Hamilton Spectator

A world where the beautiful and terrible live side by side

(The Hamilton Spectator – Saturday, June 18, 2016)

HAMILTON, CANADA ✦ It was my daughter’s first teenage birthday party and the family van was full of giggling girls.

The verdict on the Tim Bosma trial wasn’t in, not yet, when we pulled into the bowling ally across from Carmen’s banquet hall and I said, “Tim Bosma’s funeral was in that hall. And his wedding too.”

Silence fell. One girl said it was terrible what happened to Tim. Then my barely 13-year-old asked, “Why would they have his wedding and funeral at the same place?”

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The mouse and the dishwasher

(The Hamilton Spectator – Saturday, May 20, 2016)

HAMILTON, CANADA ✦ So it’s the middle of the night and my wife walks into the bedroom and says: “There’s a mouse in the dishwasher.”

This is strange even for our household, the sort of announcement that suggests my wife is hallucinating from working way too late, again, or that I’m having one of those dreams.

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The unknown boy and finding hope in dark places

ATHENS ✦ I’ll never forget the unknown boy and his horrible end, not any more than I’ll forget Arash and his eyes on the day we met when the waters of the Mediterranean were cold.

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An airport cross-point in Brussels

(The Hamilton Spectator – Saturday, April 22, 2016)

BRUSSELS-ZAVENTUM AIRPORT ✦ Once upon a time (otherwise known as “the old days,”) people would watch news on their old televisions, or listen on their old radios, or pick up old newspapers that even landed on their front porches (remember front porches?) with a thud.

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Grab death and scream “mine!” And what does it turn into?

(The Hamilton Spectator – Saturday March 19, 2016)

MUKONO, UGANDA ✦ It was getting late and she, my 12-year-old, sat on the couch and looked into the nothingness and pulled from the air a comment as plain and profound as any.

“You know,” she said, “People don’t know how good they have it.”

This is what happens when you live in Africa. You see things. Life. People. Suffering. Death sometimes. You get perspective.

“They don’t know,” Liz said. “People don’t know.” Canadians don’t know. This is what she said.

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Hello, democracy? This is Africa calling. Again.

(The Hamilton Spectator – Saturday, March 3, 2016)

KAMPALA, UGANDA ✦ Hello? Hello? Can you hear me? Is this you? Democracy? It’s me, Africa, calling. Can we talk? About us? About our relationship? I mean, are you still interested?

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Celebrating Family Day (and all the things that means)

(The Hamilton Spectator – Saturday, February 13, 2016)

MUKONO, UGANDA ✦ It was over lunch in Dundas with my sister, somewhere between the spring rolls and the coconut shrimp, when the question came without any hint to suggest this would be one of those ‘aha’ moments that can be unpacked and looked at and handled for a lifetime.

“So of all the places you’ve been,” she asked, “what’s your favourite?”

I might have said Paris or Berlin or Seoul, or maybe Amsterdam or London or Istanbul, or maybe somewhere in the Mid-East or Africa …

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How a world with assisted suicide would look

(The Hamilton Spectator – Monday, February 1, 2016)

It’s 2049 and I’m an old man. I’ve made my decision. (At least I thought I made it.) It’s for release.

I’ve been given a choice in a pleasant manner for an injection or capsules. Soon this will all be over, another release into elsewhere, into eternity.

They’re out there, opinion polls on this procedure, on “release,” what in your day was called “doctor-assisted suicide.” Apparently most people are in favour. You have to wonder, though, about the questions.

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