until then, the best I can do is live by example and give her the benefit of the doubt. She deserves that much, even if all the queers do not. In the end, we simply do not see eye to eye.

“Do not be misled: Bad company corrupts good character.”

(1 Corinthians 15:33, NIV)

Video

“Eye to Eye”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-yOD8R7pFA

“Out in the Open”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9B9tss_q-FM

“Say it with a Kiss”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q6XOuUjdA0Q

Photo

https://www.facebook.com/amygrant/

Sources

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chick-fil-A_same-sex_marriage_controversy