Dec. 27: Adapting to life changing events

Dad became a born-again Christian at a Billy Graham crusade in Calgary in 1981. Was that a life-changing event? I'd say so. Before that, he was a drinker. Since his conversion, I've never seen him drunk and I've never heard him utter a curse word either. I'm grateful for that. I had a good role model growing up.

My kid has never seen me drunk (he never will, God willing) but I'm afraid he has heard an unmentionable word escape my lips from time to time.

Today, dad serves as chaplain at Trinity Lodge, a small retirement home in southwest Calgary. He has said that he will never abandon that post until the Lord calls him home or makes it painstakingly clear that his time is up.

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Because he is a chaplain, our house has been something of a way station for various pastors and preachers. One of my dad's mentors was a guy named John Lucas, who pastors Immanuel Nazarene Church in downtown Calgary. Pastor John told my dad that whenever he is preaching a sermon, he should always be situated behind the pulpit (or the lectern) when he is making an important point. "The pulpit is your power point," Pastor Lucas said, and that sounded right to me even though he was talking psychology, not theology. I mean, think about it. Physically, you're more vulnerable when every inch of you is exposed. If you're behind a pulpit, you're not completely exposed. You have some cover.

Over the years, I have noticed that several of the people that I know have their own power points. Some feel more confident issuing edicts from their office chairs or their beds or while on the telephone. I'm not sure what my power point is. Maybe it's behind this computer.

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Some events that changed my life include:

- Becoming a Christian

- Becoming a dad

- Getting fired (two newspapers let me go and one was getting close to before I moved on instead)

- Moving to Glengarry.

But something else happened way back in the early 1990s that really changed my life. It happened at 1717 17th Avenue in southwest Calgary. Words Books and Cappuccino Bar. I wandered in after getting a haircut at the barber shop next door and I met a guy named Rook who was playing chess with a tall man named James. Rook was the proprietor of Words and he told me that, once a month, they had writers come in and do live readings of their work. I told Rook that I was a writer and I sure would love the opportunity to participate. Rook invited me and, for the next four years or so, I returned to Words on the last Saturday of every month to commune with my fellow wordsmiths.

It was life changing because back then, the people I hung out with were the people I met in school and my fellow magicians. There were problems though. My school friends were heavily into the party scene and I didn't want to spend my life drinking and smoking and chasing skirts. The magicians I hung out with were not very good people and, I think, might have collected certain magazine that weren't exactly legal. 

So Rook gave me a new community. I went to Words once a month and another group - the Boardwalk Writers - that met once a week. We would meet in coffee houses or the upper room of trendy downtown restaurants. We had one member - a crazy old chain-smoking lady who wrote offensive sexual poems about vegetables - who got us kicked out of a couple of those places. She is gone now. So are the Boardwalk Writers. So is Rook. So is Words.

Over the years, I have tried to emulate the Words experience. I have gone to writers groups in big cities (Regina, Ottawa, New York) and small communities like my new hometown of Alexandria. Nothing touches Words. But, then again, that's because I was a young man back then. I'm older now. I'm not cute anymore. What drew laughter back then would draw scowls and slaps in the face. 

And I close with this poem from Housman:

   When first my way to fair I took
    Few pence in purse had I,
    And long I used to stand and look
    At things I could not buy.

    Now times are altered:    if I care
    To buy a thing, I can;
    The pence are here and here’s the fair,
    But where’s the lost young man?

Last time I was in Calgary, I went to the old site of Words and I saw this. Progress marches on. I guess that magic old watering hole of mine is destined to become someone's condo.