High Horses, Beggared Beliefs

Some years ago now when North Vancouver Railway Station was still running passenger services, I was out for a walk and minding my own business. A car pulled over, an older man, the driver, wound his window down. He asked how to get to the station. I told him that there was no way through our neighbourhood and that he would have to go back to Marine Drive and take a different turning. He shook his head. There was a way through. I confessed that that was indeed true but that there was no way through by car. Again he shook his head. I was wrong. There was a way through by car. There followed a flummoxed and confused sort of a stand-off. I who had lived in the neighbourhood for upwards of twenty years knew nothing whereas he, who had never before been to Norgate Park, knew it all.  Meanwhile in the passenger seat was a lady, presumably his wife, who was smiling at me apologetically but restraining herself from telling her partner that he was talking absolute nonsense.

Eventually I mustered a smile which, I felt, was more appropriate than grabbing him around the neck and throttling him. On reflection, what I should have done is opened the rear door, sat myself in the back seat and given them both the tour guide’s journey of the neighbourhood.

“On your left you will see Norgate School. A school is a place where children go to get educated. Right next to it is our local Day Care. A Day Care is a place where children go when they are too young to go to school. At the end of this street are two tennis courts. Tennis courts are places where people go to play tennis, a game played with rackets and balls. Directly ahead you will see a bank of trees beyond which lies Welch Street beyond which is the railway station, whither we cannot reach, ‘cos as you can see, there is no road through. I rest my case. Drop me here,”

I was reflecting on this the other day when I remembered my first job here in Vancouver. At 38 years of age I found work stick picking. The job consisted of picking large chunks of wood out of a mulch that was passing on a conveyor belt. The pay was not great but I had a family and no teaching job. I was fresh off the boat having been a teacher in the UK for about 15 years. Next to me was a young man who had just completed his teacher training and was eager to get into the classroom full time, to get, as he put it,

“The job I deserve.”

I was irritated at that. I do understand, I think, confidence and ego. I do respect eagerness and a desire to make one’s mark upon the world. And at my time of life back then, I think I understood that youth always knows better than age and experience. I didn’t comment but I wish that I had at hand the comment to an aspiring poet that the late, great Robert Frost once uttered. One of his students had come along and explained to the iconic poet that he too was a poet. The inference was that the two of them were on the same level, first among equals. The older man put him right. None of us can say that we are good at something. That has to come from others. J.K Rowling’s inbox was full of rejection slips until somebody took the plunge and risked publishing Harry Potter. Deep in her heart of hearts she must have known that she was an excellent writer but she could never say so until the book sale money came rolling in. Self-doubt is, I feel, almost always healthy. I was constantly surprised in my years in the classroom that nobody seemed to find me out. All around me I saw teachers both young and old who were far, far better at the job than I ever was. At the end of every year when contracts were due for renewal I wondered if I would have to find another job. Then the contract was in my pigeon hole and eventually in my grubby mitt and I puffed my cheeks, smiled my smile and realised that I was safe again. But, Dear Reader, like the hen, I managed never to cackle until the egg was laid.

I guess that I am spouting this nonsense because I am worried that I am becoming that man in the car or suffer from the arrogance that suggests I deserve such and such or make the absurd claim that I am a better person than I really am. It is a terrible thing to suggest that one ‘knows’ one is right; to rattle off statistics and opinions from one source which just happens to support one’s bias and ignore facts and thoughts from another  because one doesn’t agree with them. To me that is where student life is so, so important because discussion with one’s peers whether that be in a primary, secondary or tertiary institution should lead to chats about points of view widely and wildly different from one’s own. I know  it is unlikely that such events will cause an epiphany; that suddenly there is an about turn. But if all that is achieved is pause for thought then that is something is it not, Dear Friends?

“Convince a man against his will, he is of the same opinion still”. Samuel Butler

Sometimes I wish I had the confidence of the old duffer in the car. But, Dear Reader, he was wrong. I have become that old guy. Now I write blogs, I throw open my opinions and thoughts to the world. All the time I do understand that they are my opinions and that there are people out there who are better informed and more intelligent than I am. But, Dear Reader, I realised some years ago now that I am not now trying to climb any greasy pole, I am not seeking to impress a future or present employer. If I cannot say what I want to say at the age of 72 years then when can I say it? I will never deliberately set out to offend somebody. I do have some vigorous beliefs about such things as religion, politics and good manners. It is fair to say that I ardently don’t believe in any god; my gorge rises when a sleazy politician talks utter nonsense. I don’t like it when bad manners push past me in a line up or fail to acknowledge that I took a step sideways to let them through. I hope that I apologise when I am wrong. I do believe that I should do something good for somebody every day.

I don’t have a hair shirt to wear, I don’t flagellate myself when I realise I have said something or done something beyond the pale. I do, however, have a wife and two adult children who are not short of putting me right when I have blundered foolishly into a situation. Trouble is that I am still allowed out and about without them, alone, so I have ample opportunity to mess things up and confidently exploit the obliviousness of most of society who let me get away with it.

I rest my case, Dear Reader, I hope that you find for the defence but, if not, I’m afraid that I have very little that mitigates.

Thanks for reading.