What's a measly hundred bucks worth really?!

So here I am dealing with a few indivuduals in what I categorically define as bullshit little squabbles, really meaningless crap involving ridiculous issues that no one should really give a rat's ass about, but here they are thinking its the end of the fucking world!

In all consideration to the few individuals involved, to the best of my knowledge the have never had the benefit of watching someone get killed up close, first hand, so perhaps they have nothing to balance their unresolved issues against.

I suppose watching people die is beneficial in a way, as it puts all of the crap that for some silly reason one thinks is important into much clearer perspective: I can assure you that no matter how important you think your issue is, it really is meaningless, because no matter what happens, NO ONE IS GOING TO FUCKING DIE AS A RESULT!

Coaching As Therapy

I am the assistant coach a gang of under thirteen year old kids playing soccer. I got into coaching two years ago, for my own son's (Rudi) under seven age group team, primarily because coaches were in short supply, and Tim (the head coach of that age group) was desperate for some decent help.

This year however, Rudi decided on baseball, and Marlo (Director of Tavistock Soccer) suggested I wasn't under any obligation to help out, but I could if I chose to. I told him that I would love to, but as I had no kids involved, I wouldn't mind moving to an older age group, which is how I ended up with the group I have.

Last night we headed out to play Thorndale, knowing that a large part of our contingent was headed of to the 'JUMP' program at Wilfrid Laurier, and would not be able to play. A few minutes before the start, we had eight plus a goalie, leaving us two players short. Brad (Head Coach) didn't want to concede the game, and had a brief talk with the other coach, telling him that we would simply play shorthanded, but not to give us any quarter, essentially.

We scrambled for another player from Tavistock, and found Clayton, the younger brother of one of our own players, who happily joined us from his under 11 team. So there we were, eight of ours and a goalie, plus a player from the next age group down, still one man short. I had already been making notes of who to play in what position, and Brad asked me if I was ready to run the game... I had never done so before this game, but was up for a bit of 'trial by fire' so to speak, and began assigning positions and getting our crew on the field.

At the end of the first half Thorndale was up three to two, but in the second period we tied, and then with five minutes to go in the game Mike scored again to bring us ahead by one, four to three, which we held til the end.

There isn't much to compare with that special feeling of pride I got when my crew won the game: The smiles from them as they came off the field. They knew they did a great job, and I let them know it.

The Fallacy of the Term 'Accident'

There is really little need for the word 'accident' in common use of the english language, as by definition, an accident is something that has little chance of ever happening. Drownings, automobile collisions, aircraft and boat crashes generally have an apparant or deliberate cause, and cannot be considered accidental in nature. I rememeber being questioned by the defense attorney in a trial and recall illustrating the difference between the two:

DEFENSE: So Mr. Chiles, you indicated earlier that you had actually pressed 9-1-1 on your cell phone just moments before the accident occurred?

WITNESS: Ummm, what accident?

DEFENSE: The accident between the tan coloured SUV and the blue minivan...

WITNESS: Accident? There wasn't any accident.

DEFENSE: What do you mean there wasn't any accident? You spent the last two hours testifiying about the circumstances leading up to the accident between Mr. Doherty's minivan and my clients SUV...

WITNESS: Oh yes... Well that wasn't an accident at all, it was a collision.

"An accident is a specific, unidentifiable, unexpected, unusual and unintended external action which occurs in a particular time and place, with no apparent and deliberate cause but with marked effects." (From Wikipedia)

Don't piss me off by talking about "car accidents", because they virtually do not exist. If two cars collide, it is simply that, an automobile collision, as they virtually always have at least an apparent, if not deliberate cause.

National Day of Remembrance for Road Crash Victims

2010 National Day of Remembrance for Road Crash Victims from ccmta_ndr on Vimeo.

An Interesting Link

I don't know how I came across this site, but it is worth visiting for the brutal eye opening that awaits. It is nothing more than a compilation of links and stories about all the fatal and near fatal collisions that occur in Canada, in addition to comments posted by readers. What makes it effective is that there are dozens and dozens of items posted each week. Although the raw numbers of individuals killed every year in Canada has been on a steady decline over the last few decades, there are still roughly 5000 lives ended each year in completely avoidable collisions.

Education For The Driving Masses

Something That Inspires Me

Sometimes the psychological effects of my meetings with the cloaked traveller leave me unhappy, depressed, feeling helpless, or worthless. But I can generally fight off these symptoms fairly well, though it does get hard toward the end of a long winter. Nothing better to help me get my shit together than a sunny spring day, and a little video clip I watched initially close to a year ago. This is the one video clip of Andrew Johnston you will ever need to see, and after you see it, and the reactions of those in it, you will understand why. You will also figure out why it gives me the strength to do the right thing when I can, to try my best, and to kick the crap out of the blues i suffer. Enjoy, and see what it does for you.

Connections and Relations

It's amazing how sometimes it takes such a long, long, time to figure out why the human brain works the way it does. Earlier this evening I was giving Alexander his bath, and for some reason halfway through he started calling for something, pointing over toward the change table and towel rack, and pleading "moyne...moyne...moyne..." Unlike Rudi, who was experimenting with simple sentence construction and had a vocabulary of about two hundred words, Alexander at age 'two plus four months' is progressing a bit more slowly, and I could only figure out he was pointing at his pants (which he didn't want taken off before his bath) and was probably saying "mine...mine...mine..." He was getting exasperated a bit, as was I, as I couldn't give him back his pants when he was in the tub, and I really had no idea what he was really bleating about anyway.

In any event, the "nyownying" kept up unabated, and I called for back up, after just having barked 'STOP' at the poor little kid so loudly he shook, and stopped for three seconds before continuing his pathetic little chant. Katherine came in after my third quick yell at Alexander, but at this time my heart rate was up, I was feeling trapped, stressed, claustrophopic almost, and I needed to get away fast. "Katherine just take over ok, I can't deal with this!" was all I said before rushing out. Only about six or seven times in my life has this type of event happened, all with either Alexander (two, perhaps three times) or Rudi (three or four times maybe) getting into a pathetic little chant, continuously repeating the same word or words for a few minutes at the most, and interestingly enough, my reaction has been like this only when they are in the bath.

So I figured out exactly why I get freaked out, and its something that has me flummoxed. The chant completely mimics the sounds or words persons have made for some reason or other when I have encountered them in my 'experiences'. Examples are the tow truck driver repeating "Gotta-get-them-out...gotta-get-them-out...gotta-get-them-out" or the Chinese man pleading "Li...Li...Li...Li..." or the sobbing wail of one of the occupants of a car caught fire on the 401, mostly engulfed in flames when I pulled up, knowing my fire extinguisher at that point was completely useless.

Why did it take me six years or so to relate the two types of events, and why do I only react to their kind of bleating when they are in the tub? They can do it any other time, and I don't react at all. Strange.

Elmo, the Guardian Angel

We (Katherine, Rudi, Alex, and I) were driving to Toronto recently, and I noticed a small cross at the intersection of Walker Line and the Huron Road, not far from Tavistock. I had no recollection of a (obviously fatal) collision occuring there, so later I checked it out. The collision happened early in August, when we were probably at the cottage, which explains why I knew nothing about it.

It seems a minivan driving down Walker Road with several children and an adult driver was broadsided by a pickup truck driven by an older lady from Stratford who failed to recognize and obey the stop sign on the Huron Road. Rowan Ainsley Dunk, aged twenty months, was taken to McMaster Medical Center where she later died from injuries sustained in the collision.

A few nights ago, on my way back from a job in kitchener, I stopped at the cross, and read the inscription. I brushed a bit of dirt and mud off Elmo, sat him up properly, and took two photographs. The tears came easily as I did that, just as they are coming right now as I write this. All the usual thoughts run through my mind. Why did this have to happen, how can the families, friends, and relatives of little Rowan cope, it must be heartbreaking, what a tragic loss. I can only begin to imagine how witnessing something like that might affect someone, as fortunately, I have never witnessed the cloaked traveller walk away with a child.

http://www.lifenews.ca/waterloorecord/profile/35854--dunk-rowan-ainsley

A Conversation

What follows is a conversation I had recently with a nice young lady, a professional I deal with on the rare occasion. The conversation occurred over a month ago, and I have taken a bit of license in retelling, especially with regard to details about the accident.


"I don't say I suffer from it, but I guess I could say I am affected by Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"Oh my god, what do you do, are you a firefighter, or a cop or something?"

"Nope, I just drive, I drive, and I see people die... In car accidents - collisions actually, I just have the luck to seeing them happen a lot."

"Well, that's not really luck..."

"Luck for me perhaps, I'm still alive... But yeah, I have probably seen a dozen fatal collisions. Things that have made me turn around and puke out my guts, things that have made cops arriving do the same thing... I just happen to be there right when, I mean these things happen right in front of me... It starts to give you a different outlook on things."

"Yeah, I can imagine, like things matter differently."

"Yeah, like everythings okay when no one dies, you start to relax about everything, 'cause nothing really matters that much, what people think are problems aren't that big really."

"Wow, I kind of know how you feel."

"I had a feeling you might, what happened... What was it you saw?"

"There was... It was a guy racing a motorbike, way too fast...Lost control totally after passing us on the way to Grand Bend... Just going way, way, way to fast, couldn't make the curve, hit the shoulder, then flipped into the ditch and into a tree."

"Jesus, that's terrible... So he died"

"Yeah, and his buddies were on other bikes right behind, it was terrible. His body was completely crushed when he hit the tree, and his friends... his friends were completely freakin out, calling his name, trying to get him to respond... but the guy was dead, obviously... instantly."

"Long time ago now?"

"A couple of years now, four actually"

"You still cry? I mean, something sets you off, and you just cry"

"Yeah... Yeah I do."

"It gets a bit easier with time... but you will always find something does set you off... I was at the cottage recently, reading an article by some guy who came across a collision... Joining the club I guess! I just broke down and cried. It all comes flooding back..."

"And I get angry... I hate to say it, I just... I really..."

"You're pissed at him for doing that, for killing himself..."

"Yeah, exactly... I know it's not right, but sometimes I hate him for what he did... I mean he was married, and had two kids... Christ how can you do that? How can you be... How can you..."

"Be so completely irresponsible?"

"Yes... How can a person do that? I just can't imagine being like that"

"I don't know, I really don't"

"And even now I get angry when I see guys doing stupid things like that... I mean my husband was with me, saw the whole thing, he would never do anything like that..."

"At least he knows how it affects you, and you him... Lots of people will never understand really..."

"Yeah I got that, It's not that bad really, but still, It's there... you're right, they have no idea"

"Welcome to the club... There are no merit badges or anything though, just scars... that fade over time..."

The Emotional Tsunamis

It was on the last day of our Easter weekend at the cottage when the 'Tsunami' broke. The only way I can describe these events is like sitting near a rocky seashore on a calm day, watching the small waves roll in, crashing easily on the rough, broken shore. And without warning, I notice a mammoth wave, rising in the distance from the deep sea, like a tidal wave, or a tsunami. It is racing in at a speed tenfold that of the small waves swelling and breaking, and overtakes numbers of them as it heads toward the shore. It is now only seconds away, and starting to break, and is easily twenty times taller than all the others now. And then it crashes furiously into the rocky crags and jagged cliffs, the sound thundering and deafening, the ground shaking and rumbling beneath my feet, even from my vantage point several hundred feet away. And then the spray comes, great plumes of water soaking the upper reaches of the shoreline. And as quickly as it arrived, the water recedes back to the sea, and the quiet smooth waves continue breaking against the shore, as if nothing had happened.

I had just started reading the Weekend Living section of the Saturday edition of the Toronto Star when I noticed a cropped photograph of a Paramedic ambulance accompanying an article. The article was entitled 'Tragedy forges an unlikely bond' by Tom Scanlan, part of the Slice of Life Series. It was a simple, heartfelt account of a drivers experience as he had the fortune of happening upon a collision on the highway driving home from the cottage. I had to read it, and I also knew exactly what would happen to me if I did.