When the world you know goes for a shit...

And I’m not talking about the demise of the American Empire here, although we’ll be lucky indeed to survive that as the hard-core Exceptionalists dash their exceptionalism on the shoals of world-wide disgust for our cherished “Western values.” Unfortunately for the future of humanity, there are far too many in the “Exceptional” camp who are fully prepared to risk nuclear war just to maintain their exceptionalism. Needless to say, that isn’t a winning strategy. But that’s just the scenery curtain behind the real-life adventures I’ve been plodding through. Within a two week span in April I was diagnosed with congestive heart failure, plus, my dear Daddy shucked (finally) his mortal coil and went to his reward. I can finally say this now that he’s gone. My father was hugely problematic for me. Not at the beginning. My Dad was always my hero, at least until he wasn’t. He was the refugee punk with no education who made his way from Pier 21 to middle-class respectability in the real estate business. Along the way he earned a reputation as a solid guy whose word was his bond. Which was mightily at odds with my experience of him. Long story short, the father I idolized forced me into bankruptcy. That’s how I ended up at Irving’s shipyard in Saint John. It’s also how I ended up at Outhouse College in London from where I graduated with a teaching degree. No matter the hurt in his betrayal, I have to admit he did me a favour. I impacted far more lives in high school classrooms than I ever would have as yet another money-grubbing real estate wheeler-dealer. Which is hunky dory, except for the fact that I still miss my father, and wish things could have been different. But, that sounds way too much like a rich kid’s lament to me. That’s what Dad would say…